Midwinter Sacrifice

44

Karl Murvall’s flat.

Two rooms.

Improbably tidy. Sparsely furnished.

It looks like Bengt Andersson’s home, Malin thinks. Just as functional, with a bookcase, sofa, a desk by the window.

No ornaments, no plants, no decoration, nothing to disturb the simplicity, or rather the emptiness, apart from a bowl of fragrant yellow and red winter apples on the desk.

Books about computer programming, maths, Stephen King. An engineer’s bookcase.

‘Coffee?’ Karl Murvall asks, and it strikes Malin that his voice is lighter than his brothers’, and that he makes a milder, but nonetheless harder impression somehow. Like someone who has been through a lot, who has seen and heard a great deal. A bit like Janne, the way he looks when someone talks about the hardships they’ve endured on their walking holiday in the mountains, that mixture of derision and sympathy, and a hint of ‘just be glad you don’t know what you’re talking about’.

‘Too late in the day for me,’ Zeke says. ‘But Detective Inspector Fors here would probably like a cup.’

‘Please.’

‘Sit yourselves down in the meantime.’

Karl Murvall gestures towards the sofa and they sit down, hear him busying himself in the kitchen, and after five minutes or so he’s back with a tray of steaming cups.

‘I brought a third anyway, just in case,’ Karl Murvall says, putting the tray on the coffee table before sitting down on the office chair by the desk.

‘Nice flat,’ Malin says.

‘Well, how can I help you?’

‘Have you been at work all day?’

Karl Murvall nods. ‘Did you try to get me earlier?’

‘Yes,’ Malin says.

‘I work a lot. I’m IT manager out at the Collins factory in Vikingstad. Three hundred and fifty employees, and increasing amounts of computerisation.’

‘A good job.’

‘Yes. I did computer engineering at university, and it’s paid off.’

‘You could afford something bigger,’ Malin says.

‘Material things don’t really interest me. Property just means responsibilities. I don’t need anything bigger than this.’

Karl Murvall takes a sip of coffee before going on: ‘But that’s not why you’re here.’

‘Bengt Andersson,’ Zeke says.

‘The man in the tree,’ Karl Murvall says quietly. ‘Awful.’

‘Did you know him?’

‘I’ve known who he was ever since my childhood in Ljungsbro. The whole family knew of him.’

‘But no more than that?’

‘No.’

‘You didn’t know he was questioned during the investigation into the rape of your sister?’

Without his tone changing, Karl Murvall replies, ‘Well, that’s only natural. He was one of her clients, and she cared about all of them. She got him to take care of his personal hygiene.’

‘Are you and your sister close?’

‘It’s very hard to be close to her.’

‘But before?’

Karl Murvall looks away.

‘Do you visit her?’

Silence again.

‘You and your brothers seem to have a strained relationship,’ Zeke says.

‘My half-brothers,’ Karl Murvall says. ‘We don’t have any contact at all. That’s correct.’

‘Why is that?’ Malin asks.

‘I got an education. I’ve got a good job and I pay my taxes. That’s the sort of thing that doesn’t sit well with my half-brothers. I presume they’re angry about it. They probably think I imagine I’m better than them.’

‘And your mum as well?’ Zeke goes on.

‘Maybe my mother most of all.’

‘You’re half-brothers. On your birth certificate it says that your father’s identity is unknown.’

‘I’m Rakel Murvall’s first child. My father was a sailor who disappeared in a shipwreck when she was pregnant. That’s all I know. Then she met him, their father, Blackie.’

‘What was he like?’

‘To begin with, a drunk. Then a crippled drunk. Then a dead drunk.’

‘But he took you on?’

‘I don’t understand what my childhood has to do with any of this, Detective Inspector Fors, I really don’t.’

And Malin can see the change in Karl Murvall’s eyes, how matter-of-factness turns to sadness, and then to anger.

‘Maybe you two ought to be therapists instead. Those people out on the plain live their lives, I live mine, and that’s just the way it is, all right?’

Zeke leans forward. ‘Just for the sake of formality: what were you doing on the night between Wednesday and Thursday last week?’

‘I was at work. I had a big update of the system to install and it had to be done at night. The security guard at Collins can confirm that. But is that really necessary?’

‘We don’t know yet, but no, probably not.’

‘Were you working alone?’

‘Yes, I always do when it’s a difficult job. To be honest, no one else understands what needs doing, and they just get in the way. But the guard can confirm that I was there all night.’

‘What do you know about your brothers’ affairs?’

‘Nothing. And if I knew anything I wouldn’t tell you. They are my brothers, in spite of everything. And if you don’t look after each other within your own family, when else would you?’

As they are pulling on their jackets and getting ready to leave the flat, Malin turns to face Karl Murvall.

‘I noticed the roof-box on the car. Do you ski?’

‘I have it for carrying things,’ Karl Murvall says, before going on: ‘I don’t ski. Sport has never been my thing.’

‘Well, thanks for the coffee,’ Malin says.

‘Thanks,’ Zeke says.

‘But you didn’t touch yours,’ Karl Murvall says.

‘Maybe, but thanks anyway,’ Zeke says.

Malin and Zeke are standing side by side next to Karl Murvall’s estate. The back of the car is covered by blankets, and on top of the blankets is a large toolbox.

‘He can’t have had it easy, growing up out there,’ Malin says.

‘No, just thinking about it gives me nightmares.’

‘Do you want to go out to see Niklas Nyrén?’

‘Malin, we must have called him at least ten times. He’ll have to wait till tomorrow. Go home and rest. Go home to Tove.’