Dark Angel (Anders Knutas 6)

They’re also going to see if he might be visiting his brother Simon, since Mats has the most contact with him. And they live just a stone’s throw from each other, on either side of Slussen.
    ‘The question is: Where has he been staying when he comes to Gotland?’ said Knutas. ‘I’ve asked all the hotels, B and Bs, hostels, cabin rental agencies and campground owners to look through their records. Unfortunately, it’s going to take time before we hear back from all of them.’
    ‘He has a brother here on Gotland,’ said Jacobsson. ‘Who’s to say he’s not staying with Andreas?’

JOHAN’S MOBILE RANG as he and Pia were on their way to the café where Veronika Hammar was murdered. As soon as Johan took the call, Pia could tell that something was seriously wrong.
    The doctor told him that Emma was in intensive care. She had been found at the very café they were on their way to visit. But she was just running some errands, Johan thought in bewilderment.
    At that moment they had entered the roundabout at Norrgatt; Pia was driving towards the northern gate in the ring wall.
    ‘Go to the hospital!’ he shouted, still holding the mobile to his ear. ‘We have to go to the hospital!’
    Pia quickly turned the steering wheel the other way, casting a startled look at her colleague.
    ‘What’s going on?’
    ‘Emma’s in intensive care. She was at the café when Veronika Hammar was killed, and she tried to save her. Now she’s in a serious condition herself.’ He pounded his fist on the side of the passenger door. ‘Shit, shit, shit.’
    Pia brought the car to such an abrupt stop at the hospital entrance that the tyres shrieked against the asphalt. As Johan jumped out of the car, she yelled after him: ‘It’ll be OK. She’ll be fine!’
    She could hear how hollow her words sounded.

WHEN THE MEETING of the investigative team was over, Knutas sat down at his desk and punched in the phone number for Simon Hammar in Stockholm. No one answered. The phone rang and rang, echoing in his ear. He sighed and went out to the corridor to get himself a cup of coffee from the vending machine. The whole station was buzzing with activity, and a nationwide alert had been issued for Mats Andersson. Knutas speculated what his motive could be. Was he so eager to kill his mother because she’d abandoned him when he was a newborn? If so, why had he decided to do it now, at the age of forty-one?
    Thoughts of Karin and her baby flitted through his mind. It was impossible to ignore the similarities. At the same time, there were distinct differences. Mats had tried several times to contact his biological mother, to no avail. Karin had never heard from her daughter. And Mats had not been put up for adoption. Instead, he’d been sent to live with various foster families. And what role did his newfound half-brothers and -sister play in the drama? Again he tried to phone Simon at his temporary address in Gamla Stan. He was just about to give up when someone picked up. But the voice wasn’t Simon’s.
    ‘Hello?’
    ‘This is Detective Superintendent Anders Knutas. I’m looking for Simon Hammar.’
    ‘Anders Knutas? What in God’s name is going on?’
    There was no mistaking that deep, morose voice. Knutas had worked on several cases with Inspector Kurt Fogestam of the Stockholm police.
    ‘Kurt? I might ask you the same question. Why are you answering this phone? It’s urgent that I speak with Simon Hammar.’
    ‘Well, he’s here all right,’ said Fogestam glumly. ‘But I’m afraid you’re too late. Simon Hammar is dead.’
    Knutas’s jaw dropped.
    ‘We just got the call. He fell out of a fifth-floor window. Landed on Kornhamnstorg here in Gamla Stan. The square that faces Slussen, you know? We’ve got a huge problem on our hands at the moment. Traffic is at a standstill, and a big crowd has gathered in the square. We haven’t even removed the body yet. It looks like murder. There are signs of a struggle in the flat. I can call you back later. But why are you looking for Simon Hammar?’
    ‘His mother was murdered here on Gotland just a few hours ago. She was poisoned with cyanide, just like Viktor Algård at the conference centre.’
    ‘You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.’

A PARALYSING SENSE of inadequacy settled over Knutas as he put down the receiver after talking to Kurt Fogestam in Stockholm. The police seemed to be always one step behind. By all indications, Mats Andersson had first murdered his