Chapter 16
Dark algae covered the foundation. The battered wooden siding looked sick and emaciated, as if something were consuming it from the inside. Siri rang the doorbell. It rang crossly in the front hall. Nothing inside, no movement at all. She looked around.
It turned out the people she’d spoken to hadn’t been misleading her.
Killian Persson really did live in a cabin.
Or rather, something that was meant to be a cabin someday, when it was finished.
It had been built at the edge of the small yard and still hadn’t been painted; its bare wood made it look stiff and clumsy.
Two small windows watched her like dark eyes.
A generator hummed rhythmically nearby, and the door was closed.
Just as she was about to knock, she heard something moving very close by, as if someone had been waiting for her.
Suddenly he was right there, Killian Persson, tall and blond and with messy hair.
He looked like he’d just woken up, and his eyes were red and blank.
His nose was swollen, inflamed, and he had put on a small bandage that had no hope of concealing the nasty wound there.
She introduced herself and waited for him to say something.
When he didn’t, she asked, “Are you all right?”
“Oh, yeah.” Killian snuffled. “It’s just, I hurt myself yesterday and every time I bend down it throbs like hell.”
“How did you get hurt?”
“I fell down on the way home, is all. I’m fine.”
“On the way home from what?”
“A party.”
It was warmer inside the cabin. Must be because of him, his large body moving around in there, working.
It appeared he had been trying to get the power to work.
In one corner were two chairs and a table, old patio furniture that had been hauled in.
Tools were scattered on the table, switches and cables, rolled up wires and cords.
“Something happened,” he said after a moment. “Didn’t it.”
“What makes you say that?”
He shrugged. “Feels like it.”
Siri pulled out a chair and sat down. It was even more uncomfortable than it looked. “How do you mean?”
He’d been examining the light switch on the wall. It was a little crooked. Now he leaned against the wall instead and crossed his arms.
“My mom mentioned something about it before she left. And then you showed up.”
“Right,” Siri said, observing the swelling of his nose under the bandage. “Maybe you should get that checked out at the hospital. It looks awfully swollen. Where did you fall?”
“I tripped on a branch or a root or something, I couldn’t see in the dark. We had been drinking some at the party, so I didn’t have time to catch myself.”
“What kind of party was it?”
What followed was the same description Siri had heard less than an hour before.
That time it had come from Sander Eriksson’s lips, and was longer and more coherent, fuller in detail, but fundamentally the story was identical.
He mentioned Jakob Lindell, the fight with Mikael, and that it had ended when Pierre B?ck stepped in to intervene.
“But what do you think they were fighting about?”
“Money, would be my guess. Anyway, that’s what they were hassling each other about in the living room, where we were. But I don’t know, could have been something else.”
“Would Jakob be capable of hurting Mikael?”
“Why would he do that?”
“Because they were fighting over money, for instance.”
“But it all worked out.” He shook his head. “No, no. Jakob is a nice guy.”
Something didn’t add up here. Siri closed her notepad and tucked it back in her pocket.
“Who would you say is your best friend?”
“You know, the guy I was talking about. Sander.”
“Do you think he would be capable of hurting Mikael?”
Killian looked uncertain. “What? Why would he do that?”
“Could he, do you think?”
“Sander’s never been able to fight, he’s too nice.”
“But what if he got mad?”
“If there was something going on between him and Mikael, they would have talked about it.”
Siri nodded and looked around thoughtfully. “He’s the one who helped you build this cabin, right?”
“Yeah, totally.”
“So he’s a helpful guy?”
“Well, yeah, of course. We’re friends.”
“Do you help him too?”
Killian hesitated. “Sure.”
“Did you and Sander run into Mikael on your way home from the party?”
“No, it was just me and him, until we split off.”
“Did you run into Mikael on your own, then? Did something happen between you?”
“Uh, no. Like I just said, I didn’t see anyone on the way home.”
There was something there inside him, but it was out of her reach; she couldn’t quite get there. He may have been eighteen, but despite his adult size he was just a boy, and he wasn’t formally a suspect for any reason. At last she gave up and simply wrote in her notepad:
hiding something