Читать книгу The Preacher - Camilla Lackberg - Страница 7

She was wobbling badly as she pedalled homewards in the bright midsummer night. The party had been a bit wilder than she’d expected, but that didn’t matter. She was grown-up, after all, so she could do as she liked. The best part was getting away from the kid for a while. The baby with all her shrieking, her need for tenderness and demands for something she couldn’t give. It was because of the baby, after all, that she still had to live at home with her mother, with the old lady who hardly let her go a few yards away from the house, even though she was nineteen years old. It was a miracle that she’d been allowed to go out tonight to celebrate Midsummer’s Eve.

If she hadn’t had the kid she could have had her own place by now; she could be earning her own money. She could have gone out whenever she liked and come home when she felt like it, and nobody would have said a word. But with the kid that was impossible. She would have preferred to give her up for adoption, but the old lady wouldn’t hear of it, and now she was the one who had to pay the price. If her mother wanted to keep the kid so much, why couldn’t she take care of her alone?

The old lady was really going to be furious when she came rolling in like this in the wee hours of the morning. Her breath stank of alcohol, and she would surely be made to pay for that later. But it was worth it. She hadn’t had this much fun since the brat was born.

She bicycled straight through the intersection by the petrol station and continued a bit up the road. Then she turned off to the left towards Bräcke but lost her balance and almost went into the ditch. She straightened out the wheel and pedalled harder to get a little head start up the first steep hill. The wind riffled through her hair, and the light summer night was utterly quiet. For a moment she closed her eyes and thought about that bright summer night when the German had got her pregnant. It had been a wonderful and forbidden night, but not worth the price she finally had to pay.

Suddenly she opened her eyes as the bike hit something. The last thing she remembered was the ground rushing towards her at great speed.

Back at the station in Tanumshede, Mellberg was sunk in uncharacteristically deep thought. Patrik didn’t say much either as he sat across from him in the lunchroom, pondering the morning’s events. It was actually too warm to be drinking coffee, but he needed something stimulating, and alcohol was hardly suitable. Both men absentmindedly flapped their shirts up and down to cool off. The air-conditioning had been broken for two weeks now, and they still hadn’t had anyone out to fix it. In the morning the temperature was usually tolerable, but around noon the heat began to climb to unbearable levels.

‘What the hell is this all about?’ said Mellberg as he scratched cautiously at the nest of hair that was coiled on top of his head to hide his bald pate.

‘I have no idea, to be honest with you. A woman’s body was found lying on top of two skeletons. If someone hadn’t actually been killed, I would have thought it was some sort of prank. Skeletons stolen from a biology lab or something. But there’s no getting round the fact that the woman was murdered. I heard a comment from one of the Forensics as well – he said the bones didn’t look fresh. Of course that could be due to where they’ve been lying. They might have been exposed to wind and weather or they might have been protected. I hope the ME can give some estimate as to how old they are.’

‘All right, when do you think we can expect the first report from him?’ Mellberg frowned anxiously.

‘We’ll probably get a preliminary report today, then it will take a couple of days for him to go over everything in more detail. So for the time being we’ll have to work on whatever evidence we’ve got. Where are the others?’

Mellberg sighed. ‘Gösta is off today. Some damn golf tournament or something. Ernst and Martin are out on an investigation. Annika is on some Greek island. She probably thought it was going to rain all summer again. Poor thing. It can’t have been fun to leave Sweden right now with this great weather we’re having.’

Patrik gave Mellberg another surprised look and wondered at this unusual expression of sympathy. Something funny was going on, that was for sure. But he couldn’t take the time to worry about it now. They had more important things to think about.

‘I know you’re on holiday for the rest of this week, but would you mind coming in and helping out on the case?’ Mellberg asked. ‘Ernst isn’t imaginative enough and Martin is too inexperienced to lead an investigation, so we could really use your help.’

The request was so flattering to Patrik’s vanity that he found himself saying yes on the spot. Of course he would catch hell for it at home, but he consoled himself with the fact that it would take no longer than fifteen minutes to get home if Erica needed him in a hurry. Besides, they’d been getting on each other’s nerves in the heat, so it might be a good idea for him to be out of the house.

‘First I’d like to find out whether any woman has been reported missing,’ said Patrik. ‘We should check a fairly wide area, say from Strömstad down to Göteborg. I’ll ask Martin or Ernst to do it. I thought I heard them come in.’

‘That’s good, a great idea. That’s the right spirit, keep it up!’ Mellberg got up from the table and cheerfully slapped Patrik on the shoulder. Patrik realized that he would be the one doing the work, as usual, while Mellberg once again took all the credit. But he no longer got upset about that; it wasn’t worth it.

With a sigh he put both of their coffee cups in the dishwasher. He wasn’t going to need to put on any sunblock today.

‘All right, everybody up! Do you think this is some sort of bloody boarding-house where you can lie about all day long?’

The voice cut through thick layers of fog and echoed painfully against his temples. Stefan cautiously opened one eye but closed it the instant he saw the blinding glare of the summer sun.

‘What the hell …’ Robert, his older brother by one year, turned over in bed and put the pillow over his head. It was abruptly yanked out of his grasp and he sat up, muttering.

‘Can’t I ever sleep in a little at this place?’

‘You two slackers sleep in every single day. It’s almost noon. If you didn’t stay up late gadding about every night and doing God knows what, maybe you wouldn’t have to sleep half the day. I actually need a little help around this place. You live here for free and you eat for free too, and both of you are grown men. I don’t think it’s too much to ask for you to give your poor mother a helping hand.’

Solveig Hult stood with her arms crossed. She was morbidly obese, with the pallor of someone who never goes outside. Her hair was filthy, framing her face with straggly, dark locks.

‘You’re almost thirty years old and still living off your mother. Yeah, you’re real he-men, all right. And how can you afford to run around partying every single night, if I may ask? You don’t work and I never see you contributing anything to the household expenses. All I can say is that if your father were still alive, he’d put a stop to this behaviour. Have you heard anything from the Job Centre yet? You were supposed to go down there week before last!’

Now it was Stefan’s turn to put the pillow over his face. He tried to block out the endless nagging; she was like a broken record. But his pillow was yanked away too. He sat up, hung over, his head pounding like a marching band.

‘I put away the breakfast things long ago. You’ll have to find something in the fridge yourselves.’

Solveig’s huge posterior waddled out of the little room that the brothers still shared, and she slammed the door behind her. They didn’t dare try to go back to sleep, but took out a packet of cigarettes and each lit a fag. They could skip breakfast, but the fag lifted their spirits and gave them a nice burn in the throat.

‘What a fucking blast last night, eh?’ Robert laughed and blew smoke rings in the air. ‘I told you they’d have great stuff at home. He’s a director of some company in Stockholm. Thank God guys like that can afford the best.’

Stefan didn’t answer. Unlike his big brother, he never got an adrenaline rush from the break-ins. Instead he went about for days both before and after a job with a big cold lump of fear in his stomach. But he always did as Robert said; it never occurred to him that he could do anything different.

Yesterday’s break-in had given them the biggest payday they’d had in a long time. Most people had grown more wary of leaving expensive things in their summer houses; they used mainly their old junk that they would have otherwise thrown out, or finds from jumble sales that made them feel they’d made a coup even though the items weren’t worth a shit. But yesterday they’d got hold of a new TV, a DVD player, a Nintendo, and a bunch of jewellery belonging to the lady of the house. Robert was going to sell the stuff through his usual channels, and it would bring a pretty penny. Not that it would last them very long. Stolen money always burned a hole in their pockets, and after a couple of weeks it would be gone. They spent it on gambling, going out and treating their friends, and other necessary expenses. Stefan looked at the pricey watch he was wearing. Luckily their mother couldn’t recognize anything valuable when she saw it. If she knew what this watch cost, the nagging would never stop.

Sometimes he felt trapped like a hamster on a wheel, going round and round as the years passed by. Nothing had really changed since he and his brother were teenagers, and he saw no possibilities now, either. The one thing that gave his life meaning was the only thing he had ever kept secret from Robert. An instinct deep inside told him that no good would come of confiding in his brother. Robert would only turn it into something dirty with his rude remarks.

