Читать книгу Camilla Lackberg Crime Thrillers 4-6: The Stranger, The Hidden Child, The Drowning - Camilla Lackberg - Страница 16

The nights were the time when the terror felt the closest. What if they came while he was sleeping? What if he couldn’t wake up? Before it was too late. He and sister each had a bed in the room. She usually tucked them in at night, pulled the covers up to their chins, and kissed first him, then her, on the forehead. A soft ‘good night’, then she turned off the light. And locked the door. That was when the evil had free rein in their minds. But they had invented a form of consolation. With cautious steps he sneaked over to sister’s bed and crept in close beside her under the covers. They never talked, just lay close and felt the warmth of each other’s skin. So close that their breath became one, hot exhaled air that filled their lungs and spread to their hearts, giving them a feeling of security.

Sometimes they lay awake like that. Both saw the fear in the other’s eyes, but couldn’t put words to it. At those moments he felt such love for his sister that he felt he might burst. It filled every part of him and made him want to caress every inch of her skin. She was so defenceless, so innocent, so scared of what was outside. Even more scared than he was. For him the fear was mixed with a longing for whatever was out there. What he might have had access to, if he hadn’t been a jinx, and if the unknown hadn’t been waiting out there.

As he lay there with his sister in his arms, he wondered whether the terror was at all connected to the woman with the angry voice. Then sleep usually overtook him. And with it came the memories.

Martin had suffered his whole life from motion sickness, but he still tried to read the pages that had been copied from Lillemor’s diary.

‘Who is this “he” she keeps talking about? The person she recognizes?’ he said in bewilderment, reading on to see if he could find more clues.

‘It doesn’t say,’ said Patrik, who had read the copies before they left. ‘She doesn’t seem to be sure that she really saw him or where.’

‘But she writes that he makes her uncomfortable,’ said Martin, pointing to a spot on the page he was reading. ‘So it seems unlikely to be a coincidence that she was then murdered.’

‘Yes, I’m inclined to agree with you,’ said Patrik, speeding up to overtake a truck. ‘But there’s nothing more to go by, not in the diary at least. And it could have been anyone at all. Somebody in town, somebody in the group, somebody on the production team. All we know is that it’s a man.’ He noticed that Martin had begun taking deep breaths. ‘How’s it going? Are you feeling sick?’ One glance at his colleague confirmed it. Martin’s freckles glowed an angry red against his face, which was even whiter than usual, and his chest was heaving as he struggled to breathe.

‘You want me to let in some air?’ said Patrik uneasily. He felt bad for his colleague, but he had no desire to drive all the way to Lund in a car smelling of vomit. Martin nodded, so Patrik pushed the button to open the window on the passenger side. Martin leaned against the door, greedily inhaling, although the air was mixed with a lot of exhaust fumes and didn’t provide as much relief as he was hoping for.

Several hours later they turned into the car park at the Lund police station, their legs numb and their backs aching. They hadn’t allowed themselves more than a brief pause to piss and stretch their legs, since they were both excited about what the meeting with Superintendent Kjell Sandberg might bring. They had to wait only a few minutes in reception before he came down. Actually he was supposed to be off this Saturday, but after Patrik’s phone call he had willingly agreed to come in to the station.

‘How was your trip?’ said Kjell Sandberg, briskly leading the way. He was a very small man – around five foot three, Patrik guessed – but he seemed to compensate for his short stature with an enormous amount of energy. When he spoke he used his whole body and gesticulated wildly. Both Martin and Patrik had a hard time keeping up as he almost ran before them. The double-time march led at last to a break room, and Kjell gestured for Patrik and Martin to go in first.

‘I thought we could sit here instead of in my office,’ said Kjell, pointing to a table with a pile of folders on it. The top one was labelled ‘Börje Knudsen’, which Patrik had learned yesterday was the name of victim number three, or two if viewed chronologically. They sat down and Kjell shoved the stack of files over to Patrik. ‘I spent yesterday looking through everything again. After we got your query, well, I must say I started thinking about a number of cases in a different light than we did back then.’ He shook his head a bit regretfully, as if apologizing.

‘So there weren’t any suspicions back then, six years ago? Any sense that something was not as it should be?’ said Patrik, careful not to sound accusatory.

Kjell shook his head again. His big moustache bobbed comically when he moved his head. ‘No, we honestly had no idea that there was anything odd about Börje’s death. You’ve got to understand that Börje was one of those regulars that we expected to find dead someday. He’d been close to drinking himself to death several times before, but managed to pull through. This time we just thought that … Well, we simply made a mistake,’ he said, throwing out his hands. He had a stricken expression on his face.

Patrik nodded consolingly. ‘From what I understand, it was an easy mistake to make in this particular situation. And for a while we thought that our murder was an accident as well.’ This admission seemed to make Kjell feel better.

‘What was it that made you respond to our query?’ asked Martin, trying not to stare at the bobbing moustache. He was still pale from the car ride, and gratefully stuffed a couple of digestive biscuits in his mouth. That helped a bit. Usually it took him an hour or so after a long car trip before he was himself again.

At first Kjell said nothing as he leafed through the pile of folders, looking for something. Then he pulled out a file which he opened and placed in front of Patrik and Martin. ‘Look at this. Here are the photos of Börje when we found him. He’d been dead in his flat for about a week, so it’s not a pretty sight,’ he added. ‘Nobody noticed until the body started to smell.’

It was indeed a horrifying scene. But what caught their attention was something that Börje had in his hand. It looked like a piece of crumpled paper. When they leafed through the photos they saw a close-up of the paper after it was taken from Börje’s hand and smoothed out. It was a page from the same book that Patrik and Martin now recognized so well. Hansel and Gretel by the Brothers Grimm. They looked at each other and Kjell said, ‘Yes, this is something more than mere coincidence. And I remembered it because it seemed so strange that Börje would be holding a page from a children’s book. He didn’t have any kids.’

