The killer's art

55

Knutas decided not to wait any longer and went out to Muramaris right after lunch. He’d rung the owner after the morning meeting. He’d explained briefly why he’d like to see the place, although without going into detail. He didn’t need to. She’d seen the newspapers and understood perfectly the reason for his visit.

As he turned off the main road and headed towards Muramaris, he thought it was strange that he’d never been here before. The road meandered down towards the sea with stands of stunted pines and spruce trees on either side. When he rounded a curve, the house and the entire estate came into view. It stood on a plateau with woods all around and the sea far below the steep cliff. The big, sand-coloured main building looked like a Mediterranean villa with large mullioned windows. The house was enclosed by a wall, and the garden was austerely laid out with low hedges and shrubs that were now covered with snow. Sculptures had been placed here and there, looking ghostlike in the desolate grounds. In one corner stood a small structure built in the same style as the main house. It looked as if it might be a gallery or an artist’s studio. In the distance stood a cluster of small wooden cabins.

He parked in front of the main building and got out to look around. The owner was nowhere in sight. He glanced at his watch and realized that he was a little early. He breathed in the fresh air. What a peculiar place. The building looked abandoned, like a decaying beauty. It seemed to have been unoccupied for years. The sculptures were like mementoes of a bygone era. Art and love had both flourished here at one time, but that was clearly long ago.

Now the owner came walking towards him along the gravel path from the cabin area. She was a stylish woman in her fifties with her blonde hair drawn into a knot on top of her head. She was wearing bright-red lipstick but no other make-up. Even though they were about the same age, Knutas didn’t know Anita Thoren. They’d gone to different primary schools before starting secondary school, but even then they hadn’t frequented the same circles.

She gave him a friendly but slightly wary look as they shook hands.

‘Well, truth be told, I’m not sure exactly why I’m here,’ he explained. ‘But I wanted to see the original of the sculpture that was found at Waldemarsudde.’

‘Of course.’

They went around the corner, and there it stood, against a wall. ‘It’s called “Yearning”, and I think you can see that emotion in her eyes, can’t you?’

‘Is it a woman? I can’t really tell.’

‘Yes, I agree that there’s something rather sexless about her. And that fits in well with Dardel… the androgynous, slightly indeterminate…’

Anita Thoren looked as if she were seeing the sculpture for the first time. A genuine enthusiast, thought Knutas. Imagine taking over a place like this. It would undoubtedly require a real commitment, and he admired that sort of person, someone who had a genuine passion for something.

‘The sculptor’s name was Anna Petrus. She and Dardel were contemporaries, and she was also good friends with Ellen Roosval.’

‘Yes, I’ve heard the whole story about how he often came here. And that he was the one who designed the garden,’ said Knutas, feeling like a real expert.

‘And that wasn’t all,’ said Anita Thoren. ‘That art thief really knew what he was doing when he placed a sculpture from Muramaris under the empty frame. It was actually here that Nils Dardel painted “The Dying Dandy”.’

Knutas raised his eyebrows. ‘Is that so?’

‘That’s what people say, at any rate. Come on, I’ll show you.’

She led the way through a creaking wooden gate. The house had certainly been grand and imposing in its day, but now it looked dilapidated and run-down. The walls were crumbling in places, the paint was peeling off, and the windows were in dire need of repair. They used the side entrance and entered an old-fashioned kitchen.

‘There,’ she said, pointing to a room next to the kitchen. ‘It was in there that Dardel painted “The Dying Dandy” during the same summer that he designed the garden. He walked around the property with the head gardeners, explaining how everything should look. It’s all described in letters and other documents from that period. But Dardel also worked on his painting. First he did a watercolour with a similar motif, but using other colours, and with three men standing around the dandy. In that version he was holding a fan in his hand instead of a mirror. The first painting had a much more blatant homosexual theme.’

Knutas was listening dutifully, but he wasn’t particularly interested in art history.

Next they went into the drawing room, where a magnificent fireplace made of Gotland sandstone dominated the space.

‘Ellen was both a painter and a musician, but her primary interest was sculpture,’ said Anita Thoren. ‘She studied with Carl Milles, among others. She sculpted this enormous fireplace. It’s almost nine feet high, and it was the centrepiece around which the rest of the house was built. The reliefs symbolize the four elements — earth, fire, air and water. Others represent human love, suffering and work. That figure over there is the goddess of love,’ she added, pointing to one of the beautiful reliefs etched into the stone. ‘On June the twenty-first, the summer solstice, the last rays of the setting sun strike her face. That’s the shortest night of the year. Well actually, there’s practically no night at all.’

