We Know You Remember (49)

“Or maybe it really was him,” said Bosse Ring.

Sighs took hold throughout the room, the weight of four teenagers who had strayed so far over the line.

“But they could be telling the truth about the attack in the forest,” GG continued, nodding to the crime scene technician he had asked to join the meeting.

It was a relief not to have to search for the test results on their computers. To be able to look one another in the eye over the table. That didn’t happen too often.

“An unusual crime scene, I must say,” Costel Ardelean spoke up as he connected his laptop to the system. “You learn something new every day.”

Images of the fallen tree filled the screen on the wall. They had called out a forest ranger to inspect the uprooting late the night before. Nature’s recovery: in the absence of branches, the power of gravity. Costel explained that the thickest branches had been sawn off, as had the crown. Someone had been collecting wood, doing the same to several other trees that had toppled during the powerful spring storms. It meant the equilibrium had been upset, enabling the fallen tree to spring upright again, helped along by the weight of Olof Hagstr?m when he stumbled.

Parts of the tree had now been dug up and sent off for further analysis.

“Apparently it’s happened before,” said Costel. “At least one known fatality, in Blekinge in 2013. It’s especially dangerous once the last of the ground frost has thawed and the spring rain loosens the earth.”

“You’d have to be bloody mad to get out in nature,” said Bosse Ring.

“Was it the tree that caused his head injury?” asked GG, accidentally kicking Eira beneath the table. She pulled her feet towards her. GG didn’t seem to notice.

“It’s possible,” said Costel. “According to the medical examiner, the wound was caused by a powerful blow with a heavy branch. Traces of blood suggest it could’ve been the root plate. They found bark in the wound, too.”

In the brief silence that followed, Eira found herself thinking about what Ricken had said about the fire and the teenage boys. The physical evidence seemed to confirm their version of events. That meant she didn’t need to bring it up; she could keep the messy parts of her life separate from her professional life, where everything was clear and pure.

She leaned back and stretched out her legs, making sure to check that no one else’s feet were in the way.

“In any case,” said GG, “there’s not much more we can do now but wait. On the test results, on Olof waking up—if he wakes up. The kids have already confessed; they were there, they’ll be charged with arson regardless.”

“Confusing business, this,” said Costel Ardelean. “Two different investigations at the same crime scene, but both so different. Father and son. One house, one ruin.”

“No doubt,” said GG.

With that, they turned their attention to the murder.



They had twenty-four hours until the prosecutor would have to request that Tryggve Nydalen be remanded in custody if they wanted to hold him any longer.

“Which means driving to H?rn?sand and going through the whole security rigmarole, taking off our belts and emptying all the coins out of our pockets the minute we want to ask a question.”

“Who has coins in their pockets these days?” asked Silje.

That was assuming they even had enough to remand him in custody.

The crime scene had burnt to the ground. They had fingerprints proving he had been in the house, but not when. The medical examiners had said all there was to say, and had released Sven Hagstr?m’s body.

Tryggve Nydalen was still maintaining his innocence. He may well be a bad person, but he hadn’t had any quarrels with his neighbor.

“OK, so what have we got? First and foremost, a possible motive. Sven Hagstr?m found out that his neighbor was a convicted sex offender and Nydalen felt like he had to silence him.”

“Do we know that Sven actually threatened him?” asked Silje. She hadn’t had time to go through all the material yet. “I can’t see anything confirming that here.”

“All we know for sure,” said GG, turning to Eira, “is that Sven knew there was a sex offender in the area and that he was trying to find out more. But did he manage it?”

“It’s definitely possible,” said Eira. “He read articles about the assault, he seems to have been searching. His ex claims that he’d changed.”

She knew how flimsy it sounded. The whole thing had seemed so solid a few days earlier, but was it really? Or was it nothing but a pattern she was trying to conjure up, the kind of images you see when you think you can glimpse the truth?

No, Sven Hagstr?m had known. It was too much to be a sheer coincidence.

“There’s something else I want to show you,” said Costel Ardelean.

He pressed a couple of buttons, and the image of the uprooting was replaced by one of a hunting knife. The knife that had been seized from the suspect’s gun cabinet. Its measurements corresponded with the wound, as did the shape of the blade. The technician talked at length about the model, the handle—made from curly birch and oak, with leather elements—and the sharpened, gently curved blade. Above all, he talked about the traces of dried blood they had found between the blade and the handle, barely visible to the naked eye. The location was one in which evidence might be preserved, even if you cleaned the knife.