‘Well, when I handed him the change, he asked me to give the drink to Veronika Hammar.’
‘How far apart were they standing? I mean, Veronika and the stranger?’
‘They were at opposite ends of the bar, so maybe ten metres apart or so. And there was a big crowd there. I told Veronika that the drink was from an admirer, but when I turned to point him out to her, the guy was gone.’
Knutas had listened to Rolf’s account with growing interest. He realized that the bartender’s story meant that the murder investigation was about to take a new and surprising turn.
He thanked the man for his time and then hurried out of the club.
As soon as Knutas got back to police headquarters, he asked Jacobsson to come to his office. He explained his theory, based on what he’d just learned from the pub manager. Jacobsson sat in silence on his visitor’s sofa, listening with an increasingly surprised look on her face.
‘So you think that Algård was killed by mistake? That the cyanide wasn’t intended for him at all?’
‘Exactly. It was meant for Veronika Hammar.’
‘So we’ve been on the wrong track the whole time.’
‘The man who ordered that drink is the one we need to be looking for.’
‘What about the glass?’
‘We’re going to have to search the entire building again. Look in every damn rubbish bin, and every nook and cranny in the vicinity of the conference centre. The perp obviously took the glass with him.’
‘So how did the poison get in the cocktail?’
‘Emptying a vial into the drink could be done in a flash. It wouldn’t take more than a few seconds. He could have done it while the bartender was getting change for the five hundred kronor.’
‘This turns everything upside down,’ said Jacobsson. ‘We’re going to have to start from scratch.’
‘Definitely,’ Knutas agreed grimly. ‘Let’s get everyone together for a meeting.’
THE CABIN COULDN’T be described as luxurious. It was a typical weekend cabin from the sixties with dark brown wood panelling, a tumbledown chimney and spartan furnishings. The front door opened on to a narrow hallway. A row of hooks on the wall held jackets, coats and various bags and purses. On the floor underneath were rubber boots, wooden clogs and slippers. A couple of walking sticks leaned against the wall in one corner. The small kitchen had a window that faced the forested area on the hill. A cheap rug on the floor, wallpaper with brown flowers. A laminate countertop, a small sink and a stove that looked at least thirty years old. Further along the hall was a large bedroom with a double bed, dresser and photographs of several children on the wall. The living room had a hardwood floor and a simple fireplace. The furniture consisted of a sofa, coffee table, bookshelf and a spinning wheel.
It was getting cold. She had heated up some soup for dinner and eaten it with a couple of open sandwiches on rye bread. Outside the window, it looked as if a big lamp had been switched off over Gotland. It was pitch dark. At night, not a single light was ever visible over the countryside, except for the moon if the sky was clear. Then it would spread its bluish glow over the treetops, glinting on the wings of bats as they fluttered overhead whenever she made her way to the outside privy. Tonight she stayed sitting at the table after she finished eating. She was staring at the flame of the candle that she’d set in the wrought-iron candlestick.
All day long she’d had a strange feeling that someone was watching her, but she had no idea why she felt that way. At first she’d thought it was the cat. He’d been gone since morning, and he hadn’t appeared when she called his name. Maybe he was staring at her from some hiding place, enjoying the fact that he’d managed to elude her. Letting her stand there and call his name in a vain attempt to entice him back inside.
She’d come out here to this isolated cabin even though she hated being alone. In the summer it was a paradise, when the other homeowners brought life to the area and the Swedish nights were bright. In the wintertime it was hell, with the darkness, solitude and strong winds. But she’d had no other choice. She had to get away, escape everything that had to do with Viktor and the police investigation. Not to mention everybody’s prying stares.
Feeling on edge, she listened tensely for any sound, but she heard only the roar of the sea and the wind rushing through the trees. What could it be that was making her so uneasy? Maybe it was just her imagination.
She glanced at the doorway leading to the hall. Then she got up to make sure that she had locked the front door properly. Yes, it was locked. Even so, she stared nervously at the key sitting in the lock. How much would that really help? Any guy with sufficient muscle could easily kick in the flimsy door. She had to admit that she was completely unprotected, vulnerable to anyone who might decide to start breaking into the cottages in this remote area.