Christian was feeling more confident, and his heart had returned to its normal rhythm.
‘It means a lot that my publisher believes in me and is doing so much promotion for the book. But it does feel a little strange to be compared to other authors. We all have our own unique style of writing.’ Now he was on solid ground. He began to relax, and after a couple more questions, he felt as if he could have sat there and talked all day.
Kristin Kaspersen picked up something from the table and held it up to the camera. When he saw what it was, Christian again broke out in a sweat. Saturday’s issue of GT with his own name in large letters. The words ‘DEATH THREATS’ screamed at him. There was no more water in his glass, so he swallowed over and over, trying to wet his dry mouth.
‘It’s becoming a rather common phenomenon in Sweden for celebrities to be subjected to threats. But this started up even before your name became known to the general public. Who do you think has been sending you these threatening letters?’
At first he uttered only a croaking sound, but then he managed to say:
‘This is something that has been taken out of context and blown all out of proportion. There are always people who are jealous or who have psychological problems, and … well, I don’t really have anything more to say about it.’ His whole body felt tense, and under the table he wiped his hands on his trousers.
‘I’d like to thank you for coming to talk to us about your critically acclaimed novel, The Mermaid.’ Anders Kraft held up the book to the camera and smiled. Relief flooded over Christian when he realized that the interview was over.
‘That went very well,’ said Kristin Kaspersen, gathering up her papers.
‘Yes, it did,’ said Anders Kraft, standing up. ‘Excuse me, but I have to go MC the game show now.’
The man wearing the headset freed Christian from the microphone cord so he could get up. He thanked Kristin and followed the stage manager out of the studio. His hands were still shaking. They went upstairs, past the catered food area and then out into the chill air. He felt dazed and confused, not sure that he was ready to meet Gaby at the publishing company, which was what they had agreed on.
As the taxi drove towards town, he stared out the window. And he knew that he had now lost all control.
‘Okay, how are we going to do this?’ Patrik was gazing out across the ice.
As usual, Torbjörn Ruud didn’t look the least bit worried. He always maintained a calm demeanour, no matter how difficult the task at hand. As one of the crime-scene technicians in Uddevalla, he was used to solving all sorts of problems.
‘We need to make a hole in the ice and pull him out with a rope.’
‘Will the ice hold up under your weight?’
‘With the proper equipment, there shouldn’t be any problem for the team. As I see it, the biggest risk is that we make a hole and then the body gets loose and slips away on the current under the ice.’
‘How are you going to prevent that from happening?’ asked Patrik.
‘We’ll start by making a small hole and getting a firm grip on the body before we break up any more ice.’
‘Have you ever done this sort of thing before?’ Patrik still wasn’t totally convinced.
‘Hmm …’ Torbjörn hesitated, seeming to ponder the question. ‘No, I don’t think we’ve ever had a body frozen in the ice before. I’d probably remember if we had.’
‘Right,’ said Patrik, again fixing his gaze on the spot where the body supposedly lay. ‘Go ahead and do what you have to do. I need to talk to the witness.’ Patrik had noticed that Mellberg was having an intense conversation with the man who had found the body. It was never a good idea to allow Bertil to spend too much time with anyone, whether a witness or anyone else.
‘Hello. My name is Patrik Hedström,’ he said as he went over to join Mellberg and the man he was talking to.
‘Göte Persson,’ replied the man, shaking hands. At the same time, he tried to rein in a lively golden retriever.
‘Rocky wants to go back out there. I had a lot of trouble getting him to return to dry land,’ said Göte, giving a sharp jerk on the dog’s lead to show him who was in charge.
‘Was it your dog who found him?’
Göte nodded. ‘Yes, he went out on the ice and refused to come in. He just stood there, barking. I was afraid he was going to fall through the ice, so I went after him. And then I saw …’ The man turned pale as he recalled the image of the dead face under the icy surface. Then he gave himself a shake and the colour returned to his cheeks. ‘Do you need me much longer? My daughter is on her way to the maternity clinic. It’s my first grandchild.’
Patrik smiled. ‘Then I can understand why you’d like to be off. Just hang on a little bit longer, and then we can let you go so you won’t miss anything.’
Göte seemed satisfied with that, so Patrik asked him a few more questions. But it was soon evident that the man had nothing more to contribute. He had simply had the bad luck to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, or maybe it was the right place at the right time, depending on the person’s point of view. After writing down his contact information, Patrik let Göte, the soon-to-be-grandfather, leave the scene. Limping slightly, but in a big hurry, he headed for the car park.
Patrik went back to the spot on the shoreline that was closest to the place where a tech was now methodically working to lower some sort of hook through a small hole bored in the ice and fasten it to the body. To be on the safe side, the tech was lying on his stomach with a rope around his waist. The rope and the line attached to the hook both ran all the way to shore. Torbjörn wasn’t taking any chances with his team.
‘As I said, when we’ve got a good hold on him, we’ll cut a bigger hole in the ice and then pull him out.’ Patrik jumped when he heard Torbjörn’s voice on his left. He’d been so focused on what was happening out on the ice that he hadn’t heard him approach.
‘Will you bring him ashore then?’
