Authors: Camilla Lackberg
‘It’ll do,’ she said. She tried to take the tunic off by herself, but had to give up and let Anna help her.
‘Where’s the party?’ Anna asked as she smoothed out the tunic and put it back on the hanger.
‘At the Grand Hotel.’
‘Nice of the publisher to throw a launch party for a first-time author,’ said Anna, heading for the stairs.
‘The company is really enthusiastic about the book. And the advance orders are incredibly good for a first novel, so they’re more than happy to host a party. There seems to be plenty of support from the press as well, according to what I’ve heard from the publisher.’
‘So what do you think of the book? I assume you like it, or else you wouldn’t have recommended it to your publisher. But how good is it?’
‘It’s …’ Erica pondered what to say about the book as she cautiously made her way down the stairs, following her sister. ‘It’s magical. Dark and beautiful, disturbing and powerful and … well, magical is the best word I can think of to describe it.’
‘Christian must be over the moon.’
‘Yes, I suppose he is.’ Erica sounded a bit doubtful as she went into the kitchen. Knowing where everything was, she went straight for the coffee-maker. ‘At the same time he seems …’ She stopped talking so she wouldn’t lose count as she spooned coffee into the filter. ‘He was ecstatic when his book was accepted for publication, but I get the feeling the writing process has stirred up something for him. It’s hard to say, because I don’t really know him that well. I’m not sure why he asked me for advice, but I was happy to help. And I do have a lot of experience when it comes to editing manuscripts, even though I don’t write novels. At first everything went smoothly, and Christian seemed open to all my suggestions. But towards the end he would sometimes withdraw when I wanted to discuss certain issues. I can’t really explain it. But he
is
a bit eccentric. Maybe that’s all there is to it.’
‘Then I suppose he found the right profession,’ said Anna solemnly.
Erica turned to face her. ‘So now I’m not only fat but eccentric too?’
‘And don’t forget absent-minded.’ Anna nodded towards the coffee-maker that Erica had just turned on. ‘It helps if you put water in it first.’
The coffee-maker puffed in agreement, and with a stern look at her sister Erica shut it off.
Moving as if on automatic, she took care of all the usual household chores. She put the dishes in the dishwasher after rinsing off the plates and cutlery. She cleaned the food scraps out of the plughole with her hand and scrubbed the sink with the dish brush and soap. Then she wet the dishcloth, wrung it out, and wiped the kitchen table to remove any remaining crumbs and sticky spots.
‘Mamma, can I go over to Sandra’s?’ Elin asked as she came into the kitchen. The defiant look on the fifteen-year-old’s face showed that she was resigned in advance to hearing a negative response.
‘You know you can’t do that. Grandpa and Grandma are coming over tonight.’
‘But they come over so often. Why do I have to be here every time?’ Elin’s voice rose, taking on the whiny tone that Cia couldn’t stand.
‘You and Ludvig are who they want to see. You know they’d be disappointed if you weren’t here.’
‘But it’s so boring! And Grandma always starts crying, and then Grandpa tells her to stop. I want to go to over to Sandra’s house. All my friends are going to be there.’
‘Now you’re exaggerating,’ said Cia, rinsing out the dishcloth and hanging it over the tap. ‘I doubt they’ll “all” be there. You can go to Sandra’s some other night, when Grandma and Grandpa aren’t coming to visit.’
‘Pappa would’ve let me go.’
Cia’s lungs seemed to constrict. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t handle the anger and defiance right now. Magnus would have known how to deal with things. He would have handled the situation with Elin. But she couldn’t do it. Not by herself.
‘Pappa isn’t here now.’
‘So where is he?’ Elin shrieked, and the tears began to flow. ‘Where did he go? He probably just got tired of you and your nagging. You … you … bitch!’
Utter silence settled over Cia’s mind. It was as if all sound vanished and everything around her was transformed into a grey fog.
‘He’s dead.’ Her voice sounded like it was coming from somewhere else, as if a stranger were speaking.
Elin stared at her.
‘He’s dead,’ Cia said again. She felt strangely calm, as if she were hovering above herself and her daughter, peacefully observing the scene.
‘You’re lying,’ Elin said, her chest heaving as if she had run several miles.
