First to arrive was Martin, who sat down in the only visitor's chair in the room. The others would have to bring their own chairs.
'How'd it go with the flat?' Patrik asked. 'Was it any good?'
'It was fantastic!' said Martin, his eyes shining. 'We took it on the spot. Weekend after next you can come and help carry cartons.'
'Oh, is that right?' Patrik laughed. 'How nice of you. I'll have to get back to you on that, after conferring with the boss at home. Erica's being a little stingy with my time right now, so I can't promise you anything.'
'I understand,' said Martin. 'I have a number of favours I can call in from people I've helped move, so we'll probably manage fine without you.'
'What's this I hear about moving?' Annika asked, sweeping in with a coffee cup in one hand and notebook in the other. 'Should I really believe my ears? Are you finally going to join the rest of tis and settle down, Martin?'
He flushed, as he always did when Annika teased him, but he couldn't help smiling.
'Yeah, you heard right. Pia and I found a flat in Grebbestad. We're moving in two weeks from today.'
'Well, I'm certainly glad to hear it,' said Annika. 'It's about time too. I'd been worrying that you were going to end up gathering dust on the shelf. So… when are we going to hear the pitter-patter of little feet?'
'Oh, give me a break,' said Martin. 'I remember the way you badgered Patrik when he met Erica, and now look how things have turned out for him. That poor guy felt so much pressure to propagate with his woman, and now he sits here looking ten years older.' He winked at Patrik to show that he was joking.
'Well, let me know if you need any tips on how to do it,' Patrik offered cheerfully.
Martin was just about to come back with a witty rejoinder when Ernst and Gösta simultaneously tried to wedge through the doorway with their chairs. Grumbling, Gösta slipped past Ernst, who nonchalantly took a place in the middle of the room.
'It's going to be tight with the whole crowd in here,' said Gösta, glowering at Martin and Annika, who scooted their chairs over.
'There's always room for one more, as my mother used to say,' Annika commented a bit sarcastically.
Mellberg came sauntering in last of all; he was content to lean against the door jamb.
Patrik spread out his papers on his desk and took a deep breath. The full force of what it meant to head a homicide investigation suddenly struck him. This wasn't the first time, but still he was nervous. He didn't like being the centre of attention, and the gravity of the task caused his shoulders to slump. But the only other option was for Mellberg to take charge, and Patrik wanted to avoid that at all costs. So it was just a matter of getting started.
'As you know, we've now received confirmation that Sara Klinga's death was not an accident, but a murder. She did drown, but the water in her lungs was fresh, not saltwater, which indicates that she was drowned somewhere else and then dumped in the sea. I know this is nothing new, but all the details are in the report from Pedersen, the M.E. Annika has made copies for you.' He passed a stack of stapled reports around the table, and they each took one.
'Can anything be deduced based on the water in her lungs? For example, it says here that there were remnants of soap in the water. Could we find out what sort of soap it was?' asked Martin, pointing at an item in the autopsy report.
'Yes, hopefully we can,' replied Patrik. 'A water sample was sent off to the National Forensic Laboratory for analysis, and in a few days we'll know more about what they've been able to find.'
'What about the clothes?' Martin went on. 'Can we say whether she was dressed or not when she was drowned in the bathtub? Because we can almost certainly assume it was a bathtub she was drowned in, can't we?'
'I'm afraid the answer is the same. Her clothes were also sent off, and until we get the results back I don't know any more than the rest of you.'
Ernst rolled his eyes and Patrik gave him a sharp look. He knew precisely what was going on inside the man's head. He was jealous because it was Martin and not him who had thought of some intelligent questions to ask. Patrik wondered whether Ernst would ever understand that they worked together in a team in order to solve a task, and that it wasn't a matter of a contest between individuals.
'Are we dealing with a sex crime here?' Gösta asked, prompting Ernst to look more annoyed, if possible. Even his partner in lethargy had managed to come up with a relevant question.
'Impossible to say,' replied Patrik. 'But I'd like Martin to start checking whether there's anyone on our list who's been convicted of sex crimes against children.'
