The killer's art

20

But today was a new day, and Johan and Pia had agreed to start off with the gallery, provided it was open after the events that had occurred. They at least hoped to find someone working there.

As they drove, Pia peeked at him from under the straggly black fringe that hung into her eyes. ‘You’re not angry, are you?’

‘Of course not. We just happen to disagree.’

‘Good,’ she said, patting his knee.

‘I wonder who that was inside the gallery yesterday,’ said Johan, just to change the subject.

‘Maybe it was an employee who saw us arrive and didn’t feel like talking,’ said Pia. ‘They must have to clean up the place after an opening.’

‘You’re probably right.’

‘And maybe they needed to have a chat about what happened,’ said Pia, swerving to miss a big orange cat that ran across the road.

She expertly steered the car through the narrow cobblestoned streets and parked in the middle of Stora Torget. That was no problem in the wintertime when the open marketplace was empty of all the booths and vendors’ stalls that filled the square in the summer.

Pia set up her equipment on the street and began filming. Just as she turned on the camera, a plump older woman wearing a sheepskin coat and cap came walking over with a bouquet of flowers in her hand.

Johan quickly approached with a microphone. ‘What do you think about the murder?’

The woman looked a bit hesitant at first, but quickly collected herself. ‘It’s dreadful that something like that could happen here, in little Visby. And he was such a nice man, Egon. Always friendly and amiable. It’s hard to believe that this has actually happened.’ ‘Why are you bringing flowers here?’

‘It’s the least I can do to honour Egon. Everybody is terribly shocked.’

‘Does it make you scared?’

‘You do start thinking about the fact that a crazy man might be on the loose. And whether it’s even safe to go out any more.’

The woman had tears in her eyes. She fell silent and waved her hand to indicate that Pia should stop filming. Johan asked whether he could use her in his report. She agreed and clearly spelled her name for him.

A modern sign made of steel was posted between the medieval masonry anchors in the rough stone facade, stating that the name of the gallery was Wallin Art. In the display window was a photograph of Egon Wallin with a lit candle in front of it. When they tried the door, they found that it was locked, but they could see people moving about inside. Johan pounded on the door and managed to catch a woman’s attention. She came over and opened the door for them. A bell rang as they entered. The woman introduced herself as Eva Blom. At a counter stood another woman, printing the words ‘Closed due to death of the proprietor’ on a piece of paper.

‘We’re planning to stay closed today,’ Eva Blom explained, giving them a forced smile. ‘I assume that Monika wouldn’t want us to try to conduct business as usual. Especially considering all the reporters who’ve been ringing, both yesterday and now this morning.’ She cast a glance at Pia, who was already in the process of filming the picture of Egon Wallin in the window.

Eva Blom was evidently fond of red. She wore a black jumper and skirt, with bright-red lipstick that looked good against her milky-white complexion. She looked up at Johan, her blue eyes staring at him from behind red-framed glasses. ‘What do you want?’

He introduced himself and Pia. ‘We’re doing a report on what happened, and we’d like to get your reaction, of course. You worked so closely with Egon Wallin,’ he said, giving Eva Blom a solemn look. She was a short woman, barely reaching up to his shoulders.

‘As long as you don’t take any pictures,’ she said tersely. ‘I don’t want to be on TV.’

‘Unfortunately that’s the only way for us to report on anything, since we work for Swedish television,’ explained Johan. ‘Could we at least take some footage inside the gallery?’

Grenfors wasn’t going to be pleased that they hadn’t got more interviews. And Johan had stubbornly refused to comply with his boss’s request to get an interview with the new widow. There was a limit to what he would stoop to doing just for the sake of a good story.