‘Do you still have the page?’ Patrik held his breath and felt his body tense in anticipation. Kjell didn’t say a word, but a smile played at the corners of his mouth as he took out a plastic bag that had been placed on the chair next to him. ‘A combination of luck and skill,’ he said with a smile.

Patrik reverently took the plastic bag and studied the contents. Then he handed it to Martin, who also scrutinized the page with excitement.

‘What about the rest? The wounds and the way he died?’ Patrik asked, trying to study the photos of Börje’s body more closely. He thought he could make out blue shadows round the mouth, but the body was in such a state of decay that it was hard to tell.

‘Unfortunately we don’t have any information on the trauma. As I said, his body was in no condition to do an autopsy, and Börje was always in a more or less injured state, so the question is, would we have reacted even if …’ His voice trailed off and Patrik understood what he meant. Börje had been a drunk who often got into fights. The fact that he had presumably drunk himself to death had not occasioned any reason for a thorough investigation.

‘But he did have a great deal of alcohol in his body?’

Kjell nodded and his moustache hopped. ‘True, he had an abnormally high blood alcohol level, but his tolerance had increased over the years. The ME’s conclusion was that Börje had simply drunk a whole bottle and died from alcohol poisoning.’

‘Does he have any relatives we could talk to?’

‘No, Börje had no one. The only people he had any contact with were police officers and his wino pals. Plus whoever he met during his stints in jail.’

‘What was he in for?’

‘Oh, there were plenty of things. The list is in the top folder there, with the dates. Assault, intimidation, DWI, manslaughter, burglary, you name it. He probably spent more time inside than out, I should think.’

‘Can I take this material with me?’ said Patrik, crossing his fingers.

Kjell nodded. ‘Yes, that was the idea. Promise you’ll let us know if we can be of any further assistance. I’ll see about asking round a bit as well, check out whether we can dig up anything else that might help you.’

‘We really appreciate this,’ said Patrik as they both stood up to go.

On the way out they had to jog to keep up with Kjell.

‘Are you driving back tonight?’ he asked as they reached the front entrance.

‘No, we booked a room at the Scandic. So we can go over the material at our leisure before our next stop tomorrow.’

‘Nyköping?’ All at once Kjell looked very serious. ‘It’s not very common for a killer to strike over such a wide area.’

‘No,’ said Patrik with the same gravity. ‘It’s not very common. Not common at all.’

‘Which one would you like? Tracking down the bow-wows or going through Marit’s file?’ Gösta couldn’t hide his frustration at the work assignments that they’d drawn. Hanna didn’t seem exactly cheerful either. She’d probably been looking forward to a relaxing Saturday morning at home with her husband. But Gösta reluctantly had to admit that if ever there was a reason to draw overtime, this was certainly it. An investigation involving five murders was not everyday fare at the station.

He and Hanna had installed themselves at the kitchen table to tackle the work that Patrik had asked them to do, but neither of them felt the least bit enthusiastic. Gösta looked at Hanna as she stood at the worktop pouring coffee. By no means plump when she started working at the station, she now looked downright gaunt rather than just slim. He wondered again what her home life was like. There was something about her expression that seemed tense, almost tormented, lately. Maybe she and her husband couldn’t have children, he speculated. She was forty and still childless. He wished he could offer to lend an ear to anything she wanted to tell him, but he had a feeling that such an offer would not be well received. Hanna pushed back a strand of her blonde hair. He suddenly thought there was so much vulnerability, so much uncertainty in that simple gesture. Hanna Kruse was truly a woman of contradictions. On the surface she was strong and brave. At the same time for brief moments, in certain gestures, he could read something else entirely, something … broken; that was the closest he could come to describing it. But when she turned to face him he wondered whether he’d read too much into things. Her expression was now stony. No weakness in evidence.

‘I’ll take Marit’s documents,’ she said as she sat down. ‘You take the doggies, okay?’ She looked at him over the edge of her cup.

‘Fine with me. I said you could choose.’

Hanna smiled, and the way it softened her face made him feel even more doubtful about his speculations. ‘It’s a shame that we have to work, don’t you think so, Gösta?’ she said with a wink.

He couldn’t help smiling back. He pushed aside his meditations about her home life and decided simply to enjoy the company of his new colleague.

‘Okay, I’ll take the mutts,’ he said as he stood up.

‘Woof,’ she replied with a laugh. Then she started leafing through the folder before her.

‘I heard there was a bit of a drama going on here,’ said Lars with a stern look at the cast members sitting around him in a circle. Nobody said a word. He tried again. ‘Could somebody please clue me in on what happened?’

‘Tina made a fool of herself,’ muttered Jonna.

Tina gave her a dirty look. ‘The fuck I did!’ She looked around the circle. ‘You’re all just jealous because you didn’t find it and think of the same thing!’

‘I never would have done anything that despicable,’ said Mehmet, looking at the tips of his shoes. He’d been unusually subdued the past few days. Lars shifted his focus to him.

‘How are you doing, Mehmet? You seem pretty down.’

‘It’s nothing,’ he said, still staring intently at his shoes. Lars gave him a searching look but didn’t press him. Mehmet was apparently unwilling to share his feelings. Maybe things would go better in the individual session. Lars went back to Tina.

‘What was in the diary that was so upsetting to you?’ he said gently. Tina pretended to zip her lips shut. ‘What made you feel you were justified in hanging Barbie … Lillemor out to dry like that?’

‘She wrote in her diary that Tina doesn’t have any talent,’ said Calle helpfully. His relationship with Tina had been extremely frosty since the discussion at the Gestgifveri, and he gladly seized the opportunity to take a dig at her. The comment that she had flung at him still stung, so his voice had a nasty undertone. At the moment he wanted nothing more than to hurt her. ‘And you can’t blame Barbie,’ he said coldly. ‘She was just stating the facts.’

