Читать книгу Camilla Lackberg Crime Thrillers 4-6: The Stranger, The Hidden Child, The Drowning - Camilla Lackberg - Страница 17

He really shouldn’t. He knew that. But he couldn’t help it. Sister didn’t like it when he begged, when he pleaded for what was unattainable. But something inside him made him do it. He had to find out what was out there. What was beyond the forest, beyond the field. Where she drove every day when she left them alone in the house. He simply had to find out what it looked like, the existence they were reminded of when an airplane flew over them up in the sky, or when they heard the sound of a car far, far in the distance.

At first she had refused. Told them it was out of the question. The only place they were safe, where he, her little jinx, was safe, was in the house, their sanctuary. But he kept on asking. And each time he asked he thought he could see her resistance wearing down. He could hear how insistent he sounded, how the stubborn tone slipped into his voice every time he talked about the unknown, which he wanted to see, if only once.

Sister always stood quietly beside him. Watching them, with a stuffed animal in her arms and her thumb in her mouth. She never said a word about having the same sense of longing. And she would never dare ask. But he sometimes saw a flash of the same desire in her eyes, when she sat on the bench by the window and looked out over the forest that seemed to go on for ever. Then he could see that the longing was just as strong in her.

That’s why he kept asking. He pleaded, he begged. She reminded him about the story they’d read so often. About the curious brother and sister who got lost in the forest. They were alone and scared, held captive by an evil witch. They could get lost out there. She was the one who protected them. Did they want to get lost? Did they want to risk never finding their way home to her? After all, she had already saved them from the witch once … Her voice always sounded so small, so sad when she answered his pleas with more questions. But something inside him made him keep asking, even though the distress tore and ripped at his breast when her voice trembled and tears filled her eyes.

But the temptation to know what was out there was too strong.

‘Welcome!’ Erling waved them into the hall and stood up a bit straighter when he saw the cameramen following behind.

‘Viveca and I think it’s so nice that you agreed to come over for a little farewell dinner. Here in our humble abode,’ he added towards the camera with a chuckle. The viewers would probably appreciate this brief glimpse into the lives of ‘the rich and famous’, as he had said to Fredrik Rehn when he presented the idea to him. Fredrik of course had thought it was a stroke of genius to invite the cast members to a farewell dinner at the home of the top dog in town. It was undoubtedly incredibly fitting.

‘So, come in, come in,’ said Erling, sweeping them into the living room. ‘Viveca will be right in to offer you a drink and welcome you here. Or perhaps you don’t imbibe?’ he said with a wink, laughing heartily at his own joke.

‘Look, here comes Viveca with the drinks,’ he said, pointing to his wife, who didn’t utter a word. They’d had a talk about this before the dinner guests and camera crew arrived. She had agreed to stay in the background and let him have his moment in the spotlight. After all, he was the one who had made the whole show possible.

‘I thought that you should taste some adult beverages for a change,’ said Erling, beaming. ‘A genuine “Dry Martini”, as we call them in Stockholm.’ He laughed again, a little too loudly, but he wanted to be sure that he could be heard on screen. The young people sniffed cautiously at their drinks, each of which held an olive speared on a toothpick.

‘Do we have to eat the olive?’ said Uffe, wrinkling his nose in distaste.

Erling smiled. ‘No, you can skip it if you like. It’s mostly for decoration.’

Uffe nodded and tossed back the drink while carefully avoiding the olive.

Some of the others followed his example. Erling, looking a bit bewildered and holding his glass up in the air, said, ‘Well, I had intended to bid you welcome, but some people are obviously thirsty. So skål!’ He raised his glass a bit higher, received a vague murmur in reply, and then sipped his Dry Martini.

‘Could I get another?’ said Uffe, holding out his glass to Viveca. She glanced at Erling, who nodded. What the heck, the kids had to have a bit of fun.

