Authors: Camilla Lackberg
‘I assure you that I fully understand how serious this is. But I’m staying here.’
‘If you change your mind, you know where to find me. And as I said, I don’t believe you for a minute when you say that you know nothing about this. I hope you realize what you’re putting at risk by not speaking up. No matter what it is you’re keeping back, we’ll find out what it is sooner or later. It’s just a matter of whether we find out before or after somebody else gets hurt.’
‘How’s Kenneth?’ muttered Christian, avoiding looking Patrik in the eye.
‘All I know is that he was injured. Nothing more.’
‘What happened?’
‘Someone stretched a cord across the path and spread a thick layer of broken glass on the ground. So maybe now you’ll understand why I’m asking for your cooperation.’
Christian didn’t reply. He turned away and looked out
of the window. His face was as pale as the snow outside, and his jaws were clenched. But his voice was cold and devoid of any emotion as he repeated, his eyes fixed on some distant spot:
‘I know nothing. I. Know. Nothing.’
‘Does it hurt?’ Martin looked at the man’s bandaged arms resting on top of the blanket. Kenneth nodded.
‘Are you up to answering a few questions?’ Gösta pulled over a chair and motioned for Martin to do the same.
‘Seeing as how you’ve already sat down, it seems you assume that I’m up for it,’ said Kenneth with a faint smile.
Martin couldn’t take his eyes off the bandages. It must have hurt like hell, falling on to all that glass and then having the pieces removed.
He cast an uncertain glance at Gösta. Sometimes it felt as if he’d never have enough experience to know how to proceed in the situations that he landed in as a police officer. Should he just plunge in and start asking questions? Or should he show respect for his older colleague and let him steer the conversation? It was such a balancing act. He was always the youngest, always the one sent off to do one thing or another. He too would have preferred to stay at Christian’s house, which was what Gösta had been muttering about all the way out to Uddevalla. He would have liked to interview Christian and his wife, to talk with Torbjörn and his team when they arrived; to have been in the thick of things.
He was disappointed that Patrik usually chose to work with Paula, even though Martin had joined the station a couple of years before she arrived. Of course she had experience from working in Stockholm, while he had spent his entire brief career on the Tanumshede police force. But was that necessarily such a negative thing? He knew the area, he was familiar with all the resident
troublemakers, he knew how people thought and how a small town operated. In fact, he had even gone to school with a couple of the worst offenders, while they were complete unknowns to Paula. And after the rumours about her personal life had spread through the district like wildfire, many people had started eyeing her with suspicion. Martin himself had nothing against those who chose to live with a partner of the same sex, but many of the people they dealt with on a daily basis were not as understanding. So it seemed a little odd that Patrik kept on choosing Paula to work with him. All Martin wanted was to get a certain amount of respect from his colleagues. He wished they would stop treating him like some young whippersnapper. He really wasn’t all that young any more. And now he was a father too.
‘I’m sorry?’ Martin was so immersed in his own gloomy thoughts that he’d missed what Gösta had said to him.
‘I was just saying that maybe you’d like to start.’
Martin stared at Gösta in surprise. Was he a mind-reader? But he seized the opportunity and asked:
‘Could you tell us in your own words what happened?’
Kenneth reached for a glass of water standing on the table next to his bed before he realized that he couldn’t use his hands.
‘Wait, let me do it.’ Martin picked up the glass and helped him take a drink through a straw. Then Kenneth leaned back against the pillows. In a calm and matter-of-fact voice, he recounted what had happened to him, starting with tying his shoes before going out for his usual morning run.
‘What time did you leave the house?’ Martin had taken out a notebook and pen.
‘Six forty-five,’ replied Kenneth, and Martin wrote down the time without hesitation. It was his impression
that if Kenneth said it was six forty-five, then that was the time. Without a doubt.
‘Do you always go running at the same time each morning?’ Gösta leaned back with his arms crossed.
‘Yes, give or take ten minutes or so.’
‘And you didn’t consider not … I mean, given that …’ Martin stammered.
