The truth and nothing but the truth, as far as he could remember. It took about quarter of an hour.
‘That’s all I know,’ he said when he had finished. ‘I was inside the house, but I had nothing to do with starting the fire.’
‘Nobody said you did,’ said Marklund, making a note on his pad.
Per leaned forward. ‘But what have you found out? It must have been carefully set up, surely?’
Marklund didn’t respond at first.
‘Normally we wouldn’t comment, but you did see a can of petrol with holes punched in it, and a car battery — what does that indicate?’
‘Planning,’ said Per.
Marklund nodded. ‘The forensic team found remnants of paper near the places where the fires started... remnants of documents.’
Per thought about the open door to Jerry’s apartment. ‘They might have been contracts,’ he said. ‘For people who appeared in Jerry and Bremer’s films and magazines. Have you spoken to any of them?’
‘They’re not that easy to find,’ said Marklund. ‘We haven’t had much success so far.’
‘No, they didn’t use their real names,’ said Per. ‘Do you need any help? I could have a look for—’
The detective quickly shook his head. ‘That’s our job.’
Per raised his eyes wearily to the ceiling. Ungrateful sod.
‘But we believe the dead woman was a former model,’ said Marklund.
Per looked at him. ‘Oh? What was her name?’
‘We’re not prepared to reveal her name at this stage.’ Marklund made a note, then went on, ‘Tell me about your father... How long has he been involved in this particular profession? And what did he do before that?’
‘Jerry’s never said much about it,’ said Per. ‘But I know his father was a vicar, and Jerry left home pretty early on and became a car dealer at the beginning of the fifties. I’m sure he was good at it... And a few years later he bought a postcard company and started printing erotic pictures. They sold well. Then in the sixties he launched his first magazine, Babylon; it was printed in Denmark and smuggled into Sweden aboard small motorboats.’ He stopped, then added, ‘But then porn became legal in Sweden at the beginning of the seventies. He formed a limited company and started employing people, and sold magazines all over Europe.’
‘So that was the start of your father’s glory days, if I can put it that way?’ Marklund made another note before looking up. ‘And the people he employed — what do you know about them?’
‘Nothing. One guy who was around a lot was called Markus Lukas, but that sounds made up as well.’
‘And Bremer? What do you know about Hans Bremer?’
‘Not much.’
‘Have you ever met him?’
Per shook his head. ‘I only know bits and pieces that my father has mentioned over the years... they started working together at the end of the seventies, and Bremer lived in Malmö. Jerry said he was a fast, efficient worker, and he was very pleased with him.’
Marklund wrote this down, then said, ‘We probably know a little bit more about Bremer than you do.’
‘Like what?’
‘I can’t go into detail, but Bremer was involved in various things down in Malmö. The film business was just one of his many interests... We’re busy looking into everything else at the moment.’
‘So he was a gangster?’
‘I didn’t say that. So they got on well, your father and Bremer?’
‘I think so, I mean they worked together for many years. And Jerry had gone to the house to meet Bremer before it caught fire.’
Marklund looked through his papers. ‘But they’d quarrelled that day, hadn’t they?’
‘So Jerry says. He insists it was Bremer who cut him with the knife, if I’ve understood him correctly... but if Bremer was tied up and locked in, it must have been somebody else.’
‘Did you see anyone else?’
Per hesitated. Markus Lukas, he thought. Who else could it be?
‘I don’t know... I thought I saw someone running off into the trees at the edge of the forest, just after the fire had broken out. There’s a track, and tyre marks on the ground... I think.’ He hesitated again, but went on, ‘I got the idea that Bremer’s car had been parked in the forest and someone drove off in it once the house was on fire.’
‘Oh?’ Marklund looked at his notes again. ‘What makes you think Hans Bremer had a car?’
Per looked at him. ‘He did, didn’t he? He used to give my father a lift sometimes. Bremer must have picked him up at the bus station before the fire... By the way, have you found all his keys?’
Marklund checked his notes once more. ‘His keys? Would he have had a lot of keys?’
‘I don’t know... But someone went into my father’s apartment in Kristianstad while he was on Öland and broke into a chest of drawers. They were obviously looking for something. They’d been rifling through all Jerry’s papers. We discovered it over Easter, and my father said that Bremer had a set of keys to his apartment. I did report it to the police.’
‘A break-in?’ Marklund made a note. ‘I’d better check up on that.’
‘Good,’ said Per.
There was a brief silence. Marklund looked at the clock and said, ‘Is there anything you’d like to add?’
Per thought about it. Part of him wanted to carry on talking, to tell Marklund he could still hear the woman’s screams reverberating in his head, mingled with Regina’s cries in the forest. But this wasn’t a therapy session.
Then something occurred to him.
‘One thing, perhaps... My father and I have had some strange phone calls since the fire.’
‘From whom?’
‘I don’t know. They were anonymous calls.’
‘OK, but sometimes it’s possible to get the number anyway... We’ll give it a try.’
Marklund made a few more notes, then nodded. ‘Right, I think we’re done here.’ He looked at Per. ‘Many thanks. Would you like to go and bring Gerhard in now?’
Per stood up. He thought about Nilla, and asked, ‘How long will it take?’
‘Not long... Twenty minutes, maybe?’
‘OK... but Jerry doesn’t talk much, as I told you.’
As he left the room he looked at his watch and discovered that the interview had gone on for a good half-hour. Jerry had no doubt fallen asleep.
But when he got to reception his father was not fast asleep on the sofa; in fact, he wasn’t there at all. The sofa was empty.
Per stared at it for a few seconds, then checked the toilets in the little cloakroom. They were also empty.
The woman on reception looked up as Per went over to her. ‘The old man?’ she replied. ‘He left.’
‘Left?’
‘I think he spotted someone out in the street, and he went off.’
‘When?’
‘Not long ago. I’m not sure... maybe quarter of an hour ago?’
Per turned and was out of the police station in three strides.
He stood on the pavement looking around, blinking in the sunshine. A few cars went whizzing by along the street to his right, but there wasn’t a soul in sight.
Jerry had disappeared.
42
Kalmar was a labyrinth. Per had always thought it was just the right size, and easy enough to find your way around, but right now the town seemed like a confusing tangle of streets and pavements.
There was no sign of Jerry anywhere.
Per dashed over to the wide junctions at either side of the police station, then ran all the way around the block, but there was nothing. He switched on his mobile and tried to call Jerry. No reply.