“It’s remarkable you two got as far as you did, given your limited resources. The way I see it, most of the evidence suggests you were right. Killian Persson was the killer.”
Siri crossed her legs and leaned back. Maybe she was wondering if this was his real opinion or just something he was saying to mollify her.
“Most of the evidence,” she repeated. “But not all of it.”
“That’s not unusual. In fact, my first question has to do with exactly that. Suspect deceased, it says somewhere in here. But even so, you didn’t close the case.”
Siri shook her head and looked at him, perhaps hesitating one last time. Then she began to think, fumbling way back in her memory.
“The prosecutor agreed to keep it open. Gerd and I both felt there was good reason to, partly on account of the landslide. I seem to recall some information came to light, something relevant to the sequence of events.”
“Like what?”
It wasn’t easy to remember. Vidar could see it on her face.
“The money, for instance. We only found it after the fact. And even though it strengthened our suspicions against Persson rather than pointing to a different perpetrator, we didn’t know if more information would turn up, new circumstantial evidence. But there were other uncertainties too. There was…shit, I don’t remember.”
“I know this isn’t easy,” Vidar said gently. “But you know how it goes, I have to ask.”
“Well, take the phone call, are you aware of that? Placed from the party Mikael was at. Someone called, what was their name, the family with the teen daughter—right, the Grenbergs. The phone rang late at night, from the party. Maybe it’s just a random detail, but both Gerd and I felt that call was important.”
“Why?”
“No one at the party admitted to making any phone calls.” The memories seemed to be slowly returning to Siri. “Neither the mother nor the daughter reported that they’d answered one. Someone was lying.”
“That was your conclusion, that someone was lying?”
“Can you think of any other explanation?”
Vidar smiled mildly and waited.
“The footprints in the snow around the car—we identified two sets, one from Killian Persson and one from Sander Eriksson—even though we were never able to prove they were theirs. But there was a third pair as well, from what we interpreted as a witness. And the money, the family who put their life savings in the kitchen bench. Persson took it, clearly. But why? And why didn’t he take it when he left?” A pause. Siri leaned back in the wicker chair. “You know, it was that kind of stuff that motivated us to keep the case open.”
“Did you get any answers? Some material was still being logged in the months following the landslide, but after that there’s less and less. By that summer, new information had dried up completely.”
“Other cases with better prospects for being solved had to come first. We weren’t making any progress. Shocking, isn’t it?”
“Not really.”
“Exactly.” Siri studied him. “So why did you come back?”
He realized he was going to have to respond, but he took his time, as if he had to formulate his answer in his own mind first. Maybe he really did needto.
“I had a thorny path through my career, too, you might say.”
“Yes, so I heard.”
“But I think in the end I realized I needed this. My life was worse when I wasn’t on the force.”
Siri seemed to find this answer satisfactory.
“Sander Eriksson,” Vidar said. “What was he like?”
She considered this.
“Smart. Really smart. Does he still live there?”
“Not in Skavböke, but he lives in Snöstorp.”
