“We have to let him go,” Martinsson said to Mella and Stålnacke. “We’ve got their clothes. We have to hope that the forensic examination gives us some results.”
They were standing in the corridor outside the interrogation room.
“But they haven’t said anything!” Mella said. “We can’t just let them go!”
“They are not under arrest. They’ve said what they’re going to say.”
“Nevertheless we have the right to keep them here and interrogate them for six hours. Those bastards can sit in there for six hours.”
“Do you want to be charged with professional misconduct?” Martinsson said calmly. “We have no justification for holding them.”
Olsson and Rantakyrö came out into the corridor, attracted by the sound of raised voices.
“Rebecka says we have to let them go,” Mella said.
“We’ll nail them regardless,” Olsson said by way of consolation.
Mella nodded.
We simply have to, she thought. I won’t be able to cope otherwise. Please God, let them find something on their clothes.
“We managed to search the houses after all,” Rantakyrö said. “Well done, Svempa.”
Stålnacke looked at the floor. Cleared his throat to show that he had noted the compliment.
“By God, we did!” Rantakyrö said, making a manful effort to transform the gloomy atmosphere. “I’d have given anything to have been there.”
“Yes, it was perfect timing with the telephone,” Martinsson said, giving Stålnacke a congratulatory look. “Anyway, let’s say goodbye to the Krekula brothers for now. Anna-Maria, do you have the documentation for Wilma, Simon and Hjörleifur?”
“Of course,” Mella said.
“O.K. Since I’m taking over the investigation, I’ll need to read all the material. I thought I’d do that this evening.”
No-one spoke. Everyone was looking at Martinsson.
“Having made the decision to search the Krekulas’ houses, I’ll be taking over the preliminary investigation,” Martinsson said.
The three male officers turned to look at Mella.
“Of course,” she said in an unnaturally offhand tone of voice. “But we’re not used to being so formal. With Alf Björnfot it was business as usual. We simply kept reporting to him as work progressed.”
“As I mentioned earlier today,” Martinsson said, and now the words came flowing smoothly out of her mouth, “you’re no longer working with Alf Björnfot, but with me. I want to read all the material. And I naturally expect you to report to me as soon as anything happens.”
“‘Expect’,” said Mella before she could stop herself. Then she darted into her office and fetched the documents lying on her desk to hand them over to Martinsson.
Having followed on her heels, Martinsson collected them in Mella’s doorway, the other officers trailing after her like a tail.
“They’re probably not in the right order,” Mella said.
“That doesn’t matter,” Martinsson said.
She glanced at the noticeboard in Mella’s office. Pinned up were photographs of Wilma Persson, Simon Kyrö and Hjörleifur Arnarson, with the dates when the first two had disappeared and when Hjörleifur had been murdered. There were maps of the area where Wilma had been found dead, and of Vittangijärvi. The names of the Krekula brothers were also posted.
“All that stuff,” Martinsson said, pointing, “we’ll move into the conference room tomorrow. So we have everything in one place. When shall we meet tomorrow? Eight o’clock?”
I don’t care what they think, Martinsson said to herself as she walked off with the documentation under her arm. I’m responsible now, and everything will be done by the book. It’s not my style to watch from the sidelines. If I’m in charge of the investigation, I’m the one who makes the decisions.
“Wow,” Mella said when Martinsson had left. “Do you think we’ll have to line up before the meeting tomorrow? In alphabetical order? Like at school?”
“But she did a bloody brilliant job today with Tore Krekula,” Stålnacke said. “Without her…”
“Yes, yes,” Mella said impatiently. “I just think a little humility wouldn’t go amiss.”
The silence between them seemed to last for eternity. Stålnacke looked hard at Mella. Mella stared back at him, ready to fight her corner.
“Looks like it’s time to go home,” Olsson said, and was seconded by Rantakyrö, who explained that his girlfriend was getting annoyed – she’d phoned him about supper an hour ago now, and he had promised to call in and rent a film on the way home.
Word soon gets around in a little town like Kiruna. Pathologist Lars Pohjanen tells his technical assistant Anna Granlund that Rebecka Martinsson saw Wilma Persson in a dream after she died and told him that Wilma did not die in the river. That was why he took samples of the water in her lungs.
Granlund says she believes in that kind of thing – her sister’s grandfather’s cousin was able to staunch blood by the laying on of hands.
Granlund’s work is covered by hospital confidentiality rules, but she cannot resist telling her sister about this phenomenon over a pizza lunch at Laguna.
Her sister promises not to say anything about it, but close family does not count, of course, so she tells her husband that evening.
The husband does not believe in that kind of thing, however. That is precisely why he tells one of his mates about it while they are sitting in the sauna after a body-building session. Perhaps he feels the need to test the credibility of Martinsson’s claim. Could it really be possible? He wants to see how his friend reacts.
His mate does not say much at all. Just pours more water onto the hot stones.
His mate often goes hunting with an old Piilijärvi resident, Stig Rautio. They bump into each other outside the Co-op. He repeats the story to Rautio. Asks if he knew Wilma Persson. She was murdered, it seems. It was that District Prosecutor Rebecka Martinsson – the one who killed those pastors a few years ago – she was the one who…
Stig Rautio. He hunts on land owned by Tore and Hjalmar Krekula. He calls on Isak and Kerttu Krekula with the rent he owes Tore Krekula – Tore’s wife has told him her husband is visiting his parents. There is no urgency regarding the rent payment, but Rautio is curious. Everyone in the village, indeed in the whole of Kiruna, knows that the police have searched the Krekula brothers’ houses in connection with the murders of Wilma Persson and Hjörleifur Arnarson. Isak Krekula is in bed in the little room off the kitchen, as he always is nowadays. Kerttu Krekula is frying sausages and has made some mashed turnips for her boys. Hjalmar is eating, but Tore is only drinking coffee: he’s already eaten at home – after all, he has a wife who cooks for him.
Kerttu Krekula does not ask if Rautio would like a mug of coffee. They realize that he is only nosing around, but they cannot tell him anything. He hands over the envelope with the rent. He had used the first envelope he could lay hands on, and it happened to be one of his wife’s special ones, bought at Kiruna market. It looked as if dried flowers had been pressed into the hand-made paper. Taking the envelope, Tore gives it a quizzical look. Aha, says the look, someone is trying to give the impression of being posh and remarkable.
Rautio regrets not having looked for a different envelope: a used one with a window would have been better, but so what! He says he has heard that the police have been round – what a gang of idiots, halfwits! What the hell do they think they’re doing? Next thing we know they will be knocking on his door as well. Then he tells them about that business concerning District Prosecutor Martinsson and Pathologist Pohjanen. That she had dreamt about Wilma Persson, and gone to the pathologist as a result.
“Before long they’ll be buying crystal balls instead of chasing after thieves,” he jokes.