Chapter 52
Mikael Soderstrom’s poor little brother sat before them, wearing guilt around his neck like a pendant.
The room was comfortably cool but, considering the task that awaited, this was of little import.
His mother was in the intensive care unit, and it was unclear whether she would survive; his father was a few units away waiting for the alcohol to release its hold on his body and withdrawal symptoms to abate. And his brother was in the morgue.
“How are you doing, Filip?”
“Okay.”
They’d been in touch with social services, since neither of his guardians could be present. A tiny sparrow of a woman carrying a folder full of forms was waiting in the lobby looking anxious when they came down.
Filip had refused to say a word in her presence. Eventually Siri had asked her to wait outside, and now she was standing on the other side of the door and picking at her cuticles.
“We’ll make sure Helén talks to you afterwards. She’s here to help you.”
“I don’t want to talk to anyone. Especially not a soc lady.”
“It might still be a good idea.”
“What?”
“Talking to someone, even if you don’t want to.”
“Really?”
“Yes, definitely.”
Filip stubbornly crossed his arms.
“Either way, we need to talk to you about this,” Gerd said, taking out a piece of paper that had been hastily torn from a notebook by Sander Eriksson just a few days ago.
It was no longer folded up; now it was neatly tucked into a sheet protector, marked with a sticker in the margin; on it was an evidence number.
“Do you recognize this?”
Filip leaned forward, glanced at the paper, and leaned back again.
“No.”
“You don’t? Take another look.”
“Why would I? I didn’t write that.”
“Are you sure about that?” Gerd turned the document around and read from it: I want to light myself on fire, the explosion awaits.” She tried to make eye contact with Filip. “There was a box of dynamite in your basement at home, and you knew it was there.”
“No, I didn’t. I had no idea.”
“You and your brother carried it home last fall, isn’t that true?”
“No.”
Gerd sighed. “If you didn’t write this, I would say someone went to great lengths to make it seem like you did.”
Filip shrugged. “So?”
“Who might that be?” Gerd asked.
“How should I know? Did Sander or Killian give you that?”
“Why do you ask?”
“I know it was one of them.”
“How do you know that, if you didn’t write it?”
“I’m missing a page in my notebook. They brought my backpack to my house when I forgot it at school.” He nodded at the paper. “One of them must have written that to screw with me.”
“Why would they do that?”
“Guess you’d have to ask them.”
“Can you tell me what you were doing on Christmas Day, in the evening?”
“Yes. But I don’t want to.”
“It would really help us out. And you, too, of course. And your mom and dad.”
When Filip didn’t respond, and simply stared at Gerd instead, Siri cleared her throat and offered a matter-of-fact explanation.
“Filip. If we assume you aren’t the one who blew up the dynamite, it had to have been someone else. That person destroyed your entire farm. They could have killed you and both your parents. Don’t you want to help us find out who did it?”
“It was Sten.”
Gerd and Siri exchanged glances.
“Sten Persson?” Siri asked.
“Yes.”
“You sound pretty sure of that. How come?”
“Sten never liked Dad. I don’t know why. But I’m pretty sure Sten would love for terrible things to happen to us. And now they have. Wouldn’t you say?”
Siri considered this. Two sets of rivals, Sten and Karl-Henrik; Killian and Mikael.
That was how it seemed to her now, in light of the past few days.
“Besides,” Filip continued, when no one else spoke, “Sten came around our place on Christmas. He was poking around the basement. I saw him.”
In the ensuing silence, Siri leaned closer. “Can you tell us more about that?”
“He wanted to talk to Dad. I guess you’ll have to ask Sten if you want to know more. Or Dad.” Filip gave a laugh. “If you even can. He’s probably still too drunk.”
“We’ll do that, Filip. But,” Siri added, “doesn’t this all make you pretty mad? It would be no wonder. You know, Helén, right outside, she—”
“How about you just find the guy who killed my brother? Oh, oops, that’s right, you can’t, because he crashed his car before you got your head out of your asses and arrested him.” Filip suddenly stood up. “I’m done now.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Yes, I am!” he bellowed, as though it were his turn to detonate. “I’m finished with you.”
Siri was shaken by his outburst. She struggled not to let it show.
“Filip,” she said calmly. “Why are you so angry?”
“Why the fuck do you think?” he shouted.
Eyes blazing, he looked at the door as Helén from social services hurried in, alarm all over her face, and that was the end of the interview.