‘I’m not lying. That’s what the police think. And I know it’s true.’ When she heard herself say the words, she realized how true the statement was. She had refused to believe it, clinging to a faint hope. But the truth was that Magnus was dead.
‘How do you know that? How do the police know?’
‘He wouldn’t just leave us.’
Elin shook her head as if to prevent the idea from taking hold. But Cia saw that her daughter knew it too. Magnus would never simply up and leave them.
She took a few steps across the kitchen floor and put her arms around her daughter. Elin stiffened, but then relaxed and allowed herself to be embraced, as if she were a little child. Cia stroked Elin’s hair as the girl sobbed harder.
‘Hush now,’ Cia whispered, feeling her own strength grow as her daughter surrendered to grief. ‘You can go to Sandra’s this evening. I’ll explain to Grandma and Grandpa.’
Christian Thydell looked at himself in the mirror. Sometimes he really didn’t know how to relate to his own appearance. He was forty years old. Somehow the years had raced by, and he found himself gazing at a man
who was not only grown up but who had even begun to go grey at the temples.
‘How distinguished you look.’
Christian jumped as Sanna appeared behind him and put her arms around his waist.
‘You scared me. Don’t sneak up on me like that.’ He extricated himself from her embrace and caught a glimpse of her disappointed expression in the mirror before he turned round.
‘Sorry.’ She sat down on the bed.
‘You look lovely too,’ he said, and felt even guiltier when he saw how the compliment made her eyes light up. But he also felt annoyed. He hated it when she acted like a little puppy wagging its tail at the slightest attention from its master. His wife was ten years younger, but sometimes it felt as if there were at least twenty years between them.
‘Could you help me with my tie?’ He went over to Sanna, who got up and knotted it expertly. It was perfect on the first try, and she took a step back to inspect her work.
‘You’re going to be a big hit tonight.’
‘Mmm …’ he said, mostly because he didn’t know what she expected him to say.
‘Mamma! Nils hit me!’ Melker dashed into the room as if a pack of wolves was after him. Looking for refuge, he wrapped his sticky fingers around the first things within reach: Christian’s legs.
‘Damn!’ Christian brusquely shook off his five-year-old son, but it was too late. Both trouser legs now had bright splotches of ketchup around the knees. He struggled to keep his temper – something that was proving more and more difficult lately.
‘Can’t you keep the kids in line?’ he snapped, demonstratively unbuttoning his suit trousers so he could change.
‘I’m sure I can clean that off,’ said Sanna as she grabbed
for Melker, who was on his way towards the bed with his sticky fingers.
‘And how do you expect to do that, when I have to be there in an hour? I’ll just have to change.’
‘But I think I can …’ Sanna sounded on the verge of tears.
‘Look after the kids instead.’
Sanna flinched at every word, as if he had struck her. Without replying, she took Melker by the arm and hustled him out of the room.
After she left, Christian sat down heavily on the bed. He glanced at himself in the mirror. A tight-lipped man. Dressed in a suit jacket, shirt, tie, and underwear. Hunched over as if all the troubles of the world were resting on his shoulders. He tried straightening up and puffing out his chest. He looked better already.
This was his night. And nobody could take it away from him.
‘Anything new?’ asked Gösta Flygare as he held up the coffee pot towards Patrik, who had just stepped into the police station’s little kitchen.
Patrik nodded that he’d like some coffee and sank down on to a chair at the table. Ernst the dog, hearing that they were taking a break, came plodding into the room and lay down under the table in the hope some morsel would be dropped on the floor for him to lick up.
‘Here you go.’ Gösta placed a cup of black coffee in front of Patrik and then sat down across from him.
‘You’re looking a bit pale around the gills,’ said Gösta, studying his younger colleague.
Patrik shrugged. ‘Just a bit tired. Maja isn’t sleeping well and that makes her cranky. And Erica is totally worn out. Understandably so. Which means things haven’t exactly been easy on the home front.’
‘And it’s only going to get worse,’ said Gösta.
Patrik laughed. ‘Wow, that’s encouraging. But you’re right, it probably will.’
‘So you haven’t come up with anything new on Magnus Kjellner?’ Gösta discreetly sneaked a biscuit under the table, and Ernst happily thumped his tail against Patrik’s feet.
‘No, not a thing,’ said Patrik, taking a sip of coffee.