By the time dessert was served, Erling W. Larson was beginning to feel some regret. He vaguely recalled that Fredrik Rehn had warned him at their meeting not to serve too much alcohol during dinner, but he had stupidly waved aside Rehn’s words of advice. If Erling remembered rightly, he’d thought that nothing could be worse than the time in ’98 when the whole management team had gone on a business trip to Moscow. What had actually happened there was still a bit fuzzy in his mind, but he did recall a smattering of images, which included Russian caviar, a hell of a lot of vodka, and a brothel. What Erling hadn’t considered was that it was one thing to get pissed on a business trip and something altogether different to have five drunken youths in his own home. Even the food had been something of a disaster. They had hardly touched the whitefish roe on toast, and the risotto with coquilles Saint-Jacques had been greeted by gagging sound effects, especially from that barbarian Uffe. The climax of the evening seemed to be taking place even now, as he could hear the sounds of vomiting coming from the loo. Thinking that at least they had eaten the dessert, he saw with horror how the chocolate mousse was being regurgitated all over the beautiful, newly installed floor tiles.

‘I found some more wine, Earl the pearl,’ Uffe slurred, triumphantly coming in from the kitchen with an open wine bottle in his hand. With a sinking feeling in his stomach Erling realized that it was one of his best and most expensive vintage wines that Uffe had decided to uncork. Erling could feel rage bubbling up inside, but restrained himself when he realized that the camera was zooming in on him in the hope of just such a reaction.

‘Imagine that, what luck,’ he said through clenched teeth. Then he sent a look Fredrik Rehn’s way with an appeal for help. But the producer seemed to think the councilman had asked for it, and instead held out his empty wine glass to Uffe. ‘Pour me some, Uffe,’ he said, deliberately ignoring Erling.

‘Me too,’ said Viveca, who had spent the entire evening in silence, but now defiantly looked at her husband. Erling was seething inside. This was mutiny. Then he smiled at the camera.

Less than a week left before the wedding. Erica was starting to get nervous, but all the practical matters had been taken care of. She and Anna had worked like fiends to arrange everything: flowers, place cards, where the guests would stay, the music, all of it. Erica gave Patrik a worried look, as he sat across from her at the breakfast table chewing listlessly. She had fixed him hot chocolate and crispbread with cheese and caviar, his favourite breakfast. It usually made her feel sick just looking at it. Now she was prepared to do almost anything to get some nourishment into him. At least he wasn’t going to have any trouble getting into his tuxedo, she thought.

Lately Patrik had been walking round the house like a ghost. He would come home and eat, fall into bed, and then drive off to the station early the next morning. His face looked grey and haggard, marked by fatigue and frustration, and she had even begun to sense a certain dejected mood. A week ago he had told her that there had to be another victim somewhere. They had issued another query to all the police districts in the country but without result. With hopelessness in his voice he had also told her how they had gone through all the material they had, over and over again, without finding anything that could advance the investigation. Gösta had talked with Rasmus’s mother on the phone, but even she didn’t recognize the names Elsa Forsell and Börje Knudsen. The investigation was at a standstill.

‘What’s on the agenda for today?’ said Erica, trying to keep her tone neutral.

Patrik was nibbling like a mouse at one corner of the crispbread; in the last fifteen minutes he hadn’t managed to eat more than half of it. He said glumly, ‘Waiting for a miracle.’

‘But can’t you get some help from outside? From the other districts involved? Or from … the National Criminal Police or something?’

‘I’ve been in touch with Lund, Nyköping and Borås. They’re working hard on it too. And the NCP … well, I’d hoped we could manage this ourselves, but we’re starting to lean towards calling in reinforcements.’ Pensively he took another mini-bite, and Erica couldn’t help leaning over to caress his cheek.

‘Do you still want to go through with it on Saturday?’

He looked at her in surprise, then his expression softened. He reached for her hand and planted a kiss in the middle of her palm.

‘Darling, of course I do! We’re going to have a fantastic day on Saturday, the best of our lives, except for the day Maja was born, of course. And I promise to be happy and upbeat and completely focused on you and our day. Don’t worry. I’m longing to marry you.’

Erica gave him a searching look, but she saw nothing but honesty in his eyes.

‘Are you sure?’

‘I’m sure.’ Patrik smiled. ‘And don’t think that I don’t know what an enormous effort you and Anna have put into planning everything.’

‘I know you’ve had plenty on your mind. Besides, it’s done Anna some good,’ Erica said, glancing into the living room where Anna had settled down on the sofa with Emma and Adrian to watch kiddie TV. Maja was still asleep, and despite Patrik’s gloomy mood it felt luxurious to have him to herself for a while.

‘I just wish …’ Erica broke off.

