Unspoken

bus.”
    “And you didn’t see him after that?”
    “Nope.”
    “And this was on Monday, November twelfth, the day after you were at the track?”
    “Yup.”
    “What time?”
    “I’m not really sure, but most of the stores were closed and it was dark. There were hardly any people around, so I think it was pretty late.”
    “What do you mean by that? Ten or eleven at night?”
    “No, no, damn it. It wasn’t that late. Maybe seven or eight.”
    “And you didn’t see Henry again after that night?”
    “No, not until we found him in the darkroom, that is.”
    “The building superintendent says that you rang his doorbell. Is that right?”
    “Yes.”
    “Why did you want to talk to him?”
    “I hadn’t seen Flash for a while. I get a little worried when a buddy suddenly isn’t around.”
    “Why did you take off after you found him?”
    Johnsson was silent for a moment before he resumed talking.
    “Well, you see . . . I’d done something really stupid, something damn stupid.”
    “Okay,” said Knutas. “What was it?”
    “The whole gang was at the racetrack on Sunday, the last race day of the season, so it was extra festive. I was there with Flash and Kjelle, and two broads: Gunsan and Monica. We went over to Flash’s place beforehand to have a bite to eat. And then when he won, he wanted to celebrate and we did, too. So we went back to his apartment afterward. We had a party there that night.”
    He fell silent. Knutas clearly sensed that this was a turning point in the interrogation. Now it was starting to get interesting.
    “Well, Flash had won all this money at the track, eighty thousand big ones, in thousand-kronor bills. He showed me where he hid the money, in a box in the broom closet. Later, when the others were all in the living room, I just couldn’t resist. I thought he wouldn’t notice if I took a few thousand. I’ve been going through a real cash crunch, and Flash seemed to be really flush lately, so I thought that . . . well.”
    He paused and gave the officers a pleading look.
    “But damn it, I didn’t kill him. No, I didn’t. I could never do anything like that. But I did take some of his money.”
    “How much?”
    “I guess about twenty thousand,” said Johnsson quietly.
    “You only had ten thousand in the cabin. What happened to the rest of it?”
    “I spent it. On a lot of booze. This thing with Flash really upset me.”
    “But why did you run away from the darkroom?” Knutas asked again.
    “I was scared that you’d think I killed Flash because I stole his money.”
    “What were you doing on the evening of November twelfth?”
    “What day was that?”
    “Last Monday, when you saw Henry at the bus station.”
    “Like I told you, we were there until maybe eight or nine o’clock. Then I went home with Örjan. We spent the night drinking until I passed out on his sofa.”
    “What time was it then?”
    “Don’t know.”
    “Where does he live?”
    “On Styrmansgatan, number fourteen.”
    “Okay. Then he should be able to back up your story.”
    “Sure, although we were both pretty far gone.”
    They were interrupted by a knock on the door. It was about the results from the Fingerprint Center. They took a short break and the officers left the room. Johnsson wanted to use the toilet.
    Dahlström’s fingerprints had been found on the bills. This finding was of little consequence if the police chose to believe Johnsson’s story. Many other prints were also found, but none that matched any in police records.
    “What do we do now?” asked Jacobsson as they got coffee from the office coffee machine.
    “I don’t know. Do you believe him?”
    “Yes, actually, I do,” she said, looking up at Knutas. “I think he sounds very convincing.”
    “I do, too. If only there was someone who could corroborate his story, we could release him right away. I think we can disregard the theft of the money for the time being.”
    “His pal, this Örjan, seems to keep popping up. We need to get hold of him,” said Jacobsson.
    “I’ll talk to Birger about whether we should hold Bengt Johnsson any longer or not. I think we’ll stop the interview here. Would you like some lunch?”
    The choice of lunch restaurants in Visby during the wintertime was limited. Most of the pubs were open only in the evening, and so they usually ended up at the same place if they wanted a change from the meager offerings in the police department’s cafeteria. Of course the lunch was