Dark Angel by Mari Jungstedt

say to him. But they were sitting at the very back of the pub, and they were so wrapped up in one another that they didn’t have eyes for anybody else. They had their heads close and were practically cooing to each other. There was no question what was going on. They left soon after, and he didn’t see me. If he had, he probably would have fainted.’
    ‘What did she look like?’ asked Johan, trying hard not to sound too eager.
    ‘She was petite, with blond hair to her shoulders, in a pageboy style. Thin and expensively dressed. I never saw her face.’
    ‘How old?’
    ‘I’d guess about forty-five, maybe fifty.’
    ‘Have you told this to the police?’
    ‘No, I wasn’t home yesterday when they came around to talk to the neighbours. They left a note asking me to contact them, but I just haven’t had time yet. I’ve been out feeding the livestock this morning.’
    ‘When did you see Viktor in Stockholm?’
    ‘It was exactly one month ago.’
    ‘Did his wife know about this other woman?’
    ‘I have no idea. But she didn’t mention it to me. On the other hand, it’s not really something that you go around talking about, and we’re not exactly close friends. More like acquaintances. And I didn’t want to say anything. I’m not the sort who goes running about spreading gossip.’

THE FIRST THING that struck Knutas when he met Viktor Algård’s children at the police station was how astonishingly different they looked.
    Fredrik was relatively short and robust, with an olive complexion, and he had his hair combed back, just like his father. He wore a white cotton shirt with a green-checked pullover, a preppy look that reminded Knutas of an American college boy.
    His sister, Sofia, was tall and fair. She was dressed in an oversize lilac shirt, black tights and patterned canvas shoes. She also wore enormous silver earrings and a checked Palestinian scarf.
    Silent and tense, they sat next to each other on a bench in the corridor outside the interview room.
    Jacobsson and Knutas chose to start with the son.
    The minute they all sat down, Fredrik asked for a glass of water. Knutas switched on the tape recorder.
    ‘I’d like to begin by expressing our condolences. As you no doubt realize, we need to ask you a number of questions.’
    ‘Of course.’
    The young man looked at him attentively. Knutas was again struck by how much he resembled Viktor.
    ‘When was the last time you saw your father?’
    ‘On his birthday, a couple of months ago. He was born on the twenty-eighth of February.’
    ‘What sort of impression did he make on you at the time?’
    ‘He was the same as always. We were at the house in Hamra. It turned out to be quite a bash, with about fifty guests. Pappa loved to celebrate on a grand scale.’
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘Well, he was a real party-person, even outside of his job. That was probably why he enjoyed his work so much. Pappa loved parties, and he was always ready to organize one at the drop of a hat.’
    Knutas discerned a trace of scorn in the young man’s voice. Jacobsson came back with a glass of water and then sat down on a chair at the other end of the room. Her presence was needed as a witness to the interview.
    ‘And what did you think about that?’
    ‘It didn’t bother me. I didn’t care.’
    ‘What sort of relationship did you have with your father?’
    ‘We didn’t really have one. He was always working when we were growing up, and he was almost never home. So we didn’t really know each other very well. I’m much closer to my mother, as you can imagine.’
    ‘How did you react when you heard that your parents were getting a divorce?’
    ‘I thought it was about time.’
    ‘Why’s that?’
    ‘They were miles apart, in almost every way. They had completely different interests and never enjoyed doing the same things. Even politically they were mismatched – well, actually I don’t think Pappa even had any political opinions of his own. He was simply