Patrik seemed to read her thoughts. ‘You just wish that your parents could have been here.’

‘Yes, or no … To be completely honest I wish that Pappa could have been here. Mamma probably would have been as uninterested as she always was in whatever Anna and I do.’

‘Have you and Anna talked anymore about Elsy? About why she was like that?’

‘No,’ said Erica pensively. ‘But I’ve thought a lot about it. It’s strange that we know so little about Mamma’s life before she met Pappa. The only thing she ever said was that her parents had been dead a long time – that’s all that Anna and I know. We’ve never even seen any photos of them. Isn’t that odd?’

Patrik nodded. ‘Yes, it does sound strange. Maybe you should do some research into your genealogy? You’re good at rooting around in such things, digging up facts. It’s just a matter of getting started as soon as the wedding is over with.’

‘Over with?’ said Erica in an ominous tone. ‘Do you regard our wedding as something we need to “get over with” …?’

‘No,’ Patrik said, and then couldn’t think of anything better to say. Instead he dunked his crispbread in the hot chocolate. He knew when it was best to lie low. And let the food silence anything else he might say.

‘Well, today the fun comes to an end.’

Lars had wanted to meet with them under less formal conditions than usual, so he invited them for coffee and cakes at Pappa’s Lunch Café, which to no one’s surprise was located on the high street in Tanumshede.

‘It’s gonna be fucking great to get out of here,’ said Uffe, stuffing a pastry into his mouth.

Jonna looked at him in disgust, chewing instead on an apple.

‘What sort of plans have you got?’ said Lars, slurping a bit as he drank his tea. The cast members had watched in fascination as he plunked six lumps of sugar into his cup.

‘The usual,’ said Calle. ‘Go home and see my mates. Go out and booze it up. The babes at Kharma have missed me.’ He laughed, but his eyes looked dull and full of hopelessness.

Tina’s eyes flashed. ‘Isn’t that where Princess Madeleine usually hangs out?’

‘Oh yes, Maddie,’ said Calle nonchalantly. ‘She was going out with one of my mates before.’

‘She was?’ said Tina, impressed. For the first time in a month she looked at Calle with some respect.

‘Yeah, but he dumped her. Her mamma and pappa kept butting in too much.’

‘Her mamma and … Ohhhh,’ said Tina, and her eyes got even rounder. ‘Cool.’

‘So, what are you going to do?’ Lars asked Tina. She cracked her neck.

‘I’m going out on tour.’

‘On tour?’ Uffe scoffed, reaching for another pastry. ‘You’re going out with Boozer and maybe you’ll sing a song or two and then stand around in the bar. I’d hardly call that a tour.’

‘You know, there are a hell of a lot of clubs that have called to invite me to come and sing “I Want to Be Your Little Bunny”,’ Tina said. ‘Boozer said that a lot of record companies are going to call too.’

‘Sure, and what Boozer says is always true,’ Uffe snorted, rolling his eyes.

‘Shit, it’s going to be great to be rid of you, you’re so negative all the time!’ Tina snapped at Uffe and then demonstratively turned her back on him.

‘What about you, Mehmet?’ Everyone turned to look at Mehmet, who hadn’t said a word since they entered the café.

‘I’m going to stay here,’ he said, waiting defiantly for a reaction. He wasn’t disappointed.

Five pairs of incredulous eyes turned towards him. ‘What? You’re going to stay? Here?’ Calle looked as though Mehmet had been transformed into a frog before his very eyes.

‘Yes, I’m going to keep working at the bakery. I’ll sublet my flat for a while.’

‘And where are you going to live? With Simon, or what?’ Tina’s words rang out in the café, and Mehmet’s silence caused a shocked look to spread round the table.

‘You are? What’s the deal, are you two an item or what?’

‘No, we are not!’ Mehmet retorted. ‘Not that it’s any of your bloody business. We’re just … friends.’

‘Simon and Mehmet, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G,’ Uffe sang, laughing so hard he almost fell off his chair.

‘Cut it out, leave Mehmet alone,’ said Jonna almost in a whisper, which oddly enough made the others quiet down. ‘I think that’s a brave decision, Mehmet. You’re better than the rest of us!’

‘What do you mean, Jonna?’ said Lars kindly, cocking his head. ‘In what way is Mehmet better?’

