She leaned her head on Patrik’s shoulder and let the twilight sink over them.
Monday began with good news. Annika was back from her holiday. Suntanned and healthy, relaxed after plenty of lovemaking and wine-drinking, she sat at her desk in the reception area and beamed at Patrik when he came trudging in. Usually he hated Monday mornings, but the sight of Annika suddenly made the day seem brighter. In some way she was the hub around which the rest of the station revolved. She organized, argued, chided and dispensed praise, as the situation required. No matter what the problem, they could always count on a wise and consoling word. Even Mellberg had begun to have a certain respect for her. He no longer dared give her clandestine pinches and leering looks, which had been all too frequent when he first came to the station.
It only took an hour after Patrik came into the station before Annika knocked on his door with a serious look on her face.
‘Patrik, I have a couple who want to report their daughter missing.’
They looked at each other, well aware of what the other was thinking.
Annika showed in the worried couple, who with drooping shoulders sat down in front of Patrik’s desk. They introduced themselves as Bo and Kerstin Möller.
‘Our daughter never came home last night.’ It was the father who spoke. He was a short, stocky man in his forties. As he talked he nervously picked at his loud-patterned shorts and stared down at the desk. The reality of sitting in the police station to report their daughter missing seemed to make the panic finally erupt from them. His voice broke, and his wife, also short and chubby, continued.
‘We’re staying at the campground in Grebbestad. Jenny was going to go into Fjällbacka around seven with some young people she had met. They were going clubbing, I think, but she promised to be back by one o’clock. They had arranged to get a ride back, and they were taking the bus into town.’
Her voice, too, became hoarse, and she had to pause before she went on. ‘When she didn’t come home, we began to worry. We stopped by the tent of one of the other girls she was supposed to be with and woke both her and her parents. She said that Jenny never showed up at the bus stop where they’d agreed to meet. They thought she’d just decided not to go along. That’s when we knew that something serious had happened. Jenny would never do something like that to us. She’s our only child, and she’s very conscientious about telling us if she’s going to be late. What could have happened to her? We heard about the girl they found at the King’s Cleft. Do you think…’
Here her voice failed her, and she broke into sobs of despair. Her husband put his arms around her, but tears had also welled up in his eyes.
Patrik was uneasy. Very uneasy. But he tried not to show it.
‘I don’t think there’s any reason to draw such conclusions at this point.’
Jesus, how correct I sound, thought Patrik, but he always had a hard time handling situations like this. The anxiety these people were feeling brought a lump to his throat in sympathy, but he couldn’t permit himself to give in to it. His defence was an almost bureaucratic correctness.
‘Let’s start with some information about your daughter. Her name is Jenny, you say. How old is she?’
‘Seventeen, almost eighteen.’
Kerstin was still crying with her face pressed against her husband’s shirt, so it was Bo who had to give Patrik the necessary details. As an answer to the question of whether they had a recent picture of her, Jenny’s mother dried her eyes with a tissue and took out a colour school photo from her handbag.
Patrik took the photo and studied it. The girl was a typical seventeen-year-old, with a little too much make-up and a slightly defiant look in her eyes. He smiled at her parents and tried to present an air of confidence.
‘Sweet girl. I’m sure you’re very proud of her.’
They both nodded eagerly, and Kerstin even managed a little smile.
‘She’s a good girl. Even though teenagers have their issues. She didn’t want to go on a camping holiday with us this year, even though we’d been doing it every summer since she was little, but we pleaded with her. We told her that it was probably the last summer we could do something together, so she gave in.’
When Kerstin heard what she had said about their last summer, she burst into tears again and Bo stroked her hair.
‘You’ll take this seriously, I hope?’ the man said. ‘We’ve heard that twenty-four hours have to pass before a search is begun, but you have to believe us when we say that something must have happened. Otherwise she would have called us. She’s not the type of girl who would just take off and let us sit and worry.’
Once again Patrik tried to look as calm as possible, but inside his thoughts were already flying wildly. The image of Tanja’s naked body in the King’s Cleft appeared in his mind, and he blinked to get rid of it.
‘We won’t wait twenty-four hours, that’s only in American films. But you do have to try not to worry. Even if I take you at your word that Jenny is an extremely conscientious girl, I’ve seen this happen before. A young person meets somebody, forgets the time, forgets that Mamma and Pappa are worrying at home. It’s nothing unusual. But we’ll start asking around at once. Leave us a number where we can reach you with Annika on your way out, and I’ll let you know as soon as we know anything. And do inform us if you hear from her, or if she shows up back at the campground, if you would. It will all work out, you’ll see.’
After they left, Patrik wondered whether he’d promised too much. He had a churning sensation in his stomach that didn’t bode well. He looked at the photo of Jenny that they’d left. He hoped she was just out partying.
Patrik got up and went to see Martin. It would be best if they started looking immediately. If the worst had happened, there wasn’t a minute to lose. According to the medical examiner’s report, Tanja had lived for about a week as a prisoner before she died. The clock was ticking.
6
SUMMER 1979
The pain and the darkness made time slip away in a dreamless mist. Day or night, life or death, it didn’t matter. Not even the footsteps over her head, the certainty of approaching evil, could induce reality to penetrate into her dark abode. Or the sound of bones being broken mixed with someone’s painful screams. Maybe they were hers. She didn’t really know.