For a second Stefan allowed himself to think about how soft her hair was against his rough cheek, and how small her hand felt when he held it between his own.

‘Hey, don’t just sit there daydreaming. We’ve got business to take care of.’

Robert got up with his cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth and headed out the door first. As usual, Stefan followed, which was all he knew how to do.

In the kitchen Solveig was sitting in her usual place. Ever since Stefan was a little boy, since that incident with his father, he had seen her sitting on her chair by the window as her fingers eagerly fiddled with whatever was in front of her on the table. In his earliest memories his mother was beautiful, but over the years the fat had accumulated in thicker and thicker layers on her face and body.

Solveig looked as if she were sitting there in a trance; her fingers lived their own life, incessantly plucking at things and then smoothing them out. For almost twenty years she had messed about with those fucking photo albums, sorting and resorting them. She bought new albums and then re-arranged the photos and news clippings. Better, more elegantly. He wasn’t so stupid that he didn’t understand that it was her way of holding on to happier times, but someday surely she would see that those days were long gone.

The pictures were from the days when Solveig was beautiful. The high point of her life had been when she married Johannes Hult, the youngest son of Ephraim Hult, the noted Free Church pastor and owner of the most prosperous farm in the region. Johannes was handsome and rich. Solveig may have been poor, but she was the most beautiful girl in all of Bohuslän; that’s what everyone said at the time. And if further proof were needed, the articles she had saved from when she was crowned Queen of the May two years in a row would suffice. It was those articles, and the many black-and-white photos of herself as a young girl, that she had carefully preserved and sorted every day for the past twenty years. She knew that the girl was still there somewhere beneath all the layers of fat. Through the photos she could keep the girl alive, even though she was slipping further and further away with each passing year.

With a last look over his shoulder, Stefan left his mother sitting in the kitchen and followed Robert out the door. As Robert said, they had business to take care of.

Erica considered going out for a walk, but realized that it probably wasn’t such a good idea right now, with the sun at its peak and the heat most intense. She’d done splendidly throughout her entire pregnancy until the heat wave set in. Since then, she went about like a sweaty whale, desperately trying to find a way to cool off. Patrik, God bless him, had come up with the idea of buying her a table fan, and now she carried it about with her like a treasure wherever she went in the house. The only drawback was that she had to plug it in, so she could never sit further from an outlet than the cord would reach, which limited her choices.

But on the veranda the outlet was perfectly placed, and she could settle down on the sofa with the fan on the table in front of her. No position was comfortable for more than five minutes, which made her keep shifting to find a better position. Sometimes she felt a foot kicking at her ribs, or else something that felt like a hand punching her in the side. Then she was forced to change position again. She had no idea how she was going to stand another month of this.

She and Patrik had only been together for half a year when she got pregnant, but oddly enough it hadn’t upset either of them. They were both a little older, a little more certain of what they wanted, and they didn’t think there was any reason to wait. Only now was she starting to get cold feet, at the eleventh hour, so to speak. Perhaps they’d not shared enough everyday life before they embarked upon this pregnancy. What would happen to their relationship when they were suddenly presented with a tiny stranger who required all the attention they’d been able to devote to each other before?

The crazy, blind infatuation of their early days together had faded, of course. They had a more realistic, everyday foundation to build on now, with better insight into each other’s good and bad sides. But after the baby was born, what if only the bad sides were left? How many times had she heard the statistics about all the relationships that fizzled out during the first year of a baby’s life? Well, there was no use worrying about it now. What’s done is done, and there was no getting around the fact that both she and Patrik were longing for the arrival of this child with every fibre of their bodies. She hoped that sense of longing would be enough to get them through the turbulent changes ahead.

Erica gave a start when the telephone rang. Laboriously she struggled to get up from the sofa, hoping that whoever was calling had enough patience not to hang up.

‘Yes, hello? … Oh, hi, Conny … Oh, I’m fine, thanks, it’s just a little too hot to be fat … Drop by? Sure, of course … Come on over for coffee … Spend the night? Well …’ Erica sighed inside. ‘Of course, why not? When are you coming? Tonight? Well no, it’s no problem at all. You can sleep in the guest room.’

Wearily she hung up the receiver. There was one big drawback to having a house in Fjällbacka in the summertime. All sorts of relatives and friends – who hadn’t uttered a peep during the ten colder months of the year – would pop up out of the blue. They weren’t particularly interested in seeing her in November, but in July they saw their chance to live rent-free with an ocean view. Erica had thought that they might be spared this year, when half of July passed without a word from anyone. But now her cousin Conny said he was on his way to Fjällbacka from Trollhättan with his wife and two kids. It was only for one night, so she supposed she could handle it. She’d never been that fond of either of her two cousins, but her upbringing made it impossible to refuse to take them in, even when that was what she wanted to do. In her opinion, they were both freeloaders.

Yet Erica was grateful that she and Patrik had a house in Fjällbacka where they could receive guests, invited or not. After her parents died, her brother-in-law had tried to effect a sale of the house. But her sister Anna finally got fed up with his physical and mental abuse. She’d divorced Lucas, and she and Erica now owned the house together. Since Anna was still living in Stockholm with her two kids, Patrik and Erica were able to move into the house in Fjällbacka. In return they took care of all the expenses. Eventually they would have to make more permanent arrangements regarding the house, but for the time being Erica was just glad to have it. And she was thrilled to be living there year-round.

Erica looked around and saw that she’d have to get busy if she wanted the house to be relatively tidy when the guests arrived. She wondered what Patrik would say to the invasion, but then shrugged her shoulders. If he was willing to leave her alone here and go off to work in the middle of their holiday, then she could certainly decide to have guests. She’d already forgotten that she had been thinking it was rather nice not to have him underfoot all day.

Ernst and Martin had come back to the station from the call they’d been on, and Patrik decided to start by getting them up to speed in the case. He called them into his office, and they sat down in the chairs in front of his desk. He couldn’t help noticing that Ernst was beet-red with anger because a younger detective had been assigned to lead the investigation, but Patrik chose to ignore it. That was something Mellberg would have to handle. In the worst-case scenario Patrik could manage without Ernst’s help if his colleague refused to work with him.

‘I assume you’ve already heard about what happened.’

‘Yes, we heard it on the police radio,’ said Martin. Unlike Ernst, he was young and enthusiastic and sat bolt upright in his chair with a notebook in his lap and his pen poised.

‘A woman was found murdered in the King’s Cleft in Fjällbacka. She was naked and looks to be somewhere between twenty and thirty. Underneath her were found two human skeletons of unknown origin and age. Unofficially, Karlström in CSI told me that they weren’t exactly fresh. So we seem to have been given a lot on our plate, besides all the usual pub fights and drink-drivers we’re up to our necks in. And both Annika and Gösta are on holiday, so we’ll have to roll up our sleeves and get busy. I’m actually on holiday this week as well, but I agreed to come in and work. Mellberg has asked me to lead this investigation. Any questions?’

This was aimed primarily at Ernst, who chose not to confront him. No doubt he would grumble about things behind his back instead.

‘What do you want me to do?’ Martin was like a restless horse, now impatiently circling his pen above his notebook.

‘I want you to start by checking with the Schengen Information System for missing-persons reports about women who’ve disappeared during, let’s say, the past two months. It’s better to expand the time interval until we hear more from the forensic medicine lab. Although I suspect that the time of death is much more recent, maybe just a couple of days ago.’

‘Haven’t you heard?’ asked Martin.

‘Heard what?’

‘The database is down. We’ll have to forget about SIS and do things the good old-fashioned way.’

‘Damn. Great bloody timing. Well, according to Mellberg we don’t seem to have any missing-persons reports outstanding from before I went on holiday. So I suggest that you ring round to all the nearby districts. Start with the closest districts and work your way out. Understood?’

‘All right. How far out should I go?’

‘As far as you need to until we find someone who matches. And ring Uddevalla right after the meeting to get a preliminary description of the victim to use in your enquiries.’

‘So what should I do?’ The enthusiasm in Ernst’s voice was not exactly contagious.

Patrik glanced over the notes he had jotted down after his conversation with Mellberg.