‘Shut up, shut up, shut up!’ Tina shrieked. Saliva sprayed out of her mouth.

‘Let’s all calm down,’ said Lars, his voice harsh. ‘Lillemor wrote something disparaging about you in her diary, so you felt you had the right to defame her memory.’ He gave Tina a stern look, and she averted her eyes. It sounded so … wicked and nasty when he said it like that.

‘She wrote shit about all of you,’ she said, looking round the group in the hope of shifting some of Lars’s displeasure from herself to the others. ‘She wrote that you were a spoilt rich brat, Calle. And she said that you, Uffe, were one of the stupidest people she’d ever met, and that Mehmet was so fucking insecure and worried about not pleasing his family that he ought to realize he should get himself some backbone!’ She paused but then turned her gaze on Jonna. ‘And you … She said it was so pathetic that you kept on cutting yourself like that. Nobody was spared. Now you know. Is there still anyone who thinks that “we should honour Barbie’s memory” or whatever the fuck drivel you’ve been talking about? If you feel guilty about all the shit you said to her at the party, forget it! She got what she deserved!’ Tina flung her hair back, challenging anyone to contradict her.

‘Did she deserve to die too?’ said Lars calmly.

There was silence in the room. Tina nervously chewed on a fingernail. Then she got up abruptly and ran out. All their eyes followed her.

The road stretched endlessly before them. All this driving had begun to wear Patrik down. He turned his head to look at his colleague in the driver’s seat. Martin had offered to drive today, in the hope that it would keep his nausea in check. So far it had worked, and they had less than a hundred kilometres to go until Nyköping. Martin yawned, and then Patrik did too. They both laughed.

‘I think we stayed up too late last night,’ said Patrik.

‘Yeah, I think so. But there was a lot to go over.’

‘Yep,’ Patrik said. They had spent the evening going over and over the details of the case in Patrik’s hotel room. Martin hadn’t retired to his own room until the wee hours. It had taken another hour for both of them to fall asleep, with all the thoughts and loose threads whirling about in their heads.

‘How’s Pia feeling?’ said Patrik, to change the subject.

‘Great!’ Martin brightened up. ‘The morning sickness has gone away. In fact, she feels fantastic now. I’m so excited I just can’t wait!’

‘Yeah, I know the feeling.’ Patrik was thinking about Maja. He longed so much to be home with her and Erica that it hurt.

‘Is Pia going to have ultrasound to find out the sex of the baby?’ Patrik asked as they turned off the motorway towards Nyköping.

‘Well, I don’t know yet. But I don’t think so,’ Martin said, paying close attention to the road signs. ‘What did you guys do? Did you find out beforehand?’

‘No. It feels sort of like cheating. We wanted it to be a surprise. And with the first child it doesn’t matter that much. But with the second one it’d be nice if it was a boy, so we’d have one of each.’

‘You’re not going to have …?’ Martin turned towards Patrik.

‘No, no, no.’ Patrik laughed. ‘Not yet, thank God. We have our hands full getting used to living with Maja. But maybe later …’

‘What does Erica say about it? Considering how much trouble she had …’ Martin stopped, unsure whether it was okay to bring up that topic.

‘We actually haven’t discussed it. I probably just assumed we’d have two,’ said Patrik pensively. ‘Well, here we are at last,’ he noted, happy to put an end to that subject.

They climbed out of the car with stiff legs and stretched before they went inside the station house. The routine was beginning to feel familiar, at least for Patrik. This was the third time that he had visited a new police station in a new city. When they met the superintendent Patrik was again struck by how non-homogeneous the police force was in Sweden. Nor had he ever met anyone whose appearance differed so much from the image he’d formed based on a name. For one thing, Gerda Svensson was much younger than he had thought, around thirty-five. And despite her extremely Swedish name her complexion was the same colour and lustre as dark mahogany. She was a strikingly beautiful woman. Patrik realized that he was standing there gaping like a fish, and a brief glance at Martin showed that he, too, was making a fool of himself. Patrik gave Martin a poke in the side with his elbow and then held out his hand to Superintendent Svensson.

‘My colleagues are waiting for us in the conference room,’ said Gerda Svensson as she led the way. Her voice was deep and soft at the same time, and extremely pleasant. Patrik could feel that he was having a hard time taking his eyes off her.

They said nothing as they walked towards the conference room. The only sound was the tap of their shoes on the floor. When they entered the room two men got up and came over to them with outstretched hands. One was in his fifties, short and stocky but with a glint in his eye and a warm smile. He introduced himself as Konrad Meltzer. The other was about the same age as Gerda, a big, powerful man with blond hair. Patrik couldn’t help reflecting that he and Gerda made a striking pair. When he introduced himself as Rickard Svensson Patrik realized his intuition had been correct. They were indeed a couple.

‘From what I understand you have a good deal of relevant information about one of our murder cases that has remained unsolved.’ Gerda sat down between Konrad and her husband, and neither of them seemed to mind that she took charge. ‘I was the one who led the investigation of Elsa Forsell’s death,’ she said, as if she’d read Patrik’s mind. ‘Konrad and Rickard worked with me on the team, and we put in a lot of hours on this investigation. Unfortunately we reached a point where we could go no further. Until your query arrived the day before yesterday.’

‘We knew immediately that your case was connected to ours when we read about the page from the book,’ said Rickard, folding his hands on the table. Patrik couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to have your wife as your boss. Even though Patrik considered himself a liberated man, he would have had a hard time putting up with Erica as his superior. On the other hand, she wouldn’t have appreciated having him as her boss either.

‘Rickard and I got married after the investigation was terminated. Since then we’ve worked in different units.’ Gerda looked at him and Patrik felt himself blush. For a moment he wondered whether she really could read his mind, but then realized that it probably wasn’t that hard to guess what he was thinking. No doubt he wasn’t the first.

‘Where was the page of the book found?’ he said to change the subject. A tiny smile played at the corners of Gerda’s mouth, signalling that she saw that he got the message, but it was Konrad who spoke now.

