The killer's art

79

The interrogation of David Mattson was conducted immediately. The impressive bulk of the suspect seemed even greater inside the cramped interview room. He sat down opposite Knutas, who was in charge of the interview. Jacobsson was also there as a witness, and she stayed in the background.

So here I am, thought Knutas, sitting in front of the killer we’ve been hunting for more than a month. It was an unreal feeling. This was what the man looked like. The murderer who had attacked his victims from behind with piano wire, who had hoisted one man up on Dalman Gate and later dragged another body to the first victim’s grave. The person who had carried out the improbable theft of a painting from Waldemarsudde. The one question that overshadowed everything else was: why? Why had he committed those terrible murders? What was behind it all? And had he also killed his own father? Knutas was longing for an explanation, but first and foremost they needed to solve a more urgent mystery. Where was Elin?

While Knutas switched on the tape recorder and arranged his papers, he studied David Mattson. He was wearing jeans and a shirt, sitting on the chair with his legs set apart and his hands clasped. So this was the face of the murderer, a twenty-three-year-old man who lived with his girlfriend in one of Stockholm’s northern suburbs and was enrolled at the university. He had no police record.

Knutas and Jacobsson did their utmost to get him to say where Elin was, but it seemed completely futile. David could not be budged. He thought that Johan had broken his promise by notifying the police about their meeting. That was why he refused to say what he’d done with Johan’s daughter. It made no difference that the police tried to convince him that Johan was innocent and that it was Emma who had told them where the meeting was taking place.

The police quickly realized that David was unaware of his father’s death. In the middle of the interrogation, the ME’s preliminary report arrived, stating that all indications were that Erik Mattson had died from an overdose of cocaine.

Wittberg summoned Jacobsson and Knutas, who briefly interrupted the interrogation to listen to him report the new information.

‘There’s something that we have to tell you,’ said Jacobsson when they returned to the interview room.

David Mattson didn’t even look up. He was stubbornly staring at his clasped hands on his lap. He’d answered their questions in monosyllables, and kept asking for more cold water. Karin had already refilled the carafe on the table numerous times.

‘Your father is dead.’

Slowly David lifted his head.

‘You’re lying.’

‘I’m afraid not. He was found this morning, at home in his flat. He was lying in bed, and according to the medical examiner, he died from an overdose of cocaine. We also found “The Dying Dandy” hanging above the bed. Your fingerprints were on the canvas.’

David Mattson stared at her for a long time, a look of incomprehension on his face. The silence in the room was palpable. Knutas wondered whether it had been wise to tell him about his father’s death before they managed to find out what he’d done with Elin.

‘When did you last see Erik?’ asked Jacobsson.

‘Saturday night,’ he replied tonelessly. ‘I went over there to have dinner. I gave him a present. We talked and talked. Then Pappa got mad, and I left…’

His voice faded away. His face changed completely. The hard, arrogant mask cracked for a moment, and without uttering a sound, the big man collapsed on to the table.