Marked For Life. Emelie Schepp

papers previously.”

      Peter looked straight at Henrik. CLICK-CLICK.

      “So you don’t know if your husband felt threatened in any way?” Henrik continued.

      “No.”

      “No strange phone calls?”

      “I don’t think so.”

      “Don’t think or don’t know?”

      “No, no calls.”

      “You don’t know anybody who wanted to warn him? Or get revenge?”

      “No. But the nature of his work of course made him rather vulnerable.”

      “How do you mean?”

      “Well...my husband thought that the decision process for asylum was difficult. He never liked having to turn away any asylum seekers, even though he wasn’t personally responsible for having to tell them himself. He knew how desperate many were when they didn’t get asylum here. But not everyone qualified. And no one has threatened him. Or has sought revenge, if that is the question.”

      Henrik wondered whether Kerstin was telling the truth. Hans Juhlén could admittedly have kept the threatening letters hidden away from her. But it did nevertheless seem unlikely that he never during all his years in the job felt frightened of somebody nor talked with his wife about it.

      * * *

      “There must have been a relatively serious threat against Juhlén,” Henrik said to Jana when the interview was concluded. They both left the interrogation room with slow steps.

      “Yes,” she answered briefly.

      “What do you think about the wife?”

      Jana remained standing in the corridor while Henrik closed the door. “There are no signs of violence in the house,” she said.

      “Perhaps because the murder was well planned.”

      “So you think she’s guilty?”

      “The spouse is always guilty, right?” Henrik smiled.

      “Yes, almost always. But at the moment no evidence links her to the murder.”

      “She seemed nervous,” he added.

      “That isn’t enough.”

      “I know. But it feels as if she isn’t telling the truth.”

      “And she probably isn’t, or at least not completely, but to arrest her I’m going to need more than that. If she doesn’t start talking or we can’t get any technical evidence, I’ll have to let her go. You’ve got three days.”

      Henrik ran his fingers through his hair.

      “And the secretary?” he said.

      “Check out what she knows. I want you to visit her as soon as you can, but definitely by tomorrow. Unfortunately I have four cases which I have to pay attention to, and so I am not free to go with you. But I trust you.”

      “Of course. Mia and I will talk with her.”

      Jana said goodbye and walked past the other interrogation rooms.

      As a public prosecutor, she regularly visited the place. She was on emergency duty a certain number of weekends and nights every year—it went with the job. A rotating duty schedule was posted, whose main purpose was to ensure that a prosecutor was available for urgent decisions such as whether somebody should be detained. A prosecutor could keep somebody in detention up to three days without introducing charges. After that, a court hearing was necessary. On a number of occasions, sometimes late at night, Jana had been called in and, in a rush, had to make a decision about an arrest.

      Today all the cells in the center were full. She looked up toward the ceiling and thanked a higher power that she wasn’t on call the coming weekend. At the same time, she remembered that she would be on standby duty the weekend after that. She slowed her pace as she walked down the corridor, then stopped to sit and pull her calendar out. She turned the pages ahead to April 28. Nothing was noted there. Perhaps it was Sunday, April 29? Nothing there either. She turned a few more pages and caught sight of the entry for the first of May. A public holiday. ON CALL. And that was the day she had agreed to have dinner with her mother and father. She felt immediate stress. She couldn’t possibly be on call that same day. How had she not seen that? Of course, it was not absolutely necessary to be at her parents’ for dinner, but she didn’t want to disappoint her father by not coming over at all.

      I’ll have to swap days with somebody, she thought, as she put her calendar back in her briefcase. She got up and continued walking, wondering with whom she’d be able to swap days. Most likely Per Åström. Per was both a successful public prosecutor and a popular social worker. She respected him as a colleague. During the five years they had known each other, a friendship of sorts had grown up between them.

      Per was thirty-three years old and in good shape. He played tennis on Tuesdays and Thursdays. He had blond hair, a little dimple in his chin and eyes that were different colors. He smelled of aftershave. Sometimes he tended to go on a bit, but otherwise a nice guy. Only that; nothing more.

      Jana hoped that Per would swap with her. Otherwise she would resort to bribing him with wine. But red or white? She weighed the two choices in time with the sound of her heels on the floor. Red or white. Red or white.

      She contemplated taking the stairs down to the garage but chose the elevator instead. When she saw that the defense lawyer Peter Ramstedt was waiting there too, she immediately regretted her decision. She stood back from him at a safe distance.

      “Ah, it’s you, Jana,” said Peter when he noted her presence. He rocked back and forth on the soles of his shoes.

      “I heard that you had gone to review the autopsy and see the victim’s body at the medical examiner’s.”

      “Where did you hear that?”

      “One hears a thing or two.”

      Peter gave a slight smirk and exposed his whitened teeth.

      “So you like corpses?”

      “Not particularly. I’m just trying to lead an investigation.”

      “I’ve been a lawyer for ten years and I’ve never heard of a prosecutor going to an autopsy.”

      “Perhaps that says more about other prosecutors than about me?”

      “Don’t you like your colleagues?”

      “I didn’t say that.”

      “Isn’t it simpler in your position to let the police do the legwork?”

      “I am not interested in what is simple.”

      “You know, as a prosecutor you can complicate an investigation.”

      “In what way?”

      “By calling attention to yourself.”

      Hearing those words, Jana Berzelius decided to take the stairs down to the garage anyway. For every step she cursed Peter Ramstedt.

CHAPTER SIX

      THE ROCKING HAD STOPPED. They were traveling silently, shut inside the dark container.

      “Are we there?” said the girl.

      Her mama didn’t answer her. Nor her papa. They seemed tense. Her mother told her to sit up. The girl did as she was told. The others also began to move. There was a feeling of unease. Several others were coughing and the girl felt the warm, stuffy air as it sought its way down into her lungs. Even her papa made a wheezing sound.

      “Are we there now?” she said again. “Mama? Mama!”

      “Quiet!” said Papa. “You must be completely quiet.”

      The