Dark Angel (Anders Knutas 6)

been waiting long?’
    He shook their hands. The dog kept a wary eye on the officers, showing no sign of wanting to make friends.
    ‘It’s no problem,’ said Knutas. ‘We just arrived.’
    Sten Bergström led the way into the house, ushering them into a living room with a huge bay window facing the garden. The wood floor was worn and bare of any rugs. The window had no curtains. The furniture was sparse but solidly built, the type that might have been bought at one of the countless farm auctions held at intervals on the island. Bergström offered his visitors coffee and homemade sponge cake. Knutas and Jacobsson sat down on the kitchen bench, but Bergström remained standing. He explained apologetically that his bad back prevented him from sitting.
    Knutas was having a hard time forming a coherent impression of Sten Bergström. On the one hand, the man seemed to live a rather shabby and simple existence; on the other hand, he personally emanated style and elegance. His striped shirt and light cotton trousers were clean and freshly pressed, and his home was neat and tidy. His dog could have been photographed for the cover of
Castles and Manor Houses
, with a duke or baron holding the Afghan’s lead.
    ‘We’re here with regard to the murder of Viktor Algård,’ Knutas began after the coffee was served and a slice of sponge cake was sitting on the plate before him. ‘It may seem strange that we’re interested in talking to you, but we’re looking into the victim’s past and checking everything that might give us a lead in the investigation. Even though it might seem like a long shot.’
    ‘I see.’ Bergström smiled as he leaned against the door frame. ‘I understand.’
    ‘When did you last have contact with Viktor?’ asked Knutas.
    ‘That was years ago.’
    ‘What sort of relationship did the two of you have?’
    ‘It’s no secret that we were bitter enemies. He ruined me and forced me into bankruptcy.’
    ‘How did that happen?’
    ‘I began arranging parties on a small scale about five or six years ago. They were very successful, so I started my own company. The first conflict we had was over the name. I called my firm “Goal Gotland”, since I was planning not only to arrange events for local clients, but also to entice customers from the mainland to hold their weddings here, as well as birthday parties and so on. There are an awful lot of mainlanders who spend the summer here. Viktor thought the name was too close to his own company name, so he decided to sue me. But that was one battle he lost. There was nothing he could do about the name. At any rate, I continued doing event planning and gradually took over a significant number of his clients.’
    ‘How did you do that?’
    ‘I don’t think they were dissatisfied with his efforts, and there was certainly no reason for complaints. He was highly professional. However, there were periods when he was booked up, which meant there was room for other event planners. I filled that gap. Plus my prices were lower, so more and more people chose my company instead, and then they became steady clients, returning whenever they needed my services. It’s rather like when people change hairdressers. If their own hairdresser doesn’t have time, they try somebody new. If they’re happy with the results, they don’t see any reason to go back to their former hairdresser. People are remarkably disloyal when it comes right down to it,’ said Bergström pensively as he stirred sugar into his coffee. He never took his eyes off the officers, merely shifting his attention back and forth between Jacobsson and Knutas, with an interested expression on his face.
    ‘What sort of contact did you and Viktor have with each other?’
    ‘Nothing personal. Only by phone and letter. He accused me of stealing his clients. He ranted and carried on over the phone, and I’m sorry to say this, but he was extremely rude. I did my best to explain that the people in question had come to me on their own initiative. If certain clients preferred my services, there wasn’t much I could do about it. But Viktor refused to listen. He was truly unreasonable, as a matter of fact. I must say that I thought his behaviour was uncalled for. He still had more clients than he could realistically handle.’
    Jacobsson had to hide a smile. Sten Bergström seemed so out of place in this tumbledown house in the middle of nowhere. He had a bombastic way of speaking and carried himself almost