‘It was stuck inside a Bible next to her.’

‘Where was she found?’

‘In her flat. By one of the members of her congregation.’

‘Congregation?’ said Patrik. ‘What sort of congregation?’

‘The Cross of the Virgin Mary,’ Gerda replied. ‘A Catholic congregation.’

‘Catholic?’ said Martin. ‘Was she from some southern country?’

‘There are Catholics in Scandinavia too,’ said Patrik, a bit embarrassed at Martin’s ignorance. ‘That form of Christianity is practised all over the globe, and there are several thousand Catholics here in Sweden.’

‘Quite right,’ said Rickard. ‘There are actually about a hundred and sixty thousand Catholics in Sweden. Elsa had been a member for many years, and the congregation was basically her family.’

‘Didn’t she have any relatives?’ asked Patrik.

‘No, we weren’t able to find any close relations,’ said Gerda. ‘We conducted many interviews with members of her congregation to see whether there was any schism there, anything that might have led to Elsa’s murder. But we drew a blank.’

‘If we wanted to talk with somebody in the congregation who was close to Elsa, who would that be?’ Martin held his pen ready to take notes.

‘The priest, without a doubt. Father Silvio Mancini. And he is from southern Europe.’ Gerda winked at Martin, who blushed.

‘From what I gather, the victim in Tanumshede also bore traces of having been tied up?’ Rickard directed the question to Patrik.

‘Yes, that’s true. Our ME found cord grooves on both the arms and wrists. Was that one of the things that led you to designate Elsa’s death as a homicide straight away?’

‘Yes.’ Gerda took out a photo and slid it across the table to Patrik and Martin. They looked at it for a few seconds and saw that the cord marks were very evident. Elsa Forsell had without a doubt been tied up. Patrik also recognized the odd blue marks around her mouth. ‘Did you also find traces of tape?’ He looked at Gerda, who nodded.

‘Yes, adhesive from ordinary brown tape.’ She cleared her throat. ‘We’re very interested in seeing all the information you have regarding these homicides. We will of course share everything we have. I know that sometimes there’s a certain rivalry between police districts, but we sincerely hope that we can all cooperate and keep the channels open between us.’ This was not an appeal but a cold statement. Patrik nodded without hesitation.

‘Naturally. We need all the help we can get. Including yours. So by all means let’s share copies of whatever material we both have. And we can stay in touch by phone.’

‘Good,’ said Gerda.

Patrik couldn’t help noticing the admiring glance she got from her husband. Patrik’s respect for Rickard Svensson grew. It took a real man to appreciate having a wife who had climbed higher on the career ladder than he had.

‘Do you know where we can get hold of Father Mancini?’ said Martin as they stood up to leave.

‘The Catholic congregation has premises downtown.’ Konrad jotted down the address and gave the slip of paper to Martin. He also told them how to find their way there.

‘After you’ve talked with Father Silvio you can come back and pick up a packet with all the material at reception,’ said Gerda as she shook Patrik’s hand. ‘I’ll see to it that copies of everything are made for you.’

‘Thanks for your help,’ said Patrik, and he meant it. Cooperation between districts was, as Gerda had pointed out, not always favoured by the police, so he was very glad that this investigation would be taking a different tack.

‘When are you going to stop all these stupid goings-on?’

Jonna shut her eyes. Her mamma’s voice on the phone was always so harsh, so accusatory.

‘Pappa and I have talked, and we think that it’s irresponsible of you to waste your life like this. And we have our reputations at the hospital to think of as well; you have to understand that you’re making fools of us too!’

‘I knew this would have something to do with the hospital,’ Jonna muttered.

‘What did you say? You have to speak up so I can hear what you’re saying, Jonna. You’re nineteen years old now, and you have to learn to articulate properly. And I have to say that these latest newspaper articles have been especially upsetting for Pappa and me. People are starting to wonder what sort of parents we are. And we’ve done our best, I can assure you. But Pappa and I have an important job to do, and you’re old enough now, Jonna, that you really should understand that. You need to show more respect for what we do. You know, yesterday I operated on a little Russian boy who had come here for treatment to repair a serious heart defect. He couldn’t get the operation he needed in his homeland, but I was able to help him! Because of me he will survive and live a worthwhile life! I think you ought to display a bit more humility towards life, Jonna. You’ve always had it so easy. Have we ever denied you anything? You’ve always had clothes on your back, a roof over your head, and food on the table. Think of all the children who haven’t even had half, no, a tenth of what you’ve enjoyed. They would be grateful to be in your position. And they wouldn’t keep doing such stupid things and injuring themselves. No, I think you’re being selfish, Jonna. It’s high time for you to grow up! Pappa and I think that –’

Jonna cut off the call and sank slowly down to sit with her back against the wall. The anxiety grew and grew until it felt as though it wanted to pour out of her throat. It filled every part of her body, making her feel she was going to explode. The feeling of not having anywhere to go, anywhere to flee, overpowered her as it had so many times before. With trembling hands she took out the razor blade that she always kept in her wallet. Her fingers were now shaking so hard that she dropped the blade, and with a curse she tried to pick it up from the floor. She cut her fingers several times trying, but eventually she picked it up and moved it slowly down the underside of her right forearm. With deep concentration she looked at the razor blade as she lowered it towards the scarred, damaged skin that looked like a lunar landscape of alternating white and pink flesh, with sharp red ridges like tiny rivers. When the first blood trickled out she felt the anxiety subside. She pressed harder and the rivulet became a red, pulsing stream. Jonna watched it with relief written all over her face. She lifted the razor blade and drew a new river among the scars. Then she raised her head and smiled into the camera. She looked almost blissful.

‘We’re looking for Father Silvio Mancini.’ Patrik held up his police identification to the woman who opened the door. She stepped aside and called, ‘Silvio! The police are here about something!’

