The killer's art

67

Johan and Pia had worked like dogs ever since receiving the press release stating that Hugo Malmberg’s tortured body had been found lying on top of Egon Wallin’s grave. The murder launched a feeding frenzy in the media, and in Stockholm everybody wanted material for transmission before it had even been recorded.

This second scandalous murder in Visby had also evoked strong reactions among the locals. All of the galleries in Visby had been closed, and the owners were meeting to discuss the situation. Speculation was running rampant, and everyone was wondering whether the killer was only after people involved in the art world. The police had held a chaotic press conference, with questions hurled from all directions by the fifty or so journalists who were present. The news had even spread to the rest of Scandinavia, and reporters from both Denmark and Norway had arrived in Visby during the day.

After editing the final story for the evening news, Johan decided to stay in the office for a while. He was much too stressed to go home yet. He needed to gather his thoughts. Pia left as soon as they sent off the story because she was planning to go to the cinema. To the cinema? Now? thought Johan. Who could concentrate on watching a film after everything that happened here today?

He sat down with a pen and paper and began to summarize the events, starting from the very beginning.

The murder of Egon Wallin. The stolen paintings found in the storage room of his house.

The theft of ‘The Dying Dandy’ at Waldemarsudde.

The sculpture stolen from Wallin’s gallery, only to show up at Waldemarsudde at the same time as the painting was stolen. The original sculpture was at Muramaris. The perpetrator had stayed in a cottage there, at least when he committed the first murder. Then Hugo Malmberg was also killed, and his body was found on top of Egon Wallin’s grave.

Johan wrote down the points of intersection between the two victims. Both were art dealers.

Both were gay, as he understood it. Hugo was open about his sexual inclinations. Egon was not.

They were planning to become partners in an art business in Stockholm. Partners, thought Johan. Were they also sexual partners? He considered that highly likely. He added ‘sexual partners?’ as another possible link between the two.

He sat at his desk for a while, staring at what he had written. As he saw it, there were two main questions. He wrote them down. 1. Why was ‘The Dying Dandy’ stolen? 2. Was there going to be another victim?

There was nothing to indicate that the murderer would stop his killing spree. There might be more people he wanted out of the way. Johan wrote down the word ‘dandy’. What exactly did it mean?

He looked up the word on the internet and found this explanation: ‘Snob, fop. A dandy is associated with elegance, cold-heartedness, sarcasm, irony, androgyny or sexual ambivalence.’

Did the killer view himself as a dandy? Or were his victims dandies?

Johan thought about the various individuals who figured in the investigation. Pia had made a note of the names of everyone who had been invited to Egon Wallin’s gallery opening. She’d obtained the list from Eva Blom at the gallery, but Johan hadn’t asked Pia how she’d managed that. He wasn’t sure that he really wanted to know.

What if I start with the list? he thought. It didn’t take him long to focus on one name. Erik Mattson. He was the Dardel expert who had made several statements on TV about the theft at Waldemarsudde. That was a strange coincidence. Mattson worked for Bukowski’s Auction House in Stockholm. Johan decided to ring him. He pulled up Bukowski’s website and found Mattson’s name and photograph. Talk about a dandy. Erik Mattson was wearing a pinstriped suit, with an ice-blue shirt and tie under an elegant waistcoat. His dark hair was combed back. He had even, regular features and an aristocratic nose, dark eyes and narrow lips. He was smiling at the camera; it was a slightly superior, even ironic smile. The classic dandy, thought Johan. He glanced at his watch. It was too late to ring now. Bukowski’s would be closed. He would have to wait until the morning. He sighed and got up to put some coffee on while thoughts whirled through his mind.

Who was this Erik Mattson? Did he have any connection to Gotland?

He had no clue where the idea came from; suddenly it just popped into his head. He glanced at his watch again. Eight forty-five. It wasn’t too late to ring. Anita Thoren picked up the phone herself.

‘Hi, this is Johan Berg from Regional News. I’m sorry to disturb you so late in the evening, but I have an urgent question that can’t wait.’

‘What’s this about?’ she asked in a friendly tone of voice.

‘Well, I’m doing some research, and I understand that you rent out the cabins to guests in the summertime. How long have you been doing that?’

‘Ever since we took over Muramaris in the eighties, actually. For almost twenty years now.’

‘Do you keep a record of who has rented the cabins?’

‘Of course. I’ve always kept a record.’

‘Do you happen to have access to it at the moment?’

‘Yes, my office is here at home.’

‘Have you got time to take a look at it?’

‘Of course. I have the ledger here somewhere. Wait a minute.’

The ledger? thought Johan. What century is she living in? Hasn’t she heard of computers?

After a minute she was back.

‘OK, here it is. I always enter the name, address and phone number of everyone who rents a cabin. I also record the amount they paid and how long they stayed.’

‘You don’t have the information computerized?’

‘No,’ she said with a laugh. ‘It’s embarrassing, but this is the way I’ve always done things. We’ve been renting out the cabins for twenty years, after all. I suppose it’s a form of nostalgia for me to keep things the way they were always done. Do you know what I mean?’

Johan knew exactly what she meant. His mother was just learning to send text messages, even though he’d been trying to teach her for years.

‘Could you do me a favour?’ he said.

‘Er, yes, I suppose so,’ she said hesitantly.

‘Could you check to see whether an Erik Mattson has ever rented a cabin?’

‘All right, but it will take a while. I’ll have to go through twenty years’ worth of records.’

‘Take all the time you need.’

An hour later Anita Thoren rang him back.

‘That was so strange. Right after we talked, Karin Jacobsson from the police called and wanted to know the same thing.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes. And I actually did find the name of Erik Mattson listed in the records. Several times, in fact.’

Johan felt his mouth go dry.

‘Yes?’

‘The first time he rented from us was in June 1990 — so that was fifteen years ago. Rolf de Mare’s cottage. For two weeks, from June the thirteenth to the twenty-sixth, together with his wife, Lydia Mattson, and their three children. I have their names too: David, Karl and Emelie Mattson.’

‘And after that?’

‘The second time was two years later, in August 1992. But that time he didn’t bring his wife and children.’ ‘Was he there alone?’

‘No, he rented the cottage with another man.’

‘Do you have the man’s name?’

‘Of course. Jakob Nordstrom.’

‘And the last time?’

‘July the tenth to the twenty-fifth of the following year. Again with Jakob Nordstrom. So he rented the same place all three times. Rolf de Mare’s cottage.’