Unspoken

was this?” asked Johan.
    “Well, let’s see. We had the carport built several years ago. When was it?”
    He looked at his wife.
    “Four, maybe five years ago? And the dormer window was done last year.”
    “Did he help other people with this sort of work?”
    “Sure he did. I heard about him from a friend in the local folklore society.”
    “Have you told the police about this?”
    Bertil Persson looked embarrassed. He set his cocoa cup on the table.
    “No, why should we? What does it matter that he was here and did a bit of carpentry work? Why would the police care about that?”
    He leaned toward Johan and lowered his voice to speak confidentially.
    “And besides, we paid him under the table. He was living on welfare and that’s how he wanted it. You won’t say anything, will you?”
    “I hardly think the police would care about how he was paid, given the situation. They’re conducting a murder investigation, and this would be important information for them to have. I can’t keep it to myself.”
    Bertil raised his eyebrows.
    “Really? But then we risk getting caught for hiring an illegal worker.”
    He looked upset. Astrid Persson put her hand on his arm.
    “As I said, I don’t think the police will take that very seriously,” said Johan.
    He stood up. He wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible.
    “But I told you this in confidence,” exclaimed Bertil Persson, looking as if he thought his days were numbered.
    “I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do.”
    The man grabbed Johan’s arm, and his voice took on an ingratiating tone.
    “But it can’t be that important, can it? My wife and I are members of the church—it would be embarrassing if this got out. Can’t we forget about the whole thing?”
    “I’m sorry, but no,” snapped Johan, pulling his arm away, a bit more brusquely than he intended.
    He hurried out of the building after saying a rather strained good-bye.
    Knutas sank onto his desk chair, holding what he hoped was his last cup of coffee for the day—at least if his stomach had anything to say about the matter. The preliminary autopsy report from the ME showed, exactly as expected, that Henry Dahlström had died as the result of contusions to the back of his head caused by a hammer. The perpetrator had delivered a series of blows, using both the blunt and claw end of the hammer.
    The time of death was probably late on Monday night, November 12, or possibly early Tuesday morning. This coincided well with the circumstances known to the police. All indications were that the murder had occurred after 10:30 p.m., when Dahlström’s neighbor heard him go down to the basement.
    Knutas started meticulously filling his pipe as he continued studying the photos and reading the description of the victim’s wounds.
    Solving a homicide was like solving a crossword puzzle. Rarely was the solution discovered through direct means. Instead, it required leaving certain details alone for a day while concentrating on others. When he later returned to what he had set aside, new patterns would often emerge. And the same thing happened when he did crossword puzzles: He frequently found it very surprising that a particular problem had caused him so much trouble. When he looked at it again, the solution seemed crystal clear.
    Knutas went over to the window, opened it slightly, and lit his pipe.
    Then there were the witnesses. Dahlström’s friends had nothing of any direct value to report. They had largely just confirmed what the police already knew. Nor had anything new emerged that might reinforce their suspicions about Johnsson, so the prosecutor had decided to release the man. He was still going to be charged with theft, but there was no reason to keep him in custody.
    Knutas had practically ruled out the idea that Johnsson was the guilty party. On the other hand, he was giving a good deal of thought to the man named Örjan. An unpleasant type. He’d been in jail for aggravated assault and battery. And he seemed capable of murder.
    When Örjan was interviewed he had denied it, of course, claiming that he hardly knew Dahlström. And this had been confirmed by others in their circle. But that didn’t preclude the possibility that he might have killed Dahlström.
    Arne Haukas, the PE teacher who lived in the same section of the building as Dahlström, had been questioned about his whereabouts on the night of the murder. He claimed that he had simply gone out jogging, as usual. He