Her question surprises him. ‘No, I can’t say that I do.’
‘I don’t prefer simplicity at all,’ she says emphatically. ‘Think about it … Everything about this case feels too simple, too neat. It was already nagging at me in ?stlund’s kitchen, but I couldn’t put my finger on what it was. And in Hannah ?stlund’s home we find the photographs. But they only show the murder victims. If you want to show that you’ve carried out a series of murders, why not make it as obvious as possible? Why isn’t there a picture of Hannah or Jessica painting Silfverberg’s apartment with his blood, something like that?’
He doesn’t quite understand what Jeanette’s getting at. ‘But Annette Lundstr?m identified Hannah ?stlund from the picture at the caverns.’
‘Yes, I know.’ Jeanette sounds irritated. ‘Annette said it was Hannah because she was missing her ring finger, but that was the only reason. Why doesn’t Hannah show her face? And there’s something else that’s bothering me. Why did they kill their dogs in such a revolting way?’
Jeanette’s got a point, Hurtig thinks. But he’s not entirely convinced. ‘So you mean it could be someone else? Someone who arranged the whole thing? The photographs and so on?’
She shakes her head. ‘I don’t know …’ Jeanette gives him a serious look. ‘This might sound like a long shot, but I think we should take another look at Madeleine Silfverberg. I’ll ask ?hlund to check the hotels in the city. After all, Madeleine had a good motive for killing her father.’
This is going too quickly for him. ‘Madeleine? That seems a bit far-fetched.’
‘Maybe it is.’
Jeanette gets out her phone as Hurtig passes beneath the Essinge motorway and heads towards Lindhagensplan. She asks ?hlund to get lists of people staying at the main hotels, then she pauses, takes out a pen and writes something down before ending the call. The conversation is over in less than a minute.
‘?hlund says Dürer owned three properties in Stockholm. An apartment on ?landsgatan that has already been sold. Another one on Biblioteksgatan, and a villa out in Norra Djurg?rden. I think we should check them out once we’ve spoken to Charlotte Silfverberg.’ She looks down at her notes. ‘Hundudden – do you know where that is?’
Always boats, he thinks. ‘Yes, there’s a small marina out there. Fairly exclusive, I believe … Hang on, did you say ?landsgatan? That’s the Monument block, isn’t it, where Samuel Bai was found dead?’
‘Not much we can do about that one. After Dürer’s death the apartment was renovated and then sold. We’ll have to check out Biblioteksgatan and Hundudden.’
Just as they’re getting out of the car, the door to the building opens and Charlotte Silfverberg emerges with a small suitcase in her hand.
The woman’s body language and the look on her face scream hostility.
‘Are you going somewhere?’ Jeanette gestures towards the case.
‘Just a cruise to ?land, nothing special,’ Charlotte Silfverberg says with forced laughter. ‘I need to get away and think about something else. It’s a cultural trip, you have some wine and listen to an expert talk about their work. This evening it’s Lasse Hallstr?m. He’s one of my favourite directors.’
Still smug and arrogant, Hurtig thinks. Not even the murder of her husband has changed her. How do people like that even exist?
‘This is about P-O,’ Jeanette says. ‘Perhaps we shouldn’t do this out in the street. Shall we go back up to the flat?’ Jeanette gestures towards the door.
‘Here on the street will do fine.’ Charlotte Silfverberg purses her lips and puts her suitcase down on the pavement. ‘What do you want?’
Jeanette tells her what they found out at Hannah ?stlund’s home.
The woman listens intently in silence, doesn’t ask a single question, and, when Jeanette has finished, her response is immediate. ‘OK, great, so now we know who did it.’
Hurtig is taken aback by the emotionless statement, and sees Jeanette react as well.
‘Not that I know anything about police work,’ Charlotte goes on, fixing her eyes on Hurtig and holding his gaze a fraction too long before turning towards Jeanette. ‘But it seems to me as if you’ve been almost incredibly lucky to be able to solve this so quickly. Or am I wrong?’
Hurtig can see that Jeanette is bubbling with rage and knows that she’s counting to ten.
The woman smiles maliciously. ‘And lucky for me that Hannah and Jessica killed themselves,’ she says. ‘Otherwise they’d probably have tried to kill me as well. Maybe it was me they were really after, not P-O?’
Now he can feel his own temperature rising. ‘That might be your opinion,’ he says. ‘But I must say I really can’t understand it. What could they possibly have against such a charming, sensitive person as you?’
Jeanette stares at him, and he understands he’s crossed the line.
The woman’s eyes flash. ‘Sarcasm really doesn’t suit you. Hannah and Jessica were crazy, even as teenagers. When they chose to shut themselves away, I suppose their madness had the space to blossom.’
He realises that there’s nothing else to say. Seeing as the perpetrators are dead, the case will be closed. Even though Jeanette still seems to have her doubts, he thinks.
‘Well, thank you,’ Jeanette says.
Charlotte Silfverberg nods and picks up her suitcase. ‘Here’s my taxi, so perhaps we can put an end to our little chat now.’ She waves at the car as it drives up and pulls over to the kerb.
Hurtig opens the back door, and, as the woman gets in, he can’t resist.
‘Say hi to Lasse,’ he says, before closing the door.
That’s the last time they see Charlotte Silfverberg. Twelve hours later she’ll be fighting for her life in the chill waters of the ?land Sea.
Skanstull – a Neighborhood
SOFIA ZETTERLUND IS about to set off into her labyrinth again.
She picks up the receiver to call Jeanette, but changes her mind and puts it down again. Linnea is dead, she thinks. A feeling of despair washes over her. She needs to take the rest of the day off.
She changes into a little black dress, a long grey coat and the high-heeled shoes that are far too small for her and chafe her heels. She finishes putting on her make-up, nods a silent goodbye to the receptionist and heads out into Swedenborgsgatan.
She’s sleepwalking as she turns onto Ringv?gen, heading towards the Clarion Hotel down at Skanstull. ‘You bastards,’ she mutters as the sound of her heels on the pavement is muffled by the haze of the dream and gets softer and softer.
Soon the Sleepwalker doesn’t hear the cars passing her, doesn’t see the people.
She nods to the doorman at the entrance to the hotel and goes inside. The bar is at the far end of the building, and she sits down at a table and waits.
Go home, she thinks. Sofia Zetterlund has gone home. No, she’s gone to the supermarket on Folkungagatan to buy groceries, then she’s going to go home and make dinner.