A white-haired man dressed in jeans and a sweater came towards them. Patrik had expected him to appear in full priestly regalia, not in everyday clothes. He knew that the priest couldn’t go about in his clerical garb all the time, but it still took him a second to recover from his surprise.

‘I’m Patrik Hedström, and this is Martin Molin,’ he said, pointing to his colleague. The priest nodded and showed them to a small sofa group. The sanctuary was small but well kept, and there were plenty of the attributes that Patrik with his layman’s knowledge associated with Catholicism, such as pictures of the Virgin Mary and a big crucifix. The woman who had opened the door for them brought in coffee and cakes. Father Silvio thanked her warmly. She smiled in response but then retreated. Father Silvio turned his attention to them and asked in perfect Swedish, but with an unmistakable Italian accent, ‘So, what can I do for the police?’

‘We’d like to ask a few questions about Elsa Forsell.’

Father Silvio sighed. ‘I was hoping that sooner or later the police would find some sort of lead. Even though I truly believe in the flames of purgatory, I would prefer that the murderer receive his punishment while still in this life.’ He smiled, showing humour and empathy at the same time. Patrik got the impression that he and Elsa had been close, which was confirmed by Father Silvio’s next comment.

‘Elsa was a good friend for many, many years. She was very involved in the work of the congregation, and I was also her father confessor.’

‘Was Elsa born Catholic?’

‘No, she was not,’ Father Silvio said with a laugh. ‘Few people are in Sweden, unless they have family that have immigrated from a Catholic country. But she came to one of our services, and yes, I believe she felt as though she’d found a home. Elsa was … what you might call a damaged soul. She was searching for something, and she felt she had found it with us.’

‘And what was she looking for?’ said Patrik. The priest’s whole demeanour bore witness to the fact that he was a man of great empathy, a man who radiated calm and peace. A true man of God.

Father Silvio sat quietly for a while before he replied. He seemed to want to weigh his words, but at last he looked Patrik straight in the eye and said: ‘Forgiveness.’

‘Forgiveness?’ asked Martin.

‘Forgiveness,’ Father Silvio repeated calmly. ‘It’s what we all seek, most of us without even knowing it. Forgiveness for our sins, for our failures, for our shortcomings and mistakes. Forgiveness for things we have done … and for things we didn’t do.’

‘And what was Elsa Forsell seeking forgiveness for?’ Patrik said quietly, looking hard at the priest. For a moment it seemed that Father Silvio was on the verge of telling them something. Then he lowered his eyes and said, ‘Confession is a sacrament. And what does it matter? We all have something to be forgiven for.’

Patrik sensed that there was something more behind his words, but he knew enough about a father confessor’s vow of silence not to try and press the priest.

‘How long was Elsa a member of your church?’ he said instead.

‘For eighteen years,’ said Father Silvio. ‘As I said, we became very close friends over the years.’

‘Do you know whether Elsa had any enemies? Did anyone want to harm her?’

Again the priest hesitated, then shook his head. ‘No, I know nothing about anything like that. Elsa had no one besides us, either friend or foe. We were her family.’

‘Is that usual?’ asked Martin, who couldn’t hide a sceptical tone.

‘I know what you’re thinking,’ the silver-haired man said calmly. ‘But we have no such exclusionary rules, or restrictions, for our members. Most of them have both families and friends, like any other Christian congregation. But Elsa had only us.’

‘Regarding how she died,’ said Patrik. ‘Someone poured a large quantity of alcohol down her throat. What was Elsa’s attitude towards alcohol?’

Once more Patrik thought he sensed a hesitation, a reluctance to speak, but instead the priest said with a laugh, ‘Elsa was probably like most people on that point. She would have a glass of wine or two on Saturday evening sometimes. But never in excess. No, I would say that she had a quite normal attitude towards alcohol. I taught her to appreciate Italian wines, by the way, and we occasionally had wine tastings here. Very popular.’

Patrik raised an eyebrow. The Catholic priest was truly surprising him.

After pausing to consider whether he had anything more to ask, Patrik placed his business card on the table before them. ‘If you think of anything else, please give us a ring.’

‘Tanumshede,’ said Father Silvio as he read the card. ‘Where is that?’

‘On the west coast,’ said Patrik as he got up. ‘Between Strömstad and Uddevalla.’

Patrik watched in amazement as all colour drained out of Father Silvio’s face. For a moment he looked as pale as Martin had been during the ride to Lund the day before. Then the priest regained his composure and nodded curtly. Bewildered, Patrik and Martin said goodbye, both with a feeling that Father Silvio Mancini knew considerably more than he was saying.

There was an air of anticipation at the station. Everyone was eager to hear what Patrik and Martin had found out during their weekend excursion. Patrik had driven straight to the station when they returned from Nyköping and had spent a couple of hours preparing for the meeting. The walls of his office were covered with photos and notes, and he had jotted down remarks and drawn arrows here and there. It looked chaotic, but he would soon bring order to the confusion.

It was a tight squeeze when they all crowded into his office, but he hadn’t wanted to put up the investigative material anywhere else, so that’s where they had to meet. Martin arrived first and sat down at the back, then Annika, Gösta, Hanna and Mellberg arrived. No one said a word as they all surveyed the material taped to the walls. Each of them was trying to find the red thread that would lead them to a killer.

‘As you know, Martin and I visited two cities this weekend, Lund and Nyköping. Both of these police stations had contacted us because they had cases that matched the criteria we had set up based on the murders of Marit Kaspersen and Rasmus Olsson. The victim in Lund,’ he turned and pointed to a photo on the wall, ‘was named Börje Knudsen. He was fifty-two years old and a confirmed alcoholic. He was found dead in his flat. He had been dead so long that unfortunately it was impossible to find any physical traces of the type of injuries we’ve documented for the other victims. On the other hand’ – Patrik paused to take a drink of water from a glass on his desk – ‘he did have this in his hand.’ He pointed to the plastic bag pinned to the wall next to the photo, with the page from the children’s book.