Martin nodded and made a note.
Then we also have to look more closely at the family,' Patrik said. 'Ernst and I had a preliminary talk with them when we informed them that Sara had been murdered. We've also spoken with the individual that Sara's mother pointed out as a possible suspect.'
'Let me guess,' said Annika acidly. 'Could it possibly have been a certain Kaj Wiberg?'
'That's right,' said Gösta. 'I gave Patrik all the documents I have about their contacts with us over the years.'
'A waste of time and resources,' said Ernst. 'It's completely absurd to believe that Kaj had anything to do with the girl's death.'
'Oh, right, you two know each other,' said Gösta and gave Patrik a questioning look to see whether he was aware of this. Patrik confirmed with a nod that he knew.
'At any rate,' Patrik interrupted when Ernst again tried to say something, 'we'll continue to investigate Kaj to decide as soon as possible whether he was involved. And we need to keep all options open at this stage. First we have to find out more about the girl and her family. I thought Ernst and I would begin by talking to the girl's teachers to see whether they know of any problem concerning the family. Since we know so little, we might need to get some help from the local press as well. Would you be able to help with that, Bertil?'
He got no answer and repeated a bit louder: 'Bertil?' Still no answer. Mellberg looked to be far away in his own thoughts as he stood leaning on the door jamb. After raising his voice another notch Patrik finally got a reaction.
'Oh, sorry. What did you say?' asked Mellberg. Patrik once again had a hard time believing that he was the one playing the part of chief in this building.
'I just wondered whether you might consider talking to the local press. Tell them it was a murder and that anyone's information is of interest. I have a feeling we're going to need the public's help on this case.'
'Oh, uh, of course,' said Mellberg, who still had a dazed look on his face. 'Okay, I'll talk to the press.'
'All right. That's about all we can do for now,' said Patrik, slapping his hands on his desk. 'Any more questions?'
No one said a word, and after a few seconds of silence everyone began gathering up their things as if on command.
'Ernst?' Patrik stopped his colleague just as he was heading out the door. 'Will you be ready to go in half an hour?'
'Go where?' said Ernst with his usual grumpiness.
Patrik took a deep breath. Sometimes he wondered whether he just thought he was talking while really it was only his lips moving. 'To Sara's school. To talk to her teachers,' he said, carefully enunciating each word.
'Oh right, that. Sure, I can be ready in half an hour,' said Ernst, turning his back to Patrik.
Patrik gave him a dirty look. He would give this unwelcome partner of his a couple more days before he dared to defy Mellberg and discreetly take Molin along instead.
* * *
STRÖMSTAD 1924
The pleasure of novelty had truly begun to wear off. The whole winter had been filled with trysts, and at first Agnes had enjoyed every moment. But now that winter was in retreat and spring was quietly approaching, she felt indolence beginning to creep in. To be honest, she no longer saw what it was about him that she had found so attractive. Of course he was good-looking, she couldn't deny that, but his speech was crude and uneducated and there was a constant odour of sweat about him. It had al
so become harder and harder to sneak down to his place, now that the winter darkness was relinquishing its protective cover. No, she would have to put an end to this, she decided as she sat in front of the mirror in her room.
She attended to the last details of her dress and went down to have breakfast with her father. She had seen Anders yesterday, so her body was still overwhelmed by a great weariness. She sat down at the breakfast table after kissing her father on the cheek and began listlessly cracking open the shell of a soft-boiled egg. Her exhaustion made the smell of the egg turn her stomach.
'What is it, my heart?' August asked in concern, gazing at her across the large table.
'Just a little tired,' she replied miserably. 'I didn't sleep well last night.'
'You poor thing,' he said in sympathy. 'See that you eat something, then you can go back to bed for a while. Perhaps we should take you to see Dr Fern. You've been rather out of sorts all winter.'