‘I’d like you to start by talking to the people who live near the entrance to the King’s Cleft. Find out whether they saw or heard anything last night or early this morning. The Cleft is full of tourists in the daytime, so the body, or the bodies if we’re going to be precise, must have been transported there sometime during the night or early morning. We can assume that the remains were brought there via the larger entrance; they could hardly have been carried up the steps from Ingrid Bergman’s Square. The little boy discovered the woman at about six o’clock, so you should focus on the hours between nine at night and six in the morning. I thought I’d go down to the archives and take a look myself. There’s something about those two skeletons that is tugging at my memory. I have the feeling that I should know what it is, but … can you think of anything? Isn’t there something that jogs your memory?’

Patrik threw out his hands and waited with raised eyebrows for an answer, but Martin and Ernst just shook their heads. He sighed. Well, there was nothing to do but go to the catacombs …

Wondering whether he might be in disfavour, and not sure whether he even would have known if he’d had time to ponder the matter, Patrik sat deep in the bowels of the Tanumshede police station and dug through old documents. Dust had settled on most of the folders, but thank goodness they still seemed to be in good order. Most of the files were archived in chronological order, and even though he didn’t know exactly what he was looking for, he knew that it had to be there somewhere.

He sat on the stone floor with his legs crossed and methodically went through box after box. Decades of human fates passed through his hands, and after a while it struck him how many people and families kept reappearing in the police registers. It was as if a life of crime were being passed down from parents to children and even to grandchildren, he thought when he saw the same family names popping up again and again.

His mobile phone rang and he saw from the display that it was Erica.

‘Hi, darling, is everything all right?’ He knew what the answer was going to be. ‘Yes, I know that it’s hot. Just sit by the fan, there isn’t much else to be done … Erica, we’ve got a homicide on our hands here, and Mellberg wants me to lead the investigation. Would you be very upset if I came in and worked a couple of days?’

Patrik held his breath. He knew he should have rung her earlier to say that he might have to work, but like a typical man he had evaded the issue, trying to put off the inevitable. On the other hand, she was well aware of the demands made by his profession. Summertime was the most hectic season for the Tanum police, and they had to take turns going on holiday. It was never guaranteed that they could even take a few days in a row; it all depended on how many drunks, fights, and other side-effects of tourism the station had to handle. And homicide, of course, took precedence over everything else.

Erica said something that he almost missed.

‘Coming to visit, you say? Who? Your cousin?’ Patrik sighed. ‘No, what can I say? Sure, it would have been nicer if we could be alone tonight, but if they’re already on the way … They’re just staying for one night, I hope? Okay, then I’ll pick up some shrimp to serve them. Something simple, so you won’t have to cook. I’ll be home around seven. Kiss, kiss.’

He stuck the phone back in his pocket and continued going through the contents of the boxes in front of him. A file marked ’Missing’ caught his interest. Some ambitious person had at one time collected all the missing-persons reports resulting from police investigations. Patrik knew that this was what he’d been looking for. His fingers were filthy from all the dust, so he wiped them on his shorts before he opened the thin file. After a few minutes’ reading, his memory received the jog it required. He should have remembered this straight away, considering how few people in the district had actually gone missing without being found again. His age must be starting to take its toll. At least now he had the relevant reports in front of him, and he had a feeling that it was no coincidence that two women were reported missing in 1979 and were never seen again. Then two skeletons turn up now in the King’s Cleft.

He took the file with him upstairs to the daylight and placed it on his desk.

The horses were the only reason she stayed. With a practised hand she curried the coat of the brown gelding with steady strokes. The physical labour acted as a safety-valve for her to get rid of some of her frustration. It was shit to be seventeen years old and not have any say about your own life. As soon as she came of age she was going to get the hell out of this hole. Then she’d accept the offer she’d received from the photographer who’d come up to her when she was walking about in downtown Göteborg. When she became a model in Paris and was making tons of money she would tell them all where they could stuff their fucking education. The photographer had told her that with each passing year her value as a model decreased. A whole year of her life would be wasted before she ever got the chance to model, just because the old man had education on the brain. It didn’t take much education to strut down the runway. Later, when she was around twenty-five and starting to get too old, she’d marry a millionaire. Then she could laugh at the old man’s threat to cut her out of his will. Someday she’d be able to go shopping and spend the equivalent of his entire fucking fortune.

Her marvellous bloody brother didn’t make matters any easier. It was better to live with him and Marita than at home, but not much. He was so damned reliable. Nothing he did ever went wrong, while she always got the blame for everything.

‘Linda?’

Typical, even here in the stall she couldn’t be left in peace.

‘Linda?’ The voice was more urgent. He knew that she was here, so there was no use pretending she didn’t hear him.

‘Don’t be such a bloody nag. What is it?’

‘You really don’t need to speak to me in that tone of voice. I don’t think it’s too much to ask that you show a little courtesy.’

She muttered a few curses in reply, but Jacob let it pass.

‘You’re actually my brother, not my father, did you ever think of that?’ she told him.

‘I’m well aware of that, but as long as you’re living under my roof, I actually do have a certain responsibility for you.’

Just because he was almost twice her age, Jacob thought he knew everything. It was easy for him to get on his high horse because he was comfortably off. Father had said many times that Jacob was certainly a son to be proud of, and that he would take good care of the family estate. Linda assumed that her brother would inherit the whole lot one day. Until then he could afford to pretend that money wasn’t important, but Linda saw right through him. Everyone admired Jacob because he worked with young people at risk. At the same time they knew full well that eventually he would inherit both the estate and a fortune. Then it would be interesting to see how much longer he continued this idealistic work.

Linda couldn’t help giggling. If Jacob knew that she was sneaking out at night he’d go nuts, and if he knew who she was meeting, she’d get the lecture of her life. It was fine to talk about having compassion for the less fortunate, as long as they weren’t on your own front porch. Besides, there were other, more deeply rooted reasons for Jacob to hit the roof if he found out that she was seeing Stefan. He was their cousin, and the feud between the two branches of the family had been going on since long before she was born – even before Jacob was born. She had no idea why. That was just the way things were. So she had extra butterflies in her stomach whenever she sneaked out to meet Stefan.

Linda had a good time with him. He was very considerate, but he was much older, after all, so he had a self-confidence that boys her own age could never muster. It didn’t bother her that they were cousins. Nowadays cousins could even get married. That wasn’t really part of her long-term plans, but she had nothing against exploring one thing or another with him, as long as it remained a secret.

‘Did you want something, or were you just planning to hover?’ she said now.

Jacob gave a deep sigh and put a hand on her shoulder. She tried to shrink away, but his grip was strong.

‘I don’t really understand where all this aggression is coming from. The kids I work with would give anything to have a home like yours and be brought up the way you were. A little gratitude and maturity would seem appropriate, you know. And yes, I did want something. Marita has finished cooking and we’re ready to eat. So hurry up and change your clothes. Then come and eat with us.’

He loosened his grip on her shoulder and left the stable, heading up to the manor house. Muttering, Linda put down the curry-comb and went to change. In spite of everything, she was very hungry.

Once again Martin’s heart had been broken. He’d lost count of how many times it had happened before, but the fact that he was used to it didn’t make the sting any less. Like all the times before, he’d thought that this woman resting her head on the pillow next to his was the right one. Of course he was fully aware that she was already taken, but with his usual naïveté he thought that he was more than just a diversion and that her boyfriend’s days were numbered. He had no idea that, with his innocent face and almost sweet-as-pie openness, he was like a lump of sugar to a fly for women who were a little older, more mature and living in an everyday rut with their respective husbands. Men they had no intention of leaving for a nice 25-year-old cop, though they thought nothing of having it off with him when the urge or the need for affirmation had to be satisfied. Not that Martin had anything against the physical aspects of a relationship – and he was especially talented in that area – but the problem was that he was also an unusually sensitive young man. Love affairs found a willing participant in Martin Molin. That’s why his little flings always ended in tears and gnashing of teeth on his part, when the women thanked him and then went home to their own lives, that might be boring but were steady and familiar.

Martin sighed heavily as he sat at his desk, but he forced himself to focus on the task at hand. The calls he had made so far had been fruitless, but there were still plenty of police districts to ring. The fact that the database had crashed just when he needed it most was probably his usual luck. Now he had to sit here looking up one telephone number after the other, trying to find someone who fit the description of the dead woman.