‘He just is,’ said Jonna, pulling down her sleeves. ‘He’s nice. Kind and considerate.’

‘Aren’t you nice?’ Lars asked. The question seemed to contain many layers.

‘No,’ Jonna said quietly. In her mind’s eye she was replaying the scene outside the community centre and the hatred she’d felt towards Barbie. How hurt she’d been by what she’d heard Barbie had said about her, how much she’d wanted to hurt her back. She’d felt true satisfaction the instant she cut Barbie’s skin with the knife. A nice person wouldn’t have done that. But she didn’t mention any of that. Instead she looked out of the window at the traffic passing by. The cameramen had already packed up and gone home. That was what she had to do now too. Go home. To a big empty flat. To notes on the kitchen table telling her not to wait up. To brochures about various training courses that were left purposely out on the coffee table. To the silence.

‘So what are you going to do now?’ Uffe asked Lars, with a bit of a sarcastic tone. ‘Now that you won’t have us to pamper?’

‘I’ll find a way to keep busy,’ said Lars, taking a swallow of his sweet tea. ‘I’m going to work on my book, maybe open my own practice. And what about you, Uffe? You haven’t said what you’re going to do.’

With feigned nonchalance Uffe shrugged his shoulders. ‘Oh, nothing special. There’ll probably be a bar tour for a while. I’ll no doubt have to listen to that damn “I Want to Be Your Little Bunny” song till it’s coming out my ears.’ He glared at Tina. ‘Then, well, I don’t know. It’ll work out.’ For a moment the uncertainty was visible behind his tough-guy mask. Then it was gone again, and he laughed. ‘Just check out what I can do!’ He took the coffee spoon and hung it from his nose. Damn if he intended to waste time worrying about the future. Guys that could balance spoons on their nose would always get by.

When they left the café to go out to the bus that was waiting to take them away from Tanum, Jonna stopped for a moment. For an instant she thought she’d seen Barbie sitting among them. With that long blonde hair and those press-on nails that made it nearly impossible for her to do anything. Laughing, with that soft, sweet expression of hers. They’d all regarded it as a sign of weakness, but Jonna now realized that she’d been wrong. It wasn’t just Mehmet. Barbie had also been nice. For the first time she began to think about that Friday when everything had gone so wrong. About who had actually said what. About who’d been spreading those stories that Jonna now thought were lies. About who had pulled their strings like marionettes. Something was stirring in the back of her mind, but before the thought had fully emerged, the bus drove off from Tanumshede. She stared out of the window. The seat next to her was conspicuously empty.

Towards ten in the morning Patrik had begun to regret that he hadn’t forced himself to eat more breakfast. His stomach was growling, so he went to the break room looking for something edible. He was in luck. There was one lone cinnamon bun left in a bag on the table, and he shoved it hungrily into his mouth. Not the best snack, but it would have to do. He had no sooner returned to his office, his mouth full of bun, when the phone rang. He saw that it was Annika and tried to swallow the last bite, but it stuck in his throat. ‘Hello?’ he said with a cough.

‘Patrik?’

He swallowed a couple of times and managed to get the rest of the bun down. ‘Yes, it’s me.’

‘You have a visitor,’ she said, and he could hear from her tone that it was important.

‘Who is it?’

‘Sofie Kaspersen.’

He felt a spark of interest. Marit’s daughter? What could she want?

‘Send her in,’ he said and went out into the hall to wait for Sofie. She looked haggard and pale, and he vaguely recalled that Gösta had said something about her having a stomach flu when they visited her and Ola.

‘I hear you’ve been sick. Are you feeling better now?’ he said as he showed her into his office.

She nodded. ‘Yes, I had a touch of the flu. But it’s better now. I lost a few kilos is all,’ she said with a wry smile.

‘Oh, maybe I should get the flu too,’ he said with a laugh, as a way to lighten the mood. The girl looked shocked at the idea. There was an awkward pause. Patrik waited her out.

‘Have you found out anything more … about Mamma?’ she said at last.

‘No, I’m afraid we’ve hit a wall.’

‘So you don’t know what the connection is between her … and the others?’

‘No,’ Patrik said again, wondering what she was getting at. He went on cautiously, ‘There’s obviously something we haven’t discovered yet. Something we don’t know … about your mother, and the others.’

‘Hmm,’ was all Sofie said.

