The Hand that Trembles

NINETEEN

Nilsson, Ottosson, Fredriksson, Haver, and Beatrice Andersson were all listening to Lindell’s lecture, but as if through a silent pact none of them revealed how comical her enthusiasm sounded. On the table she had spread out about a dozen photographs of the site and the surrounding area.

She was talking about the archipelago.

‘It’s chilly out there now,’ Sammy Nilsson said.

‘Not really,’ Lindell said, ‘the sun was shining, it was idyllic.’

‘If it weren’t for that foot,’ Beatrice said roughly.

Lindell shot her a look.

‘Can you describe the shoe?’ Haver asked.

‘One of those Chinese shoes made of cloth, with a strap across the foot, size five.’

‘It sounds more like a slipper this time of year.’

Lindell smiled at Haver. He wanted to start bouncing off ideas.

‘Exactly,’ she said, and remembered at the same time that she had decided not to use that word so much.

‘So, you’re going to look into it?’

Ottosson’s question was more of a formality. He knew now that it was Östhammar and not Öregrund, it was no longer an issue.

Lindell nodded.

‘I started reading up on it last night.’

She told them about Bosse Marksson observing fox tracks in the snow and getting the idea that an animal had dragged the foot to the spot. In fact he could not imagine another scenario. You just don’t go running around with a severed foot, as he put it.

Ottosson smiled sweetly.

‘All right,’ he said. ‘If we look after things around here then you can head out to the coast. Or will you wait until tomorrow?’

‘I have some things to get done today,’ Lindell said, and stood up as she gave Beatrice a long look, but it was only now that she realised why Beatrice had had that expression and the ironic tone of voice.

Her colleague had never made any bones about the fact that she found Lindell’s attachment to Edvard on Gräsö Island bordering on the unhealthy. During one party Ann Lindell had explained to Beatrice that she had left that episode behind her, but Beatrice – emboldened by wine – had told her to stop lying to herself and others. Why hadn’t she taken up with anyone new if Edvard was a closed chapter? Lindell had left the party.

And now Beatrice had the stomach to joke at her expense at a case meeting. Lindell decided to ignore her.

The night before, Lindell had called Elsa Persson’s home telephone repeatedly but no one answered.

Even though Berglund had chosen another case, she had promised to contact the county commissioner’s wife, and therefore she decided to go out to see her. To be honest she was curious about what she looked like and above all how she had reacted to the news from India.

Lindell fetched her car from behind the police building and drove out toward Luthagsleden Expressway. After a quarter of an hour she turned onto the street where Elsa Persson lived.

Number 17 did not stand out noticeably from the row of houses that looked like a set of attached boxes. She parked, observed that the newspaper was still sticking out of the mailbox, got out of the car, and walked up the few steps to the front door. Not a sound could be heard on the cul-de-sac.

The doorbell was discreet; a faint buzz sounded. After a second try and a minute’s pause she gave up.

‘Are you looking for Elsa?’

Lindell turned. A woman had appeared in the door of the next house over.

‘Yes, actually. My name is Ann Lindell, from the Uppsala police.’

‘I see,’ the neighbour said doubtfully. ‘Are you investigating the accident? But then you would know…’

‘What accident?’

‘You haven’t heard?’

Lindell walked closer to the low fence that separated the properties. She saw that the woman had been crying.

‘Maybe you could tell me what happened,’ Lindell said.

She was invited into number 19 instead of 17 and got to hear the whole story at the kitchen table.

‘Did you know her husband?’ she asked when she had a clear understanding of the facts.

‘Of course,’ the woman said. ‘We lived right next door. And I know he has been seen in India recently. It must have been a shock for Elsa. Poor woman!’

Lindell saw that the neighbour was close to tears again.

‘I know this is upsetting, but could you tell me a little more about Elsa?’

The woman gave her a quick look.

‘What do we know about other people’s thoughts,’ she said finally.

‘But she must have said something.’

‘You say one thing, but maybe…’

She fell silent.

‘Tell me what you’re thinking.’

‘Honestly speaking, I think she was just happy that Sven-Arne disappeared. But Elsa is so controlled, so measured when it comes to emotions. She was brought up that way. She is a teacher,’ she added after a short pause, as if this could further explain Elsa Persson’s reserve.

‘But then for some reason her world fell apart?’

The neighbour nodded.

‘Could it be something financial?’

‘I don’t think so. Elsa managed well, and I don’t understand how a dead man’s unexpected return could disrupt her life in terms of money. But there was something that threw her completely off balance. She is not an absentminded person, she would never walk out in front of a car like that.’

‘Do you have any ideas?’

‘She talked about Sven-Arne’s uncle, Ante Persson. I have met him as well. He used to write letters to the editor. A real troublemaker, even in older days. He was against everything. Elsa has never liked him. I think – and now I am speculating – that the uncle said something when Elsa visited him right after she had been informed that Sven-Arne was still alive. He lives in a home – Ramund, I think it is – you know, the assisted living place in Eriksdal.’

‘What could he possibly have told her?’

‘Elsa said she had been betrayed. That uncle and Sven-Arne were close, maybe they had been in cahoots.’

In cahoots, Lindell thought, and visualised two figures gathered around a pot of stew, nursing secrets.

After a couple more minutes of conversation, Ann Lindell felt she had a clear picture of the situation. This restrained woman, Elsa Persson, had been completely thrown for a loop, that much was clear. It was enough to awaken Lindell’s curiosity, but she decided to drop the matter. Now at least there was something to report back to Berglund. Maybe he wouldn’t care, now that he had dusted off his old murder case, but she had done what was expected.