Harald Liljecrona stared straight ahead, his face expressionless. They’d been given permission to borrow the office belonging to Börje and Kerstin, and the two men were now seated on either side of the cluttered desk. Kerstin had helped Martin find an unused notepad and a pen, so he was ready to jot down whatever information he was able to obtain. He would have preferred to use a tape recorder, as they did at the police station, but he would just have to make do with what was available.
‘Yes, I’m the older son,’ Harald repeated, turning to look at Martin.
‘And you are employed by the family business, is that correct?’
Harald laughed. His laugh sounded a bit comical and much too high-pitched for a man of such impressive girth. ‘Right. If you can call a world-wide enterprise dealing in billions of kronor a “family business”.’
‘And what exactly is your role?’ Martin was looking at him intently.
‘I’m the CEO. Gustav is the financial director.’
‘Do the two of you work well together?’
Again that peculiar laugh. ‘It may not have been one of Father’s best ideas to give us overlapping areas of responsibility. My brother and I have never got on well and there’s no use pretending otherwise. I dare say you’ll hear about it from the rest of the family, especially Vivi. Her tongue was made for spreading gossip …’ He paused for a moment and then continued. ‘Maybe Father was hoping that Gustav and I would grow closer if we were forced to work together on a daily basis. Instead, it made the situation worse.’
‘Was there something in particular Ruben was referring to at dinner when he asked you how the company was going?’
This time Harald didn’t laugh.
‘I have no idea what he was talking about. It’s true that Gustav and I seldom agree about anything, and at the office we occasionally throw a few plates at one another – metaphorically speaking, of course. But I don’t understand what Father could have heard that would prompt him to make such a comment.’
‘You have no idea?’
‘No,’ said Harald in a low voice, clearly indicating that he had no intention of supplying any more information pertaining to that line of enquiry. Not even if there were other things he could have mentioned.
‘Do you have any theories as to who might have wanted to kill your father?’ asked Martin, waiting tensely for the answer as his pen hovered over the notepad.
‘Well, you heard for yourself what went on at the dinner table. Which one of those vultures wouldn’t want to kill him?’ The words spilled out spontaneously, but then Harald seemed to regret what he’d said.
‘It’s not really that bad. I mean, we’ve had our family quarrels and arguments – I won’t deny that. But for someone to make the leap to actually murder him? No, I have no idea.’
Martin asked a few more questions before ending the interview when he realized that he wasn’t going to get any further.
Miranda was the next person to take a seat opposite Martin. He had no particular system regarding the order in which he talked to the family members, his primary concern was simply to interview all of them.
She looked small and fragile as she sat across from him. She had pulled her dark hair back into a tight ponytail, which further enhanced her beautiful face.
‘It’s so awful,’ she said, her lower lip quivering. Martin had to restrain an urge to put his arms around her and tell her that everything was going to be all right. He was annoyed with himself. That sort of reaction was totally unprofessional.
‘Yes, it certainly is,’ he said instead as he lightly tapped his pen on the notepad. ‘What can you tell me about who might be a suspect in your grandfather’s death?’
‘Nothing. Absolutely nothing,’ sobbed Miranda. ‘I don’t understand how this could have happened! How could anyone do something so horrible?’
With some embarrassment Martin handed her a tissue from the box on top of the desk. Weeping women always made him uncomfortable. He cleared his throat.
‘From what I gathered at dinner, your grandfather was not especially pleased with the way all of you have handled your finances.’ He could hear how stilted his words sounded.
‘Grandpa has always been so generous towards his children and grandchildren,’ she said, still crying. ‘He loaned me the funds I needed to start my design company, and if only I’d had a little more time … and maybe a little more money, I know I could have made it a success. But I’ve had such terrible bad luck along the way, and the customers have never really discovered my work, and …’ Her words gave way to sobbing.
‘So your grandfather loaned you some money. And now it’s all gone, and you were thinking of asking him for more? Is that correct?’
Miranda nodded. ‘Yes. I only needed a million. That would have given me the necessary time to make a go of things. The fashion industry is tough, and you have to take big risks if you want to succeed.’ She tossed her head, and her lip stopped quivering.
‘So you were planning to ask your grandfather for a million kronor?’
‘Yes.’ Again that stubborn toss of the head. ‘That’s pocket change for him. Do you have any idea how much the old man had in the bank?’ She rolled her eyes but then realized what she’d just said. Again her lip started quivering.
‘But you hadn’t yet asked him for the loan?’ Martin now felt considerably less sympathy for the woman as he watched the crocodile tears rolling down her cheeks.
‘No, no,’ she assured him, leaning forward. ‘I was planning to ask him during the weekend.’
‘What about the other family members?’
‘What do you mean? What about them?’
‘Ruben seemed to have strong opinions about them as well. Do you think any of them might have had a more violent response than—’
Miranda cut him off. Her eyes were flashing with anger.
‘Do you seriously imagine I would sit here and accuse a member of my own family of murder? Is that what you think? Is it?’
‘I merely asked whether anyone might have had a more violent response than the rest of the family.’
‘But isn’t that the same thing as asking me who I think killed Grandpa?’ replied Miranda coldly.
Martin had to admit to himself that she was right. He suddenly felt extremely tired. For weeks he’d been dreading coming out here with Lisette, and he could now say that everything had turned out a hundred times worse than he could possibly have imagined. He glanced at his watch. It was gone eleven p.m.
‘I think we’ll stop here,’ he said. ‘It’s getting late. We’ll continue tomorrow.’
A relieved expression appeared on Miranda’s face. But she merely nodded as she got to her feet. Martin followed her into the library to speak to the others. The mood was so oppressive that he almost felt as if he’d
