Page 63 of Hidden in Memories
“I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I have to go,” she says a little breathlessly.
“I understand.” He looks disappointed, but not annoyed. Maybe curious, as if he’s not prepared to give up so easily.
Quickly Ida gathers her things—her helmet, her ski gloves, the back protector she wears for off-piste runs.
She promised Daniel she would never leave it at home.
Once again her guilty conscience kicks in, and she gets to her feet. “Thanks for today.”
Just as she is about to leave, Gustav raises his hand as if he wants to ask a question.
“By the way.” He gives her his most disarming smile. “Do you still have the same phone number?”
Ida hesitates, she ought to say no. Whatever it was that just happened, it can’t happen again. It’s been an enjoyable but completely innocent day. That’s all. Now she is going home to Alice and her partner.
Nothing happened.
Then she nods.
“I do.”
51
Hanna is still filled with relief at having found the murder weapon as she sits at her computer back at the station. The knife has been sent off to forensics. She really hopes they will be able to secure the perpetrator’s fingerprints or DNA.
At the same time, she is frustrated because they still haven’t got a hold of the mysterious Paul Lehto.
The information about the argument with Charlotte must be followed up as soon as possible, especially now that another witness has confirmed the original tip-off about his volatile temperament and outbursts of rage.
A patrol went to his home earlier and knocked on the door, but no one answered. He is not taking phone calls either. Hanna has tried his wife, but it went straight to voicemail.
It is getting late, after six in the evening, and Daniel has just left. Hanna has decided to stay a while longer. She wants to go through Paul Lehto’s background in peace and quiet.
Anton is still here too, digging into Charlotte’s finances and trying to find links to Bengt Hedin.
Hanna heard about the councillor’s involvement when she got back from Copperhill—it’s important. Anton and Raffe’s speculationabout bribes, plus the incriminating text message exchange, cannot be ignored.
She runs a search on Paul Lehto through PMF, the system where you can ask multiple questions with the individual’s personal identification number. In seconds she is looking at a passport photo of a man with dark hair, narrow eyes, and bushy brows. He lives in Krok, he is fifty-three years old and married. There are stepchildren in the equation, and he has worked at the hotel since it opened. He has a license for a Carl Gustaf 1900 .30-06 rifle, one of the most common in Sweden. He also owns a snow scooter.
A further search shows that he was stopped by a traffic patrol outside Undersåker a few years ago, and was fined for drunk driving.
She leans back and opens the top drawer. If she remembers correctly there should be half a bar of chocolate in there, which should keep her going until she gets home and can make herself a proper meal. The chocolate is in worse condition than she recalled, whitish around the edges, but it slips down nicely with a cup of coffee she fetches from the machine.
As she munches she checks out the online articles about the hotel murders. The headlines are as striking as before, but there is no sign of the interview Filip mentioned.
Good—hopefully he said no.
Hanna throws away the chocolate wrapper and brings up the Facebook group called Preserve Storlien. The contributions are crude, and don’t seem to have diminished since the murder. As usual it is men who are responsible for the worst comments, several threatening various sexual acts that they think Charlotte “deserves,” or in their opinion is “gagging for.”
Hanna tries to avoid brooding over the banal suggestions. She is so tired of those who think they have the right to comment on a woman’s appearance, or to threaten rape or other forms of assaultbecause they don’t like her opinions or plans. Most don’t even have the courage to use their own name, but hide behind obviously fake profiles.
She would like to find out who is behind all these aggressive outpourings.
It’s late, but the IT team usually works long hours. She calls Nadim in Östersund; he has helped her with other cases.
She is in luck. A deep voice answers, and Hanna quickly explains the situation. Could he check out a few posts while she’s on the phone?
“Start with the administrator,” she adds.
