Читать книгу Camilla Lackberg Crime Thrillers 4-6: The Stranger, The Hidden Child, The Drowning - Camilla Lackberg - Страница 13

Sometimes he thought he remembered the other one, the one who was not as gentle, or as beautiful, as her. The other one, whose voice was so cold and relentless. Like hard, sharp glass. Oddly enough there were times when he missed her. He had asked sister if she remembered her, but she only shook her head. Then she had picked up her blanket, the soft one with the tiny pink teddy bears, and squeezed it hard. And he saw that she did remember. The memory sat somewhere deep inside, in her chest, not in her head.

Once he had attempted to ask about that voice. Where it was now. Who it had belonged to. But she had been so upset. There was no one else, she said. There had never been anyone with a hard, sharp voice. Only her. Just her. Then she had hugged him and sister. He had felt the silk of her blouse against his cheek, the scent of her perfume in his nostrils. A lock of his sister’s long blonde hair had tickled his ear, but he didn’t dare move. Didn’t dare break the magic. He had never asked again. To hear her sounding upset was so unusual, so disturbing, that he didn’t dare risk it.

The only other time he upset her was when he asked to see what was hidden out there. He didn’t want to do it, he knew it would be fruitless, but he couldn’t help himself. Sister always looked at him with big, frightened eyes when he stammered out his question. Her fear made him cringe, but he couldn’t hold back the question. It spilled out, like a force of nature; it was as if it were bubbling inside him and wanted to come up, come out.

The answer was always the same. First the disappointed look in her eyes. Disappointment that he, despite her giving him so much, giving him everything, still wanted more. Something else. Then the reluctant reply. Sometimes she had tears in her eyes when she answered. Those times were the worst. Often she knelt down, took his face in her hands. Then came the same assurance. That it was for their own good. That people like them couldn’t be out there. That everything would go wrong, both for him and sister, if she let them outside the door.

Then she locked the door carefully when she left. And he sat there with his questions, and sister crept close to him.

Mehmet leaned over the side of the bed and threw up. He was vaguely aware that the vomit splashed onto the floor and not into some container, but he was too out of it to care.

‘Fuck, Mehmet, that’s disgusting.’ He heard Jonna’s voice from far away, and with his eyes half-shut he saw her rush out of the room. He didn’t have the energy to care about that either. The only thing that filled his head was the throbbing, painful feeling between his temples. His mouth was dry and tasted of stale booze and vomit. He had only a vague sense of what had happened the night before. He remembered the music, he remembered dancing, he remembered the girls in skimpy outfits pressing against him, hungry, desperate, revolting. He closed his eyes to shut out the images, but that only amplified them. The nausea rose in him again, and he leaned over the edge of the bed once more. Now there was nothing but gall left. Somewhere nearby he could hear the camera, humming like a bumblebee. Images of his family went round and round in his head. The thought that they would see him like this made the headache a hundred times worse, but he couldn’t do a thing about it, other than pull the covers over his head.

Snatches of words came and went. They raced in and out of his memory, but as soon as he tried to put them together into something meaningful they dissolved into nothingness. There was something he had to remember. Angry, nasty words that were flung like arrows at someone? At lots of people? At himself? Damn, he couldn’t remember. He curled up in the foetal position, pressing his clenched fists to his mouth. The words began to come again. Curses. Accusations. Ugly words that were meant to hurt. If he remembered rightly, they had achieved that goal. Someone had cried. Protested. But the voices had just grown louder. Then the sound of a slap. The unmistakable sound of skin meeting skin at a speed that would cause pain. A howling, heartrending sob penetrated his fog. He curled up even more as he lay on the bed, under the covers, trying to fend off all the seemingly unrelated bits and pieces that were bouncing around in his mind. It didn’t help. The fragments were so disturbing, so strong, that nothing seemed to be able to hold them at bay. They wanted something from him. But there was something he was supposed to remember. There was also something he didn’t want to remember. At least that’s what he believed. Everything was so mixed up. Then the nausea swept over him again. He threw off the covers and leaned over the edge of the bed.

Mellberg lay in bed staring at the ceiling. This feeling he had … It was something he hadn’t felt in a long time. Perhaps it could best be described as … contentment. And it wasn’t a feeling he ought to have either, seeing that he had gone to bed alone and woken up alone too. That had never been associated with a successful date in his world. But things had changed since he met Rose-Marie. He had changed.

He’d had such an enjoyable evening the night before. The conversation had flowed so easily. They had talked about everything between heaven and earth. And he had been interested in what she had to say. He wanted to know everything about her. Where she grew up, how she grew up, what she had done during her life, what she dreamed of, what kind of food she liked, which TV shows she watched. Everything. At one point he had stopped to glance at their reflections in the windowpane, laughing, toasting each other, talking. And he hardly recognized himself. He had never seen such a smile on his face before, and he had to admit that it suited him. He already knew that her smile suited her.

He clasped his hands behind his head and stretched. The springtime sun filtered through the window, and he noticed that he should have washed the curtains long ago.

They had kissed good night outside the door of the Gestgifveri. A bit hesitantly, a bit cautiously. He had held her shoulders, extremely lightly, and the feel of the smooth, cool surface of the fabric against his fingertips combined with the scent of her perfume when he kissed her, was the most erotic thing he’d ever experienced. How could she have such a strong effect on him? And after such a short time.

Rose-Marie … Rose-Marie … He tasted the name. Closed his eyes and tried to picture her face. They had agreed to see each other soon. He wondered how early he could ring her today. Would it seem too forward of him? Too eager? But what the hell, sink or swim. With Rose-Marie he didn’t need to play any complicated games. He looked at his watch. Already a good bit into the morning. She ought to be up by now. He reached for the telephone. But he didn’t manage to pick up the receiver before it rang. He saw from the display that it was Hedström calling. It couldn’t be anything good.

Patrik arrived at the place where the body was found at the same time as the crime scene technicians. They must have set off from Uddevalla at about the same time he got in the car to drive Erica home. The trip back to Fjällbacka had been rather gloomy. Erica had mostly sat and looked out of the window. Not angry, just sad and disappointed. And he understood. He was disappointed and unhappy too. They’d had so little time to themselves these past few months. Patrik could hardly recall the last time they’d had a chance to sit down and talk, just the two of them.

Sometimes he hated his job. In situations like this he actually questioned why he had chosen a profession where he never had any time off. At any moment he could be called in to the station. The job was always only a phone call away. But at the same time the work gave him so much. Not least the satisfaction of feeling that he was really making a difference, at least occasionally. He never could have stood a profession in which he was forced to shuffle papers and tally up numbers all day long. The police force gave him a feeling of purpose, of being needed. The problem, or rather the challenge, was that he was needed at home as well.

Damn, why does it have to be so hard to make things work? Patrik thought as he pulled over and parked a short distance from the green rubbish truck. There was a crowd gathered round, but the techs had put up crime scene tape around a large area at the rear of the truck, to ensure that nobody tramped in and destroyed any tracks that might be there. The head of the team of techs, Torbjörn Ruud, came up to Patrik, holding out his hand.

‘Hi, Hedström. Well, this doesn’t look like much fun.’

‘No, I heard that Leif got a bit more in his load than he’d bargained for.’ Patrik nodded in the direction of the refuse collector, who looked distressed as he stood a short distance away.

‘Yeah, he got a real shock. It’s not a pretty sight. She’s still lying there; we didn’t want to move her yet. Follow me and take a look, but watch out where you step. Here, take these.’ Torbjörn handed two elastic bands to Patrik, who bent down and fastened them round his shoes. That way his footprints could be easily distinguished from any left by the perp or perps. Together they stepped carefully over the blue-and-white police tape. Patrik felt a slight uneasiness in his stomach as they approached the site, and he had to restrain an impulse to turn on his heel and flee. He hated this part of the job. As usual he had to steel himself before he stood on tiptoe and looked down into the rear compartment of the truck. There, in the midst of a disgusting, stinking mess of old food scraps and other debris, lay a naked girl. Bent double, with her feet around her head, as if she were performing some advanced type of acrobatics. Patrik gave Torbjörn Ruud a puzzled look.

‘Rigor mortis,’ he explained dryly. ‘The limbs stiffened in that position after she was bent in two so she would fit in the bin.’