Agnes couldn't help smiling, though she had to hide the smile hastily behind her serviette. With a downcast look she answered her father, 'Yes, I have been a bit worn out. But it was probably mostly because of the winter darkness. Just wait, once spring comes I'll be more lively again.'
'Hmm, well, we shall see. But think about it. Perhaps the doctor should have a look at you all the same.'
'Yes, Father,' she said, forcing herself to take a bite of egg.
She shouldn't have done that. The instant she put the boiled egg-white in her mouth she felt her stomach turn over and something rose up in her throat. She jumped up from the table and with her hand to her mouth she dashed to the toilet they had on the ground floor. She had scarcely raised the lid before a cascade of yesterday's dinner mixed with gall splashed into the toilet bowl. She felt her eyes fill with tears. Her stomach turned inside out several more times. She waited a while, and when there didn't seem to be any more coming, she wiped her mouth in disgust and left the little room on shaky legs. Outside stood her father, looking worried.
'Dear heart, how are you?'
She just shook her head and swallowed to get rid of the repulsive taste of vomit in her mouth.
August put his arm round her shoulders, led her into the parlour, and sat her down on one of the sofas. He put his hand on her forehead.
'Agnes, you're in a cold sweat. No, I'm going to ring Dr Fern at once and ask him to come over and have a look at you.'
She managed only a feeble nod and then lay down on the sofa and shut her eyes. The room was spinning behind her closed eyelids.
* * *
It was like living in a shadow world with no connection to reality. Anna hadn't really had a choice, and yet she was consumed by doubt that she had done the right thing. She knew that nobody else would understand. After she'd finally succeeded in breaking away from Lucas, why had she gone back to him? Especially when he'd done what he had to Emma. The answer was that she went back because she thought it was the only chance for her and her children to survive. Lucas had always been dangerous, yet he kept himself restrained. Now it was as though something had snapped inside him, and his self-control had yielded to a brooding insanity. That was the only way she could describe it: insanity. That had always been part of him; she'd sensed. Indeed, perhaps it was that underlying current of potential danger that had attracted her to him in the first place. Now it had risen to the surface and she feared for her life.
The fact that she had left him and taken the kids wasn't the only reason that his madness had come to light. Several factors had combined to flip that little circuit-breaker inside him. Even his job, which had always been his biggest arena of success, had now betrayed him. A few failed business deals and his career was over. Just before Anna went back to him she had run into one of his colleagues, who had told her that Lucas was starting to act more and more irrationally on the job when things didn't go well. Me gave in to sudden outbursts of anger and aggressive attacks. Finally he had shoved an important client up against the wall and been fired on the spot. The client had pressed charges, so there would be an investigation as soon as the police had the time.
The reports of Lucas's mental condition had worried her, but it wasn't until she came home one day to a totally vandalized flat that she realized she no longer had a choice. He was going to harm her, or even worse, harm the kids, if she didn't humour him and come back. The only way to create a bit of security for Emma and Adrian was to stay as close to the enemy as possible.
Anna knew this, and yet it felt as though she were going from the frying pan into the fire. She was practically a prisoner in her own home, her jailer an aggressive and irrational Lucas. First, he forced her to quit her part-time job at Stockholm Auction House, a job she had loved and found deeply satisfying. He wouldn't allow her to leave the flat except to shop for food or take the kids to school. Meanwhile he hadn't been able to find another job, nor did he even try. He'd had to give up the big, elegant flat in Östermalm, and now they were squeezed into a little two-room flat outside the city. But as long as he didn't hit the children, she could put up with anything. She herself once again had bruises on her body, but in a way it felt like putting on an old, familiar dress. She had lived that way for so many years that her brief period of freedom now seemed unreal, a dream that just happened one time. Anna also did her best to hide what was going on from the children. She had managed to convince Lucas that they should keep going to day-care, and she tried to pretend that their daily life was the same as always. But she wasn't sure that she was fooling them. At least not Emma, who was now four years old. At first she'd been ecstatic that they were moving in with Pappa again, but Anna had begun to notice her daughter giving her puzzled looks.
