Authors: Camilla Lackberg
The publishing director brushed a few crumbs from a chair before sitting down at the kitchen table. Erica quickly grabbed a dishcloth and ran it over the tabletop, which she hadn’t had time to do since breakfast and then Anna had come to visit.
‘My sister was just here,’ she explained, removing the empty ice-cream container.
‘I hope you know it’s a myth that you can eat for two when you’re pregnant,’ said Gaby, staring at Erica’s enormous stomach.
‘Hmm,’ said Erica, restraining herself from giving a caustic reply. Gaby wasn’t known for being particularly tactful. Her own slender figure was the result of a disciplined diet and regular workouts with a personal trainer at the downtown Stockholm health club Sturebadet three times a week. Nor did her body show any signs of past pregnancies. Her career had always been her highest priority.
Out of pure spite, Erica set a platter of pastries on the table and pushed it over towards Gaby.
‘Wouldn’t you like a pastry?’ She watched as Gaby was torn between her desire to be polite and a desperate urge to say ‘No, thanks.’ Finally she reached a compromise.
‘I’ll take half of one, if you don’t mind.’ Gaby carefully broke off a piece, with a look on her face as if she were about to stuff a cockroach in her mouth.
‘So you said you wanted to talk to me about Christian, right?’ said Erica. She couldn’t restrain her curiosity.
‘Yes. I can’t understand what’s going on with him.’ Gaby seemed relieved that the pastry dilemma was over, and she took a big gulp of coffee to wash down the piece she had eaten. ‘He says he refuses to do any more promotion for his book, but that’s just not right. It’s unprofessional!’
‘He does seem to be taking all the media attention rather hard,’ Erica ventured, again feeling guilty about her own part in the whole affair.
Gaby gestured with her well-manicured fingers. ‘I know. And I do understand that. But it’ll soon blow over, and all the fuss has given book sales a real boost. People are curious about him and about his novel. I mean, in the end, Christian is going to reap the benefits. And he must realize that we’ve put a tremendous amount of time and money into launching him and his work. So we expect some cooperation from him in return.’
‘Sure, of course,’ murmured Erica, although she was unsure of her own stand on this issue. On the one hand, she understood Christian’s attitude. It must be awful to have his personal life exposed in the media like that. He was just starting his writing career, and the attention he received at this point was supposed to serve him well for many years to come.
‘Why don’t you talk to him about this yourself?’ she asked cautiously. ‘Shouldn’t you be having this discussion with Christian?’
‘We had a meeting yesterday,’ replied Gaby curtly. ‘And you might say that it didn’t go very well.’ She pressed her lips together as if to underscore what she’d just said. Erica realized that it must have been a real disaster.
‘Oh, that’s unfortunate. But I think Christian is under a lot of stress right now, and maybe we should overlook –’
‘I understand, but at the same time, I’m running a business and we have a contract with Christian. Even though it doesn’t spell out in detail what his obligations are regarding dealing with the press, helping with marketing efforts, and so on, it’s understood that we expect certain things from him. Some authors may get away with acting like hermits and not participating in events that they consider beneath them. But those writers are already established and have a big audience for their books. Christian isn’t there yet, not by a long shot. He may reach that position some day, but an author’s career isn’t built overnight, and with the flying start that he’s had with
The Mermaid
, he owes it to himself and to his publishing house to make certain sacrifices.’ Gaby paused, giving Erica a stern look. ‘I was hoping that you might explain this to him.’
‘Me?’ Erica didn’t know what to say. She wasn’t at all convinced that she was the right person to persuade Christian to throw himself to the wolves again. Especially
since she was the one who had lured them to his door in the first place.
‘I don’t know if that would be such a good –’ She searched for a diplomatic way of declining the task, but Gaby cut her off.
‘Excellent. Then that’s decided. You’ll go see him and explain what we expect from him.’
‘But what …’ Erica looked at Gaby, wondering what on earth she had said that might be interpreted as an affirmative response. But Gaby was already getting to her feet. She smoothed down her skirt, picked up her purse, and slung the strap over her shoulder.
‘Thanks for the coffee and the chat. I’m glad we have such a great working relationship, you and I.’ She leaned down and air-kissed Erica on both cheeks and then clacked across the floor, heading for the front door.
