Instead I decided to talk to the police. This could not stand. Anyone could see that Linda Lokind would be able to provide knowledge in this investigation. Why was Stella locked up when Linda was the one who had motive?
I increased my speed until I was nearly running up Stora S?dergatan. As I reached the St?ket restaurant and the F?rgaren parking garage, my phone rang in my pocket. It was my mother. She spoke breathlessly, and some of what she said was lost, but there was no mistaking her general message.
Everyone knew.
The evening papers had published online articles about Stella. This afternoon there had even been a brief story on the radio news. She hadn’t been mentioned by name—respect for journalistic ethics hadn’t fallen completely by the wayside, at least—but they had generously given enough clues that anyone who wanted to know her identity didn’t have to put in too much effort to find out.
“Aunt Dagny already called to ask if it’s true,” Mom said.
She sounded so shaken.
“Tell her the truth. The police have made a mistake.”
As soon as we hung up, I slipped into the small alley beside the parking garage to find an out-of-the-way spot. I walked straight through the building and out the other side. Then, on a bench outside the Katedral School, I devoted half an hour to self-destructive googling. First I read what had been written in the papers, and then I moved on to shadier sites. The information ran the gamut from general facts about Stella and our family to flat-out lies and crazy speculation.
She showed a lot of promise at handball, but she couldn’t control her temper.
She was probably waiting for him on the playground. Olsen was worth millions, it must have been planned.
I read it all and just wanted to scream. It was so out of touch with reality. And the people who were typing these comments in front of their screens were the same folks I might meet on the street, in church, maybe even in a courtroom.
I had to talk to the police. As I walked up Lilla Fiskaregatan, I called and notified Agnes Thelin that I was on my way. She relayed that I was welcome to drop by.
I was stopped several times on my walk by curious people who wanted to talk to me. I was forced to stand there, surrounded by people who knew who I was but whose names I had long since forgotten, as bikes whooshed past and the Romanian man outside Pressbyr?n played the theme from The Godfather on his accordion.
A woman from my congregation was out walking a puppy and stopped me.
“How are you doing?” she asked with mournful eyes. “It must be a mistake. The police are making fools of themselves.”
I usually have no trouble standing before a full congregation and leading a service or greeting every single person I meet. I’m happy to stop and exchange a few words, listen to a fellow human, and try to say something sufficiently polite and wise. But this was different. I felt suffocated.
In the end I panicked, hid my face, and hurried over to Bantorget, then under the viaduct and up to police headquarters.
* * *
Chief Inspector Agnes Thelin met me outside her office. She offered me coffee, but my hand was shaking so hard that the spoon fell to the floor when I tried to stir in the sugar.
“How are you doing?” she asked.
“I finally got a little sleep last night.”
Agnes Thelin nodded and gave me a warm smile.
“I hoped you would be in touch, Adam.”
What did she mean by that?
“I thought you would be in touch,” I said with a certain edge to my voice. “It feels like we’re not getting any information whatsoever.”
Agnes Thelin poured milk into her coffee.
“The investigation is at a delicate stage. We’re working very hard to find out what happened.”
“Are you?” I said, crossing my arms. “Are you really? Are you working ‘broadly and without preconceived notions’？ Because one might easily think you’d already made up your minds.”
For an instant my vision went fuzzy. I bent forward and brought my hands to my forehead.
“Are you okay?” Thelin asked. “I understand this must be wearing on you.”
I glanced up and tried to compose myself. I must not appear to be crazy.
“Linda Lokind,” I said. “Why aren’t you taking a closer look at her?”
Thelin sipped her coffee.
“Naturally, we are looking at everything that might be relevant in this case,” she said, running a finger over her lips.
“Are you aware that Linda Lokind has a pair of the exact same shoes as Stella’s? The same ones that left a print at the scene of the crime?”