The Princess of Burundi - Kjell Eriksson [105]
Hahn’s head sank down.
“I want to go home,” he said.
Haver stood up, turned off the tape recorder, and nodded to the guard, who came over and grabbed Hahn’s arm. He let himself be led away. Haver put on the tape recorder again and quickly recorded a few words stating the end of the session.
“What do you think?” he asked Bea when he was done.
“I think he’s certifiably crazy, but I believe he really saw John in the square, maybe even on the day he was murdered. It could work. John leaves Micke Andersson, who lives right next to the square, decides to pick up a Christmas tree, or at least to look at them, bumps into someone who offers to drive him and the tree home. The car could very well have been parked in the school yard—is it possible to exit from the school yard in the evening?”
“I think so. There are exits both on Salagatan and Väderkvarnsgatan.”
“Who was the man who looked like he was in the military?”
“That’s the question. A military man, what does that mean? Was it his manner or his clothing, perhaps, that gave that impression?”
“What military presence is there in Uppsala?”
“We have the F-16 and F-20 Air Force squadrons,” Haver said. “But how many of them walk around in their uniforms when they’re off duty?”
“Maybe we should bring in some of their uniforms to show Hahn?”
“It could also be another kind of uniform, something that he thought was from the military.”
“Bus driver, parking police, there could be a number of uniforms he could have mistakenly identified as military.”
Haver rewound the tape and listened. Hahn’s voice sounded metallic on the tape, as if the recording had erased all emotion.
“What should we think?” Haver asked.
Beatrice stared at the wall. Haver was struck by the thought that for a short moment he felt like he was talking with Lindell. There was a discreet knock on the door. Fredriksson, Haver thought, but it was Sammy who gently pushed open the door and looked in.
“You’ve sent him back down,” he stated and walked in.
Haver played the tape one more time.
“It’s got to be him,” Sammy said when Haver turned it off.
“I’ll grant you a motive of sorts, but opportunity?” Haver said in a detached voice.
Beatrice glanced at him from the side. He takes on too much, she thought. It’s as if he thinks the outcome of the whole case rests on him. Maybe it’s Hollman’s death that’s pressing him further into exhaustion.
“And transporting the body to Libro—how did he manage that?” Beatrice asked.
“Those severed fingers,” Sammy said. “That was done by a sicko like Hahn.”
“But the transport,” Beatrice repeated.
“If he stabbed Little John in the school yard—he did say something about not that square, and the school yard works as a kind of square—maybe he was aided by the military man.”
“You’re reaching,” Beatrice said. “Why would a witness to the murder help Hahn transport the body to Libro?”
“They may have known each other.”
Beatrice shook her head.
“Perhaps he was forced,” Haver said. “Maybe Hahn threatened him.”
“Exactly,” Sammy said and got up. “He was threatened.”
“Why…Do you mean he was also murdered?”
Sammy nodded.
“Yes. There’s another dead body out there somewhere.”
They sat quietly for a while, trying to think through this scenario. It did not strike any of them as completely implausible.
“We need to question him again,” Sammy said.
“Of course we do,” Haver snapped. “What did you think? I’ll go talk to Ottosson.” Haver left the room before his colleagues had a chance to react.
“What got into him?” Sammy asked.
“He’s completely exhausted,” Beatrice said.
“He misses Rebecka,” Sammy stated in a tone that Beatrice didn’t like.
“He’s been crying,” she said, then closed her notebook, and left the room without saying anything else.
Thirty-three
Ann Lindell had just finished nursing Erik. She had gone about her morning routine in an apathetic way. Fat headlines