The killer's art

49

Max Grenfors was tipping back the chair at his desk, which was the focal point of the editorial offices. As usual, he held a phone to each ear. Next to him sat the newscaster, her eyes fixed on the computer monitor. She had earphones on and was watching a news story. So it would be best not to disturb them. The news producer was busy trying to find images for a report on domestic violence, which was always a difficult story to illustrate. There was a risk that the same old images would crop up over and over again.

All of the reporters were preoccupied with editing their stories; it was obvious from the pulse of the editorial offices that only a few hours remained before the news broadcast.

Johan felt as if he would burst if he didn’t tell someone the incredible news he’d just heard. He tapped Grenfors on the shoulder and motioned that he had something important to report. For once the editor acknowledged the urgency and ended his phone conversations. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. ‘Certain reporters seem to need help with everything. It’s crazy! Soon I’ll probably even have to do their interviews for them!’

Johan was well aware of how much the editor liked to get involved in a story, so he didn’t take his complaints too seriously. ‘Listen to this,’ he said, pulling up a chair and sitting down next to Grenfors. ‘The robbery at Waldemarsudde wasn’t just an ordinary art theft.’

‘No?’ A glimmer of interest appeared in Grenfors’ eyes.

‘No. The thief didn’t just steal a painting. He also left something behind.’

‘What was it?’

‘He put a sculpture near the empty frame where the painting used to hang.’

‘Is that right?’

‘Yes. And it wasn’t just any sculpture. It’s the one that was stolen during Egon Wallin’s gallery opening on the day of his murder.’

‘So what does it mean? That the person who killed Egon Wallin also stole the painting?’

‘Very possibly,’ said Johan.

‘How reliable is your source for this?’

‘Got it straight from the police.’

Grenfors took off the glasses that he’d begun to wear lately. He’d chosen designer frames, of course. ‘So there’s a connection between the theft and the murder. But how the hell does it fit together?’

He cast a quick glance at his watch.

‘Damn it all, we’ve got to have this. Get over to editing — you’ve got to put together a spot about this straight away.’

The news that there was a clear link between the daring burglary at Waldemarsudde and the murder of Egon Wallin, and that the perpetrator wanted the police to be aware of it, headed all the news programmes on Tuesday evening.

Johan was pleased, and not just because he was responsible for the hottest news story two days in a row. Before he went home, he was told to take the first plane back to Visby the next morning.

K arin Jacobsson looked her boss in the eye as he sat down at the table opposite her. And then she said the words that he didn’t want to hear.

‘I’m resigning, Anders.’

Everything started spinning around in his head. He couldn’t seem to grasp the meaning of the words; they just kept bouncing off him and disappearing in the distance.

Knutas slowly lowered his fork. He had just speared a big piece of boiled cod with egg sauce. ‘What did you say? You can’t be serious.’

He cast a glance at the clock on the wall, as if he wanted to document the moment when his closest colleague stated that she was leaving him.

Jacobsson gave Knutas a sympathetic look. ‘Yes, I am, Anders. Quite serious. I’ve been offered a position in Stockholm. With the NCP.’

‘What?’

His fully loaded fork was still hovering in the air as if his arm were frozen, paralysed by Karin’s statement. She looked down and began poking at her food as she went on. All of a sudden it seemed to Knutas that the whole cafeteria stank of egg sauce, and the smell made him feel sick.

‘It’s actually Kihlgard’s boss at the NCP who offered me the job. I’ll be working with the same team as Martin. It’ll be a challenge for me, Anders. You need to understand that. And there’s nothing holding me here.’

Knutas stared at her in astonishment. Her words were ringing in his ears. Martin Kihlgard again. Of course he would be the one behind the job offer. Knutas had never really been taken in by that jovial demeanour of his. The man was a snake. Slippery and untrustworthy underneath that inoffensive facade.

From the very beginning there had been a real chemistry between Kihlgard and Jacobsson, and that had upset Knutas, although he would never admit it.

‘But what about us?’

Karin sighed. ‘Come on, Anders, it’s not like we’re a couple. We work really well together, but I want to try something new. And besides, I’m tired of sitting here mouldering away. Of course I like my job and working with you and all the others, but nothing else is happening in my life. I’m going to turn forty soon. I want to grow, both in my professional and my personal life.’

Red patches had appeared on Jacobsson’s throat, always a sure sign that she was upset or was finding the situation uncomfortable.

Neither of them spoke for a moment. Knutas didn’t know what to say. He was at a complete loss as he stared at the petite, dark-eyed woman sitting across from him.

Then she sighed and stood up. ‘That’s how it’s going to be, at any rate. I’ve made up my mind.’

‘But…’

That was as far as he got. She picked up her tray and walked away.

He was left sitting at the table alone. He stared out of the window at the grey car park barely visible through a snowy haze. He was mortified to feel tears filling his eyes. He cast a furtive glance around. The cafeteria was packed with colleagues talking and laughing as they ate.

He didn’t know how he was going to do his job without Karin. She gave him so much. At the same time he could understand why she’d made this decision. Of course Karin wanted the chance to develop in her job, and maybe meet someone and have a family. Like everybody else.

Feeling dejected, Knutas went back to his office, closed the door, and took his pipe out of the top drawer of his desk. He filled the pipe with tobacco, but this time he didn’t leave it unlit, as usual. Instead, he lit the pipe and then opened the window and stood there in the breeze. Was she really serious about this? Where would she live? She and Kihlgard may have hit it off, but in the long run would she be able to stand him and his eternal obsession with food? Of course he was pleasant enough in small doses, but what about on a daily basis?

The moment he had that thought, he was struck by an awful insight. Maybe he wasn’t so much fun himself. Here she was, working with him every day, and he thought they had a great working relationship. He was fond of Karin; he appreciated her lively manner and her temperament, which sometimes manifested itself in surprising ways. Karin brightened up his life, made him feel alive at work. Because of her, he felt better about himself. But what about her? What did she think about him? All his complaints and grumbling about cutbacks in the police force. He searched his memory. What exactly did he give Karin in return? What did she get from him? Apparently not much.

The question was whether it was too late to do anything about the matter. Karin hadn’t yet submitted her resignation. Maybe she was planning to take a leave of absence first — to try it out. Her parents and all of her friends lived here on Gotland. Would she be happy on the mainland — and in the big city? Knutas felt panic-stricken at the mere thought of showing up for work every day without her.

He had to find a solution. Anything at all.