Хеннинг Манкелль - The Man from Beijing

She nodded slowly as if to emphasise what she was saying.

‘We now know that all the people in the village were related,’ she said. ‘All the dead, that is. There’s a family connection.’

‘Everybody except the boy?’

‘He was related as well. But he was just visiting.’

Birgitta Roslin left the police station, thinking hard about what was going to be announced a few hours later.

A man caught up with her on the snow-covered pavement.

Lars Emanuelsson smiled. Birgitta Roslin felt an urge to hit him. At the same time, she couldn’t help being impressed by the man’s persistence.

‘We meet again,’ he said. ‘Over and over you visit the police. The judge from Helsingborg hovers indefatigably on the periphery of the investigation. You must understand why I’m curious.’

‘Put your questions to the police, not to me.’

Lars Emanuelsson turned serious.

‘Rest assured, I already have. But I still haven’t got any answers, which is annoying. I’m forced to speculate. What is a judge from Helsingborg doing in Hudiksvall? How is she involved in the horrific things that have been happening here?’

‘I have nothing to say.’

‘Just tell me why you’re so unpleasant and dismissive.’

‘Because you won’t leave me in peace.’

Lars Emanuelsson nodded in the direction of the plastic bag.

‘I noticed that you were empty-handed when you went in the station earlier this morning. And now you’re coming out with a heavy plastic bag. What’s in there? Documents? Files? Something else?’

‘That’s none of your business.’

‘Never talk to a journalist like that. Everything is my business. What’s in the bag, what isn’t. Why don’t you want to answer?’

As Birgitta Roslin started to walk away, she slipped and fell down in the snow. One of the old diaries tumbled out of the bag. Lars Emanuelsson rushed to help, but she pushed away his hand as she put the book back. Her face was red with anger as she hurried away.

‘Old books,’ Emanuelsson shouted after her. ‘Sooner or later I’ll find out what they mean.’

She didn’t stop to brush off the snow until she reached her car. She started the engine and switched on the heater. When she came out onto the main road, she started to calm down. She put Lars Emanuelsson and Vivi Sundberg out of her mind, took the inland route, stopped in Borlänge for a meal, then turned into a car park just outside Ludvika shortly before two o’clock.

The radio news bulletin was short. The press conference had just begun. According to what they had heard, the police had arrested a man on suspicion of mass murder in Hesjövallen. More information was promised in the next bulletin.

Birgitta Roslin resumed her journey, then stopped again an hour later. She turned off cautiously onto a timber track, afraid that the snow would be so deep that her car might get stuck. She switched on the radio. The first thing she heard was Robertsson’s voice. A suspect was being interrogated. Robertsson expected him to be charged that afternoon or evening. That was all he could say at the moment.

A hubbub of sound filled the radio when he had finished speaking, but Robertsson declined to comment further.

When the news bulletin was over, she turned off the radio. Some heavy chunks of snow fell from a fir tree next to the car. She unbuckled her seat belt and got out. The temperature was still falling. She shuddered. What had Robertsson said? A male suspect. Nothing more. But he had sounded confident, just as Sundberg had given the impression of being confident that a breakthrough had been achieved.

This is not the Chinese man, she thought.

She restarted the engine and continued her journey. She forgot about the next news bulletin.

She stopped in Örebro and took a room for the night. She left the bag of diaries in the car.

Before falling asleep, she felt an almost irresistible longing for another human being. Staffan. But he wasn’t there. She could hardly remember what his hands felt like.

The following day, at about three in the afternoon, she arrived back home in Helsingborg. She put the plastic bag of diaries in her study.

By then she knew that a man in his forties, as yet unnamed, had been charged by Prosecutor Robertsson. But there were no details — the media ranted on about the lack of information.

Nobody knew who he was. Everybody was waiting.

That evening Birgitta Roslin watched the television news with her husband. Prosecutor Robertsson talked about a breakthrough in the investigation. Vivi Sundberg was hovering in the background. The press conference was chaotic. Tobias Ludwig failed to keep the reporters under control, and they almost tipped over the lectern at which Robertsson was standing. He was the only one who remained calm. Eventually he was interviewed alone on camera and explained what had happened. A man aged about forty-five had been arrested in his home outside Hudiksvall. There had been no drama, but to be on the safe side they had called in reinforcements. The man had been charged on suspicion of involvement in the Hesjövallen massacre. For technical reasons Robertsson was not prepared to reveal his identity.

‘Why won’t he do that?’ wondered Staffan.

‘Any other people involved could be warned, evidence could be destroyed,’ said Birgitta, hushing him.

Robertsson released no details, but the breakthrough had come as a result of several tips from the general public. They were checking various leads and had already held a preliminary interrogation.

The interviewer pressured Robertsson with more questions.

Has he confessed?

No.

Has he admitted to anything at all?

I can’t comment on that.

Why not?

We are at a crucial stage in the investigation.

Was he surprised when he was arrested?

No comment.

Does he have a family?

No comment.

But he lives near Hudiksvall.

Yes.

What’s his job?

No comment.

In what way is he connected to all the people who have been killed?

You must realise that I can’t comment on that.

But you must also understand that our viewers are interested in what has happened. This is the second most serious outbreak of violence that has ever taken place in Sweden.

Robertsson raised his eyebrows in surprise.

What was worse?

The Stockholm Bloodbath.

Robertsson couldn’t help laughing out loud. Birgitta Roslin groaned at the sheer cheek of the interviewer.

The two incidents can hardly be compared. But I’m not going to argue with you.

What happens next?

We will interrogate the suspect again.

Who is his defending counsel?

He’s asked for Tomas Bodström, but he probably won’t get him.

Are you sure you have arrested the right man?

It’s too early to say. But for the moment I’m happy with the fact that he’s been charged.

The interview ended. Birgitta turned down the sound. Staffan looked at her.

‘Well, what does the judge have to say about this?’

‘They obviously have some evidence, or they would never have been allowed to charge him. But he’s been locked up on grounds of suspicion. Either Robertsson is being cautious, or he doesn’t have anything more concrete.’

‘Did just one man do all this?’

‘It doesn’t necessarily follow that he was alone just because he’s the only one who’s been arrested.’

‘Can it really be anything but an act of madness?’

Birgitta sat in silence for a moment before replying.