Despite the fact that Anna kept trying to convince herself that she had made the right decision, she still realized that they couldn't live the rest of their lives this way. The more irrational Lucas got, the more frightened of him she became. She was sure that one day he would cross the line and actually kill her. The question was how she could make her escape. She had thought about ringing Erica and asking for help, but Lucas watched the telephone like a hawk. And there was something inside her that held her back. She had relied on Erica so many times before, and for once she felt that she had to tackle this problem herself, like an adult. Gradually she had worked out a plan. She needed to gather enough evidence against Lucas so that the abuse could no longer be denied. Then she and the children would be given safe haven and new identities. Sometimes she was overwhelmed by the desire to take the kids and simply flee to the nearest women's shelter, but she knew full well that without evidence against Lucas it would only be a temporary solution. Then they would be back in hell again.
So she had started to document everything she could. In one of the department stores on her way to the day-care centre, there was a photo booth. She would sneak in there and take pictures of her injuries. She wrote down the date and time when she received them and hid the notes and photos inside the frame of the wedding photo of her and Lucas. There was a symbolism in this that she appreciated. Soon she would have enough material to entrust her late and that of her children to the authorities. Until then she simply had to put up with Lucas. And see about surviving.
It was recess when Patrik and Ernst turned into the car park at the school. Crowds of children were outside playing in the biting wind, bundled up and seemingly unconcerned with the cold. But Patrik shivered and hurried to get inside.
Their daughter would be going to this school in a few years. It was a pleasant thought, and he could picture Maja scampering about here in the hall with blonde pigtails and a gap between her front teeth, just the way Erica looked in the picture taken when she was a kid. He hoped that Maja would be like her mother. Erica had been incredibly cute as a little girl. She still was, in his eyes.
They took a chance and headed for the first classroom they saw, knocking on the door, which stood open. The room was bright and pleasant, with big windows and children's drawings on the walls. A young teacher sat at a desk imm
ersed in the papers in front of her. She jumped when she heard the knock.
'Yes?' Despite her young age she had already managed to acquire I hat perfect teacher's tone of voice, which made Patrik repress a desire to stand at attention and bow.
'We're from the police. We're looking for Sara Klinga's teacher.'
A shadow crept over her face and she nodded. 'That's me.' She got up and came over to shake their hands. 'Beatrice Lind. I teach first through third grade.' She motioned for them to take a seat on one of the small chairs next to the school desks. Patrik felt like a giant as he cautiously sat down. The sight of Ernst trying to coordinate all parts of his gangly frame to fit in the tiny chair made him smirk. But as soon as Patrik turned his gaze to the teacher his expression turned sombre again and he focused on the task at hand.
'It's so terribly tragic,' said Beatrice, her voice quavering. 'That a child can be here one day and gone the next…' Now her lower lip was trembling too. 'And drowned…'
'Yes, especially since it turns out that her death was not an accident.' Patrik had thought the news would have spread to everyone in town, but Beatrice looked undeniably shocked.
'What? What do you mean? No accident? But she drowned, didn't she?'
'Sara was murdered,' said Patrik, hearing how brusque that sounded. In a gentler tone of voice he added, 'She didn't die from an accident, so we have to find out more about Sara. What she was like as a person, whether there were any problems in the family, that sort of thing.'
He could see that Beatrice was still upset at the news, but she seemed to be pondering what it might mean. After a while she had collected herself and said, 'Well, what is there to say about Sara? She was…' she searched for the right word, 'a very lively child. And that was both good and bad. There wasn't a quiet moment when Sara was around, and to be honest it could be difficult to maintain order in the classroom sometimes. She was something of a leader, pulling the others along, and if I didn't put a stop to it, utter chaos could result. At the same time…' Beatrice hesitated again and looked as though she were weighing each word very carefully, 'at the same time, it was precisely that energy that made her so creative. She was incredibly talented in drawing and every other artistic pursuit, and she had the most active imagination I've ever seen. She was quite simply a very creative child, whether she was pulling pranks or producing a work of art.'
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