Mellberg raised his hand. ‘Did we hear from NCL whether there were any fingerprints on the pages we found next to Marit and Rasmus?’

Patrik was surprised that his boss was on the ball for once. ‘Yes, we did get an answer, and the pages were returned.’ He pointed to the pages pinned up next to the photos of Marit and Rasmus. ‘Unfortunately there were no prints on them. The page found with Börje was never examined, so it will be going off to NCL today. However, the book page found with the victim in Nyköping, Elsa Forsell, was examined during the investigation. With a negative result.’

Mellberg nodded to indicate that he was satisfied with the answer.

Patrik went on, ‘Börje’s case was classified as an accident; they believed he had simply drunk himself to death. Elsa Forsell’s death, however, was investigated as a homicide by our colleagues in Nyköping, but they never found a perpetrator.’

‘Did they have any suspects?’ asked Hanna. She looked resolute and focused, but a bit pale. Patrik was worried that she might be getting sick. He couldn’t afford to lose any resources in this situation.

‘No, there were no suspects. She only associated with the members of her church, and no one seemed to bear any grudge against her. She was also killed in her own flat’ – he pointed to the photo taken at the crime scene – ‘and stuck inside a Bible next to her they found this.’ He moved his finger to point at the page from Hansel and Gretel.

‘What kind of sick devil is this person?’ said Gösta incredulously. ‘What does this fairy tale have to do with anything?’

‘I have no idea, but something tells me it’s the key to the whole investigation.’

‘We have to hope that the media doesn’t get wind of this,’ Gösta muttered. ‘Then it’ll turn into the “Hansel and Gretel killer”, considering how much they like to give murderers nicknames.’

‘Well, I hardly need to stress the importance of not leaking any of this to the press,’ said Patrik, carefully avoiding looking at Mellberg. Although he was the chief, he was something of a loose cannon. But even Mellberg seemed to have had his fill of press attention in recent weeks, because he nodded in agreement.

‘Did you get any feeling for what the tangential points between the murders might be?’ said Hanna.

Patrik looked at Martin, who said, ‘No, unfortunately we’re back at square one. Börje was definitely no teetotaller, and Elsa seemed to have had a normal attitude towards alcohol, neither abstinence nor overconsumption.’

‘So we have no idea as to how the murders are related?’ Hanna said, looking concerned.

Patrik sighed and turned round to let his eyes sweep over the material pinned up on the walls. ‘No,’ he said. ‘All we know is that it was most probably the same person who committed all the murders; otherwise there is not a single tangential point among them. There is nothing to indicate that Elsa and Börje were connected in any way to Marit or Rasmus, or to the places where they lived. But naturally we’ll have to go back and talk to Marit’s and Rasmus’s relatives again to see whether they recognize either Börje’s or Elsa’s name, or if they know whether Marit or Rasmus had ever lived in Lund or Nyköping. At the moment we’re groping in the dark, but there must be a connection. There has to be!’ said Patrik in frustration.

‘Could you mark the locations on the map?’ said Gösta, pointing at the map of Sweden that was mounted at the end of the room.

‘Of course, that’s a good idea,’ said Patrik, taking out some coloured pins from a box in his desk drawer. He carefully stuck the four pins into the map: one in Tanumshede, one in Borås, one in Lund and one in Nyköping.

‘The murderer is at least staying in the southern half of Sweden. That limits the search area somewhat,’ said Gösta sourly.

‘Yes, be grateful for small favours,’ said Mellberg with a chuckle, but retreated again when no one else seemed to find his remark funny.

‘So, we have a lot to do now,’ said Patrik seriously. ‘And we can’t lose focus on the Persson investigation either. Gösta, did you get anywhere with the list of dog owners?’

‘It’s ready. I was able to locate one hundred and sixty owners. There are most likely some that aren’t included on any official lists. But that’s as close as we could get.’

‘Keep going with those you have, correlate them with the list of addresses, and see if any can be connected to this region.’

‘Certainly,’ said Gösta.

‘I thought I’d see whether it’s possible to get any more information from the book pages,’ said Patrik. ‘Martin and Hanna, could you talk to Ola and Kerstin again and see if they recognize either Börje’s or Elsa’s name? And have a word with Eva, Rasmus Olsson’s mother. But do it by phone, because I need you here.’

Gösta hesitantly raised his hand. ‘Shouldn’t I drive over and talk to Ola Kaspersen again? Hanna and I paid him a visit last Friday, and I got the feeling he wasn’t telling us everything.’

Hanna looked at Gösta. ‘I didn’t notice that,’ she said, her tone implying that Gösta was imagining things.

‘But you must have noticed when …’ Gösta turned to Hanna to argue, but Patrik interrupted him.

‘Both of you go over to Fjällbacka and see Ola; Annika can take care of the list of dog owners. I’d like to see that list, so put it on my desk when it’s ready.’

Annika nodded and made a note.

‘Martin, you check through the videotape from the night Barbie died. We may have missed something there, so go through the footage frame by frame.’

‘Will do,’ said Martin.

‘So, let’s get moving,’ said Patrik, putting his hands on his hips. They all got up and trooped out. Alone in the room, Patrik took down the four torn-out book pages from the wall and felt his brain go completely blank. How was he going to get any additional information out of these pages?

An idea occurred to him. Patrik put on his jacket, carefully put the pages in a folder and hurried out of the station.

Martin propped his feet up on the table with the remote in his hand. He was starting to feel sick and tired of the whole business. It had been too intense, too demanding, too much tension in the past weeks. Above all there had been too little rest and too little time with Pia and ‘the tiny soul’, which was the name of the work in progress.

He pressed ‘play’ and let the tape begin to roll in slow motion. He had seen the video before and questioned the usefulness of looking at it again. How did they know that the murderer or any lead had been caught on tape? Apparently Lillemor had met her death after she ran off from the community centre. But Martin was used to doing as he was told and wasn’t prepared to argue with Patrik.

