The Woman Inside

The WomanInside M. T. EDVARDSSON Translated by Rachel Willson-Broyles Contents First Patrol on the Scene Karla Bill Jennica Excerpt from Interrogation with Bill Olsson Karla Bill Jennica Excerpt from Interrogation with Karla Larsson Karla Bill Jennica Excerpt from Interrogation with Rickard Lindgren Karla Bill PARTNER OF MURDER SUSPECT WORKED FOR PAEDIATRICIAN Karla Jennica Excerpt from Interrogation with Karla Larsson Bill Karla Jennica Bill Excerpt from Interrogation with Jennica Jungstedt Karla Bill Jennica Excerpt from Interrogation with Vanna Schumacher Karla Bill Jennica Excerpt from Interrogation with Waheeda Bashir Karla Jennica Bill Karla Bill Excerpt from Interrogation with Anette Stehn Jennica Karla Excerpt from Interrogation with Eldar Kahrimanović Bill Excerpt from Interrogation with Bill Olsson Jennica Karla Excerpt from Interrogation with Karla Larsson Jennica Karla Bill Jennica CAUSE OF LUND COUPLE’S DEATH RULED DRUG OVERDOSE AND BLUNT FORCE TRAUMA Bill Karla Jennica Bill Excerpt from Interrogation with Bill Olsson Karla Bill Karla Excerpt from Interrogation with Karla Larsson Jennica Bill Karla Excerpt from Interrogation with Karla Larsson Jennica Karla Excerpt from Interrogation with Bill Olsson Bill Jennica Excerpt from Interrogation with Emma Hansdotter Karla Bill Jennica Excerpt from Interrogation with Petronella Schimanski Karla Jennica Bill Excerpt from Interrogation with Jennica Jungstedt Karla Bill Jennica Bill Jennica Bill NO OUTSIDE PERPETRATOR IN LUND— “A FAMILY TRAGEDY” Karla Bill THE MURDER OF A WOMAN IS NEVER A “FAMILY TRAGEDY” FLASHBACK FORUM Bill Karla Jennica Acknowledgements For Kajsa, Ellen, and Tove. Always. First Patrol on the Scene I—Officer Larsen—and Officer Hemström respond to the home in Lund after the man who lives there fails to report to work. The large brick house is set back from the road, and a Tesla is parked in the driveway. I enter the garden by way of an iron gate and ring the doorbell while Officer Hemström runs the licence plate. I peer through the windowpane in the door. Some coats and jackets are hanging in the hall. There are several pairs of shoes on a low rack. I ring the doorbell a few times, but there is no response. Hemström and I walk around the house together. We get the impression that no one is home. All the lights are off and every blind is down, but I notice a gap at the bottom of one of the kitchen windows. Officer Hemström helps me pull away a few tree branches so I can step into the flower bed, where I stretch up to peer through the window. When I shine my torch inside, I see a tidy kitchen. There are two drinking glasses on the counter, and a black cardigan is draped over the back of one chair. Only when I aim the beam of light at the floor do I discover a person lying next to the table in a semi-prone position. This person’s outline is all that is visible; their face is turned away from me. I bang on the windowpane in an attempt to draw their Karla The house is enormous. When I stand on the little path that leads to the door, the roof blocks out the whole sky. The blinds are drawn, and two black birds stare down at me from one of the window-sills. The front door is guarded on either side by a bronze lion. It’s hard to believe that only two people live here. But that’s what Lena at the cleaning company said. And I can’t imagine there’s any reason for her to lie. Even if her eyes did start shifting oddly when she described the clients in the mansion on Linnégatan. Steven and Regina Rytter. Before I ring the doorbell, I double-check the address on my phone. I take a deep breath as the ding-dong echoes through the house. When a man opens the door, I have to clear my throat before I manage to stammer out a few incoherent words. “That’s right,” he says with a smile. “I heard they would be sending someone new.” Lena at the office was right. This man really does look like a movie star. “I’m Karla,” I say. It seems that my attempt to erase the worst of my Norrbotten accent from my voice doesn’t succeed. “You’re from Norrland?” says the man. He looks to be somewhere between forty and fifty. “Yup,” I reply, not without irony—I suck in the word on an inhalation, as we do up north. He smiles anyway, and his handshake is warm and firm. “Steven Rytter,” he says. “I’ll show you where