Two hours later he leaned back and flung his pen at the wall in despair. No one had been reported missing who matched the description of the murder victim. What were they going to do now?

It was so damned unfair. He was older than that snot-nosed kid and should have been the one to lead this investigation, but the world was filled with ingratitude. For several years now he had assiduously kissed up to that bloody Mellberg, but nothing ever came of it. Ernst took the curves at high speed on the way to Fjällbacka. If he hadn’t been driving a police car he certainly would have seen plenty of raised middle fingers in his rear-view mirror. Just let them try it, those fucking tourists, then they’d have the devil to pay.

Go and ask the neighbours. That was an assignment for a rookie, not for a cop with twenty-five years of experience. That whippersnapper Martin could have handled the task, leaving Ernst to make some calls to his colleagues in the nearby districts and get a chance to shoot the breeze.

He was seething inside, but that had been his natural frame of mind since he was a kid, so it was nothing out of the ordinary. A choleric disposition made him ill-suited to a profession that required so much social contact. On the other hand, the hooligans showed him respect because they instinctively knew that Ernst Lundgren was not someone to be trifled with if they valued their health.

As he drove through the town there were rubberneckers everywhere. They followed him with their eyes and pointed, and he knew that the news had already spread all through Fjällbacka. He had to drive at a crawl across Ingrid Bergman’s Square because of all the cars parked illegally. He saw to his satisfaction that a number of patrons rushed from Café Bryggan’s sidewalk tables to move their cars. A smart thing to do. If the cars were still there when he came back he had nothing against spending some time upsetting the holiday mood of people who had parked illegally. Make them blow into the breathalyser a little, maybe. Some of the drivers had been downing a cold beer when they saw him drive by. If he was lucky he might even be able to confiscate a couple of driving licences.

There wasn’t much room to park on the short strip of road outside the King’s Cleft, but he squeezed into a space and began Operation Door-Knocking. As he expected, nobody had seen a thing. People who would normally notice if their neighbour farted in his own house seemed to go deaf and blind when the police wanted to know something. Although, Ernst had to admit, maybe they actually hadn’t heard anything. In the summertime the noise level was so loud at night, with drunks staggering home at dawn, that people learned to block out the noise from outside so they could get a good night’s sleep. But it was still damned irritating.

He didn’t get even a nibble until the last house. Not a big catch, of course, but at least it was something. The old man in the house farthest from the entrance to the King’s Cleft had heard a car drive up around three in the morning, when he was up taking a piss. He narrowed the time frame to a quarter to three. He said he hadn’t bothered to look out, so he could say nothing about either the driver or the car. But since he was a former driving school instructor and had driven many types of cars in his day, he was quite certain that the vehicle wasn’t a newer model but had a few years on it.

Great, the only thing Ernst had got out of two hours of knocking on doors was that the murderer had probably driven the body here around three o’clock and that he may have been driving an older model car. Not much to cheer about.

But his mood rose a few notches when he drove past the square again on his way back to the station and noticed that new scofflaws had parked in the spots vacated by the previous drivers. Now he’d have them blowing into the breathalyser till their lungs popped.

An insistent ringing of her doorbell interrupted Erica as she was laboriously running the vacuum cleaner over the carpets. Sweat was copiously pouring out of her, and she pushed back a couple of wet strands of hair from her face before she opened the door. They must have driven like joyriders to arrive that fast.

‘Hey, fatty!’

A bear hug caught her in a firm grip, and she noticed that she wasn’t the only one sweating. But with her nose deeply buried in Conny’s armpit she realized that she smelled like roses and lilies of the valley in comparison.

After extracting herself from his embrace she said hello to Conny’s wife Britta, politely shaking hands since they had only met a few times. Britta’s handshake was damp and limp and felt like a dead fish. Erica shuddered and fought back an impulse to wipe her hand on her slacks.

‘What a belly on you! Have you got twins in there or what?’

She really hated hearing people comment on her body that way, but she’d already begun to realize that pregnancy seemed to give everyone a free pass to make comments on your shape and touch your belly – it was altogether too familiar. Complete strangers had even come up and started pawing at her stomach. Erica was just waiting for the obligatory patting to begin, and within seconds Conny was running his hands over her swollen stomach.

‘Oh, what a little football star you have in there. Obviously a boy, with all that kicking. Come here, kids, feel this!’

Erica didn’t have the strength to object, and she was attacked by two pairs of little hands sticky with ice cream that left handprints on her white maternity blouse. Luckily Lisa and Victor, six and eight years old, soon lost interest.

‘So what does the proud father have to say? Is he counting the days or what?’ Conny didn’t wait for an answer, and Erica recalled that dialogues were not his strong suit.

‘Yes, damn it, I can remember when these two little rascals came into the world. A hell of an intense experience. But tell him to forget about watching it down there. It’ll make him lose the urge for a long time to come.’

He chuckled and elbowed Britta in the side. She just gave him a surly look. Erica realized that this was going to be a long day. If only Patrik would come home on time.

Patrik knocked cautiously on Martin’s door. He was a bit jealous of how neat things were in there. The desk was so clean that it could have been used as an operating table.

‘How’s it going? Have you found anything?’

Martin’s dejected expression told him the answer was negative even before he shook his head. Damn. The most important thing in the investigation right now was to be able to identify the woman. Somewhere people were worried about her. Surely somebody must be missing her.

‘What about you?’ Martin nodded towards the folder Patrik was holding in his hand. ‘Did you find what you were looking for?’

‘I think so.’

Patrik pulled up a chair so he could sit next to Martin.

‘Take a look at this. Two women disappeared in the late Seventies from Fjällbacka. I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me at once, it was front-page news back then. Anyway, here’s what’s left of the investigative material.’

The file he placed on the desk was very dusty, and he saw that Martin’s fingers were itching to wipe it off. A stern look from his colleague made him refrain. Patrik opened the folder and showed him the photographs lying on top.

‘This is Siv Lantin. She disappeared on Midsummer’s Day in 1979. She was nineteen.’ Patrik pulled out the next photo. ‘This is Mona Thernblad. She disappeared two weeks later and was eighteen years old. Neither of them has been seen since, despite an enormous effort with search parties, dragging the waterways, and everything you can think of. Siv’s bicycle was found in a ditch, but that was the only thing that was found. And they found no trace of Mona except for a running shoe.’

‘Yes, now that you mention it, I do remember those cases. There was a suspect, wasn’t there?’

Patrik leafed through the yellowing pages of the report and pointed to a typed name.

‘Johannes Hult. It was his brother, Gabriel Hult, of all people, who called the police and reported that he’d seen his brother with Siv Lantin on the way to his farm in Bräcke the night she vanished.’

‘How seriously was the tip taken? I mean, there must be something behind it if you turn in your own brother as a suspect in a murder case.’

‘The feud in the Hult family had been going on for years, and everyone knew about it. So the information was received with some scepticism, I think. It still had to be investigated, and Johannes was brought in for questioning a couple of times. But there was never any evidence besides his brother’s testimony. It was one brother’s word against the other’s, so Johannes was released.’

‘Where is Gabriel today?’

‘I’m not sure, but I seem to recall that Johannes committed suicide shortly after. Damn … if Annika were here she could have put together a more updated account of this in no time. As I mentioned, the material in the folder is meagre to say the least.’

‘It sounds like you’re quite sure that the skeletons we found are these two women.’

‘I wouldn’t say that. I’m just basing my guess on the law of probability. We have two women who disappeared in the Seventies, and now two skeletons turn up that seem to have a few years on them. What are the odds that it’s only a coincidence? Although I’m not positive, of course – we won’t be until the ME submits his report. But I intend to see to it that he has access to this information right away.’

Patrik glanced at the clock. ‘Damn, I’d probably better get going. I promised to be home early today. Erica’s cousin is visiting, and I have to fix some shrimp and things for supper. Could you make sure that the ME gets this information? And check with Ernst when he comes in, in case he’s turned up anything useful.’

The heat struck Patrik like a wall when he left the police station, and he hurried to his car so he could get back into an air-conditioned environment. If this heat was sapping his energy, he could only imagine what it was doing to Erica, the poor dear.