Patrik grimaced. It indicated such an incredible cold-heartedness and contempt for humanity not merely to kill this girl, but to dispose of her as if she were household waste. Stuffed into a rubbish bin. He turned away.

‘How long will the crime scene investigation take?’

‘A couple of hours,’ said Torbjörn. ‘I assume you’ll be canvassing for witnesses in the meantime. Unfortunately there aren’t many out here.’ He nodded toward the houses that stood empty and deserted, waiting for their summer guests. But a few of them were year-round residences, so they could hope for some luck.

‘What happened here?’ Mellberg’s voice sounded as peevish as usual. Patrik and Torbjörn turned to see him come steaming in their direction.

‘A woman was stuffed into this bin,’ replied Patrik, pointing to the bin standing by the side of the road. Two techs pulled on gloves in preparation to do their work. ‘She was discovered when Leif here emptied it.’ He pointed to Leif. ‘That’s why she’s in the rubbish truck.’

Mellberg took that as an invitation to climb over the tape to look in the truck. Torbjörn didn’t even try to get him to put elastics on his shoes. It didn’t matter anyway. They’d had to eliminate Mellberg’s traces from crime scene investigations before, so they already had his shoe prints in their files.

‘Holy shit,’ said Mellberg, holding his nose. ‘It stinks.’ He walked off, apparently more concerned about the smell of rubbish than the sight of the girl’s body. Patrik sighed to himself. He could always count on Mellberg to behave inappropriately and with no sensitivity.

‘Anyone know who she is?’ Mellberg asked.

Patrik shook his head. ‘No, so far we don’t know anything. I thought I’d ring Hanna and ask her to check whether any reports came in yesterday about a girl who hadn’t come home. And Martin is on his way, so I thought he and I could start knocking on the doors of the few houses here that are occupied.’

Mellberg nodded sullenly. ‘Good thinking. That was precisely what I was about to suggest.’

Patrik and Torbjörn exchanged a look. Mellberg invariably appropriated everyone else’s ideas, seldom having any of his own.

‘So, where’s Molin then?’ Mellberg said, looking round grumpily.

‘He should be here any minute,’ said Patrik.

As if on cue, Martin’s car appeared. It was beginning to be hard to find a parking place along the narrow gravel road, so he had to back up a bit before he found a spot. His red hair stood on end as he walked towards them, and he looked tired. His face was creased, as if he’d just got out of bed.

‘A girl was dead in that bin, now she’s in the rubbish truck,’ said Patrik to sum up.

Martin merely nodded. He made no move to walk over and have a look. His stomach had a tendency to turn inside out at the sight of dead bodies.

‘Weren’t you and Hanna working last night?’ Patrik asked.

Martin nodded. ‘Yes, we were keeping an eye on the party at the community centre. And a good thing we did. All hell broke loose, and I didn’t get home until four.’

‘What happened?’ said Patrik with a frown.

‘Mostly just the usual. A couple of guys got pissed out of their minds, a squabble with a jealous boyfriend, two kids fighting drunk. But that was nothing compared to the melee that erupted among the cast. Hanna and I had to break it up a couple of times.’

‘I see,’ said Patrik, pricking up his ears. ‘Why? What was it about?’

‘Apparently they were all mad at one of the girls in the group. The one with the big silicone breasts. She got a couple of real wallops before we managed to put a stop to it.’ Martin rubbed his eyes wearily.

A thought occurred to Patrik. ‘Martin, could you please go take a look at the girl in the truck?’

Martin grimaced. ‘Is that necessary? You know how I –’ He broke off and nodded, resigned. ‘Of course I will, but why?’

‘Just do it,’ said Patrik, who didn’t want to let on what he was thinking. ‘I’ll explain afterwards.’

‘Okay,’ said Martin with a hangdog expression. He took the slip-on covers Patrik handed him and fastened them around his shoes. He stepped over the tape, his shoulders drooping, and took a couple of hesitant steps towards the rear of the truck. After one last deep breath, he looked down and then turned quickly to Patrik with an astonished look. ‘But that’s …’

Patrik nodded. ‘The girl from Sodding Tanum. Yes, I realized it the minute you started talking about her. And it looks like she took quite a beating.’

Martin backed cautiously away from the rubbish truck. His face was chalk-white and Patrik saw that he was fighting to keep his breakfast down. After a few moments he had to admit defeat and ran for a nearby bush.

Patrik went over to Mellberg, who was talking animatedly with Torbjörn Ruud and waving his arms about. Patrik interrupted them. ‘We have an ID of the victim. It’s one of the girls from that reality show. They had a dance last night at the community centre, and according to Martin there was a fracas involving the girl here.’

‘A fracas?’ said Mellberg with a frown. ‘Are you saying she was beaten to death?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Patrik with a hint of annoyance in his voice. Sometimes he just couldn’t stand Mellberg’s stupid questions. ‘Only the ME can make a pronouncement on the cause of death after performing an autopsy.’ Which I shouldn’t have to explain to you, Patrik thought. ‘But let’s have a chat with the rest of the cast. And see about getting access to all the videotapes from last night. For once we may have a reliable witness.’

‘Yes, I was just going to say that it’s possible the cameras may have picked up something useful,’ said Mellberg. Patrik counted to ten. He’d been playing this game for years now, and his patience was running out.

‘Then this is what we’ll do,’ he said with forced calm. ‘I’ll call in Hanna as well, so that we can hear what observations she made last night. We should also talk to the producers of Sodding Tanum, and then it might be an idea to inform the town council. I’m sure that everyone agrees that this TV shoot will have to be cancelled at once.’

‘Why?’ said Mellberg, giving Patrik an astonished look.

Patrik was gobsmacked. ‘It’s obvious! One of the cast has been murdered! There’s no way they can keep shooting now!’

‘I’m not so sure about that,’ said Mellberg. ‘And if I know Erling, he’s going to do everything in his power to ensure that they keep filming. He’s invested a lot of prestige in this project.’

For an instant Patrik had an icy feeling that for once Mellberg might be right. But he still had a hard time believing it. People couldn’t be that cynical, could they?

Hanna and Lars sat in silence at the dining-room table, looking as listless and exhausted as they felt. Everything hovering in the air between them also contributed to their torpor. There was so much that needed to be said. But as usual neither of them spoke. Hanna felt the familiar unease in her stomach, and it made the egg she was eating taste like cardboard. She forced herself to chew and swallow, chew and swallow.

‘Lars,’ she began but regretted it at once. His name sounded so desolate and foreign when it punctured the silence. She swallowed and made another attempt. ‘Lars, we have to talk. We can’t let it go on like this.’

He didn’t look at her. All his concentration was devoted to buttering his bread. Fascinated, she watched the way he moved the butter knife back and forth, back and forth, until the butter was evenly distributed over the slice of bread. There was something hypnotic about the movement, and she flinched when he stuck the knife back in the butter tub. She tried again.

‘Lars, please talk to me. Just talk to me. We can’t go on like this.’ She could hear how desperate she sounded. But she felt as if she were sitting on a train that was rushing forward at two hundred kilometres an hour, with no way to get off before it plunged over the cliff that was fast approaching.

She wanted to lean forward, grab Lars by the shoulders, and shake him. Force him to talk to her. At the same time, she knew it would do no good. He was in a place where she was not admitted, where she would never be allowed in.

Feeling a great pressure on her chest, inside her heart, she merely observed him. She had gone silent and capitulated once again. As she always did. But she loved him so much. Everything about him. His brown hair that was still tousled after sleeping. The furrows on his face which had appeared too early but which also gave his face character. The stubble of beard that felt like fine sandpaper against her skin.

There must be a way. She knew there was. She couldn’t allow the two of them to descend into the dark abyss, together yet still apart. On impulse she leaned forward and took hold of his wrist. She could feel him trembling. Light as an aspen leaf. She stopped the shaking by pressing his arm against the table; she forced him to meet her gaze. It was one of those rare moments in life in which only truths can be spoken. Truths about their life. Truths about the past. She opened her mouth. Then the phone rang. Lars gave a start and pulled his arm free. Then he reached for the butter knife again. The moment had passed.

‘What do you think is going to happen now?’ said Tina quietly to Uffe as they stood outside the community centre, dragging hard on their cigarettes.

‘Damned if I know,’ Uffe said with a laugh. ‘Not a fucking thing, I would think.’

‘But after yesterday …’ She paused and stared down at her shoes.

