The Princess of Burundi - Kjell Eriksson [47]
The car door opened and a man came running over.
“Are you hurt?”
Vincent moaned.
“I’ve been run over.”
“Here?”
Vincent raised himself on one arm and nodded.
“A car. It took off. Can you help me?”
“I’ll call an ambulance,” the man said and got out his cell phone.
“No, just drive me to the hospital instead.”
The man crouched down and took a closer look at Vincent.
“That doesn’t look too good.”
“I’ll pay you.”
“Don’t be silly. Can you walk?”
Vincent slowly got up on all fours. The man helped him to his feet and into the car.
Viro was momentarily distracted by Jupiter’s smell. Then he dragged himself away and his officer followed, smiling at the dog’s eagerness despite the serious nature of their business.
They reached the railway crossing in fifteen minutes, just as a southbound train rushed by. Here the scent trail ended. Viro looked around, confused, then looked up at his officer and whimpered.
“He either had a car parked here or he was picked up,” Sammy Nilsson said. He had followed the canine unit.
They took a look around. Viro followed the scent back a few meters, turned, and again concluded that the tracks stopped abruptly.
“Where could he have gone?”
“The ER,” said the officer with the dog. “He’s been hurt. There’s even blood on the ground here.”
“I think Fredriksson called them already, and I think he sent a car over there.”
Nilsson took out his cell phone and called Allan Fredriksson, who was still back in Gunilla Karlsson’s apartment.
They were sitting in her living room. Detective Inspector Allan Fredriksson blew his nose. Gunilla felt sorry for him. It was the fifth time he had taken out the multicolored handkerchief. He should be at home nursing his cold.
“He ran down toward Bergsbrunna, at which point the trail goes cold,” Fredriksson said when he had ended the conversation with Nilsson.
He could still see the terror in Gunilla’s eyes.
“We’ll station a unit outside your apartment,” he said and put the handkerchief away.
His calm expression and voice reassured her. The shivering that had come over her a short while after Vincent disappeared, stopped.
“You knew him, you said?”
“Yes, from school. His name is Vincent, but I don’t remember his last name. It’s on the tip of my tongue, it sounds German. I can call a friend of mine, she’ll know.”
“That would be good.”
“Hahn,” she said suddenly. “That’s it.”
“Vincent Hahn?”
Gunilla nodded. Fredriksson immediately called the station and gave them the information.
“Have you seen anything of each other since you left school?”
“No. I’ve seen him in town from time to time, but that’s it.”
“Were you in the same class?”
“No, he was in another class in my year. But we had a few subjects together.”
“Has he ever called you or tried to contact you in any way?”
“No.”
“Why do you think he came here?”
“I have no idea. He was always a little strange, even back in school. He was alone a lot and I think he was religious or something. A bit odd.”
Fredriksson looked down at the floor.
“He said that he wanted to see your breasts?”
“Yes. And that then he would leave.”
“Did you believe him?”
“Of course not. He looked completely wild.”
“And you have never had a relationship with him in the past?”
“Never.”
“Have you ever met him at work?”
“I’m a preschool teacher.”
“He’s never had children at your school?”
“I strongly doubt he has children.”
Fredriksson looked at her. Was she bluffing? Was this a relationship dispute? Why would she withhold such information? He decided to believe her.
“It must have taken some courage to hit him,” he said.
“I thought he was going to die. He was bleeding so much, even though the bottle was in my right hand. I’m left-handed, you know.”
“Did he say anything that would explain his actions? Anything at all. Think carefully.”
Gunilla shook her head after a moment’s thoughtful silence.
“It started with the rabbit,” she said. “That’s all I can think of. He was the one who killed him.”
She told him about Ansgar, how he had been strangled, strung up on the