He cast a somber look at Bergdal, who was slumped forward, staring down at the table. “When did you discover that Helena was missing?”
“I woke up just before ten. She wasn’t in bed. I got up, but she wasn’t in the house, either. So I thought she must have gone out with the dog. She usually takes the first walk with Spencer in the morning. I’m a sound sleeper, so I didn’t notice when she left.”
“What did you do?”
“I lit a fire in the woodstove and made breakfast. Then I sat down and drank my coffee and read yesterday’s paper.”
“Didn’t you wonder where she was?”
“When the eleven o’clock news came on the radio, I started thinking it was strange that she hadn’t come back yet. I went out on the porch. You can see all the way to the water from our house, but today there was a thick fog, so I could see only a few yards. Then I got dressed and went out to look for her. I walked down to the beach and called, but I couldn’t find her or Spencer.”
“How long did you look for her?”
“I must have been out there at least an hour. Then I thought that maybe she’d returned to the cabin in the meantime, so I hurried back. The house was still empty,” he said, and his voice faded out. He hid his face in his hands.
Anders Knutas and Karin Jacobsson waited in silence.
“Are you ready to continue?” asked Knutas.
“I just can’t believe she’s dead,” Bergdal whispered.
“What happened when you got back to the house?”
“It was still empty, so I thought maybe she’d gone to visit some friends of ours nearby. I called them, but she wasn’t there, either.”
“What are their names?”
“Their last name is Larsson. Eva and Rikard, her husband. Eva’s an old friend Helena has known since childhood. They live year-round in a house a short distance from ours.”
“Did they have any idea where she might have gone?”
“No.”
“Who answered the phone?”
“Eva did.”
“Was her husband home, too?”
“No, they own a farm, so I guess he was out working.”
Bergdal lit yet another cigarette, coughed, and then took a long drag.
“What did you do next?”
“I lay down on the bed and thought about various places she might have gone. Then it occurred to me that she might have fallen and hurt herself. Maybe she couldn’t get up. So I went out looking for her again.”
“Where?”
“Down at the beach. The fog had lifted a little. I saw her footsteps in the sand. I also searched in the woods, but I didn’t find her. Then I went back home.”
His face crumpled. He started crying, quietly, without moving. The tears poured out, mixing with snot, but he didn’t notice. Karin didn’t really know what to do. She decided not to disturb him. He took a couple of gulps of water and regained his composure.
Knutas continued the interview. “How did you get those marks on your neck?”
“What? Oh, these?” Embarrassed, Bergdal touched his hands to his throat.
“Yes, those. They look like scratches,” said Knutas.
“Well, you see, we had a party last night. We had invited some friends over. Helena’s friends, actually. We ate dinner and partied and had a good time. Everyone drank a little too much. I have a problem with jealousy. Well, sometimes I get really jealous, and that’s what happened last night. One of the guys was coming on to Helena when they were dancing.”
“In what way?”
“He was grabbing her, a little too much… several times. I was drunk, and it made me see red, to be quite honest. I pulled Helena outdoors in back and told her what I thought of it all. She got mad as hell. I guess she’d drunk too much, too. She screamed and flew at me, and that’s when I got these scratch marks.”
“Then what happened?”
“I hit her. I gave her a slap, and then she ran into the bathroom and locked the door. I’ve never hit her before,” he assured them, giving Knutas a pleading look. “Then Kristian came out to talk to me. He’s the one she was dancing with, and I slugged him, too. He didn’t have a chance to strike back, because the others intervened. Then everything calmed down, and they all went home.”
“What did you do next?”
“Helena’s best friend, Emma, and her husband, Olle, were still there. Olle made sure that I got into bed, and he must have stayed until I fell asleep. I don’t remember anything else until I woke up this morning.”
“Why didn’t you tell us about all this right from the start?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who was at the party?”
“Mostly Helena’s childhood friends. Emma and Olle Winarve, as I mentioned, and our neighbors Eva and Rikard Larsson. Helena has known them for a long time. A friend named Beata and her husband, John, the Dunmars. They’ve been living in the States, so I’ve never met them before. And the guy named Kristian, who made me so mad. He’s single, and Helena has known him a long time, too. I think they were really into each other for a while.”
“What do you mean by ‘into each other’?”
“Well, I think they might have slept together a few times. Helena denied it, but I have a feeling I’m right.”
“Do you think that might be your jealousy talking?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“How long have you and Helena been together?”
“Six years.”
“That’s quite a long time. How old are you?”
“Thirty-eight.”
“Why haven’t you gotten married or had kids?”
“I’ve wanted to for a long time. Helena was more reluctant. She started her studies rather late, and she wanted to work some more before we had a family. We were thinking of getting married, though. We talked about it.”
“Were you unsure about the relationship? Since you were so jealous?”
“No. I don’t know. It was getting better and better. It’s been a long time since I got so mad. Yesterday it all just exploded.”
“Do you know whether she’d had a falling-out with anyone here on the island? Anyone who disliked her?”
“No, she was the sort of person that everyone liked.”
“Do you know whether she’s ever received any threats?”
“No.”
“Were you friends with anyone else here on Gotland, other than the people who were at the party?”
“Just with some of Helena’s relatives. Her father’s sister, who lives in Alva, and a few cousins in Hemse. Otherwise we usually kept mostly to ourselves. We came here to relax, you know… and to get away from all the stress back home… and then something like this has to happen.”
He could hardly speak.
Knutas could see that there was no reason to continue for the time being, and he stopped the interview.
When Anders Knutas had concluded his interview with Per Bergdal, he went to his office for a few minutes to think and reflect. He sat down heavily in his old desk chair, which was worn shiny. It was made of oak and had been with him all these years. It had a high back, and the seat was covered in soft leather. Gently he spun around, rocking the chair a bit as he leaned against the back. The chair seemed to have become molded to his body over the years. He did his best thinking while sitting in that old chair.
Knutas, who was the head of criminal investigations in Visby, was always careful to set aside time like this. It was especially important whenever there was a lot of drama surrounding him. Like today. His long experience with the police had taught him to pay attention to every impression at the beginning of an investigation. Otherwise it was easy, in all the fervor, to overlook things that might turn out to be important or even crucial to solving the case. He started filling his pipe.
In his mind he went back over the impressions he had brought back from the murder scene. The bloody body. The panties in the mouth. The slaughtered dog. What did the macabre scene tell him? It was difficult to say whether the murder been planned or not, but there was no doubt that it had been committed in extreme rage.
The medical examiner had arrived by plane from Stockholm in the afternoon. He was already out at the site. Knutas decided to go out to the murder scene the next day, when things should be significantly calmer.