‘Yesterday doesn’t mean shit,’ said Uffe, blowing a ring of white smoke into the quiet springtime air. ‘It doesn’t mean shit, trust me. Productions like this cost tons of money, and they aren’t about to close it down and lose all they’ve invested up till now. Not a chance.’

‘I’m not so sure about that,’ said Tina gloomily, her eyes still lowered. Her cigarette now had a long column of ash, and it dropped straight down onto her suede boots.

‘Shit,’ she said, quickly bending down to brush off the ash. ‘Now these boots are ruined. They were bloody expensive too. Shit!’

‘Serves you right,’ said Uffe with a sneer. ‘You spoilt brat.’

‘What do you mean, spoilt?’ Tina hissed, turning to look at him. ‘Just because my parents worked their arses off instead of living on the dole their whole lives that doesn’t mean I’m spoilt!’

‘Don’t you say a fucking word about my parents! You don’t know shit about them!’ With a menacing gesture Uffe waved his cigarette in front of her face. Tina wasn’t scared off. Instead she took a step towards him.

‘I can see what you are. It’s not so bloody hard to work out what sort of people your parents are!’

Uffe knotted his fists and a vein was pulsing on his brow. Tina realized that she might have made a mistake. She remembered what had happened last night and quickly took a step back. She probably shouldn’t have said what she did. Just as she opened her mouth to smooth things over, Calle came over to them and looked from one to the other with a puzzled expression.

‘What are you two up to? Are you going to fight, or what?’ He laughed. ‘Well, Uffe, you’re a master at beating up chicks, so come on. Let’s see you do it again.’

Uffe just snorted and lowered his arms. He was scowling and he kept on staring at Tina. She took yet another step back. There was something about Uffe that wasn’t quite right. Once again scattered visual and aural impressions from last night came back to her, and she turned nervously on her heel and went inside. The last thing she heard before the door closed was Uffe saying in a low voice to Calle, ‘You aren’t so bloody bad at it yourself, are you?’

She didn’t hear what Calle answered.

A glance in the hall mirror showed Erica that she looked as downhearted as she felt. She slowly hung up her jacket and scarf and then paused to listen. Among the shouts coming from the kids, which were deafening but thank goodness of the happy variety, she also heard an adult voice other than Anna’s. She went into the living room. In a big pile in the middle of the floor lay three kids and two grown-ups, wrestling, shrieking, with arms and legs sticking out like some deformed monster.

‘And what’s going on here?’ she said in her most authoritative voice.

Anna looked up in surprise, her hair uncharacteristically dishevelled.

‘Hi!’ said Dan happily, also looking up, but was then wrestled to the ground again by Emma and Adrian. Maja was laughing so hard she was shrieking as she tried to help by tugging on Dan’s feet with all her might.

Anna stood up and brushed off her knees. Through the windows behind her the ethereal springtime light streamed in, forming a halo round her blonde hair. Erica was struck by how beautiful her sister was. She also saw for the first time how much Anna resembled their mother. That thought caused a stab of pain, followed by the eternal question: Why? Why hadn’t their mother loved them? Why had they never received a kind word, a caress, anything at all, from Elsy? All they ever got was indifference and coldness. Their father had been the direct opposite. Where Elsy was hard, he was soft. Where she was cold, he was warm. He had tried to explain, make excuses for her, compensate for her neglect. And to some extent he’d been successful. But he couldn’t take her place. There was still a gaping emptiness in Erica’s soul, despite the fact that four years had gone by since the car crash that killed them both.

Anna gave her a puzzled look, and Erica realized she’d been staring into the middle distance. She did her best to hide her feelings and smiled at her sister.

‘Where’s Patrik?’ Anna asked, with a last amused glance at the tangle of arms and legs on the floor before she went out to the kitchen. Erica followed her without replying. ‘I just made a fresh pot of coffee,’ Anna said, pouring three cups. ‘And the kids and I baked some buns.’ Only now did Erica notice the inviting aroma of cinnamon that hung in the air. ‘But you’ll have to stick to these,’ said Anna, setting a tray of some small, dry biscuits before Erica.

‘What are they?’ she said crestfallen, poking at them.

‘Whole-grain biscuits,’ said Anna, turning her back as she filled a basket with freshly baked buns from the tray on the worktop.

‘But …’ Erica protested lamely, feeling her mouth water at the sight of the big fluffy buns sprinkled with coarse sugar.

‘Well, I didn’t think you’d be back so soon. I was intending to spare you and get these into the freezer before you came home. So you have only yourself to blame. But think about the wedding dress if you need some motivation.’

Erica picked up one of the biscuits and tentatively took a nibble. Just as she thought. She might as well chew on a piece of cardboard.

‘So, where’s Patrik? And why did you come home so early? I thought you were going to relax, go shopping in town, and have lunch.’ Anna sat down at the kitchen table and called to the living room, ‘Coffee is served!’

‘Patrik was called away on a job,’ said Erica. Then she gave up and put the biscuit back on the plate. Her first and only bite was still in her mouth.

‘Job?’ Anna said in surprise. ‘I thought he was off this weekend.’

‘Yes, that’s what they told him,’ said Erica, noticing the bitterness in her voice. ‘But he had to go.’ She paused, wondering how much else to reveal. Then she said brusquely, ‘Leif the rubbish man found a body in his truck this morning.’

Anna’s mouth fell open. ‘In the rubbish truck? How did it get there?’

‘Apparently the body was stuffed into a bin and when he emptied it …’

‘God, how horrible,’ Anna said, staring at Erica. ‘But who was it? And was it murder? I suppose it must have been,’ said Anna, answering her own question. ‘Why would anyone end up in a bin otherwise? God, it’s too horrible.’

Dan came into the kitchen and gave them a puzzled look. ‘What’s horrible?’ he asked, sitting down next to Erica.

‘Patrik had to go in and work. Leif the rubbish man found a body in his truck,’ said Anna, beating Erica to it.

‘Are you kidding?’ said Dan, looking just as perplexed.

‘No, unfortunately,’ Erica said gloomily. ‘But I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone else. It’ll come out soon enough, but we don’t need to supply the gossip mills with extra fodder.’

‘No, of course not, we won’t say a thing,’ said Anna.

‘I don’t understand how Patrik can stand his job,’ Dan said, poking at his cinnamon bun. ‘I could never handle it. Trying to teach grammar to fourteen-years-olds is hard enough.’

‘I couldn’t do it either,’ said Anna, staring into space. Both Dan and Erica were swearing inside. Talking about bodies and murder probably wasn’t the best thing to do in front of Anna.

As if reading their minds she said with a wan smile, ‘Don’t worry about me. It’s okay to talk about it.’ Erica could only imagine what sort of images were whirling round in her mind.

‘Kids, we have cinnamon buns!’ Anna called, breaking the glum mood. They could hear two pairs of feet and a pair of hands and knees drumming across the floor, and in a couple of seconds the first bun enthusiast came round the corner.

‘A bun, I want a bun,’ Adrian shouted, clambering nimbly onto his chair. Emma was right behind him, and Maja came crawling in last. It hadn’t taken her long to learn what the word ‘bun’ meant. Erica started to stand up, but Dan was quicker. He lifted Maja up, unable to resist giving her a kiss on the cheek. Then he placed her carefully in her high chair and began breaking off small bits of a bun to give to her. The appearance of so much sugar in front of her produced a big smile that exposed the two tiny baby teeth in Maja’s lower jaw. The grown-ups couldn’t help laughing. She was just so cute.

There was no more talk of murder and dead bodies. But they couldn’t help wondering what Patrik was facing.

Everyone looked listless as they sat in the station’s break room. Martin’s face was still unnaturally pale, and he looked as exhausted as Hanna. Patrik was leaning against the worktop with his arms crossed, waiting till they all had coffee in their cups. After a nod from Mellberg he began to speak.

‘This morning Leif Christensson, who owns a refuse collection service, found a dead body. The body had been stuffed into a bin, but ended up in his truck when he emptied the bin.’ Patrik paused and took a sip from his coffee cup, then set it back down on the counter next to him. ‘We got to the scene quickly and confirmed that we were dealing with a dead female. Given the circumstances, and the fact that the body showed signs of trauma, we drew the preliminary conclusion that it was homicide. She also had certain trauma on her body indicating violence, which supports that theory. We won’t know for sure until we get the results of the autopsy but for now we’ll proceed on the assumption that she was murdered.’

