twenty-four hours a day. But it didn’t pay the rent, and he had to keep working at least until he could collect his pension. He was counting the days.
Gösta sat down and stared at his computer. For security reasons they weren’t allowed an Internet connection. Instead he had to check the name that belonged to the address by picking up the phone and ringing directory assistance. After a brief conversation he had tracked down the owner of the summer house to which the rubbish bin belonged. It was a meaningless task from the beginning. His scepticism was confirmed when he got the telephone number to the owner’s home address in Göteborg. It was obvious that they had nothing to do with the murder. It was simply their bad luck that the killer had picked their bin to dispose of the girl.
His thoughts wandered further to the murdered girl. His lack of initiative had nothing to do with a lack of sympathy. He felt for the victims and their next of kin, and he was grateful that at least he hadn’t had to see the girl. Martin was still a little pale when he ran into him in the corridor.
Gösta had seen more than his share of dead bodies, and even after forty years on the job he could still remember every single one. The majority were accident victims and suicides; murder was the exception. But every death had etched a furrow in his memory, and he could recall images that were as clear as photographs. He’d had to inform many people of the death of their loved ones, resulting in plenty of tears, despair, shock, and horror. Maybe that was why he was so despondent now; each death, with all the attendant pain and unhappiness had added a few more drops of misery to the glass of life, until now there was no more room. That was no excuse, but it was a possible explanation.
With a sigh he picked up the phone to ring the owners of the house and inform them that a dead body had been found in their rubbish bin. He punched in the number. Might as well get it over with.
‘What’s this all about?’ Uffe looked tired and irritated as he sat in the interview room.
Patrik took his time answering. Before saying anything both he and Martin put their papers carefully in order. They were sitting across from Uffe at a rickety table. Other than four chairs, it was the only furniture in the room. Uffe didn’t look particularly nervous, Patrik noticed, but he had learned over the years that the way an interview subject looked on the outside did not necessarily reflect the way he or she felt inside. He cleared his throat, folded his hands on top of the stack of papers and leaned forward.
‘I hear there was some trouble last night.’ Patrik studied Uffe’s reaction closely. All he got was a sneer. Uffe leaned back nonchalantly in his chair. He gave a little laugh.
‘Oh yeah, that. Yeah, he was pretty rough, when I come to think of it.’ He nodded at Martin. ‘Maybe somebody ought to think about filing a complaint about police brutality.’ He laughed again, and Patrik felt his anger rising.
‘Well,’ he said calmly, ‘we received a report from my colleague here and from the other officer on site. Now I want to hear your version.’
‘My version.’ Uffe stretched out his legs, until he was almost reclining in the chair. It didn’t look very comfortable. ‘My version is that there was an argument. A drunken argument. That’s all. So what?’ His eyes narrowed and Patrik could see his alcohol-besotted brain working frantically.
‘We’re the ones asking the questions, not you,’ Patrik said sharply. ‘At ten o’clock last night two of our officers saw you attack one of the female cast members, Lillemor Persson.’
‘Barbie, you mean,’ Uffe interrupted with a laugh. ‘Lillemor … Jesus, that’s funny.’
Patrik had to check an impulse to give the youth in front of him a hard slap. Martin noticed what was happening, so he took over and gave Patrik a moment to collect himself.
‘We witnessed how you were shoving and hitting Lillemor. What was it that started the fight?’
‘Well, I don’t get why you’re pestering me about this. It was nothing. We had a slight … disagreement, that’s all. I hardly touched her!’ Now Uffe’s nonchalance began to slip, and some uneasiness showed through.
‘What was the disagreement about?’ Martin went on.
‘Nothing! Or, well, okay, she’d been saying some shit about me and I heard about it. I just wanted her to admit it. And take it back! She can’t go around spreading shit like that. I just wanted her to realize it.’
‘And was that what you and the others tried to make her admit later that night?’ said Patrik, looking at the report in front of him.
‘Yeah,’ Uffe said. He was sitting up straighter in his chair now. His sneer had also begun to fade. ‘But all you have to do is go talk to Barbie about this, I promise you she’ll back up what I just said. It was an argument. I don’t see why the cops have to get mixed up in this.’
For a moment Patrik met Martin’s gaze, then he looked calmly at Uffe and said, ‘I’m afraid Lillemor won’t be saying much about anything. She was found dead this morning. Murdered.’
Silence descended over the interview room. Uffe had turned pale. Martin and Patrik waited him out.
‘You … both of you … you’re kidding, right?’ he finally said. No reaction from the two officers. What Patrik had said slowly sank into his brain. Now there was no hint of a smile.
‘What the hell? Do you think that I …? But I … It was just a little argument! I wouldn’t … I didn’t …’ He stammered and his eyes were shifting all around.
‘We’re going to need a DNA sample from you,’ said Patrik, taking out the necessary implements. ‘You don’t have any objections, do you?’
Uffe hesitated. ‘No, damn it. Take whatever the fuck you want. I didn’t do anything.’
Patrik leaned forward and with a Q-tip took a sample from the inside of Uffe’s cheek. For a moment Uffe looked like he might be regretting giving his consent, but then the swab was dropped into an envelope and sealed, so it was too late. Uffe stared at the envelope. He swallowed and then looked wide-eyed at Patrik.
‘You’re not going to shut down the series now, are you? You can’t do that, can you? I mean, you just can’t do that!’ His voice was filled with desperation, and Patrik felt his contempt for the whole spectacle growing. How could a TV programme be so important that it took precedence over a person’s life?
‘That’s not up to us to decide,’ he said dryly. ‘The production company will determine that. If it were my decision I would have shut that crap down in five seconds, but …’ He threw out his hands and saw the look of relief that spread across Uffe’s face.
‘You can go now,’ said Patrik curtly. He could still see the image of Barbie’s naked dead body, and it gave him a sour taste in his mouth to think that her death would be turned into entertainment. What was wrong with these people, anyway?
The day had started off so well for Erling. First he’d gone for a long jog in the cool spring air. He wasn’t usually one of those nature-lovers, but this morning he’d surprised himself by how happy he was to see the sun’s light filtering through the crowns of the trees. The expansive feeling in his chest had lasted all the way home, and it had prompted him to make love to Viveca, who proved to be easily persuaded for a change. This was usually one of the few dark clouds in Erling’s life. After they got married she had more or less lost interest in sex. It occurred to him that it felt rather meaningless to have got
