Chapter 85
The morning has been eaten up by what feels like a thousand tasks, all related to the fire in Sadeln. The first time Daniel looks at the clock it is gone twelve. No wonder his stomach is complaining.
He goes along to Hanna’s office. She is on the phone, but mouths “Nearly done” when she sees him in the doorway.
“That was Pontus’s father,” she explains when the call is over. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of the parents all morning, but I’ve only just managed it.”
“Not an easy conversation, I’m guessing.”
Hanna nods and pushes back a few strands of hair that have fallen over her eyes. “First of all he was shocked, but then he insisted that they must come up here to help with the search. He had no idea what had been going on over the last few days—Pontus hadn’t told them about Filippa’s death.”
Daniel frowns. “Another one . . . I find it very strange. Surely you call your parents right away when such a tragedy happens?”
“Unless you’re involved in some way . . .” Hanna grimaces. “Then you probably decide to keep quiet.”
Is this further proof of Pontus’s guilt?
Daniel can’t rule it out.
“It’s not exactly going to make our job easier if the parents start interfering,” he says. “They’ll make our lives more difficult. Plus we don’t even know if Pontus is still in ?re.”
He has experienced this kind of thing many times in the past, parents who refuse to believe that their child could possibly be guilty of the crime of which they are accused.
Moms and dads who swear that it must all be a misunderstanding, only to fall apart when it becomes clear that they were wrong.
They hadn’t had a clue about what their offspring were capable of, even though they had thought they were so close.
He doesn’t want to be cynical, but he has seen the same course of events play out over and over again.
“What if it were Alice?” Hanna says. “Wouldn’t you do the same? Start searching, yourself?”
She is right, of course. If Alice were accused of a crime, he would move heaven and earth to defend her.
It is one thing to act as a police officer, and another to be a parent.
“Probably.”
Hanna pulls a face, and Daniel can see that she is trying to suppress a yawn.
“Shall we go and get something to eat?” he suggests. “You look exhausted. We could try the restaurant on the ground floor.”
A new food outlet has opened in the same building as the police station. Close and practical.
“Sounds like a good idea.” Hanna gives in to the yawn and picks up her purse. “Look,” she says, holding out her right hand. “I’m almost shaking. I need calories before I collapse.”
While Hanna pays a quick visit to the bathroom, Daniel heads for Anton’s office to see if he wants to join them, but he isn’t there. Presumably he has already gone to lunch. Raffe isn’t around either, so maybe they’re together.
A few minutes later Daniel and Hanna go downstairs to the pleasant and welcoming restaurant. Daniel chooses chicken casserole, while Hanna goes for a veggie burger and a Coca-Cola.
As if by silent agreement they take their trays to a quiet corner.
Daniel observes Hanna discreetly as she eats quickly and with concentration. The morning has been so intense that he has barely had time to think, but now the newspaper articles come back to him. The photograph from the airport of Hanna smiling lovingly at Henry Sylvester.
Her new boyfriend, the billionaire.
Should he say something? Defuse the issue by a neutral comment that shows he’s obviously heard about what’s going on, but doesn’t care.
They’re just work colleagues, after all.
Daniel spears a piece of potato as he wonders what to do. Maybe it would be better to ignore it? This is Hanna’s private life; who she’s seeing has nothing to do with him. If he mentions the articles, it might look as if he’s been snooping.
The chicken tastes of lemon and thyme.
Hanna must have seen the articles; she can’t be unaware of the media interest. Maybe that was why she seemed so shaken up yesterday. If he knows her as well as he thinks he does, she would have found all that intrusive speculation very difficult to handle.
But he still doesn’t understand why she hadn’t told him about her relationship with Henry.
That would have been the natural thing to do, given how much time they spend together.
He has been open with her about his emotions following the separation from Ida, the shock when she reconnected with Gustav and told him she wanted to split up.
Maybe he talked about it too much? Maybe Hanna didn’t want to tell him about her newfound happiness when he was drowning in his own personal problems?
Before she left him, Ida made it very clear that he’s not particularly good at reading women. However, Daniel would still like to think that Hanna trusts him, that they are closer than ordinary colleagues.
He could be wrong, of course.
“Hello?” Hanna says. “You haven’t said a word since we sat down. What’s going on?”
Daniel realizes he can’t talk about Henry Sylvester. It’s impossible. He would give himself away immediately; Hanna would pick up on how difficult it is for him to see her with another man.
He can’t face the humiliation.
“Sorry,” he says, searching for an excuse. “This whole weird story is going around and around in my head. There are too many loose ends, nothing really hangs together.”
“I feel exactly the same.” Hanna opens her can of cola with a hiss, and half fills her glass. “It’s so frustrating.”
Daniel agrees. Uniformed officers have started door-to-door inquiries, but so far there hasn’t been a single report of any resident having seen anything of note.
Hanna takes a couple of sips of her drink. “Not to mention Filippa’s death, and the fact that we still don’t know if she died of natural causes.”
“Hopefully we’ll hear more about that this afternoon.”
“I want to know right now!”
Hanna brings her hand down on the table and Daniel can’t help smiling. It’s typical of her to express her impatience that way. She always wants to make rapid progress in every case.
She is beautiful in the light coming in through the window, even though she’s wearing no makeup and has been on the go since four o’clock this morning.
He would love to reach out and touch her cheek, let his fingertips linger on her soft skin.
The sound of someone calling his name makes Daniel turn his head. Raffe is coming toward them.
Hanna puts down her knife and fork, as if she suspects that the brief respite is over.
“You need to come up to the conference room,” Raffe informs them. “Ylva has finished the autopsy, and Grip wants us to link up right away.”
Daniel quickly shovels down one more forkful.
“One more thing,” Raffe goes on. “I’ve just spoken to Staffan Berg about Sunday evening. You remember the neighbor who said there was a man standing outside the Lowengrens’ cabin around midnight? Berg confirms that it was him.”
Daniel picks up his phone and slips it into his pocket. “And what was his explanation?”
“He says he received a text from an app, indicating that the intruder alarm in the cabin had been triggered. He drove over, but when he got there everything seemed to be in order. He said he was practically reaching out for the door handle, but because everyone seemed to be asleep he didn’t go in—he didn’t want to disturb them. He left and went home.”
“Do you think it’s just a coincidence that Staffan Berg was there the night after Filippa was found dead in the snow?” Hanna asks, picking up her tray.
Raffe leans against the white wall while he considers her question.
“It sounds like a reasonable explanation to me. Berg said he has an app that enables him to monitor all the houses he’s responsible for.”
“I still find it odd that he keeps showing up,” Hanna mutters.
They head for the exit. Daniel holds the door open for Hanna, but she doesn’t seem to notice. He turns to Raffe.
“Take another look at Staffan Berg, and ask for a screen dump from his phone. I’d like to see proof that he really did get an alarm call on Sunday.”