Unspoken by Mari Jungstedt Page A

the perpetrator, and that’s why we’re interested in talking to anyone who knew Henry. Do you know where Bengt is?”
    “No, he didn’t sleep here last night.”
    “Where was he?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “When did you last see him?” asked Jacobsson.
    “Yesterday evening. He dropped by for only a minute. I was down in the basement, hanging up the laundry, so I didn’t actually see him. He just called down the stairs to me. This morning he phoned to say that he was going to stay with a friend for a few days.”
    “I see. Who’s the friend?”
    “He didn’t say.”
    “Did he give you a phone number?”
    “No. He’s a grown man, you know. I had the impression that he was staying with a woman.”
    “Why is that?”
    “Because he was so secretive. Otherwise he usually tells me where he is.”
    “Did he call you on your home phone or on a cell?”
    “The home phone.”
    “Do you have caller ID?”
    “As a matter of fact, I do.”
    She got up and went out to the hall. After a minute she came back.
    “No, it doesn’t show anything. It must have been an unlisted number.”
    “Does he have a cell phone?”
    Doris Johnsson stood in the doorway and gave the officers sitting on the sofa a defiant look.
    “Before I answer any more questions, I want to know what happened. I knew Henry, too. You’ll have to tell me what this is all about.”
    “Yes, of course,” muttered Wittberg, who seemed to be quite affected by the domineering tone of the stout woman. Jacobsson noted that he used the formal means of address with her.
    “Last night Henry was found by Bengt and the building superintendent. He was in his darkroom in the basement of the building where he lives. Someone had murdered him, but I can’t go into the details. When the superintendent left to call the police, Bengt took off, and no one has heard from him since. It’s urgent that we get in touch with him as soon as we can.”
    “He got scared, of course.”
    “That’s very possible. But if we’re going to catch the perpetrator, we need to talk to everyone who might have seen anything or who can tell us about Henry’s actions during the days before the murder. Do you have any idea where Bengt might be, Mrs Johnsson?”
    “Hmm . . . He knows so many people. I suppose I could call around and ask.”
    “When did you last hear from Bengt, or rather when did you actually see him last?” Jacobsson interjected.
    “Now let me see . . . Aside from yesterday evening . . . It must have been yesterday morning. He slept late, as usual. Didn’t get up until eleven and then had his breakfast while I was eating lunch. Then he went out. He didn’t say where he was going.”
    “How did he seem?”
    “The same as always. He wasn’t acting strange or anything like that.”
    “Do you know if anything unusual had happened lately?”
    Doris Johnsson plucked at her clothing.
    “No . . .” she said hesitantly.
    Suddenly she threw out her hands.
    “Well, yes. Henry won at the harness-racing track. He won the five-race jackpot, and he was the only winner, so it was a lot of money. Eighty thousand kronor, I think. Bengt told me about it the other day.”
    Jacobsson and Wittberg looked at her in astonishment.
    “When did this happen?”
    “It wasn’t this past Sunday, so it must have been the previous Sunday. Yes, that’s when it was, because they were at the track.”
    “And Henry won eighty thousand kronor? Do you know what he did with the money?”
    “Bought booze, I assume. Part of it went straight to alcohol. As soon as they have a little cash, they start buying rounds for everybody.”
    “Who else belongs to his circle of friends?”
    “There’s a man named Kjelle that he hangs out with a lot, along with a couple of girls. Monica and Gunsan. Though I suppose her real name is Gun.”
    “Last names?”
    She shook her head.
    “Where do they live?”
    “I don’t know that, either, but somewhere here in town. Also a man named Örjan,