They walked through the music room and the library, then went upstairs to have a look at the bedrooms while Anita Thoren told him the history of the house. Outside they stopped by Ellen’s studio as well as beside a large house for the caretaker who looked after the garden.

‘He’s really the only one here in the wintertime,’ said Anita. ‘My husband and I live in the city and just come out once in a while to check on things.’

‘But what about the cabins over there? What are they used for?’ asked Knutas, pointing to the identical wooden cabins near the edge of the woods. They looked newly built.

‘We rent them out in the summertime. I’ll show you.’

Anita Thoren led the way over to the group of cabins, which stood a good distance away from Muramaris and close to the woods. She unlocked the door to one of the cabins and showed him inside. It was plainly furnished but with the requisite comforts. Directly below the plateau where they stood were some steps leading down to the beach.

Standing by itself was a red-painted cottage that seemed older than the others.

‘That’s Rolf de Mare’s cottage,’ said Anita. ‘Ellen had it built for her son so that he could have some privacy when he spent his summers here.’

They went inside. There was a simple kitchen with a wood stove, a big bedroom with two twin beds, and a small toilet and shower room. That was all.

‘So this is where he lived,’ said Knutas, nodding as he surveyed the bright floral wallpaper on the walls. ‘And Dardel also came here?’

‘Of course. He came here often over a period of several years. As I said, they were quite open about their homosexuality, at least as much as was possible in those days. Rolf de Mare was also Dardel’s benefactor; he helped him financially and gave him a great deal of support psychologically. Dardel’s life wasn’t exactly carefree. They also stayed in touch by letter. Later they spent a lot of time together in Paris. Rolf de Mare was the founder of the avant-garde Swedish Ballet in Paris, you know. And Dardel created the set designs and costumes for several performances. They also travelled together, going to Africa, South America, and all over Europe. Rolf de Mare was probably the person who was closest to Dardel, except maybe for Thora, whom he later married. And his daughter Ingrid, of course.’

As Knutas listened to Anita Thoren’s account, an idea started to take shape in his mind. He stood there in the cottage, now smelling of damp in the winter, with its low ceiling, and listened to the sound of the sea outside. He suddenly felt that he was standing at the very hub of what this investigation was all about.

‘Do you rent this cottage out too?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ said Anita Thoren. ‘But only in the summer. The water is turned off in the winter, and besides, there’s no demand for it. Except in a few cases.’

Knutas was instantly alert. ‘What sort of cases?’

‘Well, sometimes I make an exception. For instance, there was a researcher here not too long ago. He wanted to rent it in connection with the work he was doing on some project.’

Knutas felt his mouth go dry. ‘When was this?’

‘A few weeks ago. I’d have to check my notes to be more precise about the date. I think I wrote it down.’

She opened her bag and took out a little pocket calendar. Knutas held his breath as she looked through it.

‘Let’s see now… He rented it from the sixteenth until the twenty-third of February.’

Knutas closed his eyes and then opened them again. Egon Wallin was killed on the nineteenth. The dates matched.

‘Who was this person? What was his name?’

‘Alexander Ek. From Stockholm.’

‘How old was he? What did he look like?’

Anita Thoren looked at Knutas in surprise. ‘He was young, maybe twenty-five or so. Tall and well-built. Not overweight but very muscular. Like a bodybuilder.’

‘Did you ask him for ID?’

‘No, I didn’t think that was necessary. And besides, he seemed so nice. I also had the feeling that he’d been here before, but he said he hadn’t when I asked.’

That was enough for Knutas. He cast a quick glance around the cottage. Then he took Anita Thoren by the arm and practically pushed her outdoors.

‘We’ll talk more about this later. We need to cordon off the cottage and bring in the techs to go over the whole place. No one is allowed to set foot inside until that’s been done.’

‘What? What do you mean?’

‘Wait just a minute.’

Knutas rang Prosecutor Smittenberg on his mobile to obtain a search warrant. Then he rang Jacobsson and asked her to make arrangements to have the area blocked off and to bring in the police dogs.

‘What’s this all about?’ Anita Thoren eyed Knutas nervously as he finished his phone conversation.

‘The dates when the cottage was rented out match the timing of the murder of the art dealer Egon Wallin. The theft of “The Dying Dandy” may be connected to his murder. And it’s possible that the researcher who rented the place is involved.’