Fear Of Broken Glass

Almquist & Vikland

Almquist headed for his car, casting an appraising eye around the homestead, cigarette smoking in hand. Anna Kron, Gustav Kron... Sturla Gotfridsson, the bastard who treated him with so much contempt, even before the murders.

He'd allowed them to take a break, having taken possession of Justin's letter. The letter looked real enough. He showed it to Elin, turning his flash light on. He moved the light downwards. 'Check it out with the Danish police,' then he clicked off the light, handing it to her.

Elin shrugged as she took it, placing it inside her dark blue police jacket.

'You think one of them did it?'

She stood by the open driver's door of the Saab looking down. She turned a page over on her clipboard, comparing Hasse's notes with hers, shaking her head. 'I don't know. Another mutilation, out of the blue, just like that, in the middle of nowhere. Why there? It doesn't fit the pattern. Does it?'

Almquist blew out the last of the smoke from his cigarette and threw the butt to the ground shaking his head, thinking of... fire.

The past has ways of catching up...

And now it was too late. Here he was – the same place, a new murder. 'No, it most certainly does not.' They were all women.

There were the same mutilations... and yet, something wasn't quite the same, though he couldn't put his finger on it. He stared into space, his eyes clouding over for a moment, then turned to look back across the gravel of the parking yard, illuminated by the two windows of the kitchen. He took a deep breath, caught somewhere just behind the present. Here, it all started... here. 'Gotfridsgaarden.' He turned to look at Vikland. 'You never heard of this place?'

She shook her head. 'Should I?'

Almquist looked away in the direction of the lake, the sound of water from the stream filling the momentary silence. This was where Sturla Gotfridsson lived. Sturla, Gotfrid's son hated Gustav Kron, hated him. Gustav Kron had killed himself. Why did he do that? Had it been because of his bad relations with old Gotfrid? He'd never really looked into the relations. But now with Anna on the agenda... he shook his head.

'What is it?'

'I was thinking of old Gotfrid.'

'What about him?'

'He was an idealist. One of the last of his kind.' She looked at him as if he was a relic of another age, so he kept the details to himself. Anna had been an idealist too, he recalled. When he had first investigated the murders. An austere woman she was.

'Idealist?'

He still needed to smoke. The first cigarette had failed to quench his need. Lighting another, he cupped his hand as the orange flame lit up his face in the dark. He turned back to the homestead, raising his head and exhaling smoke. 'Scared the shit out of the local children with their old wives tales.' Those who Gustav hated more than anyone else... it was a long time ago. 'I had no idea anyone rented out the place.'

Vikland followed the direction of his gaze. 'What about the dead neighbor?'

Almquist was surprised, for a moment. Then he made the connection, to Justin Swift. 'A neighbor and a lawyer...'

'What are you going to do?' She was staring at him.

What was he going to do? Almquist rubbed his chin, cigarette between his fingers, looking up at Elin Vikland with a look that spoke of reticence. He leaned back against the bonnet of his car, raising his hand, something pulling at him from the pit of his stomach. Conscience? Or was it memory? 'I don't know.' Except, he did know. He looked across at Vikland and raised his arm to look at his watch. 'It's getting late. We need to go through all the details as soon as we get back. We need an ops room, boards. We'll use the conference room. Get whatever else it is Lindgren is working on and get him to do the background checks. You can help me run the investigation.' He brought the cigarette to his lips, noticing her show of pride, the end glowing as he turned and looked towards the house, then across to the lake. His attention was drawn upwards, up the face of rock, towards the summit. 'Swift didn't mention anything about why they needed to be a whole group of people just for one painting.' He shook his head. 'I don't buy any of it. And I think he's lying about Conrad Baron.'

'He's covering for him.'

'He's covering for something.' Almquist looked over to the front of the homestead, thinking so hard it hurt. He feared the worst but still clung to the hope it would blow over. The fifth killing; in a series that he thought was over, none of them solved.

Where was this heading?

'Too many of them to take them to the station...'

Vikland could barely disguise her impatience.

'We only have today.' Almquist looked up, slowly, taking another pull. 'Tomorrow it will be different. Tomorrow is always different.' He stood up, throwing his butt to the ground, exhaling. 'Swift told me a thing or two about Jayaraman. We need everything we can get. Make sense of it later.' He looked at her, eyes awakening behind his glasses. 'If you have any plans tonight, cancel them.' Then Almquist turned and headed back to the house without waiting or receiving a reply.

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