It was unfortunate that they were having visitors just now, but he understood that it was hard for her to say no. And since the Flood family were leaving tomorrow, it was only one evening wasted. He turned up the cool to max and headed for Fjällbacka.

‘Did you talk to Linda?’

Laine was nervously rubbing her hands together. It was a habit that Gabriel had learned to detest.

‘There isn’t that much to talk about,’ he said. ‘She’ll do as she’s told.’

Gabriel did not even look up but calmly continued what he was doing. His tone was dismissive, but Laine wasn’t about to shut up so easily. Unfortunately. For years he had wished that his wife would choose to be silent more often. It would do wonders for her personality.

Gabriel Hult himself had the personality of an accountant to his very core. He loved to match credits against debits and figure the balance on the bottom line; he loathed with all his heart everything that had to do with emotions and not logic. Neatness was his motto, and despite the summer heat he was wearing a suit and tie, of a more lightweight fabric of course, but nonetheless very proper-looking. His dark hair had thinned over the years, but he still combed it back and made no attempt to hide the bald patch in the middle. The pièce de résistance was the pair of round spectacles that rested on the tip of his nose so that he could look over the rims with disdain at whoever he was talking to. What’s right is right – that was the motto he lived by, and he only wished that other people would do the same. Instead it seemed as if they spent all their energy upsetting his perfect equilibrium and making life hard for him. Everything would be so much easier if they just did as he said rather than thinking up a bunch of foolishness on their own.

The big disturbance in his life at the moment was Linda. Jacob had never been as difficult in his teenage years. In Gabriel’s ideal world, girls were calmer and more compliant than boys. Instead they had a teenage monster on their hands who contradicted them at every turn and in general was doing her best to ruin their lives in the shortest time possible. He didn’t put much store in her idiotic plans to become a model. There was no doubt that the girl was cute, but unfortunately she’d inherited her mother’s brain and wouldn’t last an hour in the harsh world of professional modelling.

‘We’ve had this discussion before, Laine, and I haven’t changed my opinion. It’s out of the question. I won’t allow Linda to traipse off and have her picture taken by some sleazy photographer who just wants to get her naked. Linda has to get an education, and that’s all there is to it.’

‘Yes, but she’ll be eighteen in a year, and then she’ll do whatever she wants anyway. Isn’t it better for us to support her now instead of running the risk of losing her for good a year from now?’

‘Linda knows what side her bread’s buttered on, so I’d be very surprised if she ran off without securing some financial support. And if she keeps studying that’s exactly what she’ll get. I promised to send her money every month if she keeps on with her studies, and I intend to honour that promise. Now I really don’t want to hear any more about this matter.’

Laine kept on rubbing her hands, but she knew when she was beaten, and she left his office with her shoulders slumped. She carefully closed the sliding doors after her and Gabriel heaved a sigh of relief. This nagging was getting on his nerves. She ought to know him well enough after all these years together to see that he wasn’t one to change his mind once it was made up.

His sense of satisfaction and calm returned as he went back to writing in the book he had before him. The modern computer accounting programs had never won him over, because he loved the feeling of having a big ledger in front of him, with neatly written rows of figures that were summed up on each page. When he was finished he leaned back contentedly in his chair. This was a world he could control.

For a moment Patrik wondered whether he was in the right house. This couldn’t be the calm, peaceful home that he’d left this morning. The noise level was far above what was permissible in most workplaces, and the house looked like someone had tossed a grenade into it. Belongings he didn’t recognize were strewn everywhere, and things that should have been in a certain place were missing. Judging by Erica’s expression, he should have come home an hour or two earlier.

In amazement he counted two kids and two extra adults, and he wondered how in the world they could sound like a whole day-care centre. The Disney channel was blaring full blast on the TV, and a little boy was running about chasing an even smaller girl with a toy pistol. The parents of the two little devils were sitting peacefully on the veranda. The big lug of a man waved happily to Patrik but didn’t bother getting up from the sofa or tear himself away from the tray of pastries.

Patrik went out to the kitchen to find Erica, and she collapsed in his arms.

‘Take me away from here, please. I must have committed some unpardonable sin in a former life to be saddled with all this. The kids are little demons in human form, and Conny is … Conny. His wife has hardly said a peep and looks surly enough to curdle milk. Help, they’ve got to be on their way!’

Patrik patted his wife sympathetically on the back and felt that her blouse was sopping wet with sweat.

‘You go and take a shower in peace and quiet, and I’ll take care of the guests for a while. You’re soaked through.’

‘Thanks, you’re an angel. There’s a pot of coffee ready. They’re into their third cup already, but Conny has started to drop little hints that he wants something stronger, so you might want to check what we have available along that line.’

‘I’ll fix it. Now get going, dear, before I change my mind.’

Erica gave him a grateful kiss and then waddled up the stairs to the bathroom.

‘I want some ice cream.’ Victor had sneaked up behind Patrik and was aiming his pistol at him.

‘Sorry, we don’t have any ice cream in the house.’

‘Then you’ll have to go and buy some.’

The boy’s contrary expression drove Patrik crazy, but he tried to look friendly and said as gently as he could, ‘No, I’m not going to do that. There are biscuits on the table outside, you can have some of those.’

‘I want ice creeeeeeam!!!’ The boy whined and jumped up and down, and now his face was bright red.

‘We don’t have any, I tell you!’ Patrik’s patience was starting to wear thin.

‘ICE CREAM, ICE CREAM, ICE CREAM, ICE CREAM …’

Victor wasn’t going to give up easily. But he must have seen from Patrik’s eyes that a limit had been reached, because he quieted down and slowly backed out of the kitchen. Then he ran crying to his parents who were sitting out on the veranda, ignoring the tumult in the kitchen.

‘PAPPAAA, Uncle Patrik is mean! I want some ICE CREEEAM!’

With the coffee pot in his hand Patrik tried to turn a deaf ear and went out to greet his guests. Conny stood up and held out his hand. When Patrik greeted Britta he too experienced her cold-fish handshake.

‘Victor’s going through a phase right now,’ she said. ‘He’s testing the limits of his own will. We don’t want to hamper his personal development, so we’re letting him find out where the dividing line runs between his own wishes and those of other people.’

Britta gave her son a tender look, and Patrik remembered Erica telling him that she was a psychologist. But if this was her idea of raising children, then psychology was a profession that little Victor would be in close contact with when he grew up. Conny hardly seemed to notice what was going on, and he shut his son up by stuffing a good-sized piece of cake in the boy’s mouth. Judging by Victor’s rotundity, this was a frequent tactic. But Patrik had to admit that it was effective and appealing in all its simplicity.

By the time Erica came downstairs, freshly showered and with a much more alert expression on her face, Patrik had set the shrimp and other dishes on the table. He’d also managed to fix the children each a pizza after realizing that it was the only way to avoid a total catastrophe at dinner.

They all sat down and Erica was just about to open her mouth to say ‘bon appetit’ when Conny dug into the bowl of shrimp with both hands. One, two, three big fistfuls of shrimp landed on his plate, leaving barely half of the original amount in the bowl.

‘Mmm, delicious. Now I’m a guy who knows how to eat shrimp.’ Conny proudly patted his stomach and dug into his mountain of shrimp.

Patrik, who had put in the serving bowl fully two kilos of ruinously expensive shrimp, merely sighed and took a small handful that hardly took up any space on his plate. Erica without a word did the same and then passed the bowl to Britta, who morosely took the rest.

After the unsuccessful dinner they made the beds for their visitors in the guest room and excused themselves early, on the pretext that Erica needed to rest. Patrik showed Conny where the whisky was and escaped in relief upstairs to peace and quiet.

When they finally got into bed, Patrik told Erica what he’d been doing all day. He had long since given up trying to keep his police activities a secret from Erica, but he also knew that she kept her mouth shut about what he told her. When he got to the episode with the two missing women, he could see that she pricked up her ears.

‘I remember reading about that. So you think they might be the ones you found?’

‘I’m fairly sure of it. It would be too big a coincidence otherwise. But as soon as we get the report from the ME we can start investigating the matter properly, but for the time being we have to keep as many options open as possible.’

‘You don’t need any help digging up background material, do you?’ She turned eagerly towards him and he could see the gleam in her eyes.

