It was no longer folded up; now it was neatly tucked into a sheet protector, marked with a sticker in the margin; on it was an evidence number.
“Do you recognize this?”
Filip leaned forward, glanced at the paper, and leaned back again.
“No.”
“You don’t? Take another look.”
“Why would I? I didn’t write that.”
“Are you sure about that?” Gerd turned the document around and read from it:I want to light myself on fire, the explosion awaits.” She tried to make eye contact with Filip. “There was a box of dynamite in your basement at home, and you knew it was there.”
“No, I didn’t. I had no idea.”
“You and your brother carried it home last fall, isn’t that true?”
“No.”
Gerd sighed. “If you didn’t write this, I would say someone went to great lengths to make it seem like you did.”
Filip shrugged. “So?”
“Who might that be?” Gerd asked.
“How should I know? Did Sander or Killian give you that?”
“Why do you ask?”
“I know it was one of them.”
“How do you know that, if you didn’t write it?”
“I’m missing a page in my notebook. They brought my backpack to my house when I forgot it at school.” He nodded at the paper. “One of them must have written that to screw with me.”
“Why would they do that?”
“Guess you’d have to ask them.”
“Can you tell me what you were doing on Christmas Day, in the evening?”
“Yes. But I don’t want to.”
“It would really help us out. And you, too, of course. And your mom and dad.”
When Filip didn’t respond, and simply stared at Gerd instead, Siri cleared her throat and offered a matter-of-fact explanation.
“Filip. If we assume youaren’tthe one who blew up the dynamite, it had to have been someone else. That person destroyed your entire farm. They could have killed you and both your parents. Don’t you want to help us find out who did it?”
“It was Sten.”
Gerd and Siri exchanged glances.
“Sten Persson?” Siri asked.
“Yes.”
“You sound pretty sure of that. How come?”