‘Don’t bother getting up. I can find my way out,’ she called over her shoulder. ‘Bye bye.’
‘Bye bye,’ replied Erica with a wave. This time it wasn’t like being hit by a train – it was like being completely smashed flat.
Patrik and Gösta jumped in the car and headed out within five minutes of receiving the call. At first Kenneth Bengtsson could hardly manage more than a few words, but after a moment Patrik understood what he was trying to say. His wife had been murdered.
‘What the hell is going on here anyway?’ Gösta shook his head, keeping a tight grip on the handle fastened above the window on the passenger side of the car. He always did that when Patrik was driving. ‘Do you really need to take the curves so fast? I’m practically plastered to the windscreen.’
‘Sorry.’ Patrik slowed down a bit, but it wasn’t long before his foot was again pressing down on the accelerator.
‘What’s going on, you ask? That’s what I’d like to know too,’ he said with a grimace as he cast a glance in the rear-view mirror to make sure that Paula and Martin were close behind.
‘What did he say? Did she have stab wounds too?’ asked Gösta.
‘I couldn’t get much out of him. He sounded like he was in shock. He just said that he came home to find his wife murdered.’
‘From what I’ve heard, she didn’t have long to live,’ said Gösta. He loathed anything having to do with illness and death. For most of his life he’d been waiting to come down with some sort of incurable disease. All he wanted was to get in as many games of golf as possible before that happened. But right now Patrik looked more like a victim of ill health than he did.
‘You don’t look so good, by the way.’
‘You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,’ said Patrik, annoyed. ‘You have no idea what it’s like to have both a full-time job and a toddler at home. Impossible to keep up, impossible to get enough sleep.’ Patrik regretted his words as soon as they left his lips. He knew that the greatest sorrow in Gösta’s life was that his son had died shortly after birth.
‘Forgive me. That was stupid,’ he said.
Gösta nodded. ‘That’s okay.’
Neither of them spoke for a while. They listened to the sound of the tyres on the road as they drove along the motorway, heading for Fjällbacka.
‘It’s nice about Annika and the little girl she’s going to adopt,’ said Gösta at last, his expression softening.
‘Yes, but it certainly is a long wait,’ said Patrik, glad to talk about something else.
‘I’m surprised it takes so long. I had no idea. I mean, the child is there, so what’s the problem?’ Gösta was almost
as frustrated about it as Annika and her husband Lennart were.
‘Bureaucracy,’ said Patrik. ‘And I suppose we should be grateful that they check up on everyone properly and don’t hand over the children to just anybody.’
‘You’re right about that.’
‘Okay, we’re here.’ Patrik turned into the drive in front of the Bengtssons’ house and parked the car. A second later the other police car pulled up, with Paula at the wheel. When she turned off the engine, the only sound was the soughing of the wind in the nearby woods.
Kenneth Bengtsson opened the front door. His face was pale, and he looked confused.
‘Patrik Hedström,’ said Patrik, shaking hands with Kenneth. ‘Where is she?’ He motioned for his colleagues to wait outside. It would create problems for the crime-scene techs if they all tromped about inside the house. Kenneth opened the door wider and pointed down the hallway.
‘In there. I … would it be all right if I stay here?’ He was looking at Patrik, but his eyes had a blank look.
‘Stay here with my colleagues, and I’ll go inside,’ said Patrik, glancing at Gösta to get him to take charge of the victim’s spouse. Gösta’s skills as a police officer left a lot to be desired, but he had a talent for dealing with people, and Patrik knew that Kenneth would be in good hands. The medics would be arriving any minute. He had phoned them before leaving the station, so the ambulance should be here soon.
Patrik cautiously stepped inside and took off his shoes. He headed in the direction that Kenneth had indicated, assuming he meant the door at the end of the hall. It was closed, and Patrik stopped himself as he was about to touch the door handle. There might be fingerprints. Using his elbow, he pushed down on the handle and opened the door by leaning against it.
