Marked For Life. Emelie Schepp
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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 was personally very committed, I can tell you that, and he put his very soul into his work.”
Henrik leaned back and studied Kerstin. She didn’t look quite as miserable now. Something had gradually come over her, perhaps a pride in her husband’s work—perhaps a sort of relief.
“Hans 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