‘I saw that Cia was here again.’
‘Yes, it’s like some sort of obsessive ritual – but I suppose that’s not surprising. How is a woman supposed to act when her husband suddenly vanishes?’
‘Maybe we should interview some more people,’ said Gösta, sneaking another biscuit under the table for Ernst.
‘Who do you have in mind?’ Patrik could hear how annoyed he sounded. ‘We’ve talked to his family and his friends. We’ve knocked on doors throughout the neighbourhood, and we’ve put up notices and appealed for information via the local paper. What else can we do?’
‘It’s not like you to give up so easily.’
‘Well, if you’ve got any suggestions, I’d like to hear them.’ Patrik immediately regretted his brusque tone of voice, even though Gösta didn’t seem to take offence. ‘It sounds terrible to hope that the man will turn up dead,’ he added in a calmer manner. ‘But I’m convinced that only then will we work out what happened to him. I’ll bet you he didn’t disappear voluntarily, and if we had a body then at least there’d be something to go on.’
‘I think you’re right. It’s horrible to think that his body will float ashore somewhere or be discovered in the woods. But I have the same feeling you do. And it must be awful …’
‘Not to know, you mean?’ said Patrik, shifting his feet, which were getting hot underneath the heavy weight of the dog.
‘Well, just imagine not knowing where the person you love has gone. It’s the same thing for parents when a child goes missing. There’s an American website devoted to kids who have disappeared. Page after page of pictures of missing kids. All I can say is Jesus H. Christ.’
‘Something like that would kill me,’ said Patrik. He pictured his whirlwind of a daughter. The thought of her being taken from him was unbearable.
‘What on earth are you guys talking about? The atmosphere in here is positively funereal.’ Annika’s cheerful voice broke the dismal mood as she joined them at the table. The station’s youngest member, Martin Molin, came in right behind her, lured by all the voices coming from the kitchen and the smell of coffee. He was working only part-time now, since he was on paternity leave, and he seized every possible opportunity to hang out with his colleagues and take part in adult conversations.
‘We were discussing Magnus Kjellner,’ said Patrik, his tone of voice making it clear that the conversation was over. To make sure the others understood, he changed the subject.
‘How’s it going with the little girl?’
‘Oh, we got new pictures yesterday,’ said Annika, taking some photos out of the pocket of her tunic.
‘Look how big she’s getting.’ She put the pictures on the table, and Patrik and Gösta took turns looking at them. Martin had already been given a preview when he arrived that morning.
‘Ah, she’s so pretty,’ said Patrik.
Annika nodded in agreement. ‘She’s ten months old now.’
‘When do you two get to go there to collect her?’ Gösta asked with genuine interest. He was fully aware that he had played a part in convincing Annika and Lennart to seriously consider adoption. So he took a
slightly proprietary interest in the little girl in the photographs.
‘Well, we’re getting some mixed messages,’ Annika told him. She gathered up the pictures and put them carefully back in her pocket. ‘But in a couple of months, I should think.’
‘It must seem like a long wait.’ Patrik got up and put his cup in the dishwasher.
‘Yes, it does. But at the same time … At least the process has been started. And we know that she’ll be ours.’
‘Yes, she certainly will,’ said Gösta. On impulse he put his hand on Annika’s and then snatched it away. ‘Right, back to work. Haven’t got time to sit around here chatting,’ he muttered in embarrassment, getting to his feet.
His three colleagues looked at him in amusement as he slouched out of the kitchen.
‘Christian!’ The publishing director, reeking of perfume, came over to give him a big hug.
Christian held his breath so he wouldn’t have to inhale the cloying scent. Gaby von Rosen was not known for subtlety. Everything was always excessive when it came to Gaby: too much hair, too much make-up, too much perfume, all combined with a fashion sense that, putting it politely, could best be described as startling. This evening, in honour of the occasion, she wore a shocking pink ensemble with a green cloth rose on the lapel, and teetered on dangerously high stilettos. But despite her slightly ridiculous appearance, as the head of Sweden’s hot new publishing house she was a force to be reckoned with. She had over thirty years’ experience in the field and an intellect as acute as her tongue was sharp. Those who underestimated her as a competitor never made the same mistake twice.
‘This is going to be such fun!’ Gaby held Christian at arm’s length as she beamed at him.