‘You didn’t consider skipping your run, given that your wife died yesterday?’ Gösta interjected, without sounding unkind. And without turning the question into an accusation.
Kenneth didn’t respond immediately. He swallowed hard and then said in a low voice:
‘If there was ever a morning when I needed to go running, it was today.’
‘I understand,’ said Gösta. ‘Do you always take the same route?’
‘Yes, except sometimes on the weekend, when I do it twice. I suppose I’m a bit of a stick-in-the-mud. I don’t like surprises, adventures, or things that change.’ He fell silent. Gösta and Martin both knew what he was thinking about and didn’t say a word.
Kenneth cleared his throat and turned away so they wouldn’t see the tears welling up in his eyes. He cleared his throat again so he’d be able to speak without faltering.
‘As I said, I like routines. I’ve been running the same route now for over ten years.’
‘And I assume that plenty of people are aware of that, right?’ Martin looked up from his notebook after jotting down
10 years
and drawing a circle round it.
‘There’s never been any reason to keep it a secret.’ A smile suddenly appeared on Kenneth’s face, but vanished just as swiftly.
‘Did you meet anyone while you were out running this morning?’ asked Gösta.
‘No, not a soul. I seldom do. Sometimes I’ll see someone who’s up early walking their dog, or someone out pushing a pram. But that rarely happens. Usually I’m alone on the path. Like this morning.’
‘And you didn’t see a car parked somewhere near your route?’ Martin received an appreciative glance from Gösta when he asked that question.
Kenneth paused to consider. ‘No, I don’t think so. I can’t say for sure. It’s possible that someone was there and I just didn’t see them. But no, I’m sure I would have noticed.’
‘So there was nothing out of the ordinary?’ Gösta persisted.
‘No, it was just like every other morning. Except that …’ His words hung in the air and tears began spilling down his cheeks.
Martin was ashamed that he found it embarrassing to see Kenneth cry. He felt at a loss for words and didn’t know whether he should do something or not. But Gösta calmly reached across Kenneth and took a tissue from the table. Then he gently wiped the tears from Kenneth’s face. After that, he again reached across and put the tissue back on the table.
‘Have you heard anything yet?’ whispered Kenneth. ‘About Lisbet?’
‘No, it’s much too early for that. It’ll be a while before we know what the medical examiner can tell us.’
‘She killed her.’ The man in the bed flinched and then seemed to shrivel up, staring into space.
‘Sorry, what did you just say?’ asked Gösta, leaning forward. ‘Who is “she”? Do you know who did this to you and your wife?’
Martin could tell that Gösta was holding his breath. He was too.
Something flashed in Kenneth’s eyes.
‘I have no idea,’ he said firmly.
‘You said “she”,’ Gösta pointed out.
Kenneth avoided looking at him. ‘The handwriting on the letters looks like it was done by a woman. So I’m just assuming that it’s a “she”.’
‘Ah, so that’s it,’ said Gösta, making it clear to Kenneth that he didn’t believe him, although he wasn’t going to say that to the man’s face. ‘There must be something that has made the four of you the targets. Magnus, Christian, Erik, and you. Someone has unfinished business with you. And all of you – well, except for Magnus – insist that you have no idea who is doing this, or why. But there must be an intense hatred behind such actions. The question is: what prompted that hatred? I have a hard time believing that none of you knows anything. You must at least have a theory.’ He leaned close to Kenneth.
‘It must be someone who’s mentally disturbed. I can’t think of any other explanation.’ Kenneth turned away again, pressing his lips tight.
Martin exchanged glances with Gösta. They both knew that they weren’t going to get anything more out of Kenneth. At least not for the time being.
Erica stared at the phone in shock. Patrik had called from the station to tell her that he was going to be late. Briefly he had also explained why, and she could hardly believe what she’d heard. To think that someone had gone after Christian’s children. And after Kenneth too. A cord strung across the path – simple but brilliant.
Her brain immediately began working overtime. There must be some way to make the investigation go faster. She could hear how frustrated Patrik had sounded, and she sympathized. The chain of events had begun to escalate, and the police were no closer to a solution.
