“Absolutely not.” The response was swift and irate.

Thomas wondered whether to ask a few more questions about Almhult but decided he was unlikely to get any more information out of Fahlén unless he brought him in for a formal interview. He needed to give the matter some thought.

Instead he fixed Fahlén with his gaze once more. “Do you have any rat poison?”

“I haven’t a clue. You’ll have to ask my wife. Sylvia does all the shopping.”

“Have you had rats in the house? Surely you must know that?”

“We might get them occasionally in the autumn. I can’t really say.”

“But you haven’t gone out and bought rat poison?”

“I’ve already told you, I don’t know!”

“What were you doing the Friday before last—ten days ago?” Margit interjected.

A look of uncertainty spread across Fahlén’s face. He frowned, as if he were trying to remember where he had been. “I think I was here, working on the boat. The engine wasn’t ticking over properly, so I was trying to fix it. At least I think it was that weekend.”

“Is there anyone who can confirm that?”

“Sylvia was here.”

“All day?” Thomas asked.

Fahlén looked slightly shifty. “Probably. Well, nearly all day. If I remember rightly she might have gone out on her bike for a while in the afternoon to meet some friends for a glass of wine. But you can ask her yourself. It’s not easy to recall the exact details a week and a half later.”

Thomas leaned forward so he was close to Fahlén, only a few inches from his face. Fahlén reeked of cigarette smoke. “Is it definitely true that you didn’t know Krister Berggren or his cousin Kicki? Neither of them ever came here?”

“I’ve told you, no. Don’t you think I know who’s been in my house?” Fahlén said, his voice rising.

“You just said you didn’t know Jonny Almhult, then you changed your mind.”

“I’m getting very tired of this. Exactly what are you insinuating? If you are intending to continue with this line of questioning, I want my lawyer present.” Fahlén stared defiantly at Thomas.

“That’s one option, of course,” Thomas said. “But it would be much simpler if you could just answer our questions, since we’re here now.”

Fahlén didn’t share Thomas’s point of view. He got to his feet, indicating that the conversation was over, and mopped his brow with a red handkerchief. Then he walked into the hallway, where he opened the front door wide. “Thank you for stopping by. Have a nice day.”

Thomas couldn’t help being fascinated by the fat man in the doorway. He hadn’t expected Fahlén to pluck up so much courage; he had pegged the man as a philistine and pretty sly but certainly not brave. Thomas was almost impressed in spite of himself.

Thomas and Margit got up and headed toward the door.

Fahlén mopped his brow with the red handkerchief once again.

Thomas gave him one last look before leaving the house. “See you again,” he said.

Fahlén didn’t say good-bye.

Margit and Thomas set off along the path. The wind had started to pick up and could be heard blowing through the trees; their gray trunks provided a gentle contrast to the green of the blueberry bushes. Clumps of blue-green moss were scattered among the pines like soft cushions.

Margit glanced at her watch. “It’s getting late. We’d better make sure to catch a ferry back to town.” She turned around and looked back at the house. “What do you make of Fahlén? I’ve never seen such a fine example of nouveau riche. But I wonder if he’s capable of three murders?”

Thomas scratched the back of his neck as he considered her question. “Hard to say. He didn’t seem all that trustworthy—I got the feeling he was extremely nervous. I definitely think we need to take a much closer look at him. I think we can forget about Graaf for the time being, but there’s something about Fahlén that just doesn’t feel right.”

He took one last look at the marzipan-green house behind them, then checked his watch.

“I think there’s a ferry in half an hour. If we head back now, we’ll be there in plenty of time.”

WEDNESDAY, THE FOURTH WEEK

CHAPTER 52

Nora looked around. The address of the recruitment company had led her to an old building in one of the better areas of Stockholm, known as Öfre Östermalm. It had an impressive entrance, with a red carpet in the foyer. The offices were three floors up in an old-fashioned patrician apartment, which must have been built as an elegant residence for some well-to-do family back in the day.

It was hardly surprising that the bank was working with such a conservative company; the financial world wasn’t exactly famous for its progressive thinking.

She had caught the early morning ferry, and even though she was tired, it had been nice to get up so early. There was a special freshness in the air that was only discernible before eight o’clock in the morning on Sandhamn. It was wonderful to breathe in the pure air and enjoy the stillness before the archipelago came to life.

The boys would be spending the day with her parents while she was in the city; Henrik would be busy with his boat. As usual. Nora was intending to have a look at the summer sales while she had the chance. She didn’t often have time to wander around town without keeping one eye on the clock.

She had told Henrik she had to go into work to sort out something that had come up unexpectedly. It didn’t feel like a lie—it was more like waiting until a more suitable moment to tell the truth. It could well turn out that the new job wasn’t worth considering, in which case she and Henrik would have fallen out quite unnecessarily.

The receptionist showed her into a conference room where coffee and mineral water were set out on a tray. Nora almost laughed; the room was exactly as she had imagined. On the mahogany table stood a vase of beautifully arranged flowers. Several attractive paintings adorned the walls. The impression was so warm and welcoming it could almost be someone’s home.

Nora wondered what would happen if she met someone she knew. They might well be interviewing one of her colleagues from the bank’s legal department. She assumed people must bump into one another occasionally if the interviews overran, but she hoped that wouldn’t happen.

When Rutger Sandelin walked in and introduced himself, she immediately recognized his voice from their phone conversations. It was an unusual name, Rutger. It sounded English, like a medieval knight. She had pictured a muscular individual in leather boots and riding breeches. Instead he was an impeccably dressed man in his sixties, with a sprinkling of gray in his hair and a hint of plumpness.

“Thank you for coming,” he said. “The bank asked us to see you in order to gain an objective view of your qualifications. The idea is that the appointment shouldn’t be affected by internal considerations and relationships.”

“I understand,” Nora said. It all sounded very sensible.

They started to discuss the post in Malmö and the qualifications necessary for the legal adviser in the southern region.

As Nora answered his questions, she noticed that he had a greasy mark on the lilac silk tie that matched his shirt to perfection. Presumably it was the result of an accident over lunch, but it helped to make him more human.