When Jeanette asks him how he can remember something that happened so long ago in such detail, he replies that he has an excellent memory and a quick mind.
‘Was there good reason to believe him?’ Jeanette attempts. ‘I mean, Per-Ola and his wife left Denmark as soon as he was released, and to my mind at least, that seems to suggest that he had something to hide.’
The prosecutor lets out a deep sigh. ‘We were confident that he was telling the truth.’
Jeanette shakes her head in bewilderment. ‘Even though his daughter claimed he’d done all manner of things to her? It seems quite incredible to me that he should be exonerated so easily.’
‘Not to me.’ The prosecutor’s eyes narrow behind his glasses. A faint smile plays on his lips. ‘I’ve been doing this so long that I know that mistakes and miscalculations are always happening.’
Jeanette realises she’s not going to get any further and changes the subject.
‘What can you tell me about the Ulrika Wendin case?’
‘What do you want to know?’ He takes a deep gulp of water. ‘That was seven years ago now,’ he goes on.
‘Yes, but with your excellent memory I’m sure you remember that it was the same Gert Berglind who was in charge of the investigation into Karl Lundstr?m, which was also dropped. You didn’t see any connection?’
‘No, it never occurred to me that there might be one.’
‘When Annette Lundstr?m gave Karl an alibi for the night that Ulrika Wendin was raped, you dropped the case. You didn’t even check if her information was correct. Have I got that right?’
Jeanette can feel herself getting angry, and tries to control herself. She knows she mustn’t explode. That she must stay calm no matter what she might think of the prosecutor’s actions.
‘I made a choice,’ he says calmly. ‘A decision based on the information I had available to me. My interview was concerned with whether or not Lundstr?m had been present. And my interview with him showed that he hadn’t been. It was as simple as that. I had no suspicions that he might have been lying.’
‘You don’t think now that you should have followed the whole thing up rather more rigorously?’
‘Annette Lundstr?m’s account was just one part of the information I had, but obviously it could have been followed up better. Everything could have been followed up better.’
‘And you told Gert Berglind and the investigating team that they should continue?’
‘Of course.’
‘Yet that didn’t happen?’
‘That would have been a decision they made based on all the facts at their disposal.’
Jeanette sees von Kwist’s smile. His voice is that of a snake.
Jutas Backe – Stockholm City Centre
THE MENTAL HEALTH Care Reform that came into force on 1 January, 1995, intended to integrate the mentally ill into society, was poorly thought out. The fact that it had a very personal impact on the chairman of the committee behind the reform, the minister of social affairs, Bo Holmberg, is a bitter irony. His wife, Foreign Minister Anna Lindh, was murdered by a man whom the Court of Appeal decreed was mentally ill, and who ought therefore to have been in secure accommodation. A large number of hospitals may have been closed in the 1970s, but it’s impossible not to wonder what might have happened if the Mental Health Inquiry had reached a different conclusion.
There are approximately two thousand beds in homeless shelters in Stockholm, and five thousand homeless people, most of them with alcohol and drug problems, which means that there’s a constant battle for them to get a roof over their heads.
Because something like half of them also suffer from some form of mental illness, fighting often breaks out over the available beds, and many of them therefore choose to sleep elsewhere.
In the large caverns beneath St Johannes Church whole colonies of people have developed, all sharing the fact that they have fallen outside the protection of ordinary society.
In the damp, cathedral-like spaces they have found something resembling security.
Small shelters made of plastic or tarpaulin stand alongside some pieces of cardboard and a sleeping bag.
The quality of these shelters varies hugely, and some could almost be regarded as rather elegant.
At the top of Jutas backe she turns onto Johannesgatan and walks along the churchyard railing.
Every step carries her closer to something new, a place where she might be able to stay, and be happy. Change her name, change her clothes, and get rid of the past. A place where her life can take a new direction.
She pulls her woolly hat from her coat pocket and takes care to hide her blonde hair as she puts it on.
The familiar tingle in her stomach is back, and, just like last time, she wonders what to do if she needs to go to the toilet.
It had all resolved itself in the end, seeing as the victim had let her in, had even invited her in. Per-Ola Silfverberg had been naive, far too trusting for his own good.
He had been standing with his back to her when she drew the large knife and cut the artery on his lower right arm. He had slumped to his knees, turned round and looked at her, then at the pool of blood on the pale parquet floor. His breathing was laboured, but he still tried to get up, and she had let him, knowing he didn’t stand a chance. When she took out her Polaroid camera he had looked surprised.
It had taken her almost two weeks to track the woman down to the caves beneath the church. In spite of her background, Fredrika Grünewald had ended up on the streets, and had over the past ten years become known as the Duchess. She knows that the Grünewald family, as a result of Fredrika’s poor judgement and risky investments, has lost the whole of its fortune.
For a while she wasn’t sure about following through with her plan to exact revenge on Fredrika Grünewald, since everything’s already gone to hell for her, but you have to finish what you’ve started.
There’s no space for sympathy.
Memories of Fredrika Grünewald come back to her once more. She sees a filthy floor and hears their breathing. The stench of sweat, damp earth and machine oil.
No matter whether Fredrika Grünewald was the instigator or just someone carrying out her role, she was guilty. Choosing not to act can also confer guilt.
She turns into Kammakargatan, then left again down into D?belnsgatan. She’s now on the opposite side of the church, where the entrance is supposed to be. She slows and looks hard for the door the beggar told her about. Some fifty metres ahead of her she sees a dark figure standing under a tree. Beside him is a grey metal door, ajar, and from inside comes the faint sound of voices.
She’s found the caverns.
‘And who the fuck are you?’
The man steps out from the darkness under the tree.
He’s drunk, which is good, because his memory of her will be vague, possibly even non-existent.
‘Do you know the Duchess?’ She looks him in the eye, but because he’s badly cross-eyed she finds it hard to know which one to focus on.
He stares back. ‘Why?’