She was lying in bed with her eyes closed and her arms at her sides. She looked like she was sleeping. He took a couple of steps closer, looking for any injuries on the body. There was no blood, no wounds. But her body did show clear signs of her illness. Her bones were visible under the taut, dry skin, and her head looked bald under the scarf she was wearing. His heart ached at the thought of what she must have suffered, and what Kenneth must have suffered as he was forced to see his wife in this state. But there was nothing to indicate anything except that she had died in her sleep. Patrik carefully backed out of the room.
When he stepped outside into the cold again, Gösta was speaking in a soothing voice to Kenneth while Paula and Martin were helping the ambulance driver back his vehicle into the drive.
‘I went in to see her,’ Patrik told Kenneth in a low voice, putting his hand on the man’s shoulder. ‘And I don’t see any sign that she was murdered, as you said on the phone. From what I understand, your wife was seriously ill. Is that right?’
Kenneth nodded mutely.
‘Isn’t it more likely that she simply died in her sleep?’
‘No, she was murdered,’ Kenneth replied vehemently.
Patrik exchanged glances with Gösta. It wasn’t unusual for someone in shock to react oddly and say strange things.
‘Why do you think so? As I said, I just went in to see your wife, and there are no obvious injuries to her body, nothing to indicate anything … out of the ordinary.’
‘She was murdered!’ Kenneth insisted, and Patrik began to realize that there was nothing more they could do here. He would ask the medics to tend to the poor man.
‘Take a look at this!’ Kenneth pulled something out of his pocket and held it out to Patrik, who took it without
thinking. It was a small white piece of paper, folded in half. Patrik gave Kenneth an inquisitive look and then opened the paper. In black cursive script it said:
The truth about you killed her
.
Patrik instantly recognized the handwriting.
‘Where did you find this?’
‘In Lisbet’s hand. I took it out of her hand,’ Kenneth stammered.
‘And she didn’t write this herself?’ Patrik already knew the answer, but he still felt that he had to ask the question to remove any doubt. The handwriting was the same. And the few words conveyed the same sense of evil as the letter that Erica had taken from Christian.
As expected, Kenneth shook his head. ‘No,’ he said, holding up something else that Patrik hadn’t noticed he was clutching in his hand. ‘The same person sent these.’
Inside the plastic bag were several white envelopes. The address had been written with black ink in an elegant script. The same as on the piece of paper that Patrik was holding.
‘When did you get these?’ he asked, feeling his heart pounding hard.
‘We were just going to turn them over to the police,’ said Kenneth quietly, handing the plastic bag to Patrik.
‘Who do you mean by “we”?’
‘Erik and I. He received similar letters.’
‘Erik Lind? He has letters too?’ Patrik repeated, wanting to make sure that he’d heard correctly.
Kenneth nodded.
‘Why didn’t you tell the police about this before?’ Patrik tried to keep his frustration out of his voice. The man standing in front of him had just lost his wife, so this was not the proper time for reproaches.
‘I … we … It wasn’t until today that Erik and I realized that we’d both received these sorts of letters. And
we only heard about Christian getting threats when we read about it in the paper this weekend. I can’t speak for Erik, but for my part, I didn’t want to upset …’ His voice trailed off.
Patrik took another look at the letters inside the plastic bag. ‘Only three of them have an address and postmark on them. One of them just has your name on the envelope. How did that letter arrive?’
‘Someone came into the house last night and left it on the kitchen table.’ He hesitated, but Patrik didn’t speak, sensing that Kenneth had more to say. ‘And there was a knife lying next to the letter. One of our kitchen knives. I suppose that’s a message that could be interpreted several different ways.’ He began to cry as he went on. ‘I thought it was me that someone wanted to harm. Why Lisbet? Why kill Lisbet?’ He wiped away a tear with the back of his hand, apparently embarrassed to be crying in front of Patrik and the other officers.
‘We don’t know whether she was actually murdered,’ said Patrik gently. ‘But someone has definitely been inside your house. Do you have any idea who that might be? Or who would have sent you these letters?’ He kept his eyes fixed on Kenneth, wanting to see if there was any change in his expression. As far as he could tell, Kenneth was speaking the truth when he said:
‘I’ve thought a lot about it ever since the first letter appeared. That was right before Christmas. But I can’t think of anyone who would want to harm me. No one at all. I’ve never made any enemies in that way. I’m too … unimportant.’
‘What about Erik? How long has he been getting these letters?’