‘No, no, no. You have to take it easy. Don’t forget that you’re actually on sick leave.’

‘Sure, but my blood pressure was back down at the last check-up. And I’m going stir crazy being at home all the time. I haven’t even been able to start writing a new book.’

The book about Alexandra Wijkner and her tragic death had been a big seller, and in turn had brought Erica a contract for another true crime book. The writing had demanded enormous effort on her part, both in research and emotion, and after sending it off to the publisher in May she hadn’t felt like starting a new project. High blood pressure followed by sick leave had tipped the scales against her, so she had reluctantly postponed all work on a new book until after the baby arrived. But it wasn’t in her nature just to sit at home and twiddle her thumbs.

‘Annika is on holiday, so she can’t do it. And it isn’t as easy as you might think to do research. You have to know where to look, and I do. Can’t I just take a quick peek –’

‘No, out of the question. Hopefully Conny and his wild bunch will leave early in the morning, and then you can take it easy. Now be quiet so I can talk to the baby a minute. We have to get started planning his football career –’

‘Or hers.’

‘Or hers. Although then it would probably be golf instead. There isn’t any money in women’s football yet.’

Erica just sighed, but obediently lay down on her back to facilitate the conversation.

‘Don’t they notice when you sneak out?’ Stefan was lying on his side next to Linda and tickling her face with a straw.

‘No, because Jacob “trusts” me.’ She frowned, mimicking her brother’s serious tone of voice. ‘It’s something he picked up from all those courses on how to create good contact with young people. The worst thing is that most of the kids seem to lap it up; for some of them Jacob is like God. Although if you’ve grown up without a father you probably take whatever you can get.’ Annoyed, she slapped away the straw Stefan was tickling her with. ‘Cut that out.’

‘What’s the matter, can’t I tease you a little?’

She could see that he was offended, and she leaned over and kissed him, as if putting a plaster on a cut. It just wasn’t a good day today. She’d got her period that morning, so she wouldn’t be able to make love with Stefan for a week. And then it was getting on her nerves to be living in the same house with her splendid brother and his equally splendid wife.

‘Oh, if only the year would be over fast so I could leave this fucking hole!’

They had to whisper so they wouldn’t be discovered in their hiding place in the hayloft, but she slapped her hand on the boards to punctuate her words.

‘Do you wish you could leave me too? Is that what you want?’

The hurt expression on Stefan’s face deepened, and she bit her tongue. If she ever got out in the wide world, she would never look at someone like Stefan. As long as she was stuck here at home he was amusing enough, but that was all. But he didn’t need to know that. So she curled up like a cuddly little kitten and snuggled closer. When she got no response, she took his arm and put it around her. As if of their own accord his fingers began to wander over her body, and she smiled to herself. Men were so easy to manipulate.

‘You could come with me, couldn’t you?’ She said this knowing full well that he would never be able to tear himself away from Fjällbacka, or rather from his brother. Sometimes she wondered whether he even went to the toilet without asking Robert’s permission.

He didn’t answer the question. Instead he said, ‘Have you talked to your father? What does he say about your idea of leaving town?’

‘What can he say? In a year he won’t be able to tell me what to do. As soon as I turn eighteen he’ll have fuck-all to do about it. And that will drive him crazy. Sometimes I think he wishes that he could enter us in one of his fucking account books. Jacob debit, Linda credit.’

‘What do you mean, debit?’

Linda laughed. ‘Those are financial terms, nothing you need to worry about.’

‘I just wonder how things would have been if …’ Stefan fixed his gaze somewhere behind her as he continued to chew on a straw.

‘How things would have been if what?’

‘If Pappa hadn’t lost all the money. Then maybe we would have been the ones living in the manor house, and you’d be in the cabin with Uncle Gabriel and Aunt Laine.’

‘Oh yeah, that would have been a sight. Mamma living in a shabby cabin. Poor as a churchmouse.’

Linda tilted her head back and laughed so loud that Stefan had to shush her so she wouldn’t be heard over in Jacob and Marita’s house, only a stone’s throw from the barn.

‘Maybe Pappa would have still been alive today, in that case. And then Mamma wouldn’t spend her days poring over those sodding photo albums,’ said Stefan.

‘But it wasn’t because of the money that he –’

‘You don’t know that. What the hell do you know about why he did it?’ His voice rose an octave and turned shrill.

‘Everybody knows.’

Linda didn’t like the turn the conversation had taken, and she didn’t dare look Stefan in the eye. The family feud and everything connected with it had always been off limits, by tacit agreement.

‘Everybody thinks they know, but nobody knows fucking shit,’ Stefan went on. ‘And there’s your brother, living on our farm – that’s too fucking much!’

‘It’s not Jacob’s fault things turned out the way they did,’ said Linda. It felt odd to defend the brother she usually showered with abuse, but blood was thicker than water. ‘He got the farm from Grandpa, and besides, he’s always been the first to defend Johannes.’

Stefan knew that she was right, and his anger drained out of him. It was just that sometimes it hurt so damn much when Linda talked about her family, because it reminded him of what he himself had lost. He didn’t dare say it to her face, but he often thought that she was pretty ungrateful. She and her family had everything, and his family had nothing. Where was the justice in that?

At the same time he could forgive her for everything. He had never loved anyone so intensely, and the mere sight of her slim body next to his made him burn inside. Sometimes he couldn’t believe it was true. That an angel like Linda would waste her time on him. But he knew better than to question his good fortune. Instead he tried to ignore the future and enjoy the present. Now he pulled her closer and shut his eyes as he inhaled the scent of her hair. He unbuttoned the top button of her jeans, but she stopped him.

‘I can’t, I’ve got my period. Let me instead.’

She unbuttoned his jeans and he lay back in the hay. Behind his closed eyelids heaven flickered past.

Only a day had passed since the dead woman was found, but impatience was already plaguing Patrik. Somewhere somebody was wondering where she was. Pondering, worrying, letting their thoughts run along ever more anxious paths. And the terrible thing was that in this case the worst misgivings had come true. He wanted more than anything else to find out who the woman was so he could inform her loved ones. Nothing was worse than uncertainty, not even death. The work of grieving could not commence until they knew the reason for their grief. It wasn’t going to be easy to be the one who delivered the news – a responsibility that Patrik had already shouldered in his mind – but he knew that it was an important part of his job. To facilitate and offer support. But above all, to find out what had happened to the loved one.

Martin’s fruitless phone calls the day before had demonstrated the task of identification would be more difficult. She had not been reported missing anywhere in the local area, so the search field had to be expanded to all of Sweden, perhaps even to other countries. At the moment the task seemed impossible, but he quickly dismissed that thought. Right now they were the unknown woman’s only advocates.

Martin knocked discreetly on the door.

‘How would you like me to proceed? Widen the search radius, or start with the big-city districts, or …?’ He raised his eyebrows in an enquiring gesture.

At once Patrik felt the weight of the responsibility for the investigation. Actually there was nothing pointing in any direction, but they had to start somewhere.

‘Check with the big-city districts. Göteborg has been taken care of, so start with Stockholm and Malmö. We should be getting the preliminary report from Forensics soon, and if we’re lucky they might be able to come up with something useful.’

‘Okay.’ Martin slapped the door on his way out and headed for his office. A shrill signal from the front hall made him turn on his heel, and he went to let in the visitor. That was usually Annika’s job, but while she was gone they just had to help each other out.

The young woman looked upset. She was thin, with two long blonde braids and an enormous pack on her back.

‘I want to speak to someone in charge,’ she said in English.

She spoke with a thick accent, and he guessed that she was German. Martin opened the door and motioned her to come in. He called down the hall, ‘Patrik, you have a visitor.’

Too late it occurred to him that maybe he should have asked what her business was first, but Patrik had already stuck his head out of his office and the young woman was headed in his direction.

‘Are you the man in charge?’

For a moment Patrik was tempted to send her on to Mellberg, who was technically the chief, but he changed his mind when he saw her desperate expression and decided to spare her that experience. Sending a good-looking girl into Mellberg’s office was like sending a lamb to the slaughter, and Patrik’s natural protective instincts won out.

‘Yes, how can I help you?’

