way to Borås. He was worn out after everything that had happened in the past few weeks, and after sitting up all night reading through Gradenius’s documents. When he woke up, just at the outskirts of Borås, he had a nasty crick in his neck from sleeping with his head leaning on the window. With a grimace he massaged the sore spot as he blinked at the light.
‘We’ll be there in five minutes,’ said Martin. ‘I talked to Eva Olsson and got directions to her home. I think we’re close.’
‘Good,’ said Patrik, trying to collect his thoughts before the interview. Rasmus Olsson’s mother had sounded so eager when they rang. She invited them to stop by and have a chat. ‘Finally,’ she said, ‘finally somebody is going to listen to me.’ Patrik sincerely hoped they wouldn’t have to disappoint her.
The directions she had given Martin were excellent, and it didn’t take long before they found the block where she lived. They pressed the button for her flat and were buzzed in. Two flights up the door opened as soon as they set foot on the landing. A small dark-haired woman stood waiting for them. They shook hands and she showed them into the living room. She had set out coffee on a table with a lace tablecloth; dainty cups and elegant serviettes and cake forks. There was milk in a slender pitcher and sugar in a bowl with silver tongs. Everything was so delicate and refined that the table seemed to be set for a doll’s tea party. Five kinds of pastries were also arranged on a big china platter decorated with the same pattern as the cups.
‘Please have a seat,’ she said, pointing to a sofa with floral upholstery. The flat was filled with light. The triple-paned window kept out the traffic noise from the street; the only sound was the ticking of an old clock on the wall. Patrik recognized the elaborate gold pattern and shape of the clock. His grandmother used to have one just like it.
‘Do you both drink coffee? Otherwise I have tea.’ She gave them an eager glance. She wanted so much to please them that it cut Patrik to the heart. He sensed that she didn’t often have visitors.
‘We’d love some coffee,’ he said with a smile. As she carefully filled their cups he reflected that she looked just as small and delicate as the crockery. She was probably between fifty and sixty, he guessed, but it was hard to tell because she had an air of eternal sadness about her. As if time had stopped. Oddly enough she seemed to know what he was thinking.
‘It’s almost three and a half years since Rasmus died,’ she said. She looked over at the photographs that were displayed on a large secretaire at one end of the room. Patrik looked too and recognized the man from the photos in the folder that Gradenius had given him. But the circumstances of those pictures bore little resemblance to the settings of the photos in the room.
‘May I take a pastry?’ Martin asked.
Eva Olsson nodded as she tore her eyes away from the photos of her son. ‘Yes, please do, be my guest.’
Martin reached for a pastry and placed it on the plate before him. He looked at Patrik, who took a deep breath before he spoke.
‘As I told you on the phone, we’re taking another look into Rasmus’s death.’
‘Yes, I understand that,’ said Eva, and there was a spark of interest round the sadness in her eyes. ‘What puzzles me is why the police from – Tanumshede, was it? – are taking a closer look. Shouldn’t it be the police here in Borås?’
‘Yes, technically it should be. But the investigation here has been closed, and we think we may have found a connection to a case we have in our district.’
‘A different case?’ said Eva in surprise, stopping with her cup halfway to her lips.
‘Yes. I can’t go into the details at present,’ said Patrik. ‘But it would help us a great deal if you could tell us everything that happened when Rasmus died.’
‘Well,’ she began, but then hesitated. Patrik realized that no matter how glad she was that they would now be investigating her son’s death, she was terrified of digging up old memories. He gave her time to collect her thoughts. After a few moments she continued, though with a light tremor to her voice.
‘It was the second of October three years ago, now almost three and a half years. Rasmus … was living here with me. He couldn’t manage setting up his own place. He went to work every day, leaving at eight o’clock. He’d had that job for eight years and got along well with everybody. They were very nice to him.’ She smiled at the memory. ‘He always used to come home at three. He was never more than ten minutes late. Never. Then …’ The words stuck in her throat but she went on. ‘Then it was suddenly a quarter past three, then three thirty, and finally four. By then I knew something was wrong. I knew something had happened. And I rang the police at once, but they, they wouldn’t listen to me. They just told me that he’d probably be home soon, that he was a grown man and they couldn’t put out a missing persons report on him yet, not on such tenuous grounds. That’s exactly what they said, “not on such tenuous grounds”. Personally, I don’t think there are any stronger grounds than a mother’s intuition, but what do I know?’ She gave them a wan smile.
‘How …’ Martin fumbled for the best way to express it, ‘how much help did Rasmus need on a daily basis?’
‘You mean, how retarded was he?’ Eva said straight out, and Martin nodded reluctantly.
‘In the beginning, not at all. Rasmus had top grades in most subjects, and he was an enormous help around the house as well. It was just the two of us, from the beginning.’ She smiled again, a smile that was so full of love and sorrow that Patrik had to look away. ‘It was after he was involved in a traffic accident when he was eighteen that he … changed. He suffered a head injury and was never the same again. He couldn’t take care of himself, make plans for his life, or move away from home like other boys his age. He stayed here, with me. And we made a life together. A good life; I think both Rasmus and I viewed it that way. The best we could do under the circumstances, at any rate. Of course he had his dark moments, but we got through them together.’
‘Those “dark moments” were the reason the police didn’t investigate his death as a murder, am I right?’
‘Yes. Rasmus tried to take his own life once. Two years after the accident. When he finally realized how much he had changed, and that nothing was ever going to be the same. But I found him in time. And he promised me he’d never try it again. I know that he kept his promise.’ She looked first at Patrik and then at Martin.
‘So what happened then? What happened on the day that he died?’ Patrik asked cautiously. He reached for a hazelnut and almond tart. His stomach was growling, telling him that it was past lunchtime, but he could probably stave off the hunger for a while with the help of a little sugar.
‘They rang the doorbell. Just before eight. I knew as soon as I saw them.’ Mrs Olsson took her serviette and carefully blotted a tear that was on its way down her cheek. ‘They told me they’d found Rasmus. That he had jumped off a bridge. It … it … was so absurd. He would never do that. And they said it seemed as though he’d had a lot to drink beforehand. But that made no sense at all. Rasmus never touched alcohol. He couldn’t after the accident. No, it was all wrong, and I told them so. But nobody believed me.’ She lowered her eyes and wiped away another tear. ‘They closed the case after a while, wrote it off as a suicide. But I’ve rung Inspector Gradenius at regular intervals, just so he won’t forget. I do think he believed me. At least partially. And now you show up.’
‘Yes,’ said Patrik, looking thoughtful. ‘Now we show up.’ He knew only too well how difficult it was for family members to accept the idea of
