Dark Angel

‘So now we have another motive,’ said Smittenberg, twirling the ends of the moustache he’d recently affected. ‘The mysterious mistress.’

Knutas wrote Mistress on the whiteboard and then turned again to Thomas Wittberg.

‘You might as well write Wife, while you’re at it,’ Smittenberg suggested. ‘From what I gather, Elisabeth Algård doesn’t have an alibi, does she?’

Knutas did as the prosecutor requested.

‘There’s one theory that may be a long shot, but we still can’t rule it out,’ Wittberg interjected. ‘The fact is, the conference centre has been a very controversial construction project. It’s possible that someone murdered Algård to protest against the dedication of the building.’

‘A statement from rabid environmentalists, maybe? That sounds really credible,’ Jacobsson teased him.

‘We need to keep all avenues open,’ Knutas countered, his voice sharp.

He added the words Conference Centre to the list and again turned to Wittberg.

‘What have you found out so far from talking to the waiters and service personnel?’

‘According to a bartender, shortly after midnight Algård told him that he was going to take a break. It was the first time all evening that he left the party. After that no one saw him again.’

‘And no one missed him?’ asked Jacobsson in surprise.

‘The dinner was over by the time he took a break, and then the dancing started up and there was a lot of commotion. We’re talking about more than five hundred guests, after all. The people that we’ve interviewed so far seem to have taken it for granted that Algård was on the scene somewhere, but none of them can pinpoint exactly the last time they saw him.’

‘Was he alone when he left?’

‘Yes, he headed downstairs to the section of the building that was closed off for the evening.’

‘The perp could have been someone he worked with,’ said Jacobsson. ‘What do we know about any problems on the job? We should look into that.’

Knutas wrote Work Colleague on the board.

‘As of now, we haven’t come up with anything significant other than the trouble at his club,’ said Wittberg. ‘We need to keep working.’

THE GROUP FROM the National Criminal Police in Stockholm arrived in the afternoon. There was none of the hullabaloo that always ensued whenever Martin Kihlgård was part of the group, and Knutas reluctantly had to admit that he missed his charismatic colleague. Even though Kihlgård frequently drove Knutas crazy, at least he was entertaining. Jacobsson politely greeted their newly arrived associates, but displayed what seemed like a deliberate lack of interest in talking to them. Knutas found that annoying. It wasn’t their fault that Kihlgård was ill.

In charge of the group was an inconsequential-looking man by the name of Rylander. Under his direction, they immediately set to work on the most pressing task: scheduling and recording the huge number of interviews. Some had already been conducted, but hundreds of others still needed to be done.

Viktor Algård’s two children were coming to the police station to be interviewed, but his wife couldn’t muster the strength to do the same. So the police would have to go to the Algård house. Knutas thought that was actually just as well. He wanted to see Algård’s home to get a better picture of what the man was like as a person. The police had already searched the house without finding anything of interest. The same could not be said of the victim’s flat on Hästgatan. In the bathroom the police had found perfume, a hair dryer and other feminine toiletries. In the bedroom were shoes and clothing belonging to a woman, but of course they might be his wife’s. Knutas had decided to wait to ask about these items until he could talk to Elisabeth Algård in person.

As soon as the morning meeting was over, Jacobsson and Knutas headed for Hamra to interview the widow.

First, however, they made a detour to Bokströmsgatan and parked in front of Knutas’s house.

‘I just need to run in and see Nils for a moment,’ he explained. ‘He stayed home from school because he had a stomach ache this morning.’

‘But isn’t he sixteen by now?’

‘Children still need their parents. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. They’re never too old for a little parental concern.’

Knutas gave her a wry smile as he opened the car door. Jacobsson made a choking sound, as if something had got lodged in her throat. Then she had a coughing fit.

‘Are you coming down with something too?’ Knutas asked.

He pounded his colleague on the back as tears ran down Jacobsson’s cheeks. Knutas looked at her in astonishment.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘It’s nothing,’ she told him. ‘I must have swallowed something the wrong way. That’s all. I think I’ll wait in the car.’

‘OK.’

The house was dark and silent. Knutas tiptoed upstairs so as not to wake Nils if he was asleep. Cautiously he opened the door. Nils was sitting at his desk next to the window with his back turned. His computer was on. Knutas saw at once the picture of Alexander Almlöv that had been published in the newspapers.