The Princess of Burundi - Kjell Eriksson [40]
“No hanky-panky on the side?”
“Not in John’s case, I wouldn’t think. You know, they met when they were sixteen. I was actually there the first time they met; it was at a pool hall in Sivia. We hung out there almost all the time. One day Berit came by with a girlfriend. She fell for him immediately. He wasn’t like the rest of us, loud and all that. John was quiet, thoughtful. He could throw anyone off their stride, he was so quiet.”
“So you’re saying John and Berit have been faithful to each other for over twenty years.”
“When you put it like that it sounds crazy, but that’s how I saw it. I never heard him talk about other broads, and we talked about most things.”
There was a careful knock at the door and it opened. Riis looked in.
“I have a note for you, Allan,” he said, while looking the visitor up and down.
Fredriksson leaned over the desk and took the folded note, opened it, and read the short message from his colleague.
“I see,” he said and looked at Mikael. “You said that John and Berit hadn’t been in such good shape financially.”
“The last little while, yes.”
“Was that why you deposited ten thousand kronor into his account on the third of October?”
Mikael flushed a deep red again. He cleared his throat and Fredriksson again glimpsed an expression of fear in his eyes. Perhaps not fear exactly, more like anxiety. He knew it didn’t mean anything. Most people, especially those sitting in front of a desk at the police station, reacted that way on the subject of money. They could talk calmly about any number of unpleasant things, but invariably they grew nervous at the mention of money.
“No, not really. Things weren’t so good for me back in September. John stepped in with the ten thousand and I was paying him back.”
“Tell me what happened.”
“Like I said, I was short on cash and John offered to help out.”
“‘Help out.’ Ten thousand is pretty good for a man who’s unemployed.”
“I know, but he said it was no problem.”
“May I ask why you were short on cash? Were you in the habit of borrowing money from John?”
“It’s happened before, but not very often.”
“Why, then?”
“I’d been gambling. Roulette. That’s all.”
“And lost?”
“That’s how it goes, isn’t it?”
“Where was this?”
“A place called Baren Baren, if you know where that is.”
Fredriksson nodded.
“But then you got some money?”
“I was paid my salary. That was enough to take care of the loan. And then I lived cheap for the rest of October.”
“It was not the case, then, that you had borrowed more and the ten thousand was a first installment?”
“No, it wasn’t anything like that,” Mikael assured him.
“Did John say anything about how he was able to produce so much money without blinking an eye?”
“No.”
“It was not the case that you were supposed to perform a service for the money, but that you changed your mind and returned the cash?”
“No. What would that have been?”
“I don’t know,” Fredriksson said and carefully refolded the note. “When were you at Baren Baren?”
“I was there a lot.”
“John too?”
“Sometimes.”
“Did he gamble?”
“Yes, but never large amounts.”
“You wouldn’t call him a gambler?”
“No, not really. He was pretty careful.”
Fredriksson was silent for a moment.
“I know how it sounds, but I swear I’m telling you the truth.”
“It’s pretty normal for a friend to help out a friend,” Fredriksson said quietly, “but as you can understand, the picture changes when one of the two is murdered.”
With that, he ended the session.
Mikael tried to look relaxed but the air of openness at the beginning of the conversation had dissipated. He followed Fredriksson out without saying a word, and when they reached the last door, which the police officer held open for him, Mikael again assured him that it had all happened exactly as he’d said.
Fredriksson believed him, or rather, wanted to.
Fourteen
At three thirty Vincent Hahn stepped out onto the street, an extra two hundred kronor in his pocket. As always, it was like stepping out into a new world. People were new. The street that ran from the railway station down to the river