Ramstedt snorted audibly, leaned back and put his hand on Kerstin’s shoulder. She looked at him and Henrik noticed a nervous twitch from her left eyelid.
“Well then,” said Henrik. “I have one more important question. This morning a boy was found dead. I have his photo here.”
He placed two high-resolution images, one from the scene and one from the security camera, in front of her.
She gave the pictures only a quick glance.
“We must find the person who murdered your husband and that’s what we are going to do, in the end,” said Henrik. “But so far we have only one suspect and that is you. So if you wish to be released, you must try to think whether you have seen this boy anywhere near your house.”
Kerstin sat quietly for a few moments.
“I have never seen him before,” she said. “I promise, I’ve never seen him before. Never.”
“Certain?”
“Absolutely certain.”
*
Her headache had eased up. Even so, Jana Berzelius swallowed a second pill with a large glass of water. She had let the tap run quite a while before she considered the water cold enough.
When she was done, she put the glass down in the office sink and got to work. She had emails and calls to answer, and she was still waiting for two summonses to be approved. Now Yvonne had given her three more to deal with.
Torsten Granath stepped into the office kitchen and quickly went across to the cupboard and took out a coffee mug.
“A lot of work?” said Jana.
“Isn’t there always?”
Torsten swung around to put the mug on the tray of the coffee machine, but in his eagerness he lost his grip and the mug fell.
In no time, Jana reached out with her right hand and caught hold of the mug before it hit the floor.
“Neat catch.”
Jana didn’t answer, just handed the cup over to her boss.
“Is that what you learned at that posh boarding school?”
Jana remained silent. Torsten was used to her taciturnity and now, carefully this time, made himself some coffee.
“If I can’t even manage a cup of coffee, perhaps I should retire!”
“Or at least take things a bit more slowly,” said Jana.
“No, I haven’t time for that. How are you getting on with the Juhlén case, by the way?”
“I’ll have to release his wife tomorrow,” she said. “I’ve got nothing concrete to link her to the murder. That’s going to please Ramstedt.”
“That man! For him the law is simply business.”
“And the women are his reward.”
Torsten gave Jana a broad smile.
“I trust you,” he said.
“I know.”
Jana knew he meant what he said. He had trusted her from the very first day she came to the office. Thanks to excellent references from her trainee years, she got the much sought-after job as a prosecutor in Norrk?ping despite hard competition. That she was the daughter of the former Prosecutor-General Karl Berzelius might have contributed to her appointment. Her father, Karl Berzelius, had good contacts within the civil service in general, and Sweden’s courts in particular. Jana had, however, managed all her university studies on her own. She had graduated in law at Uppsala University with the highest grade and her father would have felt proud when she was given her certificate. Or at least satisfied. She didn’t know because he wasn’t there. Instead, it was her mother, Margaretha, who told her daughter, “Your father sends his greetings and congratulations,” as she handed over a bunch of carnations the color of port wine, then gave her a pat on the shoulder and a smile that said that Jana shouldn’t expect more.
It had always been taken for granted that Jana would follow in her father’s footsteps. To choose another career would have been unthinkable. She had heard that since she was a child. So she had also had hopes that Karl would come and congratulate her personally. But he didn’t.
Jana scratched at her neck, then held her hands together over her chest. She looked at Torsten, who was still smiling, and wondered if he had had a call from her father. Karl Berzelius had retired two years earlier, but that didn’t stop him from involving himself in Swedish jurisprudence. Especially concerning the cases where his daughter was the prosecutor. Twice a month he would phone Torsten and find out how she had done. This was something that her boss couldn’t possibly object to. And nor could Jana.
Karl was like that.
Forceful.
Controlling.
Torsten’s smile vanished from his face.
“Oh well, I must move on. I’ve got to go to the vet’s at four o’clock. My wife is worried about Ludde. Thanks for catching the cup, that saved us having to buy a new one.”
Torsten gave Jana a wink before leaving the room.
She remained standing beside the granite counter and watched him leave.
“You’re welcome,” she said quietly to herself.
*
The Juhlén bank account statements filled fifty-six pages. The bank official had been helpful and Ola S?derstr?m had thanked him politely three times in a row.
Now he looked quickly through the sheets that showed Hans Juhlén’s private account. On the twenty-fifth of every month a transfer of seventy-four thousand kronor was recorded from the Migration Board. Ola whistled when he read that impressive sum. It was a lot more than his salary of thirty-three thousand.
Two days later, on the twenty-seventh, a transfer was recorded from the same account of almost the entire balance. Only five hundred kronor were left, and that had been the pattern over the past ten months.
It was when he then started looking at the couple’s joint checking account that he realized that something was wrong. That was where the money from Hans Juhléns’s account had been transferred to. It wasn’t in itself strange in any way. What was odd were the large withdrawals of forty thousand kronor. Once a month, that same amount had been withdrawn from the account and the withdrawals had taken place on exactly the same day of the month and at exactly the same branch.
Always on the twenty-eighth. Always at Swedbank. And always at Lidaleden 8.
*
The information about the large cash withdrawals reached Henrik Levin from Ola while he was in the elevator at the police building. The reception on his cell was poor, and so he had to concentrate to hear Ola’s voice. He leaned against the lead-gray elevator wall and held his head at an angle so that the phone would be as high as possible. When that didn’t help, he stood as close to the doors as he could. Eventually he got off the elevator and heard the message.
“So forty thousand kronor has been withdrawn from their joint account every month, on the same day and for the last ten months,” he said when he stepped out of the lift.
“Yes, that is correct,” said Ola. “The question is what was the money used for? To pay a person blackmailing him?”
“We’ll have to find out.”
Henrik ended the call, and fast-dialed Mia to ask if she wanted to come with him to visit a bank in the district Hageby.
“He’s paid forty thousand a month? That’s just incredible!” Mia said.
“Are you coming with me to Hageby or not?”
“No, I’m only halfway done here,” said Mia and explained that it took time to go through all the current reports of missing children and adolescents. Contact with social services had led to nothing, and so far neither the residents at the Immigration Board’s refugee centers nor the teachers in the junior secondary schools had recognized the boy. And if nobody could explain his identity by the end of the day, Mia would have to look farther afield and start in neighboring municipalities. In the best case she might find something there.
“But it could also be the case that this boy doesn’t have any papers. That he comes from another country, and that he has come in without any contact with the Migration Board,” said Mia.
“Yes, but he must have had some sort of contact since he was evidently inside Juhlén’s house,” said Henrik.
“True,” said Mia.