‘Do we know who –?’ said Gösta, but was interrupted by a glance from Patrik.

‘Yes, we’ve got an ID of the woman.’ Patrik turned to look at Martin, who had to fight the nausea when the photos of the crime scene appeared before him. He didn’t seem able to talk yet, so Patrik went on.

‘It looks like one of the cast of Sodding Tanum. The girl called Barbie. We need to find out her real name. It just doesn’t seem respectful to call her Barbie under the circumstances.’

‘We … we saw her yesterday. Martin and I,’ said Hanna. Her face was tense as she looked from Patrik to Martin.

‘Yes, I heard,’ said Patrik, nodding in Martin’s direction. ‘It was Martin who identified her. I believe there was some trouble?’ he said, raising his eyebrows, which prompted Hanna to continue.

‘Well,’ she said, hesitating. ‘Yes, it was pretty intense for a while. The other cast members were bullying her, but I could see it was mostly verbal stuff and a few pokes, nothing more. Martin and I stepped in and separated them, and the last we saw of Barbie was when she ran away crying, heading towards town.’

Martin nodded in confirmation. ‘Yes, that’s right. There was some yelling and screaming, but nothing that could produce the injuries we saw on her body.’

‘We’re going to have to have a talk with that lot,’ said Patrik. ‘See what it was all about. And if anyone saw where’ – he hesitated before saying the name – ‘Barbie was going. We have to talk to the TV team as well, and get hold of the footage they shot yesterday and take a look at it.’

Annika wrote down everything as he listed the tasks they would have to deal with. Patrik thought for a few seconds, then he nodded to Annika and added, ‘We have to see about informing her family too. And find out if anyone else observed anything during the course of the evening.’ He paused, then said gravely, ‘When this comes out, and it won’t take more than a couple of hours, the shit is going to hit the fan. This is national news, and we have to be ready for an onslaught from the media – and for as long as the investigation lasts. So be careful who you talk to and what you say. I don’t want a lot of information coming out in the media that I, and Mellberg, haven’t sanctioned.’

To tell the truth, he was worried that Mellberg would be the one to shoot off his mouth. Their chief loved being in the spotlight, and a skilful reporter could probably get Mellberg to blab all about the case. But there wasn’t much he could do about it now. Mellberg was the chief of the station, at least on paper, and Patrik couldn’t put a gag on him. He was just going to have to cross his fingers and hope that Mellberg still had an ounce of common sense in that head of his. Although he wouldn’t put any money on it.

‘This is what we’ll do. I’m going to drive over and talk to that guy in charge of production …’ he said, snapping his fingers as he tried to remember his name.

‘Rehn, Fredrik Rehn,’ Mellberg filled in, and Patrik nodded in gratitude, though he was surprised. It wasn’t often that Mellberg contributed any relevant information.

‘Right, Fredrik Rehn. Martin and Hanna, you two sit down and write a report about what you saw and heard last night. And Gösta,’ he said, trying feverishly to think of something to assign to Gösta. Finally he said, ‘Gösta, you find out more about the people who own the house where the body was found in the rubbish bin. I don’t suppose there’s any connection there, but you never know.’

Gösta gave a weary nod. A specific job to do. He could already feel the weight of responsibility.

‘So, that’s that.’ Patrik clapped his hands together as a sign that the meeting was over. ‘We have plenty to do.’ Everyone muttered something in reply and got up. Patrik watched as they filed out of the room. He wondered if they had any idea what was about to hit them when the news broke and the full force of the media was unleashed.

‘This is going to be fantastic! I can smell success a mile away!’ Fredrik Rehn pounded the technician on the back as they sat in the cramped space in the studio bus. They had gone over the footage from the day before and had begun editing. Fredrik liked what he saw. But anything that was good could always be made better.

‘Could we add a few more boos when Tina is singing? What we have on tape sounds a bit skimpy, and I think her performance was so dire that we should amp up the booing from the audience.’ He laughed, and the editing guy nodded enthusiastically. More booing, no problem at all. A bit more sound added on several channels and he could make it seem as though everyone in the audience was on his feet shouting.

‘This lot are priceless,’ Fredrik said with a smile. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. ‘They’re so damned stupid, but they don’t even realize it. Take Tina, for instance – she seriously thinks she’s going to be a big pop star. And yet she can’t even hit a single note right. I talked to the guy who produced her single, and he told me it took every trick in the book just to get her sounding halfway decent. He said she was so off-key that the loudspeaker almost cracked.’ Fredrik laughed and then leaned over the mixing console in front of them. He turned up the volume. ‘Just listen to this. It’s a fucking scream!’ Even the editing guy couldn’t help grinning when he heard her version of ‘I Want to Be Your Little Bunny’. No wonder the Idol jury had slaughtered her.

An authoritative knock on the bus door interrupted their laughter.

‘Come in,’ called Fredrik, turning to see who it was. He didn’t recognize the man who opened the door.

‘Yes? Can I help you?’ At the sight of the police badge he got a queasy feeling in his stomach. This couldn’t be anything good. Or maybe it could, depending on what had happened and how telegenic it might be.

‘So, what can we do for you this time?’ Fredrik chuckled as he stood up to greet the officer.

The policeman came in and found a place to sit among all the cords and cables. He looked around with curiosity.

‘Yes, this is where it all happens,’ said Fredrik proudly. ‘Hard to believe that we can do a programme from this small space that tops the ratings, isn’t it? Of course, some additional work is done back in Stockholm,’ he admitted reluctantly. ‘But the creative part is done right here.’

The officer, who introduced himself as Patrik Hedström, nodded politely. Then he cleared his throat. ‘I’m afraid I have some bad news,’ he said. ‘It’s about one of your cast members.’

Fredrik rolled his eyes. ‘Okay, who is it this time?’ he asked with a sigh. ‘Let me guess … it’s Uffe up to his old tricks.’ He turned to the editing guy. ‘I told you that Uffe would be the first one to create a little drama, didn’t I?’ Fredrik turned back to the officer, his curiosity rising. He was trying to work out how to get it on tape – whatever it was.

Patrik cleared his throat again and then said softly, ‘Unfortunately one of your cast members has been found dead.’ It was as if a bomb had exploded in the cramped space. The only sound was the hum of the equipment.

‘What did you say?’ asked Fredrik at last, beginning to regain his composure. ‘One of them was found dead? Who was it? And where? How?’ Thoughts whirled in his head. What had happened? And already parts of his brain were forming a media strategy. Nothing like this had ever happened in the middle of shooting a reality show. Sex – yes, followed by the age-old consequences: pregnancy – the Norwegian Big Brother had broken ground with that. Marriage proposals – yes, there the Swedish Big Brother had had a smash hit with Olivier and Carolina. And that attack with the iron pipe on The Bar had been good for several weeks of headlines. But a death! That was something completely new. Absolutely unique.

‘It’s the girl called Barbie. She was found this morning in a …’ Patrik hesitated a moment before he continued, ‘rubbish bin. All indications are that she was killed.’

‘Killed?’ repeated Fredrik. ‘You mean murdered? Was she murdered? Is that what you’re saying? Who did it?’ He probably looked as confused as he felt. This wasn’t on the list of scenarios that had popped into his head.

‘We have no suspect as yet. But we’re going to start interviewing straight away. Beginning with your cast. The officers who observed your party last night reported that there was a lot of arguing between the murdered woman and the other cast members.’

‘Yes, there were some harsh words and a bit of argy bargy,’ said Fredrik, recalling the scenes they had just watched. ‘But nothing that seemed serious enough for anyone to …’

‘We also need your tapes from yesterday.’ Patrik’s tone was curt as he looked Fredrik straight in the eye.

Fredrik stared back. ‘I’m not authorized to let you have any tapes,’ he said calmly. ‘Until I receive a warrant directing me to hand over the material, all of it stays here. Anything else is unacceptable.’

‘You do realize that this is a murder investigation?’ Patrik snapped. Though he had hoped for a different response it came as no surprise.

‘Yes, I realize that, but we can’t just turn over our material. There are many ethical principles involved.’ He smiled, pretending regret. Patrik merely snorted. They both knew that ethics were not the reason for his refusal.

‘But I presume that you will cancel the broadcast immediately in view of what has happened.’

