Marked For Life. Emelie Schepp

she quickly glanced at her watch. Only one and a half hours before the interview with Kerstin Juhlén.

      She suddenly felt tired, leaned her head forward and started to rub the back of her neck. Her fingertips slowly massaged the uneven skin there and traced over its bumps. Then she neatened her long hair to make sure it covered the back of her neck and flowed down her back.

      After looking through a few of the summonses, she got up to fetch a cup of coffee. When she came back, she left the rest of the paperwork untouched.

CHAPTER FIVE

      THE SMALLISH INTERVIEW room was bare except for a table and four chairs, with a fifth chair in a corner. One wall had a window with bars; on the oppositve wall was a mirror. Jana sat next to Henrik with her pen and notepad in her hand as he started the tape recorder. She let him handle the questioning. Mia Bolander had pulled up the extra chair behind them. Loudly and clearly, Henrik recited Kerstin Juhlén’s full name, then her personal identity number, before going on.

      “Monday, the sixteenth of April, 15:30 hours. This interview is being conducted by DCI Henrik Levin who is being assisted by DI Mia Bolander. Also present are Public Prosecutor Jana Berzelius and Solicitor Peter Ramstedt.”

      Kerstin Juhlén had been detained as a possible person of interest, but so far had not been charged with any crime. She sat next to Peter Ramstedt, her lawyer, and placed her clasped hands on the table. Her face was pale and she wore no makeup. Her hair was uncombed, her earrings removed.

      “Do you know who killed my husband?” Kerstin Juhlén asked in a whisper.

      “No, it’s still too early in our investigation to say,” answered Henrik and looked gravely at the woman in front of him.

      “You think I’ve done it, don’t you? You think that I was the one who shot him...”

      “We don’t think anything.”

      “But I didn’t do it! I wasn’t home. It wasn’t me!”

      “As I said, we don’t think anything yet, but we must investigate the circumstances surrounding his murder and determine how it all happened. That’s why I want you to tell me about Sunday night when you came home to the house.”

      Kerstin took two deep breaths. She unclenched her hands, put them on her lap and straightened up in the chair.

      “I came home...from a walk.”

      “Did you walk alone, or was somebody with you?”

      “I walked by myself, to the beach and back.”

      “Tell us more.”

      “When I came home, I took my coat off in the hallway as I called out to Hans, because I knew that he ought to be home by then. ”

      “What time was it then?”

      “About half past seven.”

      “Go on.”

      “I didn’t get an answer so I assumed that he had been delayed at work. You see, he would always go to the office on Sundays. I went straight to the kitchen to get a glass of water. I saw the pizza box on the kitchen sideboard and realized that Hans was actually home. We usually eat pizza on Sundays. Hans picks it up on his way home. Yes, well... I called out again, but still got no answer. So I went to check if he was in the living room and what he was doing and... I saw him just lying there on the floor. In shock, I called the police.”

      “When did you phone?”

      “Straightaway...when I found him.”

      “What did you do then, after you phoned the police?”

      “I went upstairs. The woman on the phone said I should do that. That I mustn’t touch him, so I went upstairs.”

      Henrik looked at the woman in front of him. She looked nervous, with a shifting gaze. She fingered the cloth of her light gray pants anxiously.

      “I’ve asked you before, but I must ask again. Did you see anybody in the house?”

      “No.”

      “Nobody outside?”

      “I noticed that the front window was opened, so I closed it. In case someone was still lurking about. I was frightened. But no, I’ve already told you. I saw no one.”

      “No car on the street?”

      “No,” Kerstin answered in a loud voice. She leaned forward and rubbed her Achilles tendon on one foot, as if she were trying to scratch an itch.

      “Tell us about your husband,” said Henrik.

      “Tell you what?”

      “He worked as the head of asylum issues at the Migration Board here in Norrköping, correct?” said Henrik.

      “Yes. He was good at his job.”

      “Can you elaborate? What was he good at?”

      “He worked with all sorts of things. In the department he was in charge...”

      Kerstin became silent and lowered her head.

      Henrik noted that she swallowed hard, he imagined, to prevent tears from coming.

      “We can take a little break if you like,” said Henrik.

      “No, it’s okay. It’s okay.”

      Kerstin took a deep breath. She looked briefly at her lawyer, who was twirling his pen on the table, and then she started talking again.

      “My husband was indeed the head of a department at the board. He liked his job and had worked his way up, devoted all his life to the Migration Board. He is...was the sort of person people liked. He was kind to everybody regardless of where they came from. He didn’t have any prejudices. He wanted to help people. That was why he liked it there so much.

      “The Migration Board has had to put up with a lot of criticism recently,” Kerstin said, then paused before going on.

      Henrik nodded. He knew the National Audit Agency had recently examined the Migration Board’s procedures for arranging accommodation for asylum seekers, and they cited it for improper practices. During the last year, the board spent fifty million kronor on buying accommodations. Of that, nine million kronor had been spent on direct agreements, which are forbidden if done without the proper procedures. The Audit Agency had also found illegal contracts with landlords. In many cases no contracts were used at all. The local papers had published several articles about the audit.

      “Hans was upset over the criticism. More refugees had been applying than they had anticipated. He had to quickly arrange accommodations for them. And then it went wrong.”

      Kerstin became silent. Her lip quivered.

      “I felt sorry for him.”

      “It sounds as if you are well aware of your husband’s work,” said Henrik.

      Kerstin didn’t answer. She wiped a tear from her eye and nodded at the thought.

      “There was the problem with improper behavior too,” she said.

      She quickly described how there had been assaults and thefts at the asylum accommodation center. Because of the stress of their situation, often arguments broke out among the new arrivals. The staff that had been temporarily hired to run the center found it hard to keep order.

      “Which we know about,” said Henrik.

      “Oh yes, of course,” said Kerstin and straightened her back again.

      “Many of them were in poor mental condition, and Hans tried to do everything he could to make their stay as comfortable as possible. But it was difficult. Several nights in a row somebody set off the fire alarm. People got scared and Hans had no alternative but to hire more staff to keep an eye on the center. My husband