Dark Angel (Anders Knutas 6)

people still there, standing outside the conference centre and talking. I’m sure that some of the staff would have seen me. Why?’
    ‘Right now I’m the one asking the questions,’ said Jacobsson sternly. Her former friendliness was gone, and she paid no attention to the fact that Veronika Hammar looked as if she might start crying in earnest at any moment. ‘By Sunday evening the media was already reporting that a man had been found dead in the conference centre, and had probably been murdered. You must have suspected that the man could be Viktor. The two of you were on intimate terms, so you’re up to your ears in this case whether you like it or not. Why on earth didn’t you contact the police?’
    Veronika stared at Jacobsson in alarm.
    ‘I didn’t want to get involved.’
    ‘Involved? Did you seriously think that we wouldn’t find you? That no one had noticed anything? That you’d never been seen together?’
    ‘Well no, but …’
    ‘This is a murder case we’re talking about. Don’t you understand the gravity of the situation?’
    Veronika bit her lip. Her hands shook as she put out her cigarette and then immediately lit a second one.
    ‘I … I don’t know. I had no idea what to do. I’m shocked and sad and upset. We were going to get married, you know. Victor and …’
    ‘What were you thinking?’
    ‘I was panic-stricken. I couldn’t think clearly. I wanted to pretend that nothing had happened. I sat at home, hoping that he would come in the door.’
    ‘Do you have any idea who might have done this? Who might have killed him?’
    ‘I can only think that it might have been his wife. She doesn’t seem right in the head.’
    ‘What are you basing that on?’
    Veronika took a deep drag on her cigarette before answering.
    ‘She was furious when Viktor told her that he wanted a divorce. She went berserk and starting throwing things around the house. She even hit him. She was rabid, and refused to accept the situation. She did everything she could to stop him from leaving her. She even booked a holiday in Italy for the whole family this summer after he said he wanted a divorce. She tried to force him to stay, the poor man. She acted like a crazy woman, without an ounce of shame.’
    Abruptly she fell silent and looked down at her hands. Then she asked faintly: ‘How did he die?’
    The question echoed in the small, cold room.
    ‘He was poisoned.’
    ‘But how …?’
    ‘That’s all we can tell you right now. I’m sorry.’
    * * *
    Jacobsson glanced at her watch and saw that it was very late. She leaned towards the tape recorder on the table.
    ‘The time is one fourteen a.m. That concludes the interview with Veronika Hammar.’

IT WAS TUESDAY morning, and the first thing Knutas thought of when he woke was that he hadn’t managed to talk to Nils the previous night. He turned on to his side and looked at Lina’s freckled back. Cautiously he ran his fingertips over her smooth skin. He didn’t want to wake her. She had worked the night shift at the hospital and had probably fallen asleep only a short while ago. As usual, she was sprawled across the bed so that there was hardly any room for him. When he moved her over so that he could get up, she grunted and then put her arms around him.
    ‘Hugs,’ she whispered.
    ‘Sorry. Did I wake you?’
    ‘Not at all. I’m sound asleep.’
    She burrowed her head against his chest. Her hair spilled out across the covers.
    ‘How was Nils feeling last night?’ he asked.
    ‘Good. Fine. His stomach ache was gone. We had lasagne for dinner before I left for work. It’s Nils’s favourite, as you know. We had a nice time together.’
    Lina had a much better relationship with their son. Towards her Nils was as sweet as could be, and he almost never snapped at her. Knutas felt a pang of jealousy.
    ‘I was planning to have a talk with him last night, but then I got home too late.’
    ‘Do it tonight instead. I have the night shift again and start work at nine . Maybe it would be better if I’m not home. Then the two of you can talk in peace.’
    Knutas looked in on the children before he went downstairs to the kitchen. It was only six o’clock. Too early to wake them. Petra was tangled up in the duvet with only her hair showing. Her room was crowded with so many things, but it still had a certain sense of order. Her desk and the shelves above were cluttered with hairspray, perfume, various containers and bottles in garish colours. There