Fredrik shook his head. ‘We absolutely cannot do that. We have programme slots booked for the next four weeks, and shutting down production now … no, it’s simply impossible. And I don’t think Barbie would have wanted that either; she would have wanted us to continue.’

One look at Patrik told him that he’d stepped over the line. The officer’s face was bright red, and he seemed to be fighting to hold back a couple of choice epithets.

‘You don’t mean to tell me that you’re actually considering –’ He broke off and interjected, ‘What was her real name? I can’t keep calling her Barbie. That’s too degrading. And by the way, I’m going to need all her personal data and contact details for her next of kin. Would you be willing to give us that information, or is that also a matter of ethics?’

The last word was dripping with sarcasm, but his anger had no effect on Fredrik. For some reason the reality-show format seemed to engender hostility; he was accustomed to dealing with it. Calmly he replied, ‘Her name is Lillemor Persson. And she grew up in foster homes, so we have no record of a next of kin. But you’ll be given all the information we have. No problem.’ He smiled suavely. ‘When are you starting the interviews? Is there any chance we could film them?’ It was a long shot, and the murderous look he got from Patrik was a clear enough answer.

‘We’ll be starting the interviews immediately,’ Patrik said curtly, getting up to leave the bus. He didn’t even bother to say goodbye before slamming the door behind him.

‘What a fucking stroke of luck,’ said Fredrik breathlessly, and the technician could only nod. This was their chance to take real drama directly into Sweden’s living rooms. For a second he thought of Barbie. Then he picked up the phone. The management had to hear about this. Sodding Tanum goes CSI. Jesus, the ratings would go through the roof!

‘How should we do this?’ Martin asked. He and Hanna had decided to stay in the break room and work, and he reached for the coffee pot to refill their cups. Hanna poured in milk and stirred. ‘Should we each write our own account first, do you think, or should we write it together?’

Hanna thought for a moment. ‘I think it would be more complete if we wrote the report together and compared notes about what we remembered as we work on it.’

‘Okay,’ said Martin, opening his laptop and booting it up. ‘Shall I type, or do you want to?’

‘You type,’ said Hanna. ‘I still type with two fingers, and I’ve never built up any speed.’

‘Okay, I’ll do the typing,’ Martin laughed, entering the password. He opened a new Word document and got ready to start filling the screen with words.

‘The first I noticed of the commotion last night was when I heard loud voices behind the building. How about you?’

Hanna nodded. ‘Yes, I hadn’t noticed anything before that. The only thing we had to deal with earlier in the evening was that girl who was so drunk she couldn’t stand up. What time could that have been? Midnight?’ Martin typed while Hanna talked. ‘Then I think it was around one when I heard two people yelling at each other. I called for you and we went behind the building and found Barbie and Uffe.’

‘Mmm,’ said Martin, still typing. ‘I checked my watch and it was ten to one. I came around the corner first and saw Uffe holding Barbie by the shoulders and shaking her violently. Both of us ran over to them. I took hold of Uffe and dragged him away, while you took care of Barbie.’

‘Yes, and Uffe was so aggressive that he tried aiming some kicks at the girl while you were holding him.’

‘We defused the situation,’ Martin continued, ‘and separated the individuals. I talked to Uffe and told him that he’d have to come down to the station if he didn’t cool it.’

‘I hope you’re not going to write “cool it”,’ Hanna laughed.

‘Well, only temporarily. Later I have to edit the text and make it sound bureaucratic, so don’t worry. For now, just let the words flow so we can get everything down.’

‘Okay,’ said Hanna with a smile. Then she turned serious again. ‘I spoke with Barbie and tried to find out what had precipitated the argument. She was very upset and kept saying that Uffe was mad because she was “talking trash” about him, but that she didn’t understand what he was on about. She calmed down after a while and seemed to be okay.’

‘And then we let them go,’ Martin filled in, looking up from the computer. He pressed Enter twice for a new paragraph, took a gulp of coffee, and continued. ‘The next incident happened at … oh, about two thirty, I would say.’

‘Thereabouts,’ said Hanna. ‘Two thirty, quarter to three.’

‘This time it was a partygoer who came to tell us about an argument taking place on the slope down to the school. We approached the scene and saw several people assaulting a lone female. They were taunting and shoving and poking at her. It was the cast members Mehmet, Tina, and Uffe attacking Barbie. We went in and broke up the fight by force. Barbie was crying; her hair was mussed up and her make-up had smeared. She seemed very shaken. I talked to the others, trying to find out what had happened. They gave the same answer as Uffe gave earlier, that Barbie was “talking a lot of trash”. That was the best explanation I could get.’

‘Meanwhile I was with Barbie a short distance away,’ Hanna filled in, sounding emotional. ‘She was upset and scared. I asked if she wanted to file a complaint against them, but she refused. I talked to her for a while trying to calm her down, find out what it was all about, but she claimed that she had no idea. After a while I looked round to see what was going on with you. When I turned back, I saw Barbie running in the direction of town, but then she went right instead of heading towards the business district. I considered running after her, but then decided that she probably just needed to be alone and calm down.’ Hanna’s voice was trembling a bit. ‘After that we didn’t see her again.’

Martin looked up from the computer and gave her a smile to console her. ‘We couldn’t have done anything differently. All we knew was that they’d had a strong difference of opinion. There was nothing to indicate that it would …’ he paused, ‘end the way it did.’

‘Do you think it was one of the cast members who murdered her?’ Hanna’s voice was still shaky.

‘I don’t know,’ said Martin, reading over what he’d typed on the screen. ‘For the moment, they’re all suspects. We’ll have to see what the interviews turn up.’

He saved the document and shut off the laptop, which he picked up as he got to his feet. ‘I’m going to my office to write up the official version now. If you think of anything else, feel free to knock on my door.’

Hanna simply nodded. After he left she just sat there. Her hands holding the coffee cup were still shaking.

Calle took a stroll through the town. Back in Stockholm he usually worked out at the gym at least five times a week, but here he had to settle for taking walks to work off the calories. He picked up his pace to get the fat burning. Looking fit was important to him. He had no time for people who didn’t take care of their bodies. It was a true pleasure to look at himself in the mirror and admire his toned abdomen, the way his biceps tensed when he flexed his arms, and the muscular build of his torso. When he was out on the town at Stureplan he always unbuttoned his shirt nonchalantly as he approached the clubs. The chicks loved it. They couldn’t stop sticking their hands inside his shirt to feel his chest, raking their nails over his buff physique.

Sometimes he wondered how his life would have been with no money. How it would be to live like Uffe or Mehmet, sitting in some dingy flat in the suburbs, barely managing to make ends meet. Uffe had bragged about the break-ins and the other stuff he’d been into, but Calle could hardly keep from laughing when he heard how little money those petty crimes had brought in. Hell, he got more than that in pocket money from his father every week.

And yet nothing seemed to fill the emptiness in his heart. In recent years he had constantly been searching for something that would finally fill that hole. More champagne, more partying, more chicks, more powder up his nose, more of everything. Always more of everything, as if there was no limit to how much money he could burn through. He didn’t earn any himself. All his money came from his father. And he kept thinking that now … now it would finally have to stop. But the money kept coming in. His father paid one bill after another. He bought him the flat in Östermalm without quibbling, and he paid off that girl who cooked up the story about being raped – totally out of thin air, of course, since she had actually come home with him and Ludde, and there was no doubt about the intention. His pockets were constantly being refilled. And there didn’t seem to be any conditions. Calle knew why. His father could never say no because his guilty conscience forced him to keep paying. He kept pouring kronor into the hole in Calle’s chest, but the money just disappeared without taking up any space.

Each of them was trying to replace with money what he had lost. His father by giving it away, Calle by spending it.

As the memories flooded over him, the pain in his chest grew worse. Calle walked faster, urging himself forward, trying to force the images back. But it was impossible to escape the memories. The only thing that could deaden them was a mixture of champagne and cocaine. Lacking those, he had to live with his past. He started to run.