‘It’s important that we know everything. So that we can find the person who took your mother from you.’ He could hear the entreaty in his voice, but he could see that there was something Sofie wanted to tell him. Something about her mother.

After another long pause her hand gently touched the sleeve of his jacket. With her eyes lowered she took out a sheet of paper and held it out to Patrik. She raised her eyes again when he started to read, studying him intently.

‘Where did you find this?’ Patrik said when he’d finished reading. He felt a tingling sensation in his stomach.

‘In a drawer. In Pappa’s room. But it was with Mamma’s things that she had saved. It was in with a bunch of photos and stuff.’

‘Does your pappa know that you found this?’

Sofie shook her head. Her straight dark hair danced round her face. ‘No, and he won’t be happy about it. But the officers that came by last week said to contact you if we knew anything, and I felt that I should tell you. For Mamma’s sake,’ she added, and went back to studying her cuticles.

‘You did the right thing,’ Patrik said. ‘We needed to have this information, and I do believe you may have given us the key.’ He couldn’t hide his excitement. So much now fitted together. Other pieces of the puzzle were whirling round in his head: Börje’s criminal record, Rasmus’s injuries, Elsa’s guilt – it all made sense.

‘May I take this?’ He waved the paper.

‘Could you make a copy instead?’ Sofie said.

‘Absolutely. And if your pappa makes a fuss, tell him to call me. You did the right thing.’

He made a copy on the machine out in the corridor, gave Sofie back the original, and then escorted her out. He stood watching as she trudged across the street, her head lowered and her hands stuck deep in her pockets. She seemed to be headed over to Kerstin’s. He hoped so. Those two needed each other more than they realized.

With triumph in his eyes he went back inside to set everything in motion. At long last they had their breakthrough!

The past week had been the best in Bertil Mellberg’s life. He could hardly believe this was happening. Rose-Marie had slept over two more times, and even though his nocturnal activities were beginning to leave their mark in the form of dark rings under his eyes, it was worth it. He caught himself walking about and humming, and he even made an occasional jump for joy. But only when no one was looking.

She was fantastic. He couldn’t get over what luck he’d had. It was amazing that this vision of a woman had picked him as her chosen one. No, he just couldn’t understand it. And they had already begun talking about the future. They had shyly agreed that they did have a future together. No doubt about that. Mellberg, who had always had a healthy reluctance to carry on a long-term relationship, now could hardly contain himself.

They had talked a lot about the past too. He had told her about Simon and proudly showed her a picture of his son who had come into his life so late. Rose-Marie had commented on how handsome he was, so like his father; she said that she really looked forward to meeting him. She herself had a daughter up north in Kiruna and one in the States. So far away, both of them, she’d said with sorrow in her voice, and she showed him pictures of her two grandchildren who lived in America. Maybe they could take a trip over there together next summer, Rose-Marie had suggested, and he had nodded eagerly. America – he’d never dreamed of travelling so far. To tell the truth, he’d never even been outside the borders of Sweden before. A brief trip across the bridge to Norway at Svinesund hardly counted as foreign travel. But Rose-Marie was opening a whole new world for him. She had just begun to think about buying a time-share condo in Spain, she told him as she lay in his arms one night. A white stucco house with a balcony, a view over the Mediterranean, its own pool, and bougainvillea climbing up the façade, smelling so wonderful in the warm air. Mellberg could picture it. How he and Rose-Marie would sit on the balcony on a warm summer evening with their arms round each other, sipping their ice-cold drinks. A thought had then occurred to him and refused to let go. In the darkness of the bedroom he had turned his face to hers and solemnly suggested that they buy the apartment together. He waited nervously for her reaction; at first she hadn’t been as enthusiastic as he’d hoped; she seemed a bit uneasy. Then they’d talked about having to get legal documents for everything so that it wouldn’t lead to any arguments about money. That wouldn’t do at all. He had smiled and kissed the tip of her nose. She was so cute when she was worried. But at last they’d agreed to do it.

As Mellberg sat there in his office chair with his eyes closed he could almost feel the warm breeze on his cheeks. The scent of sun-tan oil and fresh peaches. The curtains fluttering in the wind that brought the smell of the sea. He saw himself leaning over to Rose-Marie, lifting the brim of her sun hat, and … A knock on his door woke him out of his daydream.