He motioned for her to come in and sit down in the chair in front of his desk. With surprising ease she slipped off the enormous backpack and carefully leaned it against the wall by the door.

‘My English is very bad. You speak German?’

Patrik ransacked his ancient knowledge of school German. His answer depended on how she defined ‘speak German’. He could order a beer and ask for the check, but he suspected that she wasn’t here in the capacity of waitress.

‘Little German,’ he replied haltingly in her mother tongue, wobbling his hand in a ‘so-so’ gesture.

She seemed pleased to hear this and spoke slowly and clearly to give him a chance to understand what she was saying. To Patrik’s surprise he found that he knew more than he’d thought at first, and even though he didn’t understand every word, he got the gist of it.

She introduced herself as Liese Forster. Apparently she had been in a week earlier to report her friend Tanja missing. She had spoken with an officer here at the station, who told her that he would contact her when he knew more. Now she’d been waiting a whole week and still hadn’t heard a peep. Anxiety was writ large across her face, and Patrik took her story seriously.

Tanja and Liese had met on the train on the way to Sweden. They were both from northern Germany but hadn’t known each other before. They got along well at once, and Liese said that they became like sisters. Liese had no fixed plans about where to go in Sweden, so Tanja had suggested that she come along with her to a little town on the west coast called Fjällbacka.

‘Why Fjällbacka exactly?’ asked Patrik with his clumsy German grammar.

The answer came with hesitation. Liese admitted that she didn’t really know why. It was the one topic that Tanja had not discussed cheerfully and openly with her. All Tanja had told her was that she had some business to take care of there. When it was done, they could continue their trip through Sweden. But first there was something Tanja needed to find. The subject seemed sensitive and Liese had not pursued it. She was just glad to have a companion on her travels and she happily tagged along. It didn’t really matter to her why Tanja had to go there.

They had been staying at the Sälvik campground for three days when Tanja disappeared. She had set off in the morning, saying that she had something to take care of during the day and that she would come back towards afternoon. Afternoon passed and then it was evening, and Liese’s anxiety had increased as the hours had ticked away. The next morning she went to the tourist bureau on Ingrid Bergman’s Square and asked for directions to the nearest police station. The report was taken and now she wondered what had been done.

Patrik was shocked. As far as he knew, they hadn’t received any missing-persons report. He felt a heaviness gathering in his gut. When he asked what Tanja looked like, his fears were confirmed. Everything Liese had told him about her friend matched the dead woman in the King’s Cleft. With a heavy heart he showed Liese a photograph of the body, and her sobs told him what he already suspected. Martin could stop making phone calls, and someone would have to be called to answer for not reporting Tanja’s disappearance correctly. They had wasted many precious hours for nothing, and Patrik had little doubt where to find the guilty party.

Patrik had already driven off to work when Erica awoke from a sleep that for a change had been deep and dreamless. She looked at the clock. It was nine, and there was not a sound from downstairs.

Soon she had the coffee on, and she started setting the breakfast table for herself and her guests. They trickled into the kitchen one by one, each more bleary than the last, but they came round quickly when they began helping themselves to the breakfast she had prepared.

‘Weren’t you all heading for Koster next?’ Erica’s question was polite, but she was anticipating getting rid of them.

Conny exchanged a swift glance with his wife and said, ‘Well, Britta and I talked it over a bit last night, and we thought that since we’re here, and the weather’s so fine, we might run out to one of the islands here today. You do have a boat, don’t you?’

‘Well, yes, we do,’ Erica admitted reluctantly. ‘Although I’m not sure Patrik is terribly anxious to lend it out. Considering the insurance and all that …’ The thought that they would stay even a few more hours than planned made her bones tingle with frustration.

‘We thought that you might be able to give us a lift to some nice spot, then we can ring you when we want to come back.’

Conny took the fact that Erica was speechless at this suggestion as tacit agreement on her part. She called on higher powers for patience and persuaded herself that it wasn’t worth a confrontation with the family just to spare herself a few more hours of their company. Besides, she would get out of being with them during the day, and maybe they would decide to drive on before Patrik came home from work. She had already decided to fix something special for dinner and have a cosy evening at home. After all, Patrik was supposed to be on holiday. And who knew how much time they would have for each other once the baby arrived – it was best to take advantage of their time together.

After much shilly-shallying the whole Flood family finally packed up their sun gear, and they set off for the boat dock. The little blue wooden boat was low and hard to step into from the dock at Badholmen. It took a good deal of effort to squeeze her pregnant body down into the boat. After cruising about for an hour searching for a ‘deserted rock, or preferably a beach’ for the guests, she finally found a tiny cove that other tourists miraculously had seemed to miss. Then she headed for home. Getting up onto the dock without help proved impossible. Feeling humiliated, she had to ask some passing beachgoers for assistance.

Sweaty, hot, exhausted, and furious she drove home but changed her mind just as she was passing the sailing society’s clubhouse. She made a sharp left turn instead of driving straight ahead towards Sälvik. She took the right-hand curve around the hill, past the sports field and the Kullen apartment complex, and parked outside the library. She would go completely insane if she had to sit at home all day with nothing to do. Patrik could protest all he wanted later, but he was going to get help with the investigation whether he wanted it or not!

When Ernst entered the police station he headed reluctantly towards Hedström’s office. As soon as Patrik rang him on his mobile and with granite in his voice ordered him to come to the station at once, Ernst knew that he was in trouble. He ransacked his memory to try and work out what he might have been caught doing, but he had to admit that there were too many possibilities to make an educated guess. He was the de facto master of short cuts, and he had made fiddling about an art form.

‘Sit.’

He docilely obeyed Patrik’s command, then put on a defiant expression to meet the approaching storm.

‘So what’s the big hurry? I was in the middle of something. Just because you happened to be put in charge of an investigation, you can’t just boss me about …’

A good offence was usually the best defence, but judging from Patrik’s ever-darkening expression it was absolutely the wrong way to go.

‘Did you take a report about a missing German tourist a week ago?’

Damn. He had totally forgotten about that. The little blonde girl had come in right before lunch, and he got rid of her in a hurry so he could be on his way and go eat. Most of those reports about missing friends never amounted to anything. Usually the person was dead drunk in some ditch, or else she’d gone home with some guy. Shit. He knew now that he was going to pay for this. He couldn’t imagine why he hadn’t connected it with the girl they found yesterday, but hindsight was 20-20. The important thing was to minimize the damage.

‘Yes, well, I suppose I did.’

‘You suppose you did?’ Patrik’s usually calm voice resounded like thunder in the little room. ‘Either you took the report or you didn’t. There’s nothing in between. And if you did take it, where in the … where is it?’ Patrik was so furious that he was stumbling over his words. ‘Do you realize how much time this has cost the investigation?’

‘Well, it’s obviously unfortunate, but how was I supposed to know –’

‘You aren’t supposed to know, you’re supposed to do what you’re assigned to do! I hope I never hear about something like this again. Right now we have precious hours to make up.’

‘Is there anything I can …’ Ernst made his voice as submissive as he could and tried to look contrite. Inside, he was cursing at being addressed like a whippersnapper, but since Hedström now seemed to have Mellberg’s ear it would be stupid to aggravate the situation any further.

‘You’ve done enough. Martin and I will continue with the investigation. You’ll take care of any other incoming reports. We received one about a burglary in Skeppstad. I talked to Mellberg and got the go-ahead for you to handle that on your own.’

As a sign that the conversation was over, Patrik turned his back on Ernst and began typing so frenetically that the keyboard jumped.

Ernst left the room grumbling. How serious could it be to forget to write up a single little report? At the proper time he would have a talk with Mellberg about the suitability of having someone with such an unstable personality in charge of a homicide investigation. Yes, damn it, that’s what he would do.

The pimply-faced youth sitting before him was a study in lethargy. Hopelessness was written all over his face; the meaninglessness of life had been pounded into him long ago. Jacob recognized all the signs, and he couldn’t help looking on it as a challenge. He knew that he had the power to turn the boy’s life in a completely different direction. How well he succeeded depended only on whether the boy had any desire to be steered onto the right path.