Gösta sighed. Each year it got harder to stay motivated. Going to work in the morning depleted all the energy he had; trying to get anything done was almost impossible. He could spend days worrying about the simplest task. He didn’t understand how things had got this way. It had crept up on him since Majbritt died, the loneliness eating away at him from inside, depriving him of the pleasure he’d once taken in his work. He’d never been a high flier, he was the first to admit that, but he’d done what he was supposed to do and sometimes even felt a small sense of satisfaction. But what was the point of it all? He had no children to leave anything to; their only child, a son, had died only a few days old. Nobody to come home to in the evening, no one to spend the weekends with. His only pleasure was playing golf. These days it was more of an obsession than a hobby. He’d have liked to play twenty-four hours a day. But it didn’t pay the rent, and he had to keep working at least until he could collect his pension. He was counting the days.

Gösta sat down and stared at his computer. For security reasons they weren’t allowed an Internet connection. Instead he had to check the name that belonged to the address by picking up the phone and ringing directory assistance. After a brief conversation he had tracked down the owner of the summer house to which the rubbish bin belonged. It was a meaningless task from the beginning. His scepticism was confirmed when he got the telephone number to the owner’s home address in Göteborg. It was obvious that they had nothing to do with the murder. It was simply their bad luck that the killer had picked their bin to dispose of the girl.

His thoughts wandered further to the murdered girl. His lack of initiative had nothing to do with a lack of sympathy. He felt for the victims and their next of kin, and he was grateful that at least he hadn’t had to see the girl. Martin was still a little pale when he ran into him in the corridor.

Gösta had seen more than his share of dead bodies, and even after forty years on the job he could still remember every single one. The majority were accident victims and suicides; murder was the exception. But every death had etched a furrow in his memory, and he could recall images that were as clear as photographs. He’d had to inform many people of the death of their loved ones, resulting in plenty of tears, despair, shock, and horror. Maybe that was why he was so despondent now; each death, with all the attendant pain and unhappiness had added a few more drops of misery to the glass of life, until now there was no more room. That was no excuse, but it was a possible explanation.

With a sigh he picked up the phone to ring the owners of the house and inform them that a dead body had been found in their rubbish bin. He punched in the number. Might as well get it over with.

‘What’s this all about?’ Uffe looked tired and irritated as he sat in the interview room.

Patrik took his time answering. Before saying anything both he and Martin put their papers carefully in order. They were sitting across from Uffe at a rickety table. Other than four chairs, it was the only furniture in the room. Uffe didn’t look particularly nervous, Patrik noticed, but he had learned over the years that the way an interview subject looked on the outside did not necessarily reflect the way he or she felt inside. He cleared his throat, folded his hands on top of the stack of papers and leaned forward.

‘I hear there was some trouble last night.’ Patrik studied Uffe’s reaction closely. All he got was a sneer. Uffe leaned back nonchalantly in his chair. He gave a little laugh.

‘Oh yeah, that. Yeah, he was pretty rough, when I come to think of it.’ He nodded at Martin. ‘Maybe somebody ought to think about filing a complaint about police brutality.’ He laughed again, and Patrik felt his anger rising.

‘Well,’ he said calmly, ‘we received a report from my colleague here and from the other officer on site. Now I want to hear your version.’

‘My version.’ Uffe stretched out his legs, until he was almost reclining in the chair. It didn’t look very comfortable. ‘My version is that there was an argument. A drunken argument. That’s all. So what?’ His eyes narrowed and Patrik could see his alcohol-besotted brain working frantically.

‘We’re the ones asking the questions, not you,’ Patrik said sharply. ‘At ten o’clock last night two of our officers saw you attack one of the female cast members, Lillemor Persson.’

‘Barbie, you mean,’ Uffe interrupted with a laugh. ‘Lillemor … Jesus, that’s funny.’

Patrik had to check an impulse to give the youth in front of him a hard slap. Martin noticed what was happening, so he took over and gave Patrik a moment to collect himself.

‘We witnessed how you were shoving and hitting Lillemor. What was it that started the fight?’

‘Well, I don’t get why you’re pestering me about this. It was nothing. We had a slight … disagreement, that’s all. I hardly touched her!’ Now Uffe’s nonchalance began to slip, and some uneasiness showed through.

‘What was the disagreement about?’ Martin went on.

‘Nothing! Or, well, okay, she’d been saying some shit about me and I heard about it. I just wanted her to admit it. And take it back! She can’t go around spreading shit like that. I just wanted her to realize it.’

‘And was that what you and the others tried to make her admit later that night?’ said Patrik, looking at the report in front of him.

‘Yeah,’ Uffe said. He was sitting up straighter in his chair now. His sneer had also begun to fade. ‘But all you have to do is go talk to Barbie about this, I promise you she’ll back up what I just said. It was an argument. I don’t see why the cops have to get mixed up in this.’

For a moment Patrik met Martin’s gaze, then he looked calmly at Uffe and said, ‘I’m afraid Lillemor won’t be saying much about anything. She was found dead this morning. Murdered.’

Silence descended over the interview room. Uffe had turned pale. Martin and Patrik waited him out.

‘You … both of you … you’re kidding, right?’ he finally said. No reaction from the two officers. What Patrik had said slowly sank into his brain. Now there was no hint of a smile.

‘What the hell? Do you think that I …? But I … It was just a little argument! I wouldn’t … I didn’t …’ He stammered and his eyes were shifting all around.

‘We’re going to need a DNA sample from you,’ said Patrik, taking out the necessary implements. ‘You don’t have any objections, do you?’

Uffe hesitated. ‘No, damn it. Take whatever the fuck you want. I didn’t do anything.’

Patrik leaned forward and with a Q-tip took a sample from the inside of Uffe’s cheek. For a moment Uffe looked like he might be regretting giving his consent, but then the swab was dropped into an envelope and sealed, so it was too late. Uffe stared at the envelope. He swallowed and then looked wide-eyed at Patrik.

‘You’re not going to shut down the series now, are you? You can’t do that, can you? I mean, you just can’t do that!’ His voice was filled with desperation, and Patrik felt his contempt for the whole spectacle growing. How could a TV programme be so important that it took precedence over a person’s life?

‘That’s not up to us to decide,’ he said dryly. ‘The production company will determine that. If it were my decision I would have shut that crap down in five seconds, but …’ He threw out his hands and saw the look of relief that spread across Uffe’s face.

‘You can go now,’ said Patrik curtly. He could still see the image of Barbie’s naked dead body, and it gave him a sour taste in his mouth to think that her death would be turned into entertainment. What was wrong with these people, anyway?

The day had started off so well for Erling. First he’d gone for a long jog in the cool spring air. He wasn’t usually one of those nature-lovers, but this morning he’d surprised himself by how happy he was to see the sun’s light filtering through the crowns of the trees. The expansive feeling in his chest had lasted all the way home, and it had prompted him to make love to Viveca, who proved to be easily persuaded for a change. This was usually one of the few dark clouds in Erling’s life. After they got married she had more or less lost interest in sex. It occurred to him that it felt rather meaningless to have got himself a young, fresh wife if he wasn’t going to be allowed access to her body. No, that was going to have to change. This morning’s activities had convinced him even more that he had to have a serious talk with Viveca about that detail. Explain to her that a marriage was about favours both given and received. And if she still wanted to be on the receiving end when it came to clothes, jewellery, amusements, and beautiful things for their home, well, then she’d have to generate a little enthusiasm for the favours that he as a man required. There hadn’t been any problem in that area before they got married. She had been installed in a comfortable flat which he paid for. That was when he’d had a wife of thirty years to deal with. Back then he and Viveca would have sex at any time and in all sorts of different locations. Erling could feel his libido awakening at the memory. Maybe it was about time to remind her. He did have a great deal coming to him, after all.

Erling had just taken the first step upstairs to talk to Viveca when he was interrupted by the telephone. For a moment he considered letting it ring, but then he turned towards the cordless phone on the coffee table. It might be something important.

Five minutes later he sat there mutely holding the receiver in his hand. The consequences of what he’d heard were tumbling round in his head, and his brain was already trying to formulate possible solutions. He stood up and called upstairs, ‘Viveca, I have to go into the office. Something’s happened and I have to deal with it.’

A muttered answer from upstairs confirmed that she’d heard him, and he pulled on his jacket and grabbed the car keys hanging on the hook by the front door. This was something he hadn’t reckoned with. What the hell was he going to do now?

