In the sauna they would discuss all sorts of daily trivialities, or just sit in utter silence. That was the sign of a good friend, Knutas thought. He didn’t care for loud people who insisted on jabbering incessantly, even when they had nothing sensible to say.
Knutas described Lina’s birthday fiasco, which gave Almlov a good laugh. They would never completely understand women-they could certainly agree on that.
They had sons the same age, and they talked about the problems of puberty that had started showing up. Their sons were classmates and friends. A week or so ago Almlov had discovered them smoking in secret. It turned out that they had lit a couple of old cigarette butts. Almlov’s son, who wore his hair long-to the dismay of his parents-had managed to burn several locks on one side.
They talked about their surprise at getting older, about the anxiety of bulging stomachs and slack muscles, about getting gray hair on their chests. Knutas didn’t think about old age and death very often, but sometimes he noticed how life seemed to be running away from him, and then he would wonder how much time he had left. He pictured himself getting older and older, with all the accompanying infirmities and immobility. How long would he be able to remain active? When he was thinking along those lines, he would start worrying about the fact that he smoked, although not much. Mostly he sucked on an unlit pipe, filling it and tending to it, but lighting it only a few times each day.
Almlov was struggling with the same anxieties, even though he didn’t smoke. He told Knutas that he had bought a home gym, and he was working out for an hour every morning. The results were quite evident, as Knutas noted with envy. He appreciated his friend’s candor and the fact that he could confide in him. But when it came to Knutas’s job, other rules applied. And Almlov never asked him about his work. Even so, Knutas sometimes wished he could tell his friend about one thing or another. It was often good to talk to someone outside police headquarters, someone who had a different perspective. Lina was usually the one who served as his sounding board. She had helped him many times to think along new lines.
It was eleven o’clock by the time Knutas arrived at his office. On his desk was a handwritten note from Norrby along with the transcription of an interview from the Uppsala police. The young woman who was with the witness at the harbor had been tracked down to an address there. Only one passenger of the right age and from that city had taken the boat on the day in question. Her name was Elin Andersson. The Uppsala police had apparently agreed to assist the investigative team by interviewing her over the weekend. She had conceded that she knew Niklas Appelqvist and that they had been together at the harbor on the morning of July 20 before she left. But she had not noticed anyone in particular down at the harbor. So it was as they had guessed-Dahlstrom’s young neighbor was the one who had provided Johan Berg with the information. Knutas was extremely annoyed that such an important witness refused to talk to the police. And it wasn’t because he’d been in trouble with the police. A search of police records had come up negative.
When he entered the conference room half an hour later, Knutas noticed at once a sense of excitement in the air. Jacobsson and Kihlgard had gone through Dahlstrom’s papers over the weekend, and from the look on their faces, it was clear that they had found something that they were dying to share with their colleagues. Kihlgard had two big cinnamon rolls on a plate in front of him next to a big mug of coffee. He ate as he fiddled with the papers. Crumbs fell on the table.
Knutas sighed. “Do the two of you have something to report?”
“You better believe it,” said Kihlgard. “It turns out that Dahlstrom kept detailed records on his clients. We have a long list of names and dates, what he built, and how much he was paid.”
“The work he did was much more extensive than we thought,” added Jacobsson. “He had been doing carpentry jobs for over ten years. His first job was in 1990. Some of the people who made use of Dahlstrom’s services are very well-known in Visby.”
Everyone gave Jacobsson their full attention as she held up a list of names.
“Would you believe-wait till you hear this-city council chairman and Social Democrat Arne Magnusson?”
A gasp of surprise rippled through the room.
“Magnusson?” said Wittberg, laughing. “That can’t be true! The guy who’s always defending high taxes and talking about how great it is to pay them? That’s too funny! He’s the worst moralizer in all of Visby.”
“Yes, he’s always lobbying for the restaurants to close at one a.m. in the summertime and for smoking to be banned,” snickered Sohlman.
“If this gets out… the journalists are going to have a field day.” Norrby threw out his hands.
“A garden shed in 1997,” read Jacobsson from the list. “Five thousand kronor, paid under the table, along with several bottles of liquor. Can you believe it?”
Knutas grew serious. “This is totally insane.”
“Just wait. There are more surprises on the list,” said Jacobsson. “Bernt Hakansson, chief surgeon at the hospital, and Leif Almlov, restaurant owner and your good friend, Anders!”
“What the hell?” Knutas turned bright red in the face. “Is his name on there, too?”
“A sauna in the country for ten thousand-that was a tidy sum.”
There was a glint of mischief in Jacobsson’s eye. She was enjoying teasing him. Kihlgard looked equally pleased. They had certainly found something to entertain themselves. How nice for them.
“At least he’s not alone. There are at least a dozen names.”
“No one from here, I hope?” said Wittberg uneasily. “Don’t tell me that, for God’s sake.”
“No, luckily there aren’t any police officers on the list. On the other hand, there is someone with your last name. Roland Wittberg. Are you related to him?”
Wittberg shook his head.
“Let me see,” said Knutas.
He recognized a number of the names.
“What are we going to do with this?”
“To start with, we’ll check up on them and see if there are any other links to Dahlstrom,” said Jacobsson, snatching the list back.
Knutas called Leif as soon as he was back in his office. He felt tremendously out of sorts.
“Why didn’t you tell me that you had hired Dahlstrom?”
Silence.
“Are you there?”
“Yes.”
Knutas heard a deep sigh on the phone.
“Why didn’t you say anything about the sauna?” Knutas persisted.
“You know how it is with all the crooked dealings in the restaurant business. I thought that if it came out that I had hired an illegal worker for a private matter, then people would think I did the same thing at the restaurant. I would come under suspicion and the authorities would make life hell for me.”
“Why didn’t you think of that before you let him build that sauna?”
“I know it was really stupid. At the time things weren’t going well with the restaurant, and Ingrid kept nagging me about the damn sauna. That’s no excuse, but maybe it’s an explanation of sorts. I hope that I haven’t put you in an embarrassing situation.”
“I’ll manage. Besides, there are others who have reason to be uneasy. We have a list of plenty of people who did the same thing. You wouldn’t believe your ears.”
After hanging up the phone, Knutas leaned back in his chair and started filling his pipe. He was grateful that no police officers were on the list, and he accepted his friend’s explanation. Good Lord, who hadn’t done something stupid? Once, many years ago, he had actually swiped a package of underwear from a shop on Adelsgatan. He was standing in the store, holding the package, when he was suddenly seized with a wild impulse to find out what it felt like to steal something. He walked right out the door with the package under his arm. He was so nervous that he was shaking, but when he exited the store, a giddy feeling of joy came over him. A kind of invulnerability. It was as if the act made him untouchable. After he had gone far enough from the store to know that he had escaped undetected, he glanced at the package, only to find that he had taken the wrong size.