Within the religious community Jacob’s work with young people was well-known and respected. So many broken souls had entered the farm only to leave as productive members of society. The religious aspect was toned down for the rest of the town, since the state subsidies were rather precarious. There were always people with no faith in God who cried ‘sect’ as soon as anything diverged from their conventional view of what religion involved.

It was on his own merits that he had won the greater part of the respect he enjoyed, but he could not deny that some of it could also be attributed to the fact that his grandfather was Ephraim Hult, ‘the Preacher’. Of course his grandfather had not belonged to this same congregation, but his reputation was so widespread along the coast of Bohuslän that it resonated within all the free-church groups. The Lutheran state church in Sweden naturally viewed the Preacher as a charlatan. On the other hand, all the pastors who chose to settle for preaching to empty pews on Sundays did the same, so the freer Christian groups took little notice.

The work with the outsiders and addicts had filled Jacob’s life for almost a decade, but it no longer satisfied him the same way it had done before. He had been involved in planning programmes at the rehabilitation centre in Bullaren, but the work no longer filled the vacuum he had lived with all his life. Something was missing inside him, and the search for this unknown something frightened him. For so long, he had believed that he stood on solid ground but now he felt it trembling precariously beneath his feet. He dreaded the abyss that might open and swallow him whole, both body and soul. So many times, secure in his faith, he had sententiously observed that doubt is the primary tool of the Devil, not knowing that one day he would find himself in that same predicament.

Jacob got up and stood with his back to the boy. He looked out of the window facing the lake, but saw only his own reflection in the glass. A strong, healthy man, he reflected sardonically. His dark hair was cut short, and Marita, who cut his hair at home, actually did a very good job. His face was finely chiselled, with sensitive features without being unmasculine. He was neither delicate nor particularly powerfully built; he was the very definition of a man with a normal physique. Jacob’s biggest asset were his eyes. They were a piercing blue and had the unique ability to seem both gentle and penetrating at the same time. Those eyes had helped him convince many people to take the right path. He knew it, and he exploited it.

But not today. His own demons were making it hard for him to concentrate on anyone else’s problems. It was easier to take in what the boy was saying if he didn’t have to look at him. Jacob looked away from his reflection and instead peered out across Bullar Lake and the forest that spread out for miles and miles before him. It was so hot that he could see the air shimmering above the water. They had purchased the big farm cheaply because it had been so dilapidated after years of mismanagement. After countless hours of toil they had renovated it to the condition it was in now. The place was not luxurious, but it was neat, clean and comfortable. The district’s representatives were always impressed by the house and the lovely surroundings. They enthused about what a positive influence this would have on the poor maladjusted boys and girls. Previously the farm had never had any problems in getting subsidies, and their work had progressed well during the ten years they had been in operation. So the problem was all in his head … or was it in his soul?

Perhaps the temptation of daily life was what had pushed him in the wrong direction at a decisive fork in the road. He had not hesitated to take his sister into his home. Who else would be able to soothe her inner turmoil and calm her rebellious temperament? But she had proven to be his superior in the psychological battle, and as her ego grew stronger day after day, he felt the constant irritation undermining his whole foundation. Sometimes he would catch himself clenching his fists and thinking that she was a stupid, simple girl who deserved it if her family washed their hands of her. But that was not the Christian way of thinking, and such thoughts always led to hours of soul-searching and devout Bible study in the hope of finding renewed strength.

Outwardly Jacob was still a rock of security and confidence. He knew that the people around him needed him; he was the one they could always lean on. And he was still not prepared to give up that image of himself. Ever since he vanquished the illness that for a time had ravaged him so fiercely, he struggled not to lose control over his life. But the mere exertion of maintaining the façade taxed his last resources, and the abyss was inexorably drawing nearer. Once again he reflected over how ironic it was that after so many years things had come full circle. The news had made him for a second do the impossible – he had succumbed to doubt. The doubt lasted only a moment, but it had created a tiny little crack in the strong fabric that held his life together, and that crack was expanding.

Jacob banished those thoughts and forced himself to focus on the young man in the room and his pitiful existence. The questions he asked came automatically, like the smile of empathy that he always had ready for a new black sheep in the flock.

Another day. Another broken soul to mend. It never ended. But even God had a chance to rest on the seventh day.

After going to collect her relatives, now as pink as pigs, out on the skerry, Erica was eagerly waiting for Patrik to come home. She was also searching for signs that Conny and his family would start packing their things, but it was already half past five and they had made no move to leave. She decided to wait a while before thinking up some subtle way to ask whether they were going soon. The kids’ shrieking had given her a splitting headache, so she wouldn’t wait long. With relief she heard Patrik coming up the steps and went to meet him.

‘Hi, honey,’ she said, standing on tiptoe to kiss him.

‘Hi. Haven’t they left yet?’ Patrik spoke in a low voice as he glanced towards the living room.

‘No, and they don’t seem to be making any moves in that direction, either. What on earth are we going to do?’ Erica replied in an equally low voice, rolling her eyes to show her displeasure at the situation.

‘They can’t expect to stay another night without asking, can they? Or can they?’ said Patrik, looking nervous.

Erica snorted. ‘If you only knew how many guests my parents used to have during the summer over the years. People who were just going to be here a night or two and then stayed for a week, expecting to be waited on, expecting free meals. People are crazy. And relatives are always the worst.’

Patrik looked horror-stricken. ‘They can’t stay for a week! We have to do something. Can’t you tell them they have to leave?’

‘Me? Why should I have to tell them?’

‘They’re your relatives, after all.’

Erica had to admit that he had a point. She was just going to have to bite the bullet. She went into the living room to hear about their plans, but never got a chance to ask.

‘What’s for dinner?’ Four pairs of eyes turned expectantly towards her.

‘Well …’ Erica was speechless at their sheer audacity. She quickly went over the contents of the fridge in her mind. ‘It’s spaghetti with meat sauce. In an hour.’

Erica felt like kicking herself when she went back to Patrik in the kitchen.

‘So, what did they say? Are they leaving?’

Erica couldn’t look Patrik in the eye. She said, ‘I don’t really know. But we’re having spaghetti with meat sauce in an hour.’

‘Didn’t you say anything?’ Now it was Patrik’s turn to roll his eyes.

‘It’s not that easy. Try it yourself, you’ll see.’ Annoyed, Erica turned away and started banging pots and pans as she took them from the cupboard. ‘We’re going to have to grit our teeth for another night. I’ll tell them tomorrow. Start chopping some onions, will you? I can’t make dinner for six all by myself.’

In oppressive silence they worked together in the kitchen until Erica couldn’t keep quiet any longer.

‘I was at the library today,’ she said. ‘I copied some material that you might be able to use. It’s on the kitchen table.’ There was a neat stack of photocopies lying there.

‘I told you that you shouldn’t –’

‘No, no, I know. But now it’s done, and it was really fun for a change instead of sitting at home staring at the walls. So don’t complain.’

By this time Patrik had learned when he should shut up, and he sat down at the kitchen table and began going through the material. They were newspaper articles about the disappearance of the two young women, and he read them with great interest.

‘Damn, this is great! I’m going to take this stuff to the office tomorrow and go through it more carefully, but it looks fantastic.’

He went over to stand behind her at the stove and put his arms around her swollen belly.

‘I didn’t mean to complain. I’m just concerned about you and the baby.’

‘I know.’ Erica turned to face him and put her arms round his neck. ‘But I’m not made of porcelain, and if women in the old days could work in the fields until they pretty much gave birth on the spot, I can certainly sit in a library and turn pages with no ill effects.’

‘Okay, I know.’ He sighed. ‘As soon as we get rid of our lodgers, we can pay more attention to each other. And promise me that you’ll tell me if you want me to stay home. The station knows that I’ve volunteered to work during my holiday and that you take precedence.’

‘I promise. But now help me get the dinner ready and maybe the kids will calm down.’

‘I doubt it. Maybe we should give them each a shot of whisky before dinner, so they’ll fall asleep.’ He gave her a wink and then laughed.

‘Ooh, you’re terrible. Give one to Conny and Britta instead, then we’ll at least have them in a good mood.’

Patrik did as she suggested, casting a mournful glance at the hastily dropping level in the bottle of his best single-malt. If Erica’s relatives stayed another couple of days, his whisky supply would never be the same.