On a day like today it felt good to be the chief. Mellberg had to consciously rearrange his expression to conceal the satisfaction he was feeling inside. Instead he needed to show a combination of empathy and resolve. But there was something about standing in the spotlight that appealed to him. It simply suited him. And he couldn’t help wondering how Rose-Marie would react at seeing him on the evening news, heading up the investigation. He puffed out his chest and squared his shoulders, assuming a pose that exuded power. The flashes of the cameras almost blinded him, but he maintained his serious demeanour. This was an opportunity he couldn’t let slip out of his hands.

‘I’ll give you one more minute to take pictures, then you’ll have to settle down. The flashes from the cameras went on for another few moments until he held up his hand and looked out over the attentive faces of the reporters.

‘As you already know, we discovered the body of Lillemor Persson this morning.’ A sea of hands went up in the air, and he nodded benevolently at the reporter from Expressen.

‘Has it been established that she was murdered?’ Everyone waited for his answer with their pens hovering over their notebooks. Mellberg cleared his throat.

‘Before the autopsy report is finished, we can’t say that for certain. But all indications are that she was a victim of homicide.’ His reply was followed by a murmur and the scratching of pens on notepads. The TV cameras, marked with the call letters of their channels, were humming, and the bright lights were all aimed at him. Mellberg pondered which of them he should give priority. After careful consideration he chose to turn his best side to the camera from TV4. Questions were hurled at him, and he nodded to another reporter from an evening newspaper.

‘Do you have a suspect yet?’ Another tense silence in anticipation of Mellberg’s reply. He squinted into the spotlights.

‘We have brought in several individuals for questioning,’ he said, ‘but we have no definite suspect at this time.’

‘Will Sodding Tanum be curtailing their shoot because of this?’ This time it was a reporter from Aktuellt TV news who asked the question.

‘As things now stand, we have no right, or reason, to make that decision. That’s something to be determined by the programme’s producers and the management of the broadcasting company.’

‘But can a programme that’s supposed to be entertainment really continue to shoot after one of its cast members has been murdered?’ asked the same TV reporter.

With noticeable irritation Mellberg said, ‘As I said, we have no say in this matter. You’ll have to talk to the TV station about that.’

‘Was she raped?’ No one was waiting for Mellberg’s nod any longer; the questions came flying at him like small projectiles.

‘That’s a question for the medical examiner.’

‘But were there any indications of sexual assault?’

‘She was naked when we found her, so you can draw your own conclusions.’ As soon as he said that, Mellberg realized that it probably wasn’t such a good idea to release that information. But he was feeling overwhelmed by the pressure of the situation, and some of his excitement about the press conference began to abate. This was something quite different than answering questions from the local press.

‘Was the place where she was found connected to the crime?’ This time it was one of the local reporters who finally managed to squeeze in a question. The big-city papers and TV seemed to have considerably sharper elbows.

Mellberg thought carefully about his answer. He didn’t want to put his foot in his mouth again. ‘There is nothing to indicate that at the present time,’ he said at last.

‘So where was she found?’ The evening press now jumped in. ‘There’s a rumour that she was found in a rubbish truck. Is that correct?’ Once more everyone’s eyes were fixed on Mellberg’s face. He licked his lips nervously. ‘No comment.’ Damn, they would know that such an answer meant that they had heard correctly. Maybe he should have taken Hedström up on his offer and let him handle the press conference. But Mellberg wasn’t about to give up his moment in the limelight. Merely thinking about Hedström made him so annoyed that he straightened up again. ‘Yes?’ He pointed to a female reporter who’d been waving her hand for a long time to be given the floor.

‘Have any of the participants in Sodding Tanum been questioned?’

Mellberg nodded. Those types loved to flaunt themselves in the media, so it didn’t bother him in the least to share that information. ‘We have interviewed them, yes.’

‘Are any of them considered suspects?’ Rapport was filming, and the reporter held out his big microphone to capture Mellberg’s answer.

‘First of all, it has not yet been confirmed that this is a homicide, and no, we have no information pointing to any specific individual at this time.’ A white lie. He had read Molin’s and Kruse’s report, and he already had a clear picture of who the guilty party was. But he wasn’t so bloody stupid as to share this little nugget until everything was wrapped up and ready.

The questions now lost steam, and Mellberg heard himself repeating the same answers over and over. Finally he’d had enough, and he declared the press conference over. With the cameras flashing behind him, he walked as authoritatively as he could out of the room. He wanted Rose-Marie to see a man of power when she turned on the news this evening.

Several times in the days that had passed since Barbie’s death, Jonna had seen people whispering and pointing at her. Ever since she’d been on Big Brother, she’d got used to being scrutinized. But this was something of an entirely different order. It wasn’t due to curiosity or admiration because she’d been on TV. This was the lust of sensationalism and a kind of media bloodthirstiness that made her skin crawl.

As soon as she heard about Barbie, she wanted to go home. Her first instinct was to flee, to go back to the only place she knew. But she realized that wasn’t an option. At home she would encounter only the same emptiness, the same loneliness. No one would be there to hold her or stroke her hair. All those small consoling gestures that her body was screaming for. But there was nobody who could fill that need. Neither at home nor here. So she decided that she might as well stay.

The checkout stand behind her felt empty. Another girl was sitting there now, one of the usual employees. But it still felt as if there was nobody there. Jonna was astonished at what a void Barbie had left. She had scoffed at the girl, brushed her aside. She’d hardly considered her a human being. But afterwards, now that she was gone, Jonna realized what joy Barbie had radiated, in spite of all her uncertainty, her blonde vapidness, her desire for attention. Barbie had always been the one who kept their spirits up. She was always laughing, excited about the programme, and trying to cheer up everyone else. As thanks they had scorned her and rejected her as a dumb bimbo who didn’t deserve their respect. Only now did they notice what she had actually contributed.

Jonna pulled down the sleeves of her jumper. Today she had no desire to get any funny looks, conveying both sympathy and disgusted amazement. The wounds on her arms were deeper than usual. She had cut herself every day since Barbie died. Harder and more brutal than ever before. Slicing deeper into her flesh, until she saw her skin open and spill blood. But the sight of the pulsating red fluid could no longer quell her anxiety. The feeling was now so overwhelming that nothing could hold it in.

Sometimes she heard the excited voices inside her head. Like a tape recording. She could hear what was said as if from outside, from above. It was so awful. Everything had turned out wrong. Horribly wrong. The darkness had welled up inside her, and she couldn’t stop it. All the darkness that she tried to expel with her blood, with the wounds, had instead surged inside her like a reckless fury.

Now she felt the emptiness of the checkout stand behind her mixing with the shame. And terror. Her veins were pulsating. More blood wanted to come out.

‘Damn it all, if I have any say in the matter, we’re going to shut down this bloody circus!’ Uno Brorsson slammed his fist on the big conference table in the community centre and glared at Erling. He didn’t even look at Fredrik Rehn, who had been invited to discuss what had happened and report on the views of the production company.

‘I think you ought to calm down,’ Erling admonished him. Actually he had a good mind to take Uno by the ear and drag him out of the meeting room like an unruly child, but stifled the impulse. ‘What happened is incredibly tragic, but that doesn’t mean we have to take any hasty decisions based purely on emotion. We’re here today to discuss the project in a sensible manner. I’ve invited Fredrik so that he can tell us their views on whether the project should continue or not. I recommend that you listen to what he has to say. In spite of everything, it’s Fredrik who has the experience with this type of production. Even though what happened is something entirely new, and yes, tragic, as I said, I’m sure he has a number of wise points to make about how the whole thing should be handled.’

‘Useless idiot,’ Uno muttered under his breath, but loud enough for Fredrik to hear. The producer chose to ignore the comment and took up position behind his chair with his hands gripping the back.

‘Well, I can understand that this has stirred up plenty of emotions. Of course we mourn Barbie – Lillemor – deeply. The whole production team and also the management in Stockholm regret deeply what happened. Just as I do personally.’ He cleared his throat and lowered his eyes sadly. After a moment of uncomfortable silence he looked up. ‘But as they say in America: “The show must go on.” I’m sure that neither of you would be able to stop working if anything, God forbid, should happen to your family. We can’t do that either. I am also convinced that Barbie – Lillemor – would have wanted us to continue.’ Silence again, his gaze mournful.

A sniffle was heard from the far end of the big shiny table. ‘The poor child.’ Gunilla Kjellin carefully blotted away a tear with her paper napkin.

