Linda, As in the Linda Murder

91

On the Monday following that weekend, Anna Holt decided to go on the offensive and confront Bengt Månsson with Lewin’s summary of what he had been up to. The friendly, listening Lisa Mattei was to be replaced by Anna Sandberg, if only to remind him of his great, and only, interest in life.

‘How were you thinking of doing this, Anna?’ Sandberg asked.

‘I talk, you listen. If I want you to say something, you’ll notice in advance.’

‘Fine by me.’

‘No threats, no promises, no rush. Otherwise you can be as bitchy as you like.’

‘I don’t think that last bit will be too much of a problem,’ Anna Sandberg said.

‘Seeing as I’ve tried to be honest with you all the way through, Bengt, I thought I should show you this summary,’ Holt began, passing him a copy of Jan Lewin’s timeline.

‘Thanks, I appreciate that,’ Månsson said politely.

‘Good,’ Anna Holt said with a friendly smile. ‘Then I suggest you read it through quietly. Everything there is what we already know without having to ask you, but it would still be very interesting to hear your explanation.’

‘Well, of course I can see what it says,’ Månsson said five minutes later, when he had finished reading. ‘And when I see it like that I remember that I probably did meet Linda that evening... that night,’ he corrected. ‘I remember that to start with we sat and talked, and then we had sex with each other, on a sofa, I think it was... but after that I don’t remember a thing.’

‘You don’t remember a thing?’ Holt repeated.

‘It’s like a black hole,’ Månsson said.

‘What’s the next thing you do remember, then?’ Holt asked.

Månsson remembered meeting an old girlfriend. In her home. She lived in Kalmar. They had spent the day having sex. They went to a concert that evening. Gyllene Tider. He remembered that. He had actually bought the tickets before midsummer, through a personal contact from work.

After that it was all black. All he knew was that he had felt a great sense of angst. He remembered that. And he had simply walked out. Left his friend there. Left the concert. And gone home to his flat. He seemed to remember catching the bus from Kalmar to Växjö. A black hole, terrible angst, home again. He didn’t know when, but it must have been some time during the day because there were people about.

‘So you got home again some time on Saturday, in the middle of the day?’

‘If you say so.’ Månsson shrugged. ‘It’s all just a black hole.’

‘Is there anything you’re wondering about, Anna?’ Holt said, turning to her colleague.

‘So all you can remember is that you can’t remember?’ Anna Sandberg said acidly.

‘Yes,’ Månsson said, looking at her as if he’d only just realized she was in the room.

‘But you remember that you have a lapse in your memory, you’re sure about that?’

‘Yes. It’s all just a black hole.’

‘Between four o’clock on Friday morning and some time later that day, it’s all just a black hole?’

‘Yes,’ Månsson said. ‘Exactly. I can’t explain it.’

‘No, I don’t suppose you can,’ Sandberg agreed. ‘I’ve never heard of such a precise memory lapse before. It’s funny that you remember it so clearly, as well. That you remember what you don’t remember, I mean, and that it just happens to cover the period when you raped and strangled Linda.’

‘You can’t think I’d sit here and lie about something like that?’ Månsson protested.

‘You probably daren’t confess,’ Sandberg said with a shrug of her shoulders. ‘You’re simply too much of a coward. I suppose you’re the one we should all be feeling sorry for.’

‘That black hole,’ Holt said, changing the subject. ‘You couldn’t try to describe it? What does it look like?’

Like an ordinary hole. Which made him feel terrible angst without him knowing why.

‘Terrible things seem to have happened when you were down in that hole,’ Sandberg pointed out. ‘How about trying to climb out of it?’

‘How do you mean?’ Månsson said.

‘By telling us what you were doing down there. While you were down there.’

‘I don’t know,’ Månsson said. ‘I just found myself there.’

They didn’t get any further than that, even though they carried on all day. Towards the end Månsson himself had several things that he wanted to say to them. Important things. It was important that they understood them. First, he hadn’t killed Linda. They had had sex with each other. Entirely voluntarily. He hadn’t harmed her in any way.

‘How can you know that?’ Sandberg interrupted. ‘After all, you don’t remember anything, do you?’

Månsson knew, even though he couldn’t remember anything. He could never do anything like that. He couldn’t even imagine contemplating anything like that.

‘Well, give it some thought,’ Holt suggested, and then she concluded the session.

‘Okay, we’ve got him inside the flat now. We’ve got him on the sofa, having sex with Linda,’ Anna Sandberg said, sounding precisely as bloodthirsty as she had been feeling all the way through.

‘I suppose so,’ Anna Holt said with a shrug. ‘But we’re not the ones he’s telling.’

‘I’m afraid I’m not with you,’ Sandberg said.

‘We’re never going to get him any further than that,’ Holt said, shaking her head. ‘He just wanted to launch the idea of his black hole.’

‘At least he’s admitting that he doesn’t remember.’

‘He’s not stupid. He’ll have learned everything that Enoksson and his colleagues came up with off by heart. His lawyer will have seen to that.’

‘There’s one thing I’ve been wondering about,’ Sandberg said. ‘Why doesn’t he try the other tactic? The sex game that got out of hand?’

‘I expect his lawyer has advised him against that in no uncertain terms,’ Holt said.