The Final Word Read Online Free PDF Page B

today?’
    It seemed almost incredible that there had been a time before DNA. How had any crimes ever been solved twenty years ago?
    ‘It’s possible to extract so-called mitochondrial DNA from strands of hair now. That’s an alternative form of analysis that doesn’t give quite as much information as a complete DNA sequence, but it’s very reliable.’
    ‘So once you had the new information, you requesteda DNA sample from the car-owner under suspicion, a saliva sample. What happened?’
    ‘It was a perfect match.’
    She couldn’t help looking at Ivar Berglund, and was aware of everyone around her doing the same thing, both inside the court and on the public benches. All eyes landed on the accused, who sat there, still as a statue, his hands resting heavily one on top of the other. He was looking straight at her and their eyes met. His were narrow and dark. She tried to see any depth in them, but failed.
    ‘Did you take the man in for further questioning?’
    ‘A colleague and I interviewed him at his home in Täby.’
    ‘What did he have to say for himself?’
A heaviness to his movements, superficial politeness and surprise, but she could sense hidden depths, the snakes within.
    ‘He stuck to his alibi, that he had been giving a lecture on the genetic modification of aspen trees up in Sandviken on the night in question.’
    ‘Were you able to confirm what he told you?’
    ‘There were about seventy people in the audience, but no one knows exactly when Viola Söderland went missing.’
    ‘Could he have been in both places? On the same night?’
    ‘The distance between Sandviken and Stockholm is a hundred and ninety-one kilometres, so, yes. It’s theoretically possible for him to have been in both places on the same night.’
    Berglund’s lawyer seemed amused, and whisperedsomething in her client’s ear. Nina clenched her teeth. She wouldn’t let herself be provoked.
    ‘But Ivar Berglund is facing charges regarding an entirely separate allegation, not Viola Söderland’s disappearance,’ the defence lawyer said, looking through her papers.
    Nina reached for the glass of water on the table in front of her. It was refreshing, tasted earthy.
    ‘Can you tell the court how you and your colleagues at National Crime proceeded with the case?’
    ‘We compared Berglund’s DNA profile with every ongoing criminal investigation in Sweden.’
    ‘And what happened?’
    ‘We found another match.’
    ‘To an ongoing criminal investigation?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Which one?’
    ‘The murder of Karl Gustaf Evert Ekblad in Nacka last year.’
    It was as if a sudden wind had passed through the spectators’ benches on the other side of the glass, a soundless storm, rising and falling, hair fluttering, arms moving, lips talking, pens scribbling. The facts in the case were already public knowledge, but up to now they had been one-dimensional, words on a page. Now they came to life. The man was revealed as the monster he was.
    The prosecutor looked at his notes. ‘You were coordinating that investigation at National Crime. Can you tell us in more detail about the case?’
    Her first week in her new job. She hadn’t even had time to attend the induction course before real life got in the way.
    ‘Karl Gustaf Evert Ekblad, known as Kag, used to spend a lot of time sitting on the benches in Orminge shopping centre. He was tortured and killed in May last year.’
    ‘Tortured?’
    Nina took her eyes off the prosecutor and looked directly at Ivar Berglund. She wasn’t scared of him: she knew what he was. ‘The victim was found hanging by his knees from a tree, above an anthill, naked and smeared with honey. His ankles and wrists were tied with duct-tape. His nails had been pulled out, his rectum had been severely damaged, and his nose broken. He had died from lack of oxygen, asphyxiated by a plastic bag.’
    Ivar Berglund leaned back in his chair, as though he needed to distance himself from what was being said. He