"I have tried," Jancker interrupted her. "I went over the other day, when I was completely beside myself, to discuss the inappropriate nature of his behavior. And what did I find? A machine that was on full bore but no Mortensen."

Lindell became more alert.

"The digger was on and making noise, but you didn't see Mortensen, is that what you mean?"

"Exactly," said Jancker, pleased that he had been able to make his point.

"When was this?"

"The evening of the twenty-ninth, between six and ten o'clock."

"You entered Mortensen's garden in order to speak to him?"

"I know this may seem forward, but what was I to do?"

"And you did not find him?"

"As I said, no. I even rang the doorbell, but no one opened. Don't you think it's reprehensible? To turn on a piece of machinery and then leave the property?"

"You are absolutely convinced that he wasn't there?"

"Absolutely. The car was gone. He came back at around ten. I noted the exact time: 10:05 P.M."

"And then he turned it off?"

"Yes."

Lindell recalled the words of the man who had rented out the digger: that Mortensen had not been particularly good at it, that he hadn't been effective in his efforts. This statement now took on added significance. The machine had not actually been working.

"Is it possible for you to come down to the station and file a complaint? We can send a car to fetch you."

"I have to say," Jancker commented, "that it's a relief to find a person who understands the importance of peace and quiet. Of course I will come in. How about if I come down in half an hour?"

"That will be absolutely fine," said Lindell.

The digging had been Mortensen's alibi for the evening Gabriella was murdered. He had said that his neighbors could vouch for the fact that he had been working the digger all evening. Now this alibi had been discredited. The neighbor's statement blew holes in it.

Lindell could not sit still. She stood up and paced. As she pa.s.sed her desk she removed the telephone receiver from its hook and walked up to the window.

Thirty-one.

Jack Mortensen was brought into the police station that afternoon. He smiled at Lindell and Ottosson as he walked up to them, accompanied by Berglund.

"This is becoming quite a habit," he noted and calmly sat down.

"It seems so," Ottosson agreed grimly.

Mortensen's smile stiffened when he saw Ottosson's expression.

"Gabriella Mark was murdered on the evening of June twenty-ninth," Lindell began swiftly, but she stopped almost as soon as she had begun.

Mortensen didn't react at all to her words. He simply stared down at his folded hands.

"You said that you had been digging in your garden the whole evening, isn't that right?"

Mortensen looked up. "Yes, that's correct."

"No, that's wrong," Lindell said.

She gave him a few moments to reflect on her statement before she continued.

"We now have information that your digger was simply idling for large stretches of that evening. What do you say to that?"

"It did idle for a while, that's true. I went out for a snack."

"Why didn't you turn it off when you left?"

"I was afraid it would be difficult to restart," Mortensen answered.

"It can't be that difficult. You had been given instructions by the man you rented it from, hadn't you?"

"I'm not well versed in machinery."

"No, he did tell me that. He thought that you had managed to dig very little, and I guess that can be explained by the fact that it was idling most of the time."

"Where are you going with this? I told you I went to get some coffee."

"You also left the house that evening. Where did you go?"

"I didn't," Mortensen said, but then reversed himself almost immediately, stating that he had driven to the office to get some papers.

Lindell sat quietly for a while.

"Papers," she said finally. "What kind of papers? You leave a machine that you have rented for a lot of money so that you can go and get some papers? It must have been some very important doc.u.ments."

Mortensen nodded.

"And it wasn't because you took a drive out to Rasbo?"

"You're accusing me of murdering Gabriella Mark. Why don't you just come out and say it?"

"I'm just trying to clarify what you were doing that evening," Lindell said calmly. "What cars does the company own?"

Mortensen pushed his chair back from the table, crossed his legs, and pushed his hair back with his hand.

"We have two cars," he said. "A Fiat van and a koda."

"What colors?"

"One is blue, the other red."

"No company logos, decals, or anything like that?" Lindell asked.

Mortensen shook his head.

"I think that you took your car, drove to MedForsk, changed to the red koda, drove out to Mark's cottage, and strangled her," Lindell said.

Before Mortensen had time to reply, she went on.

"I think we'll take a break here for the moment. There are some things we have to check."

She stood up and Haver followed her lead. They left the room without giving Mortensen a second glance.

"We'll let him sweat for a while," Lindell said.

"That he left the house was news," Haver said, and Lindell detected a note of displeasure in his voice.

After ten minutes they returned to the interrogation room. Mortensen was sitting in the same position. If he had been sweating, no one could tell.

"I want to get this over with now," he said as soon as the detectives sat down and Haver had turned on the tape recorder.

"That's fine with me," Lindell said.

"I'm sick and tired of your accusations. I actually have a business to run, and if you don't have anything more than these vague a.s.sumptions, then I'd like to leave."

Lindell disregarded this.

"Is there anyone who can corroborate your claim that you went to get some papers from the office and then returned to your home?" she asked.

"No, I was alone there. We don't have an evening shift, if that's what you're asking."

"You spent a lot of time talking to Gabriella. What did you talk about?"

"All kinds of things, but mostly of course about Sven-Erik and everything that happened."

"Did you call her on June twenty-ninth?"

"I'm not sure but I don't think so. Most of the time it was her calling me."

"Does the nickname Plle mean anything to you?"

"No."

"Did you ever visit her cottage?"

"No."

"But you met?"

"A couple of times."

Lindell paused. Mortensen watched her attentively as if he were waiting for the next quick question.

Instead Haver jumped in. "What size shoe do you wear?"

Mortensen looked at him with surprise. He glanced down at his feet, and strangely enough his face turned red, as if it were an inappropriate question.

"Forty-two," he said. "Why do you ask?"

"I was just wondering," Haver said.

At that moment Lindell's cell phone rang. She picked it up quickly and answered.

"Send her up," she said after listening for a while.

An ominous silence fell in the room. Lindell looked appraisingly at Mortensen, who immediately lowered his gaze.

Haver was on the verge of saying something but held back. This was the moment of truth. The answers were here in this silence. Personally he was convinced that Mortensen was lying on one or even several points. Was he the killer? If so, they would have trouble proving it. The fact that he had misrepresented the extent of his digging was nothing that would hold any substance in court. He could very well have gone to the office that night. It was up to the police to prove that he had gone out to Gabriella's cottage. The fact that MedForsk had a red koda van didn't prove anything either. There were many of those around town. Lindell had asked Ryde to drive out to MedForsk and take the koda to the garage to be searched, but neither Haver nor Lindell held out much hope that it would yield anything.

There was no forensic evidence from the crime scene either. The only thing was a footprint. Haver did wear size 42 shoes, but that didn't make him a murderer.

He shot Lindell a look. She could probably guess what he was thinking. She smiled. At that moment there was a knock on the door.

It was Riis accompanied by an older woman. When she entered the room, Mortensen jumped out of his chair as if stung by a bee.

"What are you doing here?" he shouted.

"I could ask you the same question," his mother said forcefully and looked around the room.

Riis hurried to bring in another chair and placed it on the other side of the table. Mortensen watched in disbelief as his mother sat down with an ease that astonished even Lindell. She knew that his mother was an iron-willed woman, but the way that she had sailed in and taken her place demonstrated an unusual degree of strength.

"What have you gone and done now?" she asked and fixed him with her gaze.

"Nothing," he said.

"Sit down," she said and he obeyed.

"We were talking about the murder of Gabriella Mark," Lindell said. "We think your son may be withholding additional information."