“Everything is our business,” replied Knutas calmly. “At least for as long as this murder investigation is going on. Answer the question.”
“I don’t have an answer.”
“Are you gay?”
The color of Nordstrom’s face got even redder, if that was possible. “No.”
“Come on,” coaxed Knutas. “You’re a good-looking guy. I’m sure you’re aware of that yourself. You seem to have a good job, you’re single, and you’re in your prime. Have you ever had any long-term relationships?”
“What the hell is this? What’s the point of all these questions? Are you psychologists?”
“No, we’re police officers. And we want to know the answer.”
“I’ve never been married or engaged, and I’ve never lived with anyone, either. My job requires me to travel two hundred and fifty days a year. So maybe it’s not inconceivable that this has something to do with the matter,” said Nordstrom sarcastically. “If you want to know whether I’m sexually active, the answer is yes. You can have sex in lots of different ways, and I don’t need anything else in my life right now.”
He started to get up from his chair. “Is that enough, or is there something else you want to know? How about which positions I like best?”
Both Norrby and Knutas were surprised at his vehement reaction.
“Take it easy. And sit down,” Knutas urged him.
Nordstrom sat down again and wiped the sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief. This guy’s the sensitive type, thought Knutas. He would have to proceed more cautiously.
“How was your relationship with Helena Hillerstrom?”
“Good. We were good friends. We’ve known each other since middle school.”
“Was there ever anything between you besides just friendship?”
“No. There never was.”
“Did you have other feelings for her, feelings that went beyond mere friendship?”
“Obviously I thought she was pretty. Everyone did. Well, you’ve seen her yourself.”
“Nothing ever happened between the two of you?”
“No.”
“Why not, do you think?”
“No clue. It just never happened.”
“According to Per Bergdal, you and Helena had something going, as he put it. For a while a long time ago.”
“Bullshit.”
“Where do you think he got that idea?”
“No clue. He’s so damn jealous. He imagines all sorts of things.”
They didn’t get much more out of Kristian Nordstrom during that first interview. He was allowed to go home, with the promise to inform them if he had plans to leave the island.
Afterward the two officers had a cup of coffee together to sum up their impressions.
“We need to keep an eye on this guy,” said Knutas.
“Yes, he seems like he’s walking on pins and needles. An incredibly hotheaded person,” agreed Norrby, looking thoughtful. “We should ask more of the people in their circle of friends to corroborate what he said.”
Knutas concurred. “I’m going to have someone check up on him right away.”
FRIDAY, JUNE 8
In a classroom at the small Kyrck School in Roma, Emma Winarve was getting ready for the final day of school. Outside the window, Roma’s wooden church tower loomed against the gray sky. The apple trees were in bloom, and next to the schoolyard Mr. Matton’s sheep were hungrily grazing on the early summer grass.
The classroom, which was decorated with birch leaves and lilacs, would soon be filled with sixteen expectant eight-year-olds who had a long summer vacation ahead of them.
She had been gone several days and wanted to be alone for a moment before her pupils came rushing in.
Three unreal days had passed since Helena was murdered. She couldn’t comprehend that it had really happened. She had cried and talked, and talked and cried, and talked some more. With Olle, with the friends that she and Helena had in common, with everyone who had been at the party, with Helena’s parents and neighbors, and with her colleagues here at school. Per Bergdal was in custody in Visby and was not permitted to speak to anyone.
Emma had been in contact with the police and with the prosecuting attorney. She had begged and pleaded to be allowed to talk to Per, with no results. They refused to budge. He was forbidden to have any sort of contact with the outside world, for reasons associated with the investigation.
Emma was convinced that he was innocent. She wondered what his life would be like after this was all over, vilified by the media as he was. Everyone would have some doubts about him, at least until they found the real murderer. And who could that be? She shuddered at the thought. Was it someone Helena had met by chance? Or someone she knew? Someone she hadn’t told Emma about?
Of course, she and Helena knew each other well, and of course, they always told each other everything. At least she thought they did. Or did Helena have secrets that she hadn’t shared with Emma? These were the kinds of thoughts that were tormenting her, making her tired and irritable in the midst of her grief. She had quarreled with Olle when she thought he was showing a lack of sympathy. She had screamed loudly at him and then thrown a carton of milk on the floor so that it splattered all over the kitchen-even up on the beams in the ceiling, as she discovered when she cleaned up the next morning.
The whole thing seemed like a nightmare, as if it hadn’t really happened. She picked up the remaining half-withered potted plants that stood on the windowsill. I’ll take them home and try to revive them, she thought.
She cast a glance at the clock. Almost nine. It was time for her to open the classroom door.
The children greeted her shyly as they poured in and sat down on their benches. Naturally they all knew that the murdered woman was their teacher’s best friend. Emma welcomed them and was touched to see the special effort they had made to look nice for the last day of school. Light-colored clothing and newly washed hair. Dresses and newly ironed shirts. Polished shoes and flowers in their hair.
Emma sat down at the piano.
“Are you ready, all of you?” she asked, and her pupils nodded. Then their bright children’s voices filled the classroom. The blossoming time has now arrived, they sang as Emma played the piano. Everything was in keeping with the traditions for the last day of school. Emma let her thoughts wander as they sang the verses she knew inside and out after all her years of teaching.
Ah yes, summer vacation. For her part, she had no expectations whatsoever. Right now it was just important to try to maintain her composure and not fall apart. She had to take care of her children. Sara and Filip. They had the right to a glorious summer vacation, and they were looking forward to everything the family would be doing together. Going for walks and swimming, visiting their cousins, taking an excursion out to little Gotska Sandon, and maybe a trip to Stockholm. How was she going to muster the energy for all that? Of course, the sense of shock would diminish. Her grief would seem more distant. But the loss of Helena was so painful. She wasn’t going to get rid of that feeling very easily. And how was she supposed to understand what had occurred? Her very best friend had been murdered in a way that happened only in movies, or far away, in some other place.
The date for the funeral had been set. It would be held in Stockholm. Tears rose in her eyes at the thought, but she pushed it aside.
Suddenly she noticed that the children had fallen silent. She had no idea how long she had been playing after the song ended.
As far as Johan was concerned, his time on Gotland was running out. At least this time around. He had spoken with Grenfors about how long it would make sense for him to stay on the island. The police had put a lid on everything having to do with the investigation. No new clues or stories seemed to have emerged. The boyfriend was in custody, and it was likely that he would be indicted. They still didn’t know why he was under suspicion. The news frenzy about the murder had waned, now worthy only of a few lines in the news reports. Today was Friday, and Regional News had no broadcasts on the weekends. The national news programs weren’t interested in keeping a reporter on site if there were no new developments. They decided that Johan and Peter should return to Stockholm the following morning.