Read Online Unspoken by Mari Jungstedt - Free Book Online Page A

jogging in the evening as a pretext for peering in people’s windows.”
    “Does she have any proof for her allegations?”
    “No. She actually sounded a little doubtful herself. She said that she wasn’t sure about it, that it was just a feeling she had.”
    “Is this Haukas married?”
    “No, he lives alone. And there could be some basis for the girl’s uneasiness. I’ve only managed to make one phone call about the man so far, and that was to Solberga School, where he works. The principal, whom I happen to know personally, told me that several years ago Arne Haukas was accused of spying on the girls when they changed their clothes. The students claimed that he would barge into the locker room to tell them about something trivial. Four of them thought it was so unpleasant that they filed a complaint with the principal.”
    “What happened?”
    “The principal had a talk with Haukas, who denied the allegations, and that was the end of the matter. It apparently never happened again. No other students have complained.”
    “There seem to be a lot of sleazy individuals living in that building,” Wittberg interjected. “Alcoholics, sick cats, Peeping Toms . . . It makes you wonder what kind of madhouse that place is.”
    His comments prompted some merriment around the table. Knutas raised his hand in admonishment.
    “In any event, we’re not looking for a sex offender; we’re looking for a murderer. But this PE teacher might have seen something since he was out running on the night of the murder. Has he been interviewed?”
    “No, apparently not,” replied Norrby.
    “Then we need to do that today.”
    He turned to Jacobsson. “Anything new on Dahlström?”
    “We know that he was employed as a photographer at Gotlands Tidningar . He worked there until 1980, when he resigned and started his own company, called Master Pictures. The business did well for the first few years, but in 1987 it went into bankruptcy, with major debts. After that, there’s no information that Dahlström had any sort of job. He lived on welfare until he started receiving a disability pension in 1990.”
    “Where are his wife and daughter now?” asked Knutas.
    “His ex-wife still lives in their old apartment on Signalgatan. His daughter lives in Malmö. Single, with no children. Or at least she’s the only person listed at that address. Ann-Sofie Dahlström, his ex-wife, was on the mainland, but she’ll be back home later this afternoon. She promised to come straight here from the airport.”
    “That’s good,” said Knutas. “We need to get in touch with the daughter, too. I want to put out an internal APB on Bengt Johnsson immediately. We need to ask everyone in his circle of acquaintances where they think he might be staying. Sohlman, you’re in charge of examining the apartment door lock one more time. The question is: How many people knew about the money Dahlström won at the track? Everyone who was at the track with him that evening has to be interviewed. But did anyone else know?”
    “In those kinds of circles, news like that probably spreads like wildfire,” said Wittberg. “No one that we’ve talked to in town has said a word about the money, but they may have their reasons for not talking.”
    “You’ll have to interview them again, along with all the others,” said Knutas. “The money throws a whole new light on the case.”
    If there was one thing that Emma detested, it was sewing machines.
    To think that anyone should have to bother with this kind of shit work , she thought, her mouth full of pins. Her sense of irritation was fast becoming a headache. She swore silently. Why should it be so damned difficult to make a pair of pants? When other people sewed in a zipper, they made it look ridiculously easy.
    She was really trying her best, and she had armed herself with tons of patience before she started, promising herself that this time she wouldn’t give up. She would not surrender to the slightest