For a moment Fredrik looked a bit self-conscious. Then he went on, ‘Nor can we ignore the realities of the situation. And one reality is that we have invested a considerable sum in Sodding Tanum, an investment that we always hoped would reap dividends for both you and ourselves. We would gain viewers and advertising revenue, while you would profit from the boost to tourism. A very simple equation.’

The town’s financial officer Erik Bohlin tried to raise his hand to indicate that he had a question. But Erling was apprehensive that it wouldn’t lead the discussion in a desirable direction, so he glared at the young economist to make him put his hand down.

‘But how is this going to bring us tourists now? Murder usually has a certain … detrimental effect on tourism.’ Former councilman Jörn Schuster frowned at Fredrik Rehn. Erling counted silently to ten. Why did these people always have to be so damned negative? They wouldn’t last a day in the real world. Not in the world he had been used to during his years as CEO. With icy calm he turned to Jörn.

‘I have to say that I’m extremely disappointed in your attitude, Jörn. If there was anyone I expected to see the big picture, it was you. A man of your experience shouldn’t be sitting here getting lost in details. We’re here to promote the best interests of the community; we can’t set up obstacles to everything that might lead us forward, like a bunch of sorry bureaucrats.’ His reproach wrapped in flattery brought an uncertain gleam to the eyes of the former councilman. Most of all, Jörn wanted to be perceived as having voluntarily resigned his post to act as some sort of mentor for the newcomer. Erling was willing to play along, provided he could push through what he wanted. He waited patiently. The silence hung thick in the room, and they all looked tensely at Jörn to see how he was going to react. After a long pause to think, he turned to Erling with a fatherly smile visible through his thick white beard.

‘Naturally you’re right, Erling. During my many years as leader of this community I myself pushed through big ideas without allowing nay-sayers and petty details to stand in my way.’ He nodded in satisfaction and looked around the table. The others looked perplexed. None of them could recall Jörn having a big idea, let alone pushing it through.

Erling nodded his approval. The old fox knew which horse to back. Having won Jörn’s support, Erling finally addressed the issue.

‘When it comes to tourism, we are now in a unique situation. Our town’s name will appear in huge letters on every newspaper placard in the country. Sure, it’s in connection with a tragedy, but the fact remains that the town’s name is being drummed into the mind of every Swede. Without a doubt this is something we can turn to our advantage. I propose calling in a PR firm to help us make best use of the media attention.’

Erik Bohlin began to mutter something about ‘the budget’, but Erling waved off his comment like a bothersome fly. ‘Let’s not get bogged down in mere details Erik. Now we’re thinking big; the rest will sort itself out.’ He turned to Fredrik Rehn who was following the discussion round the table with amusement. ‘And Sodding Tanum will continue with our full support. Am I right?’ Erling turned to the others, giving each and every one of them an intense stare.

‘Naturally,’ piped up Gunilla Kjellin, casting an admiring glance at him.

‘Yeah, what the hell, let the crap run,’ said Uno Brorsson sullenly. ‘It can’t get any worse than it is already.’

‘I agree,’ said Bohlin laconically but with a million questions hovering behind his words.

‘Good, good,’ said Jörn Schuster, tugging on his beard. ‘Delightful to hear that you all see “the big picture”, just as Erling and I do.’ He gave Erling a big smile.

The old coot doesn’t know what he’s talking about, he thought, but he beamed back at him. The whole thing had gone easier than he imagined. Damn, he was good at this!

‘Fish or fowl?’

‘In between,’ replied Anna with a laugh.

‘Oh, cut it out,’ said Erica, sticking out her tongue at her sister. They were sitting on the veranda, wrapped up in blankets and drinking coffee. On her lap Erica had the menu suggestions from Stora Hotellet, and she could feel her mouth watering. Her strict diet the past two weeks had livened up her taste-buds and fired up her hunger. It felt as though she might start drooling in earnest.

‘What do you say to this, for example?’ She read aloud for Anna. ‘Crayfish tails on a bed of lettuce with lime vinaigrette as an appetizer, halibut with basil risotto and honey-roasted carrots for the main, and then cheesecake on a mirror of raspberry sauce for dessert?’

‘Sounds divine!’ said Anna. ‘Especially the halibut!’ She took a sip of coffee, snuggled up a bit more in her blanket, and looked out over the sea before them.

Erica couldn’t help being amazed at how much her sister had changed recently. She regarded Anna’s profile and saw a sense of calm over her face that she couldn’t remember having seen before. She had always worried about Anna. It was delightful to be able to start letting go.

‘Pappa would have loved to see us sitting here and gabbing,’ she said. ‘He always tried to make us understand that we had to get close to each other, as sisters. He thought that I mothered you way too much.’

‘I know,’ Anna said with a smile, turning to face Erica. ‘He talked to me too, tried to get me to take more responsibility, to be more grown-up, not push so much of the burden onto you. Because I did do that. No matter how much I protested that you mothered me, I liked it in a way. And I always expected you to be the one who was mature and took care of things.’

‘I wonder how it would have been if Mother had taken the responsibility instead. It was her job to be the grown-up, after all, not mine.’ Erica felt her chest tighten whenever she thought about her mother. The mother who for their entire childhood had been near in body but far away in her thoughts.

‘It’s no use speculating,’ Anna said pensively, pulling the blanket up to her chin. Even though the sun was shining on them, the wind was cold and found its way into all the gaps. ‘Who knows what sort of baggage she carried with her. Come to think of it, I can’t recall her ever talking about her childhood, about her life before Pappa. Isn’t that odd?’ Anna had never thought about it before. That was just the way things were.

‘The whole thing was odd, if you ask me,’ said Erica with a laugh. But she could hear the bitter undertone in her laugh.

‘But let’s be serious for a moment,’ said Anna. ‘Can you ever remember Elsy talking about her childhood, her parents, how she met Pappa, anything at all? I can’t recall a single comment. And she didn’t have any pictures either. I remember asking to see pictures of Grandma and Grandpa once, and she got annoyed and said they’d been gone so long she had no idea where she had put all that old stuff. Isn’t that a bit strange? I mean, who doesn’t have old photos? Or at least know where they are?’

All of a sudden Erica realized that Anna was right. She had never seen or heard anything about Elsy’s past either. It was as though their mother began to exist only when the wedding photo of her and Tore was taken. Before that there was … nothing.

‘Well, you’ll have to do some research into it someday,’ said Anna, and Erica could hear that she wanted to change the subject. ‘You know how to do stuff like that. But for now I think we should go back to the menu. Did you decide on that last option you read to me?’

‘I’ll have to check with Patrik first and see if he thinks it sounds okay,’ said Erica. ‘I have to admit it feels a bit trivial to keep bothering him with details like this when he’s in the middle of a murder investigation. It feels too … superficial somehow.’

She put the menu on her lap and stared gloomily out towards the horizon. She had hardly seen Patrik the past few days, and she missed him. But she did understand. The murder of that girl was appalling, and she knew that Patrik wanted to catch the killer more than anything else. At the same time his being immersed in such a vital case served to accentuate her own lack of employment. True, being a mum was important too. But she couldn’t help longing to do something … grown up. Something where she could be Erica, not just Maja’s mamma. Now that Anna had resurfaced from the twilight that had held her captive, Erica was hoping to be able to start writing a few hours each day. She had broached the idea with Anna, who enthusiastically volunteered to take care of Maja.

So Erica had begun looking for new projects, a real murder case that had an exciting human aspect, and which she thought would make a good book. After the two previous books, she’d been subjected to some criticism in the media. Several reviewers accused her of having a hyena mentality and feeding off real murder cases. But Erica didn’t see it that way. She was always careful to let everyone involved have their say, and she tried to present the fairest and most multifaceted picture possible of what had happened. Nor did she think that the books would have sold as well as they did if they hadn’t been written with empathy. But she had to admit that it had been easier to write the second one, when she didn’t have a personal connection with the case as with the murder of her friend Alex Wijkner. It was much more difficult to remain objective when everything she wrote was coloured by her own experiences.

Thinking about the books began to arouse her desire to get to work.

‘I think I’ll go surf the Web for a while,’ she said, getting up. ‘Thought I’d see if I can find some new case to write about. Could you take Maja for a while if she wakes up?’

Anna smiled. ‘I’ll take Maja, just go and work. Good fishing!’

Erica laughed and headed for her office. Life at home had become much easier lately. She just wished that Patrik would soon get a break from the case he was working on.