‘No, because we might end up losing any evidence that’s on his clothing. Instead, we’ll try to put him in a body bag out there on the ice before we bring him in.’
‘Would there really be any evidence left after he’s been in the water this long?’ asked Patrik sceptically.
‘Most of it has probably been destroyed. But you never know. There might be something in his pockets or in the folds of his clothes. It’s best not to take any chances.’
‘I’m sure you’re right about that.’ Patrik didn’t think it very likely that they’d find anything. He’d seen corpses get pulled out of the water before, and if they’d been there a while, there was never much left.
He shaded his eyes with his hand. The sun had climbed a little higher in the sky, and the blinding reflection off the ice brought tears to his eyes. He squinted and saw that the hook must now be securely fastened to the body, because a bigger hole was being cut in the ice. Slowly, very slowly, the body was pulled from the water. It was too far away for Patrik to see any details, and for that he was grateful.
Another tech cautiously crawled out on to the ice, and when the body was all the way out of the water, two pairs of hands carefully placed it inside a black body bag, which was then scrupulously closed. A nod to the men on shore, and the line went taut. Inch by inch, the bag was hauled towards land. Patrik instinctively backed up when it came close, but then cursed himself for being such a wimp. He asked the techs to open the bag and forced himself to look down at the man who had been under the ice. His suspicions were confirmed. He was almost positive that they had found Magnus Kjellner.
Patrik felt completely empty inside as he watched the techs seal the body bag closed, then lift it up and carry it over to the lawn above the bathing beach which served as a parking area. Ten minutes later the body was on its way to the forensics lab in Göteborg for the post-mortem. On the one hand, it meant that they would be able to provide some answers and follow some leads. There would be a resolution. On the other hand, as soon as the identity of the
body was confirmed, he would have to tell the family. And that was not something he looked forward to doing.
8
Finally the holiday was over. Father had packed up all their things, stowing them away inside the car and the caravan. Mother was lying in bed, as usual. She was even thinner, even paler. Now she said that all she wanted was to go home.
At last Father had told him why she looked so ill. It turned out that she wasn’t really sick. She had a baby inside her stomach. A little brother or little sister. He didn’t understand why that should make her feel so bad. But Father said that it did.
At first he was happy. A brother or sister to play with. But then he heard them talking, Mother and Father, and he understood. He now knew why he was not his mother’s handsome little boy any more, why she no longer stroked his hair, and why she looked at him the way she did. He knew who had taken her away from him.
Yesterday he had returned to the caravan, moving like an Indian brave. He sneaked up without making a sound, tiptoeing in his moccasins with a feather stuck in his hair. He was Angry Cloud, and Mother and Father were the palefaces. He could see them moving around inside the caravan behind the curtains. Mother was not in bed. She was up, talking, and Angry Cloud was glad, because maybe now she was feeling better, maybe the baby wasn’t making her sick any more. And she sounded happy, tired but happy. Angry Cloud crept closer, wanting to hear more of the paleface’s joyful voice. One step at a time, he moved closer until he was right under the open window. With his back pressed against the caravan, he shut his eyes and listened.
But he opened his eyes when they started talking about him. Then all of the blackness came pouring over him full force. He was back with her again, he had the horrid smell in his nostrils, he heard the silence echoing in his head.
Mother’s voice pierced through the silence, pierced through the darkness. As young as he was, he understood exactly what she was saying. She regretted becoming his mother, now they were going to have a child of their own. If only she’d known ahead of time, she would never have brought him home. And Father, with his grey and tired-sounding voice, said: ‘But the boy is here now, so we’ll just have to make the best of things.’
Angry Cloud didn’t move as he sat there, and at that moment his hatred was born. He couldn’t have put the feeling into words, but he knew that it felt both wonderful and terribly painful.
So while Father packed the car with the camp stove and their clothes and the tins of food and all sorts of other stuff, he packed his hatred. It filled up the entire seat where he was sitting in back. But he didn’t hate Mother. How could he? He loved her.
He hated the one who had taken her away from him.
Erica had driven over to the Fjällbacka library. She knew that Christian wasn’t at work. He’d done a good job on the Morning show, at least up until the end. When they started asking him about the threats, his nervousness became all too obvious. In fact, it was so painful to watch him turning bright red and starting to sweat that Erica had turned off the TV even before the interview was over.
And now here she was, pretending to scan the titles of the books on the shelves while she worked out how she was going to broach the real purpose of her visit: talking to Christian’s colleague, May. Because the more Erica thought about the letters, the more convinced she was that it couldn’t be a stranger who was threatening Christian. No, it felt too personal; the culprit had to be found among people who were part of Christian’s life, now or in the past.
The problem was that he’d always been extremely reluctant to talk about himself. This morning she’d decided to write down everything she’d ever heard about Christian and his background. She ended up sitting in front of a blank piece of paper, holding her pen in her hand. She realized that she really knew nothing about him. Even though she and Christian had spent a lot of time together editing his manuscript, and even though, in her opinion, they had become good friends, he had never told her anything about his private life. He never mentioned where he was from or the names of his parents or what sort of work they did. He hadn’t said where he’d gone to school, or whether he’d played any sports in his younger days. He never talked about friends he’d had or mentioned whether he was still in contact with any of them. She knew nothing about him.