He could feel himself getting sleepy from leaning back and watching the TV screen. The slow tempo added to his fatigue, and he had to force his eyelids to stay open. Nothing new appeared on the screen. First came the argument between Uffe and Lillemor. He switched to normal speed so he could hear the sound as Uffe accused Lillemor of talking shit about him, of telling the others he was stupid, dull, a Neanderthal. And Lillemor defended herself with tears, claiming she hadn’t said any such thing to anyone, that it was all a lie, that somebody was screwing with her. Uffe seemed not to believe her, and the altercation became more physical. Then Martin saw himself and Hanna enter the picture and break up the fight. The camera occasionally zoomed in on their faces, and he could see that they looked just as determined as they had felt at the time.

Then came almost forty-five minutes of tape time when nothing happened. Martin tried to pay attention as best he could, tried to spot things he had missed, maybe something that was said, something about other people. But there was nothing new. And sleep constantly threatened to force his eyes shut. He pressed ‘pause’ and went to pour himself a cup of coffee. He needed all the help he could get to stay awake. After pressing ‘play’ again he sat up straight and continued watching the tape. A quarrel began brewing between Tina, Calle, Jonna, Mehmet and Lillemor. He heard the same accusations from them that he’d heard from Uffe. They were screaming at Lillemor, shoving her and saying what the fuck was the big idea of her talking shit about them. He saw Jonna launch a violent attack against her. Lillemor again defended herself while crying so hard that the mascara ran down her cheeks in dark rivulets. Martin couldn’t help being moved by how small, helpless and young she suddenly looked underneath all that hair, makeup and silicone. She was just a little girl. He took a gulp of coffee and then saw on the screen how he and Hanna stepped in to break up the fight. The camera sometimes followed Hanna, who led Lillemor off to the side, sometimes him. With an angry look on his face, he told off the other participants. Then the camera turned back to the car park and he saw Lillemor run off towards town. The camera zoomed in on her back as she moved away, then it showed Hanna talking on her mobile, and then Martin, who still looked angry as he watched Lillemor flee.

After another hour he had seen nothing more than drunken youths and cast members partying on. By three a.m. the last of them had left and the cameras stopped filming. Martin sat there staring unseeing at the black screen while the tape rewound. He couldn’t say that he had discovered anything new that would lead them further. But something was gnawing at his subconscious; it felt like a tiny piece of dust in his eye. He looked at the black screen. Then he pressed ‘play’ again.

‘I only have an hour for lunch,’ said Ola peevishly when he opened the door. ‘So make it short.’ Gösta and Hanna stepped inside and took off their shoes. They hadn’t seen Ola’s home before, but they weren’t surprised to see how neat and orderly it looked. They’d seen his office, after all.

‘I’ll eat while we talk,’ Ola said, pointing at a plate of rice, chicken, and peas. No gravy, Gösta noted, who would never think of eating a meal without gravy. On the other hand, he was blessed with a metabolism that kept the weight off. He hadn’t yet acquired a paunch, despite his high-calorie diet. Maybe Ola wasn’t as fortunate.

‘So what do you want now?’ said Ola, carefully spearing some peas with his fork. Gösta observed in fascination how Ola seemed to have an aversion to mixing different kinds of food in the same bite; he meticulously ate the peas, the rice, and the chicken separately.

‘We’ve acquired some new information since last time,’ Gösta said dryly. ‘Do the names Börje Knudsen or Elsa Forsell sound familiar?’

Ola frowned and turned round when he heard a sound behind him. Sofie came into the room and looked quizzically at Gösta and Hanna.

‘What are you doing at home?’ said Ola angrily, glaring at his daughter.

‘I … I don’t feel well,’ she said. She did look a bit peaky.

‘What’s wrong with you?’ said Ola, not convinced.

‘I got sick. I threw up,’ she said, and the trembling of her hands combined with a light film of sweat on her skin seemed to convince her father.

‘Go in and lie down then,’ he said in a somewhat kinder tone of voice. But Sofie shook her head. ‘No, I want to sit here with you.’

‘Go and lie down, I said.’ Ola’s voice was firm, but the look in his daughter’s eyes was even more stubborn. Without replying she sat down on a chair in the far corner. Even though Ola seemed obviously uncomfortable with her sitting there, he said nothing but took another bite of rice.

‘What were you asking about? What were those names again?’ asked Sofie, giving Gösta and Hanna a blank look.

‘We were asking whether your pappa – or you – had ever heard the names Börje Knudsen or Elsa Forsell before.’

Sofie seemed to think for a moment, then she slowly shook her head and gave her pappa an inquisitive look. ‘Pappa, do you recognize those names?’

‘No,’ said Ola. ‘I’ve never heard those names before. Who are they?’

‘Two more murder victims,’ said Hanna quietly.

Ola gave a start and stopped with his fork halfway into his mouth. ‘What did you say?’

‘They were two people who fell victim to the same killer who murdered your ex-wife. And your mother,’ Hanna added softly without looking at Sofie.

‘What the hell are you saying? First you come here and ask about this Rasmus guy. And then you come up with two more? What are the police doing, anyway?’

‘We’re working round the clock,’ said Gösta acidly. There was something about this guy that really riled him. He took a deep breath and then said, ‘The victims lived in Lund and Nyköping. Did Marit have any connection to those cities?’

‘How many times do I have to tell you?’ Ola snapped. ‘Marit and I met in Norway, we moved here together to work when we were eighteen. And we haven’t lived anywhere else since then! Are you retarded or what?’

‘Pappa, calm down,’ said Sofie, laying a hand on his arm. That seemed to help and he said calmly, his voice ice-cold, ‘I think you should do your job instead of running over here to interrogate us. We don’t know a thing!’

