“Sander.”
“And what did he recommend you do?”
“Go to you. To the police.”
“But you didn’t.”
Vidar’s questions were becoming statements.
“No,” Jakob said, his voice as flimsy as a whisper. “I didn’t.”
“Why not?”
“I didn’t know what to say.”
“What were you doing on Christmas Day in 1999? In the evening?”
“I was at home.”
“You spent quite a bit of time outside, didn’t you? Stacking firewood and so on.”
“Yes, I did.”
“Alone that time too, is that right?”
“I think so. But everyone else was right inside.”
“But you were alone outside. No one saw you.”
“No, yes, I guess I was alone.”
Jakob was starting to sweat.
“I know how it is with firewood. It takes a long time. You must have been out for half an hour, at least?”
Jakob shifted in his chair. “I don’t remember. But something like that, sure.”
“So you see, Jakob, how this looks and why I’m being so persistent. You don’t tell the truth the first time we speak to you after FilipSöderström’s murder. You don’t tell your wife the truth about where you are or what you do that afternoon. By your own account, you don’t see anyone or speak to anyone. In other words, you have no alibi. Nor do you have your cell phone with you, which can be read as premeditation: you don’t want anyone to see where you are or have gone during that time period. And now it turns out that you have also lied to me during this conversation.”
Vidar watched for a reaction on Jakob’s face before he went on, but Jakob’s gaze was blank.
“Not to mention all the uncertainty concerning your actions surrounding the burglary and the theft of your family’s money after Pierre’s party. You have been hiding things from us for a long, long time, things with a direct connection to what happened in Skavböke in 1999. You can’t quite account for your whereabouts at the time of the landslide, and there’s even a motive to explain why you might have been so upset with the Söderström family. The fight with Mikael, and the money.”
Vidar placed a gentle finger against the scrap of fabric behind its plastic sheet.
“It appears you won’t reveal anything until you are confronted with information that renders your story impossible. Then you revise it. This is a strategy of sorts, conscious or not, that we often see in interviews like this one, and it’s never a good sign.”
Jakob sat very still. Dark circles were appearing under his arms.
“What’s more,” Vidar said, turning the page of the binder, “we’ve got this.” He pointed at a photograph of the spade they’d found in Filip’s garage. “You recognize it, I believe.”
Jakob stared at the picture without saying anything.
“Do you recognize this, Jakob?”
He shook his head. Vidar turned the page again. Another photograph, this time the one from Lillemor Söderström’s photo album.
“Here it is, just two months before Mikael was murdered, at your house. That’s the same spade, isn’t it? It was used in not one but two homicides. So I have to ask, Jakob. Did you kill Filip Söderström?”
