Marked For Life. Emelie Schepp

spent a lot of time at the office. There were late evenings, and every Sunday he left home after lunch and didn’t come back until dinnertime. It was hard to know exactly what time he would get home, what time to have dinner ready, so he always used to buy a pizza instead. Just like yesterday. As usual.”

      Kerstin Juhlén hid her face in her hands as she shook her head. The anguish and the misery of it all had immediately come back.

      “You have the right to take a break,” said Peter Ramstedt as he carefully put a hand on her shoulder.

      Jana studied his touch. She knew this lawyer had a reputation of being strongly attracted to women and rarely hesitated to physically console his clients. If he got the chance, he was open to do more than that.

      Kerstin raised her shoulder slightly in discomfort, which evidently made the solicitor realize that he should remove his hand. Peter pulled out a handkerchief and offered it to her. Kerstin gratefully accepted, and she blew her nose in it audibly.

      “Sorry,” she said.

      “That’s all right,” said Henrik. “So if I’ve understood you correctly, your husband had a difficult job.”

      “No, I mean...yes, but I don’t know. I can’t really say exactly... I think...it would be best if you were to speak with my husband’s secretary.”

      Henrik wrinkled his brow. “Why is that?”

      “It would just be for the best,” she whispered.

      Henrik sighed and leaned forward over the table.

      “What’s his secretary’s name, then?”

      “Lena Wikström. She has been his assistant for almost twenty years.”

      “Of course we’ll speak with her.”

      Kerstin’s shoulders sank and she clasped her hands.

      “May I ask,” said Henrik, “if you and your husband were close?”

      “How do you mean? Of course we were close.”

      “You didn’t have a disagreement about anything? Argue a lot?”

      “What are you getting at, Chief Inspector?” interjected Peter, leaning across the table.

      “I just want to be sure we get the full picture for this investigation,” said Henrik.

      “No, we rarely argued,” Kerstin answered slowly.

      “Apart from you, who else was close to him?”

      “His parents have been dead a long time, unfortunately. Cancer, both of them. He didn’t have any real friends, so you could say that our social life was rather limited. But we liked it like that.”

      “Sister? Brother?”

      “He has a half brother who lives in Finspång. But they haven’t had much contact with each other in recent years. They are very different.”

      “In what way?”

      “They just are.”

      “What’s his name?”

      “Lars Johansson. Everyone calls him Lasse.”

      Mia Bolander had been sitting with her arms crossed, just listening. Now she asked straight out, “Why don’t you have children?”

      Kerstin was surprised by the question and hastily pulled her legs back under her chair. So hastily that one shoe came off.

      Henrik turned around and looked at Mia. He was irritated, but she was pleased that she’d asked. Kerstin bent down and groaned as she stretched to reach her shoe under the table. Then she sat up straight again and put her hands on the table, one atop the other.

      “We never had children,” she said briefly.

      “Why not?” said Mia. “Couldn’t you conceive or what?”

      “I think we could have. But it just sort of never happened. And we accepted that.”

      Henrik cleared his throat and started talking to prevent Mia from asking more questions along this line.

      “Okay. You didn’t mix with many people, you said?”

      “No, we really didn’t.”

      “When did you last have visitors?”

      “That was a long while ago. Hans was working all the time...”

      “No other visitors to the house? Repairmen, for example?”

      “Around Christmas a man knocked on the door selling lottery tickets, but otherwise there haven’t been...”

      “What did he look like?”

      Kerstin stared at Henrik, surprised by the question.

      “Tall, blond as I remember. He seemed nice, presentable. But I didn’t buy any tickets from him.”

      “Did he have any children with him?”

      “No. No, he didn’t. He was alone.”

      “Do you know anybody with children?”

      “Well, yes, of course. Hans’s half brother. He has an eight-year-old son.”

      “Has he been to your house recently?”

      Kerstin stared at Henrik again.

      “I don’t really follow your question...but, no, he hasn’t been in our house for ages.”

      Jana Berzelius drew a ring around the half brother’s name on her notepad. Lars Johansson.

      “Do you have any idea who might have done this to your husband?” she said.

      Kerstin squirmed a little, looked out of the window and answered, “No.”

      “Did your husband have any enemies?” said Henrik.

      Kerstin looked down at the table and took a deep breath.

      “No, he didn’t.”

      “Nobody he was angry with or had argued with or who was angry with him?”

      Kerstin didn’t seem to hear the question.

      “Kerstin?”

      “What?”

      “Nobody who was angry with him?”

      She shook her head no so violently that the loose skin under her chin wobbled.

      “Strange,” said Henrik as he laid out copies of the threatening letters on the table in front of her. “Because as you know, we found these at your house.”

      “What are they?”

      “The letters from your closet. We are hoping you will tell us about them.”

      “But I don’t know what they are. I’ve never seen them before.”

      “They seem to be some sort of threats. That means your husband must have had at least one enemy, if not more.”

      “But, no...”

      Kerstin shook her head again.

      “We are very anxious to find out more about who sent these—and why.”

      “I have no idea.”

      “You haven’t?”

      “No, I’ve told you I’ve never seen them before.”

      Click-click could be heard from Peter Ramstedt’s pen.

      “As my client has said twice, she does not recognize these papers. Would you be so kind and note that now for the record? Then you don’t have to waste time repeating the same question.”

      “Mr. Ramstedt, you are surely well aware as to how an interview is