Hanna took over.
‘We found some information that points to a connection with another murder. In Borås.’
‘Borås?’ Kerstin echoed, and for the first time since they arrived they saw a spark of interest in her eyes. ‘But … I don’t understand. Borås?’
‘Yes, we were surprised too,’ said Gösta, reaching for a bun. ‘And that’s why we’re here. To see if there’s any connection that you know of between Marit and the victim in Borås.’
‘What … who?’ Kerstin’s eyes shifted. She tucked her hair behind her right ear.
‘It was a man in his thirties. Rasmus Olsson was his name. He died three and a half years ago.’
‘But didn’t they ever solve the case?’
Gösta glanced at Hanna. ‘No, the police there decided that it was suicide. There were various indications that …’ He threw out his hands.
‘But Marit never lived in Borås. Not as far as I knew, at least. Although you might want to check with Ola.’
‘Naturally we’ll have a chat with Ola too,’ said Hanna. ‘But there’s no possible connection that you know of? One of the similarities in Rasmus’s and Marit’s death was that …’ she hesitated, ‘at the time of their death they had been forced to drink large quantities of alcohol, although they never drank. Marit wasn’t a member of any temperance society, was she? Or a member of some religious congregation?’
Kerstin laughed, and her smile gave her face a hint of colour. ‘Marit? Religious? No, I would have known about it if she was. We always went to the early service on Christmas Day, but that was probably the only time Marit ever set foot in the church here in Fjällbacka. She was like me. Not actively religious in any way, yet she retained some of her childhood faith, a conviction that there was something greater. I hope she did, at least, now more than ever,’ she added quietly.
Neither Hanna nor Gösta said a word. Hanna looked down at the table and Gösta thought he saw her eyes glistening. He understood. Even though it had been years since he had cried in the presence of the grief-stricken. But they were here to do a job, so he continued cautiously, ‘And the name Rasmus Olsson doesn’t ring a bell?’
Kerstin shook her head and warmed her hands on her coffee cup. ‘No, I’ve never heard that name before.’
‘Then we won’t take up any more of your time. If you think of anything, please call us.’ Gösta got up and Hanna followed suit. She looked relieved.
‘I’ll be in touch in any case,’ said Kerstin, remaining seated.
In the doorway Gösta couldn’t resist turning round and telling her, ‘Go out and take a walk, Kerstin. It’s such nice weather. And you need to get some fresh air.’
‘Now you sound like Sofie,’ said Kerstin, smiling again. ‘But I know you’re right. Maybe I’ll take a walk this afternoon.’
‘Good,’ said Gösta and closed the door. Hanna didn’t look at him. She was already headed for the station.
Patrik carefully set down the plastic bag containing the knapsack on his desk. He didn’t know whether it was necessary, since the Borås police had already gone through the contents three and a half years earlier, but for safety’s sake he put on rubber gloves, and not only for forensic reasons. He didn’t like the idea of touching the dried blood on the knapsack.
‘What a lonely life. So tragic,’ said Martin, who stood next to him, watching.
‘Yes, it seems as though her son was the only person she had in the world,’ said Patrik with a sigh as he unzipped the knapsack.
‘Couldn’t have been easy. Having a kid and raising him all by herself. And then the accident …’ Martin paused, ‘and the murder.’
‘And then no one believed her,’ Patrik added as he took an object out of the knapsack. It was a music player with built-in headphones. He doubted that it still worked. It seemed to have been damaged in the fall from the bridge, and it rattled ominously when Patrik picked it up.
‘How far did he fall?’ asked Martin, pulling up a chair and sitting down next to Patrik’s desk.
‘Ten metres,’ said Patrik, still concentrating on emptying the knapsack.
‘Ugh,’ said Martin with a grimace. ‘Couldn’t have been a pretty sight.’
‘No,’ said Patrik. The photos from the scene flashed before his eyes. He changed the subject.
‘I’m worried about having to divide up our resources now that we have to work on two investigations at once.’
‘I know,’ said Martin. ‘And I can guess what you’re thinking. That we made a mistake letting the media force us into a situation where we dropped the investigation of Marit’s death. But what’s done is done, and we can’t change anything now. Except distribute our favours more wisely.’
‘Yeah, I know you’re right,’ said Patrik, taking out a wallet which he laid on the desk. ‘But I’m still having a hard time forgetting about all the things we should have done differently. And I have no idea how to proceed with the Lillemor Persson investigation.’
Martin thought for a moment. ‘All we have to go on are the dog hairs and the videos we got from the production company.’
Patrik opened the wallet and began going through it. ‘Yeah, that’s about what I was thinking. The dog hairs present a very interesting lead that we have to keep working on. According to Pedersen it’s a rather unusual breed of dog; maybe there’s a list of owners, clubs, something we can use to trace the owner. I mean, with only two hundred dogs like that in all of Sweden, it should be relatively easy to trace an owner in this area.’
‘Let’s hope so,’ said Martin. ‘Do you want me to do it?’
‘No, I was thinking Mellberg should do it. Then it’ll be done properly.’ Martin gave him a dirty look, and Patrik laughed. ‘It was a joke! Of course I want you to do it!’
‘Ha ha, that’s hilarious.’ Martin turned serious and leaned over the desk. ‘What have you got there?’
‘Nothing particularly exciting. Two twenties, a ten-krona, an ID card, and a piece of paper with his home address and his mother’s phone numbers, both home and mobile.’
‘Is that all?’
‘No, here’s a picture of him and Eva.’ He held it up for Martin. A young Rasmus had his arm around his mother’s shoulders, and they were both smiling at the camera. Rasmus towered over his mother, and there was something protective about his pose. It must have been taken before the accident. After that their roles had been reversed. Patrik carefully put the photo back in the wallet.
‘There are so many lonely people,’ said Martin, staring into the middle distance.
‘Yes, there certainly are. Are you thinking of anyone in particular?’
‘Well … I was thinking of Eva Olsson. But also of Lillemor. Imagine not having anyone to mourn you. Both of her parents dead. No
