Henrik walked out of the police building, unlocked his car, got in and started to drive. He was still on his phone, grateful that Sweden had yet to ban the use of cell phones while driving.
“Or perhaps it’s simply a question of his parents not having noticed that he is missing. Perhaps they don’t read the papers, and think their son is staying with a friend or a relative or something,” Mia went on.
“Sure, but I think most parents know where their children are and would contact the police if they didn’t come home in time. Wouldn’t you?” said Henrik and stopped at a red traffic light at a pedestrian crossing.
A mother with two small children crossed in front of him. Both children took big steps so as not to touch the parts between the white pedestrian crossing lines. The blue bobbles on their caps bounced up and down with every step they took.
“Yes, I suppose I would, but not all parents react in the same way.”
“No, you’re right of course.”
“But we can at least hope we soon get in a report of a missing boy. It would be very nice to find out who he is.”
“Or that we strike it lucky at one of the schools that we still have to check.”
Henrik ended the conversation, put the phone down next to the gearshift and looked out of the window. The mother and children had now crossed the street and disappeared behind a house corner.
Henrik stroked the steering wheel and sighed, his thoughts on the dead boy. It was weird that he still hadn’t been reported missing by anybody. And even weirder was that his finger and handprints were found in Juhlén’s house. Could pedophilia be involved? A boy out for revenge who wanted to kill the man who abused him? The thought wasn’t completely absurd, but it was unpleasant and he immediately dismissed it.
There was a lot of traffic on Kungsgatan and Henrik drove slowly past Skvallertorget and on toward the park. He took the third exit at the roundabout and continued down S?dra Promenaden. The traffic got a bit lighter when he reached the E22, and after a couple of kilometers he took the exit toward Mirum Galleria.
The big parking deck was deserted, and when he got out of the car his steps echoed against the concrete slabs that surrounded him.
Ten minutes before closing, Henrik entered the brightly lit Swedbank branch office. Three customers were waiting with queue numbers in their hands. One bank official with back-combed hair and a young look was helping customers; the other counters were closed.
Henrik showed his search warrant and was promised help if he could wait the ten minutes that remained of official hours of operation. So he sat down in an egg-shaped armchair, listened to an advertising jingle that insisted that everybody was welcome to H&M, which was located on the second floor of the mall. He studied the shoppers going past.
“Well now, Chief Inspector. Please come with me.”
The bank official signaled to Henrik and showed him the way in behind the counter. They sat down beside a long table in a small conference room. The bank manager, a shortish woman in her fifties with a flowery red blouse, entered the room and joined them at the table.
Henrik explained why he was there.
“I’m grateful that you came to us in person. As you know, we are restricted by bank confidentiality. I spoke to your colleague earlier today,” said the woman.
“Ola?”
“Yes, Ola, and we gave him all the details about the Juhlén account.”
“I know, and it was clear that Hans Juhlén withdrew forty thousand kronor every month here, at your bank. It is extremely important that we can ascertain why he withdrew such a large amount of money.”
“We rarely ask what customers are going to use their money for, but we are most restrictive when it comes to large cash withdrawals. Customers who want to withdraw more than fifteen thousand in cash must notify us in advance.”
“I understand, but in that case Hans Juhlén must have given you advance notice many times,” said Henrik.
“No, he wasn’t the person who did it,” said the woman.
“Well, who, then?”
“It was his wife, Kerstin Juhlén.”
CHAPTER
SIXTEEN
GUNNAR ?HRN WAS listening to the reporter on the car radio who announced that after an upcoming item about the history of a Swedish charity organization, he promised to play a legendary track. When the first notes came out of the speaker, Gunnar immediately recognized the voice of the singer and he drummed on the steering wheel in time to the lovely rock music.
Bruce Springsteen.
“The Boss. Oh yeah!” he called out.
Gunnar turned up the volume and drummed even harder to the refrain.
He sneaked a glance at Anneli Lindgren, who was sitting next to him in the passenger seat, to see if she was impressed by his solo on the wheel. But she wasn’t. She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the headrest.
It was half past three in the afternoon. For the last ten hours she had worked at the murder scene out at Viddviken. When Gunnar had arrived, she had been standing there in wading boots with the water up to her waist. She walked back to the shore to meet him.
“How are you getting on?” Gunnar had asked.
“I’ve got some water samples,” Anneli answered and unfastened the shoulder straps before pulling off the waders. “We’ve combed through the area. Not even worth thinking about shoe prints as it seems a whole lot of people walk across here.”
“Have you dragged the bay?”
“Twice, but no other weapon.”
“And the bullet? Did you find it?”
“Yes. And we also found something interesting. Come, I want to show you something.”
Gunnar had followed Anneli away from the bay up to the gravel road. After twenty meters, she had turned off from the heavily compacted track and stepped out into the grass edging, carefully bending back some undergrowth in front of her. Gunnar then leaned forward to see what she wanted to show him. A smile immediately spread across his face.
Tire tracks were visible on the ground.
And they were deep.
Anneli had been exultant to discover the tracks. Now she sat in Gunnar’s passenger seat and said nothing.
Gunnar turned the volume down. “Tired?” he said.
“Yes.”
“Can you manage a briefing? I’ve called in everybody for 4:00 p.m.”
“Sure.”
“I can give you a lift home after.”
“That’s kind, but I’ve got to get my car home. Adam has his football practice at eight o’clock. Have you forgotten?”
“Oh Christ, yes, of course today is Wednesday.”
Gunnar leaned his elbow against the window and put his index finger under his nose.
“But I can give him a lift too. I mean, if you want me to. We can all go together,” he said.
“Yes, if you’d like to...that’d be nice.”
Anneli rubbed under her eyes.
“Oh no,” said Gunnar and put his hand on his forehead.
“What’s the matter?” said Anneli.
“I’ve forgotten it again. The big box in the attic.”
“It’s not a big deal.”
“But it’s the last box with your things.”
“Well, if it’s been up in the attic until now perhaps it can stay there a bit longer.”
“This evening I’ll put it right next to the front door. Then I’m absolutely bound to remember to take it with me.”
“Good idea.”
There was silence for a few seconds.
“Nice that you’re coming along with us this evening. Adam will be happy,” Anneli said.
“I know,” said Gunnar.
“I’ll be happy too.”
“I know.”
“Won’t you be happy?”
“Anneli, stop it. There’s no point.”
“Why isn’t there?”
“Because.”
“Have you met somebody?”
“No, I haven’t. But we’ve decided to have it like this now.”
“You’ve decided, yes. Not me.”
“Okay, this time it was me. I really want it to be like this now. I think things are okay between us. That we keep it on a good level, I mean.”
“On your level.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Nothing.”
“I was just trying to be friendly by giving you and Adam a ride, what’s wrong with that?”
“You don’t have to give us a ride. We can manage well without your help.”
“Okay, let’s skip it, then.”
“Yes, let’s do that.”
“Fine.”