Chapter 65
As it turned out, it wasn’t quite true that Filip Soderstrom had moved into Frans Ljunggren’s house and left everything where it was. He had discarded quite a bit of old furniture and bought some new pieces and even repainted the bedroom.
The patrol officers kept watch by the police tape while the technicians found evidence of a bachelor’s simple life: dirty laundry in a faded blue IKEA bag, an unopened package of condoms in the nightstand, and half a six-pack of near-beer in the fridge.
But that wasn’t all. They also found signs of a structured daily life, like a trash-sorting system under the sink and thriving houseplants. You got the impression Filip had honestly done the best he could with what he had.
Vidar advanced slowly through the creaky old house. Wide floorboards, a low ceiling. Cramped rooms. A wardrobe with wrinkled shirts on a row of identical hangers. He gently ran a hand along them.
The techs were still going from room to room. Cameras clicked. Low voices conversed.
“We’re almost done,” one of them said. “But there’s not much to write home about in here. Just the stuff you’d expect to find. Well, that and his planner.” The tech handed over an ordinary daily planner with a blue plastic cover. “It was on the dresser.”
Vidar tentatively picked it up and paged through it. Few notes, most of them work-related, it seemed. On the day of Filip’s death, the entry read Funeral SC 12:00 Work 1:30.
SC. Skavboke Chapel, presumably.
“Nothing to suggest anyone else has been here recently?”
“Not in here, at least. I don’t know how it’s going out in the garage.”
The garage had once been a workshop. Filip had moved all of Frans’s old junk to one side to make room for his car.
A workbench with too many little drawers to count and a cabinet full of tools and equipment crowded alongside barrels, lumber, and what seemed to be the remains of a car engine on four pallets.
It smelled like wood and metal, like an old construction site.
Vidar studied the cluttered tool bench, wondering what had belonged to the old man and what was Filip’s.
“Over here,” Adrian said dully.
The young officer was so exhausted that he drooped like a dried flower.
He nodded at the other tech, who was crouching down, holding a few cotton swabs in her gloved hands.
Her attention was on the gardening tools that leaned against the wall like a giant, sprawling bouquet: crowbars, spades, hoes, shovels, and rakes.
The tech ran a swab along an old-fashioned spade, a heavy one. It had a well-worn wooden shaft, an iron handle, and a blade flaking with rust and age.
“Blood,” she said. “Human. I’m no expert when it comes to blood, but I’d say there’s some old and some fresh. And fingerprints as well, along the shaft.”
“Recent ones?” Vidar asked.
“Recent and old, I think. Both.”
“Is it the murder weapon?”
The technician had been having a hectic morning even before the call came from Skavboke. By the time Vidar arrived, she’d been on duty for twenty hours. She blinked, feeling the lack of sleep.
“The blade matches the wounds on his head, in any case.”
“Who found the spade?”
The technician nodded at Adrian, who blushed.
“I noticed there was something on it and spoke up, that’s all. He seems to have wiped the blade farther down, but not very carefully. He must have been in a hurry, because he didn’t even notice these tiny spatters higher up. Or maybe he didn’t care. See for yourself.”
Vidar leaned over and saw the streaks at the bottom, and dark-red freckles closer to the top.
“Wonder what he used to clean it.”
“We haven’t found anything yet,” Adrian said.
“But the garage door was unlocked when we got here. According to the people we spoke to, Filip only locked it when the car was parked inside. Otherwise he left it open.” Adrian looked like this was the craziest thing he’d ever heard. “Apparently that’s common out here.”
“Was it open,” Vidar said, “or unlocked?”
Adrian consulted his notes. “Unlocked. That’s how I interpreted it. Closed, but unlocked. So he must have come here afterwards to leave the spade here.”
“Leave it,” Vidar said, “or put it back.”
Adrian opened his mouth but didn’t say anything.
“There.” The tech stood up. She handed four test tubes to Adrian. “Take these in right away. Tell them to start processing them immediately.”
“Did you see his planner, by the way?” Adrian asked. “I had a minute to take a quick look on my break.”
“You’re supposed to rest during breaks.”
Adrian ignored this.
“There’s nothing remarkable in it, as far as I can tell.
Work, parties, birthdays, stuff like that.
But I did notice a day in June was labeled with a number one.
People with drinking problems do that sometimes, mark their first day of sobriety.
I mean, that’s not necessarily what it was for, but considering his history.
I didn’t see any signs of hard drinking here in the house—kind of the opposite, in fact.
Maybe he just had a short relapse, and whether that’s of any significance, I have no idea. ”
“The samples,” the tech barked. “Now. Get going.”
Adrian gave a curt nod and left the garage. Outside, morning rose with a yawn.
—
“We’ll be getting the new machines this fall,” the tech said, making sure her vinyl gloves were still intact.
“Then we’ll be able to do rapid testing in the van and get an answer right away.
This is how we have to do it until then, but we’re pretty fast. You should have an answer by the time you get to work tomorrow.
The fingerprints will take a day or two, though. ”
Vidar examined the workbench again, the walls covered in tools and equipment. The perpetrator had been here. After the fact. He looked around, breathing slowly. There was a noise. It took a moment for him to realize it was his phone. Who the hell was calling at this hour?
“Hi there, little old me again,” came the duty detective’s happy-go-lucky greeting.
“Sorry to be calling so late—or maybe it’s early.
Anyway, I figured you were still at it. Two things.
The boxes are outside your office as we speak.
I went down to get them myself; it was faster that way.
You’ve got quite the stack waiting for you. ”
“Nice.” Vidar sent up a grateful thought to the worker bees on call. “What was the second thing?”
“Someone’s here asking for you.”
“Right now? Who is it?”
“A…” the man said, reading from a piece of paper, “Sander Eriksson. Seems pretty urgent. And he’s a bit agitated, if you ask me, he hasn’t gotten a lot of sleep. So it must be important.”