GL: And he didn’t move? Didn’t try to run away?
EB: I suppose he didn’t believe I was going to shoot.
GL: Can you remember what time it was when this happened?
EB: Around about midnight.
GL: That means it was dark.
EB: I had a strong flashlight with me. I made him carry it when we walked into the forest.
(Another short pause. Berggren had answered the first question that had worried Larsson.)
GL: What happened after you’d shot him?
EB: I looked to make sure he was dead. He was.
GL: Then what did you do?
EB: I tied him to a tree trunk. I had a clothesline with me.
GL: So you tied him up after you’d shot him?
EB: Yes.
GL: Why did you do that?
EB: At that time I had no intention of making a confession. I wanted to make it look as if it was something different.
GL: Something different from what?
EB: A murder a woman could have done. I made it look more like an execution.
(The second question answered, Lindman thought. But Larsson still doesn’t really believe her.)
EB: I need to go to the bathroom.
GL: Then we’ll take a break here, at 15:32. Erik can show you where it is.
The tape started running again. The interrogation continued. Larsson went back to the beginning, repeated all the questions, but stopped in connection with more and more details. A classic interrogation, Lindman thought. Larsson is tired, he’s been working day and night for several days, but he’s still in complete control of what he’s saying, step by step.
The tape stopped. Larsson had brought the interrogation to a close at 17:02. The last thing he said on the tape was the only conclusion he could draw.
GL: Okay, I think we can stop there. What has happened is that you, Elsa Berggren, have confessed to shooting Abraham Andersson, intentionally and after having planned it, at his house at Dunkärret on November 3, shortly after midnight. You have described in detail what happened, and stated that the motive was that you and Herbert Molin had been blackmailed, or threatened with blackmail. You also said that you threw the murder weapon into the Ljusnan River from the old bridge. Is that all correct?
EB: Yes.
GL: Is there anything you’ve said that you’d like to change?
EB: No.
GL: Is there anything Mr. Hermansson would like to say?
SH: No.
GL: I must now inform you that you are under arrest and will be taken to the police station in Östersund. Then a public prosecutor will make a decision about remanding you into custody. Your lawyer will explain all this to you. Is there anything you wish to add?
EB: No.
GL: What you have told us is exactly what happened, is that correct?
EB: Yes.
GL: Then I shall conclude the interrogation at this point.
Lindman stood up and stretched his back. It was stuffy in the room. He opened a window and emptied the half-bottle of mineral water. Thought about what he’d heard. He felt the need to stretch his legs. Larsson was asleep somewhere. He wrote a note and put it on the desk. Short walk, to both bridges and back. Stefan.
He walked quickly because he was cold. The path by the river was well-lit. Again he had the feeling that somebody was following him. He stopped and turned. Nobody in sight. Although — had there been a shadowy figure dodging out of the light? I’m imagining things, he told himself. There’s nobody there. He continued toward the bridge from which Berggren claimed to have dropped her shotgun into the river. Not thrown, dropped. Was she telling the truth? He had to assume so. Nobody confesses to a murder they haven’t committed unless there is a very special reason to protect the real culprit. In such cases, the culprit is usually a child. Parents sometimes accept the blame to save their children. But otherwise? He came to the bridge, tried imagining the shotgun lying there in the water, then turned back. There was one question that Larsson had overlooked. Why had she chosen this particular day to confess? Why not yesterday? Why not tomorrow? Did she only finally make up her mind today? Or was there some other reason?
He came back to the community center and passed behind it. The window was still ajar. Larsson was on the phone. Talking to Rundström, Lindman could hear. The library was still open. He went into the reading room and looked for the Borås local paper. It wasn’t there. He went back to the police office. Larsson was still talking to Rundström. Lindman stayed in the doorway. Looked at the window. Held his breath. He’d been standing out there in the dark and had heard everything Larsson said. He went over to the window, closed it, and went back outside. Now he couldn’t hear a word of what was being said inside. He went back in. Larsson was finishing his conversation with Rundström. Lindman opened the window again. Larsson looked at him and raised his eyebrows.
“What are you up to?”
“I’ve just realized that from outside you can hear every word that’s said in here, loud and clear, when the window’s open. If it’s dark you can be right next to the window and not be seen.”
“So?”
“Just a thought. A possibility.”
“You mean that somebody’s been listening to our phone calls?”
“I expect I’m just imagining it.”
Larsson closed the window.
“For safety’s sake,” he said with a smile. “What do you think about her confession?”
“Did it say in the papers that he was tied to a tree trunk?”
“Yes, but not that a clothesline was used. I also spoke to one of the forensic boys who examined the scene. He could see no flaw in what she described.”
“So she did it?”
“Facts are facts. You no doubt noticed that I was skeptical, though.”
“If she didn’t do it, if she’s protecting the real culprit, we have to ask why.”
Larsson shook his head. “We have to start from the assumption that we’ve got this murder solved. A woman has admitted doing it. If we find the shotgun in the river tomorrow, we can soon establish if the fatal shot came from that gun.”
He sat down and started rolling one of his broken-off cigarillos between his fingers.
“We’ve been fighting on several fronts these last few days. I hope that one of them can now be regarded as closed.”
“Why do you think she decided to confess today instead of any other day?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I should have asked her that. I suppose she had only just made up her mind. She may even have had enough respect for us to have decided that we’d get her in the end anyway.”
“Would we have?”
Larsson made a face. “You never know. Sometimes even the Swedish police catch a criminal.”
There was a knock on the half-open door. A boy came in with a pizza box. Larsson paid the bill and put it in his pocket. The boy left.
“This time I’m not going to crumple it up and drop it in an ashtray. Do you still think it was Hereira in the dining room that night? And that he picked up the bill?”
“Could have been.”
“This is the most continental thing about Sveg,” he said. “They have a pizzeria. Not that they normally deliver, but they will if you have the right contacts. Would you like some? I didn’t get around to eating. I fell asleep.”