That in itself set off the alarm bells. Because people always reveal little titbits about themselves in conversation, scraps of information that show what they were once like and what had made them who they’d become. The fact that Christian was so guarded about what he said made Erica even more certain that he was hiding something. The question was whether he’d been equally successful in keeping up his guard with everybody else. Maybe a colleague who worked with him every day might have learned something.
Erica cast a sidelong glance at May, who was typing at her computer. Fortunately they were the only two people in the library at the moment, so they could talk un disturbed. Finally she decided on a possible tactic. She couldn’t very well just come right out and ask May about Christian; she needed to take a more circuitous approach.
She pressed her hand to the small of her back, sighed heavily, and sank on to one of the chairs in front of the counter where May was sitting.
‘It must be hard for you. I heard you’re having twins,’ said May, giving Erica a look of maternal sympathy.
‘That’s right. I’ve got two of them inside here.’ Erica patted her stomach, trying to look as though she really needed to rest for a while. It didn’t take much acting on her part. Whenever she sat down, her whole back would relax in gratitude.
‘Just sit there and rest for a while.’
‘Thanks, I will,’ said Erica with a smile. After a moment she added, ‘Did you see Christian on TV this morning?’
‘No, I missed it, unfortunately. I was here at work. But I set up my DVD player to record the programme. At least I think it will. I’ll never be comfortable with all these modern machines. Did he do a good job?’
‘He certainly did. It’s great that his book is getting so much attention.’
‘Yes, I’m really proud of him,’ said May, her face lighting up. ‘I had no idea that he was a writer until I heard about his book being published. And what a book! The reviews have been fantastic.’
‘It’s really amazing, isn’t it?’ Erica fell silent for a moment. ‘Everybody who knows Christian must be so happy for him. I hope his former colleagues are too. Where was it he worked before he came to Fjällbacka?’ She tried to look as if she knew but just couldn’t remember.
‘Hmm …’ Unlike Erica, May seemed to be actually searching her memory. ‘You know what? Now that I think of it, I’ve actually never heard where he used to work. How strange. But Christian was already working here at the library by the time I was hired, and we’ve never talked about what he did before.’
‘So you don’t know where he’s from, or where he lived before moving to Fjällbacka?’ Erica could tell that she sounded a bit too interested, so she fought to maintain a more neutral tone. ‘I just happened to think about it today as I was watching the interview. I’ve always thought that he speaks with a Småland accent, but I suddenly seemed to hear traces of a different dialect, and I couldn’t really place it.’ Not a very good lie, but it would have to do.
May seemed to accept her explanation. ‘Well, he’s not from Småland, that much I can say with certainty. But otherwise I have no idea. Of course we talk to each other here at work, and Christian is so pleasant and amiable.’ She looked as if she were considering how to put her next thought into words. ‘Yet he always seems to put up a barrier with other people. As if he’s saying: “It’s okay to come this close, but no closer.” Maybe I’m being silly, but I’ve never asked him about personal matters because he has somehow signalled that those types of questions wouldn’t be welcome.’
‘I know what you mean,’ replied Erica. ‘So he’s never mentioned anything in passing?’
May paused to think. ‘No, I can’t recall … Wait a minute �
�’
‘Yes?’ said Erica, silently cursing her own impatience.
‘It was just a little thing. But I got the feeling that … One time we were talking about Trollhättan because I’d gone to visit my sister, who lives there. And he seemed to know the town. Then he looked as if he’d been caught off guard, and he started talking about something else. I specifically remember noticing that. The fact that he changed the subject so abruptly.’
‘Did you have the feeling that he might have lived there?’
‘I think so. Although, as I said, I can’t be sure.’
It wasn’t much to go on. But at least it gave her somewhere to start. In Trollhättan.
‘Come in, Christian!’ Gaby met him at the door, and he cautiously entered the white landscape that was the publishing company’s domicile. Even though Gaby, who was head of the company, preferred strong colours and an extravagant personal style, the office was spartanly furnished and tended towards pale pastel hues. But maybe that was intentional, because it provided the perfect backdrop for her to shine.
‘Would you like some coffee?’ She pointed to a coat rack with hangers and a shelf for hats. He hung up his jacket.
‘Yes, thanks. That would be nice.’ He followed Gaby as she led the way, her high heels clacking down the long corridor. The kitchen was decorated in colours as pale as the rest of the place, but the cups she took from the cupboard were a shocking pink, and there didn’t seem to be any others to choose from.
‘Latte? Cappuccino? Espresso?’ Gaby pointed at a gigantic coffee machine that dominated the counter. Christian paused to consider.
‘I’ll have a latte, please.’
‘Coming right up.’ She reached for his cup and began pressing buttons. When the coffee machine had stopped huffing and puffing, she motioned for Christian to follow her.
‘We’ll go to my office. There are too many people running around here.’ She nodded pointedly at a young woman in her thirties who had come into the kitchen. Judging by the woman’s alarmed expression, Christian thought Gaby must keep a tight rein on her employees.
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