She weighed the mobile in her hand as she thought
things over. Patrik would be furious if she interfered in any way. But she was used to doing research for her books. Of course, what she wrote dealt with crimes that had already been solved, but it shouldn’t be much different to take a closer look at an ongoing investigation. And besides, it was so dreary just to hang around the house. She was itching to do something useful.
She could also rely on her gut instinct. It had helped her so many times in the past. Right now it was telling her that the answer would be found with Christian. After all, he had been the first to receive letters, he was very secretive about his past, and he was clearly nervous. Small but crucial factors. And after their conversation in the boathouse, she’d had the feeling that Christian knew something; there was something he was hiding.
Quickly, so as not to have time to regret her decision, she threw on her winter coat. As she drove, she would ring Anna and ask her if she could pick up Maja from the day-care centre. She’d be home before evening, but not in time to collect her daughter. It took an hour and a half to drive to Göteborg; that was quite a distance to go, just on a whim. But if she didn’t find out anything, she could always drop by to see Göran, her newly discovered half-brother.
The idea that she and Anna had a big brother was still almost incomprehensible. It had been upsetting to find out that during the Second World War their mother had given birth to a son and then given him up for adoption. But the dramatic events that had led to all this coming to light last summer had ended up producing something positive, and she and Anna had developed a close relationship with Göran. Erica knew that she was always welcome to stop by to see him and the woman he had grown up calling his mother.
Anna agreed at once to pick up Maja, who was much
beloved by all the children, both Anna’s and Dan’s. Erica had no doubt that her daughter would come home worn out from playing, and stuffed with sweets.
Then Erica turned her attention to the task at hand. The work she had done writing books about real murders – books that had proved a big hit with the public – had provided good training in doing research. She just wished that she knew Christian’s civil registration number; that would have saved her a number of conversations. But she’d have to make do with his name. It suddenly came to her that Sanna had once mentioned that Christian was living in Göteborg when they met. At the library May had mentioned Trollhättan, and that was still nagging at Erica, but she decided that Göteborg had to be the logical place to start. That was where he had lived before coming to Fjällbacka, so she would begin there. She hoped she could then backtrack if necessary. She had absolutely no doubt that the truth lay in Christian’s past.
After speaking to four different people, she finally had something: the address where Christian used to live before he moved to Fjällbacka with Sanna. Erica stopped at a Statoil petrol station just outside of Göteborg and bought a map of the city. She also took time to use the loo and stretch her legs. It was terribly uncomfortable to drive with two babies in between her and the steering wheel. Her back and legs felt stiff and achy.
Just as she had wedged herself back into the driver’s seat, her mobile rang. Balancing her paper coffee cup in one hand, she grabbed the phone with the other and looked at the display. Patrik. She’d better let her voicemail take the call. She’d explain things later. Especially if she came home with something that might help the investigation. Then she could at least avoid some of the reproaches that she sensed were in the offing.
After one last glance at the map, she started up the car
and pulled back on to the motorway. It was a little more than seven years since Christian had lived at the address where she was now headed. She suddenly had some doubts. What were the odds that she’d find anything that Christian might have left there? People moved all the time without leaving any trace behind.
Erica sighed. Well, she was already here, and Göran was sure to offer her a cup of coffee before she drove back home. So the drive wouldn’t have been totally in vain.
She heard a beep. Patrik had left a message on her mobile.
‘Where is everybody?’ Mellberg was still feeling groggy as he looked around. He’d dozed off for just a few minutes, and when he awoke the station was deserted. Had the others gone off to the café without asking his permission?
He rushed out to the reception area, where he found Annika.
‘What’s going on here? Does everybody think it’s already the weekend? Why isn’t anyone working? If they’re over at the bakery, they’re in for a reprimand when they get back. The municipality expects us to be on the job at all times, and we have an obligation’ – he started waving his finger in the air – ‘to be here when our fellow citizens need us.’ Mellberg loved to hear the sound of his own voice, particularly when he adopted an authoritative tone.