‘Maybe you don’t realize that you know something,’ said Gösta. ‘It’s our job to find out everything we can.’

‘You think we know something about why Mamma was murdered?’ said Sofie in a pitiful voice. Out of the corner of his eye Gösta saw Hanna turn her head away. Despite her tough exterior it seemed to upset her to talk to the next of kin. A trying but somewhat positive characteristic for a cop to have. Gösta himself felt that he’d become too jaded during his many years on the force.

‘We can’t discuss it I’m afraid,’ he said to Sofie, who looked like she was feeling sick. He hoped that it wasn’t contagious. Showing up at the station with the stomach flu and making everybody else sick too wouldn’t be very popular.

‘Is there anything, anything at all, that you haven’t told us about Marit? Anything could be of use in finding a connection between Marit and the other victims.’ Gösta stared hard at Ola. He had the same feeling he’d got when they talked to him at Inventing. There was something the man wasn’t telling them.

But without flinching Ola said between clenched teeth, ‘We – know – nothing! Go over and talk to that lesbo instead, maybe she knows something!’

‘I … I …’ Sofie stammered, looking uncertainly at her father. She seemed to be trying to form words but didn’t know how. ‘I …’ she began again, but a glance from Ola made her shut up. Then she rushed out of the kitchen with her hand over her mouth. From the lavatory came the sound of her retching.

‘My daughter is ill. I’d like you to leave now.’

Gösta glanced at Hanna, and she shrugged her shoulders. They headed for the door. He wondered what it was that Sofie had tried to tell them.

The library was calm and quiet on a Monday morning. In the past it had been located a comfortable walking distance from the police station, but now that it had moved to the new Futura building, Patrik had to take the car. No one was behind the counter when he went inside, but after he cautiously said ‘Hello?’ the librarian of Tanumshede emerged from behind one of the shelves.

‘Hi, what are you doing here?’ said Jessica in surprise, raising an eyebrow. Patrik realized that it had been a while since he had actually set foot in the library. Not since secondary school or thereabouts. How many years ago was that? He didn’t want to think about it. Definitely not during Jessica’s time as librarian at any rate, since she was the same age he was.

‘Yeah, hi. I wonder if I could get some help with something.’ Patrik set his folder on the table in front of the checkout counter and carefully took out the plastic bags with the book pages inside. Jessica came over to look at what he had laid out. She was tall and slim and had medium-blonde, shoulder-length hair that was gathered into a practical ponytail. A pair of glasses rested on the tip of her nose, and Patrik couldn’t help wondering if wearing glasses was a requirement to get into library school.

‘Sure, just tell me what you need help with.’

‘I have a few pages from a children’s book here,’ said Patrik, pointing at the torn-out pages. ‘I’m wondering if there’s any way to tell what book they’re from, or more precisely what the proper order should be.’

Jessica pushed her glasses into place and carefully picked up the plastic bags and began to study them. She placed them in a row and then moved them about.

‘Now they’re in order,’ she said with satisfaction.

Patrik leaned forward and looked. Now the story developed as it should, starting with the page that had been in Elsa Forsell’s Bible. He had a bright idea. The pages now lay in the same order as the murders. First came Elsa Forsell’s page, then Börje Knudsen’s, after that Rasmus Olsson’s, and finally the page that they’d found next to Marit Kaspersen in the car. He gave Jessica a grateful look. ‘You’ve already helped me,’ he said, studying the pages again. ‘Can you tell me anything about the book? Where it comes from?’

The librarian thought for a moment, then she went round the checkout counter and began typing on the computer. ‘I think the book looks pretty old. It was probably published quite a while ago. You can tell by the style of the illustrations and the way the Swedish in the text sounds.’

‘So about how old would you say it is?’ Patrik couldn’t hide the eagerness in his voice.

Jessica looked at him over the tops of her glasses. For a moment he thought that she bore an uncanny resemblance to Annika. Then she said, ‘That’s what I’m trying to work out. If I could get some peace and quiet for a moment.’

Patrik felt like a schoolboy who’d just been reprimanded. He kept his mouth shut as he watched Jessica’s fingers fly over the keyboard.

After a while, which felt like an eternity to Patrik, she said, ‘The story of Hansel and Gretel has been issued in many editions here in Sweden over the years. But I ignored all those after 1950, so there were considerably fewer. Before 1950 I can see ten editions. I would guess that it’s one of the editions from the ’20s. I’ll see if I can track it on an antiquarian site and find a better image of the versions from the ’20s.’ She typed some more and Patrik had to stop himself from stamping his feet with impatience.

Finally she said, ‘Look, does this picture look familiar?’

He went round to her side and smiled with satisfaction when he saw a picture on the cover that was definitely drawn in the same style as the illustrations on the pages they had found next to the victims.

‘That’s the good news,’ Jessica said. ‘The bad news is that this is by no means a one-of-a-kind book. It came out in 1924 and a thousand copies were printed. And there’s no guarantee that whoever owned the book had bought the book or received it as a gift when it came out. He or she could have found it in an antiquarian bookshop almost anywhere. Searching websites that list books in stock at antiquarians, I find ten copies of this book for sale in different parts of the country today.’

Patrik felt his mood plunge. He knew it was a long shot, but he’d still nurtured a tiny hope of finding out something via the book. He went back round the checkout counter and stared angrily at the book pages laid out on the table. Mostly he wanted to rip them to shreds out of sheer frustration, but he restrained himself.

‘Did you notice that there’s a page missing?’ Jessica asked, moving over next to him. Patrik looked at her in astonishment.

‘No, I didn’t think of that.’

‘You can see from the page numbering.’ She pointed at one of the pages. ‘The first page you have is 5 and 6, then there’s a jump to 9 and 10, and 11 and 12, and the last one is 13 and 14. So the page numbered 7 on one side and 8 on the other is missing.’

Patrik’s thoughts were spinning. He understood with lightning-fast certainty what that meant. Somewhere there was another victim.