in the luxurious house.
‘Jan, you have a visitor. The police.’
Patrik doubted that Nelly’s frail old voice could really be heard downstairs, but footsteps on the stairs proved him wrong. A look filled with hidden meanings passed between mother and son when Jan came up the stairs into the front hall. Nelly nodded to Patrik and went into her room, and Jan came towards Patrik with outstretched hand and a smile showing a lot of teeth. Patrik had the sudden image of an alligator in his mind. A smiling alligator.
‘Hello. Patrik Hedström, Tanumshede police station.’
‘Jan Lorentz. Pleased to meet you.’
‘I’m investigating the murder of Alex Wijkner, and I have a few questions I’d like to ask you, if you don’t mind.’
‘Of course. I don’t know how I can help, but that’s your job to decide, not mine, isn’t it?’
The alligator grin again. Patrik felt his fingers itching; he wanted nothing better than to wipe that smile off his face. There was something about it that drove him crazy.
‘We can go down to my flat, then we won’t disturb Mother up here.’
‘Certainly, that would be fine.’
Patrik had to say that the living arrangements seemed a bit strange. First of all, he had a hard time understanding grown men who still lived at home with their mothers. And second, he couldn’t comprehend why Jan put up with being banished to a cellar while the old lady lived upstairs in extravagant luxury in a house of at least two thousand square feet. Jan wouldn’t be human if the thought hadn’t crossed his mind that Nils would certainly not have been banished to the cellar if he were here today.
Patrik followed Jan down the stairs. He had to admit that for a cellar flat it wasn’t half bad. No expense had been spared. The flat had been furnished by someone who believed in an ostentatious display of prosperity. There was a lot of gold fringe, velvet and brocade – no doubt furniture of the finest brands, but unfortunately the decor didn’t show itself to best advantage without daylight. The effect was instead a bit like a bordello. Patrik knew that Jan had a wife and wondered which of them had insisted on the decor. Based on his own experience, he would guess the wife.
Jan showed him into a small office. Besides a desk and computer there was also a sofa. They sat down at opposite ends and Patrik took a notebook out of his bag. He had decided to wait to mention Anders Nilsson’s death; he didn’t want to say anything to Jan about it before he had to. Strategy and timing were important if he hoped to get anything useful out of Jan Lorentz.
He scrutinized the man facing him. He looked too perfect. There wasn’t a wrinkle in his shirt or suit. His tie was perfectly tied and he was freshly shaven. Not a hair was out of place, and he radiated calm and self-confidence. Too much calm and self-confidence. Patrik’s experience told him that everyone who was questioned by the police behaved nervously, more or less, even if they had nothing to hide. A totally calm exterior indicated that the person in question did have something to hide – that was Patrik’s very own home-grown theory. It had proven to be right a remarkable number of times.
‘Nice place you have here.’ It never hurt to be polite.
‘Yes, it was Lisa, my wife, who did the decorating. I think she did rather a good job.’
Patrik looked round the dark little office, which was sumptuously decorated with shiny marble and pillows with gold tassels. An excellent example of what too little taste in combination with too much money could buy.
‘Have you come any closer to a solution?’
‘We’ve uncovered a good bit of information and are beginning to get a sense of what might have happened.’
Not entirely true, but it was worth a try to shake him up a bit.
‘Did you know Alex Wijkner?’ Patrik asked. ‘I heard for instance that your mother went to the funeral reception.’
‘No, I can’t say that I knew her. Naturally I knew who she was, and in Fjällbacka everyone knows everyone, more or less. But her family moved away many years ago. We used to say hello on the street if we met, but never more than that. As far as Mother is concerned, I can’t answer for her actions. You’ll have to ask her.’
‘One of the things that has come out during the investigation is that Alex Wijkner had a, what should I call it … relationship with Anders Nilsson. You know him, I assume?’
Jan smiled. A crooked, condescending smile.
‘Yes, in this town nobody could avoid knowing who Anders is. He’s infamous rather than famous, I would say. He and Alex had an affair, you say? You have to excuse me, but I have a hard time imagining that. A rather odd couple, to put it mildly. I can understand what he would see in her, but I find it very difficult to see why she would want to have anything to do with him. Are you sure you haven’t got hold of the wrong end of the stick?’
‘We’re sure that they did have a relationship. What about Anders? Do you know him?’
Once again he saw a superior smile on Jan’s lips, but this time it was even broader. He shook his head in amusement.
‘You know what? One could safely say that we don’t exactly move in the same circles. I see him down at the square sometimes with the other alkies, but do I know him? No, actually I don’t.’
His tone clearly revealed how absurd he thought the question was.
‘We associate with people of a quite different social class, and winos aren’t normally included,’ he went on.
Jan waved off Patrik’s question as if it were a joke, but Patrik thought he saw a flash of uneasiness in his eyes. It vanished as soon as it appeared, but Patrik was sure he’d seen something. Jan was bothered by questions about Anders. Good, then Patrik knew he was on the right track.
He permitted himself to enjoy his next question even before he asked it, pausing for effect and then asking with feigned surprise: ‘But if that’s true, why did Anders recently place a large number of calls to your number?’
To his great satisfaction, Patrik saw the smile vanish from Jan’s lips. The question apparently made him lose his train of thought, and for a moment Patrik could see behind the dandy image that Jan so assiduously cultivated. Behind the artifice, he now saw unalloyed terror. As Jan collected himself, he tried to buy time by lighting a cigar with great care while he avoided looking Patrik in the eye.
‘Will you pardon me for smoking?’ He didn’t wait for a reply, nor did Patrik give him one.
‘If Anders rang here I certainly don’t understand why. I haven’t spoken with him, and I don’t think my wife has either. No, that’s truly odd.’
He sucked on his cigar and leaned back against the sofa with his arm nonchalantly stretched out along the sofa pillows.
Patrik said nothing. In his experience, the best way to get people to say more than they intended to was simply to keep quiet. They would feel a need to fill in the silence if it lasted too long. This was a game that Patrik had mastered. He waited.
‘Come to think of it, I think I know what happened.’ Jan leaned forward and waved his cigar.
‘Someone
