Dark Angel (Anders Knutas 6)

stage show had just started, so it must have been right after midnight.’
    ‘Did you see whether Veronika drank the cocktail?’
    ‘I don’t think she did. She handed the glass to Viktor. Then he went downstairs, while she went off in another direction. There were so many people, and I was busy filling drink orders, so I didn’t give it another thought.’
    ‘Do you recall what the man said?’
    Rolf paused to think.
    ‘Let’s see now. First he ordered the drink, without saying anything in particular. After I mixed the cocktail and served it, he paid with cash and gave me a big tip.’
    ‘Try to remember exactly what happened,’ Knutas told him. ‘Did he give you exact change?’
    ‘Good Lord, how in hell am I supposed to … Wait a minute. Now I remember. He paid with a five-hundred-krona note. The drink cost eighty-five, and he told me just to give him four hundred back. That’s right. Fifteen for a tip.’
    ‘Then what?’
    ‘Well, when I handed him the change, he asked me to give the drink to Veronika Hammar.’
    ‘How far apart were they standing? I mean, Veronika and the stranger?’
    ‘They were at opposite ends of the bar, so maybe ten metres apart or so. And there was a big crowd there. I told Veronika that the drink was from an admirer, but when I turned to point him out to her, the guy was gone.’
    Knutas had listened to Rolf’s account with growing interest. He realized that the bartender’s story meant that the murder investigation was about to take a new and surprising turn.
    He thanked the man for his time and then hurried out of the club.
    As soon as Knutas got back to police headquarters, he asked Jacobsson to come to his office. He explained his theory, based on what he’d just learned from the pub manager. Jacobsson sat in silence on his visitor’s sofa, listening with an increasingly surprised look on her face.
    ‘So you think that Algård was killed by mistake? That the cyanide wasn’t intended for him at all?’
    ‘Exactly. It was meant for Veronika Hammar.’
    ‘So we’ve been on the wrong track the whole time.’
    ‘The man who ordered that drink is the one we need to be looking for.’
    ‘What about the glass?’
    ‘We’re going to have to search the entire building again. Look in every damn rubbish bin, and every nook and cranny in the vicinity of the conference centre. The perp obviously took the glass with him.’
    ‘So how did the poison get in the cocktail?’
    ‘Emptying a vial into the drink could be done in a flash. It wouldn’t take more than a few seconds. He could have done it while the bartender was getting change for the five hundred kronor.’
    ‘This turns everything upside down,’ said Jacobsson. ‘We’re going to have to start from scratch.’
    ‘Definitely,’ Knutas agreed grimly. ‘Let’s get everyone together for a meeting.’

THE CABIN COULDN’T be described as luxurious. It was a typical weekend cabin from the sixties with dark brown wood panelling, a tumbledown chimney and spartan furnishings. The front door opened on to a narrow hallway. A row of hooks on the wall held jackets, coats and various bags and purses. On the floor underneath were rubber boots, wooden clogs and slippers. A couple of walking sticks leaned against the wall in one corner. The small kitchen had a window that faced the forested area on the hill. A cheap rug on the floor, wallpaper with brown flowers. A laminate countertop, a small sink and a stove that looked at least thirty years old. Further along the hall was a large bedroom with a double bed, dresser and photographs of several children on the wall. The living room had a hardwood floor and a simple fireplace. The furniture consisted of a sofa, coffee table, bookshelf and a spinning wheel.
    It was getting cold. She had heated up some soup for dinner and eaten it with a couple of open sandwiches on rye bread. Outside the window, it looked as if a big lamp had been switched off over Gotland. It was pitch dark. At night, not a single light was ever visible over the countryside, except for the moon if the sky was clear. Then it would spread its bluish glow over the treetops, glinting on the wings of bats as they fluttered overhead whenever she made her way to the outside privy. Tonight she stayed sitting at the table after she finished eating. She was staring at the flame of the candle that she’d set in the wrought-iron candlestick.
    All day long she’d had a strange feeling that someone was watching