Mari Jungstedt - Dark Angel

‘Come over here and smell it for yourself.’

Knutas leaned forward and noticed an acrid odour.

‘What’s that smell from?’

‘Bitter almonds,’ muttered Sohlman. ‘It means that he was most likely poisoned with potassium cyanide. It usually has that strong smell of bitter almonds. The body’s colouration also points in that direction. Remember that old detective novel by Agatha Christie called Sparkling Cyanide? It seems horribly apropos in this situation. You were at the party last night, weren’t you? And didn’t they serve champagne?’

Knutas was so taken aback he didn’t know what to say. He tried to recall the last time he’d seen Algård during the festivities.

‘How long do you think he’s been dead?’

Sohlman carefully lifted the victim’s arm.

‘Full rigor mortis has set in, and signs of livor mortis are also present, so we’re talking about at least twelve hours, maybe more.’

Knutas glanced at his watch. Four forty-five. He’d run into Algård on the way to the gents. That was after dessert had been served and right before the dancing began. What time would that have been? It must have been at least eleven or eleven thirty. That was the last time Knutas saw him. But with so many guests, there had been a great deal of commotion when everyone got up from the dinner tables and scattered in different directions. Knutas had spent almost all evening dancing with his wife Lina, except for the few occasions when he’d stepped outside to have a smoke. They had stayed until the band stopped playing around two in the morning. He had no memory of seeing Algård when they left. Lina had been so involved in an intense discussion with the county governor that they’d had a hard time getting away. They were probably among the very last guests to leave the conference centre.

Patches of blood and drag marks were visible on the floor outside the lift. Viktor Algård also had a gash on his forehead where the blood had coagulated.

‘How’d he get that wound on his forehead?’ asked Knutas.

‘God only knows,’ muttered Sohlman. ‘Look at the blood spattered all over the floor.’ He got to his feet and pointed. ‘The perpetrator obviously dragged the body into the lift. You can see the marks.’

Knutas looked around. A glass door opened on to a stone-paved terrace with several tables next to a narrow side street and a small car park. In the other direction was the sea, the open-air swimming baths and the harbour.

A woman walking her dog passed by outside, casting an inquisitive glance at the big picture windows. Those damned windows, thought Knutas. They were everywhere. The street outside needed to be cordoned off. He called to Detective Inspector Thomas Wittberg, who appeared in the doorway.

‘Cordon off the building, the side street and the immediate vicinity! Right now anybody can look inside. It won’t be long before we’ve got journalists swarming all over the place. Call for back-up. I want the police dogs brought in.’

‘OK. The cleaning woman who found the body is about to leave. Do you want to have a word with her before she goes?’

‘Absolutely.’

Wittberg pointed at the Asian woman who was sitting on the sofa and leaning against an officer’s shoulder. She was crying so hard that her thin form shook. Knutas went over to her and introduced himself.

Knutas’s colleague, whose name he’d forgotten, got up to make room for him on the sofa. The cleaning woman looked about twenty-five, with long dark hair pulled back into a ponytail. Not until Knutas sat down next to her did he realize how petite she was.

‘What’s your name?’

‘Navarapat, but everyone calls me Ninni.’

‘OK, Ninni. Can you tell me what happened when you came here?’

‘I was with Anja, one of my co-workers. Everyone else had already arrived. The locker room and cleaning supplies are in the basement. We changed our clothes and started working on the ground floor. She cleaned the cloakroom and this area. I started on the other side.’ The young woman stretched out her thin arm to point. ‘And when I got over there, I found the body.’

‘Tell me exactly what you saw,’ Knutas told her. ‘Try to remember everything. Even the smallest detail could be important.’

‘I was pushing my cart past the bar.’ She pointed again. ‘And that’s when I caught sight of him lying there on the floor, inside the lift. He was on his stomach, so I couldn’t see his face.’

‘What did you do?’

‘I called for Anja, and then we rang the police.’

‘What time was it when you arrived?’

‘We start at four, and it was probably five to four when we got here.’

‘And how much time passed before you found him?’

‘Ten minutes, maybe fifteen.’

‘You said you were with one of your co-workers. Anja? How did the two of you travel to work?’

‘We both live in Gråbo, and we came by bicycle.’

Knutas decided that was enough for the moment. He thanked the woman, telling her that she’d be summoned to a more official interview at the police station later in the day. Along with Anja.

JOHAN’S MOBILE RANG just as he was falling asleep in the double bed with one arm around Emma and the other around Elin. Emma had been happily surprised when he came home from work so early. Since they were both tired after the big party the night before, and Elin was worn out from a bad cough, all three of them had gone to bed even though it was only two in the afternoon. They had settled themselves comfortably among the duvets and pillows, and then he had read a story aloud until both he and Elin began to doze off.

It was Pia Lilja on the line.

‘Hi, were you asleep? Well, rise and shine. A man was found murdered at the conference centre, and it’s not just anybody.’

‘When? Now?’

Johan’s voice was groggy. He cleared his throat and gently moved his daughter, who was sleeping soundly with her mouth open.

‘From what I understand, they found him just a short time ago. It’s Viktor Algård. Can you believe it?’

Pia sounded out of breath. He could hear her going outside as she talked.

‘I’m on my way out to the car. I’ll meet you at the conference centre.’

‘OK. How’d you find out about this?’ he asked as he climbed out of bed.

‘The body was discovered by someone on the cleaning staff, and I happen to know one of their colleagues. See you there.’

She ended the call. Johan wasn’t surprised that she’d heard the news so fast. Pia had an amazing network of contacts that extended all over the island. She had been born and raised on Gotland with six siblings and relatives in every parish. This meant that she had at her disposal countless conveyors of information who kept her up to date on everything going on. Not that it was always newsworthy.

Johan cautiously poked Emma.

Her hair had fallen over her face. Endearingly, she stretched out her long legs, turned over and pulled the covers closer around her. He gave her another poke, a bit harder. This time she reacted by sitting up in bed with a big yawn. She peered at him, not yet fully awake.

‘What is it?’

‘Viktor Algård was found murdered in the conference centre. I’ve got to go.’

He kissed his wife on the forehead and left the room before she even had time to respond.

Half an hour later Johan parked his car outside the conference centre. Uniformed officers were putting up crime-scene tape.

He said hello to his fellow reporters from the local radio station and newspapers. Word had obviously spread quickly. Pia was already busy with her camera. She had taken up position in a side street and had been filming through one of the big picture windows until she was chased off by a policeman.