The isolation was the worst. The total absence of sound, movement, or any feeling of contact on her skin. She never could have imagined how excruciating the lack of human contact could be. It defied all pain. It cut through her soul like a knife and gave her shivering fits that shook her whole body.
The smell of the stranger was entirely familiar by this time. Not nasty. Not the way she would have imagined evil would smell. Instead it was fresh and full of promises of summer and warmth. It felt almost palpable in contrast to the dark, humid air that she constantly drew in through her nostrils. The air that surrounded her like a soft blanket and bit by bit devoured the last remnants of who she was before she ended up here. That’s why she greedily drank in the smell of warmth when the stranger came near. It was worth enduring the evil to be allowed for a moment to drink in the smell of life that must be proceeding as usual somewhere up above. At the same time it conjured up an aching feeling of loss. She was no longer the same person she had once been; she missed the person she would never be again. It was a painful farewell to take, but to survive she had to do it.
But what plagued her most down here was the thought of the child. Ever since her daughter’s birth she had blamed her for being alive, but now in the eleventh hour she understood that her daughter had actually been a gift. The memory of her soft arms around her neck, or the big eyes that hungrily watched her, looking for something that she was unable to give, haunted her in colourful dreams. She could see before her every single detail of her daughter. Every little freckle, every strand of hair, even the little swirl at the back of her head that was just like her own. She promised herself and God over and over again that if she ever escaped this prison she would make
amends to the little one for each second she had been denied her mother’s love. If…
alt
‘You’re not going out like that!’
‘I’ll go out any way I like, and you’ve got nothing to say about it.’
Melanie glowered at her father, who glowered back. The source of their quarrel was familiar by now: how much, or rather how little, she was wearing.
Melanie had to admit that there wasn’t much fabric in the clothes she chose, but she thought they were nice and her friends dressed exactly the same way. And she was seventeen, after all. She wasn’t a child, so what she wore was actually up to her. Contemptuously she studied her father, whose anger had made his face and neck take on a reddish tinge. Fuck if she was going to get old and flabby. His shiny Adidas shorts went out of style fifteen years ago, and his speckled short-sleeve shirt clashed with the shorts. The paunch he’d acquired from eating too many bags of chips on the TV sofa threatened to pop some of his buttons. To top it all off, he wore disgusting plastic flip-flops on his feet. She was ashamed to be seen with him, and she hated having to sit around this fucking campground all summer.
When she was little she had loved taking camping holidays in their caravan. There had always been plenty of kids to play with, and they could go swimming and run about freely amongst the parked caravans. But now her friends were back in Jönköping, and worst of all was the fact that she’d been forced to leave Tobbe. Now that she wasn’t there to protect her interests, she was sure he’d hook up with that fucking Madde, who kept hanging on him like a sticking plaster. If that happened, she’d made a solemn vow to hate her parents for the rest of her life.
Sitting in a campground in Grebbestad really sucked, and on top of that they treated her like she was five years old, not seventeen. She couldn’t even choose what she was going to wear. She tossed her head defiantly and straightened her top, which was not much bigger than a bikini top. Her minimal denim shorts did cut rather uncomfortably into her buttocks, but the looks she got from the boys made it worth all the discomfort. The best part of her outfit was the pair of sky-high platform shoes that added at least four inches to her five foot three frame.
‘As long as we’re paying for your food and a roof over your head, we get to decide, and now you’re so – ’
Her father was interrupted by a loud knock at the door of their caravan. Grateful for the reprieve, Melanie hurried to open it. Outside stood a dark-haired man about thirty-five, and she automatically straightened up and pushed out her chest. A little too old for her taste perhaps, but he looked nice, and besides she enjoyed irritating Pappa.
‘My name is Patrik Hedström and I’m with the police. May I come in for a moment? It’s about Jenny.’
Melanie stepped aside to let him in, but only enough so that he was forced to squeeze past her lightly-clad figure.
After Patrik and her father shook hands they sat down at the tiny table.
‘Should I get my wife too? She’s down at the swimming hole.’
‘No, that won’t be necessary. It’s Melanie I’d like to have a few words with. As you probably know, Bo and Kerstin Möller have reported their daughter Jenny missing. They said that you and Jenny were supposed to go into Fjällbacka yesterday, is that right?’
Melanie imperceptibly tugged at her top to show a little more cleavage and moistened her lips before she answered. A cop. That was really sexy.
‘Uh-huh, we were supposed to meet at the bus stop at seven to catch the number ten into town. Some boys we met were going to hop on at Tanum Strand. We were going to go in and see if anything was happening. We didn’t have any special plans.’
‘But Jenny never showed up?’
‘No, it was weird. We don’t know each other that well, but she seemed pretty reliable. I was really surprised when she, like, didn’t show up. I can’t say I was all that disappointed. She was kind of hanging on me, and I didn’t mind having Micke and Fredde to myself. The guys from Tanum Strand, I mean.’
‘Melanie!’ said her father, giving her an angry look. She glared back.
‘What? I can’t help it if I thought she was a little dorky. It’s not my fault that she disappeared. She probably just went back home to Karlstad. She talked about some boy she’d met there. If she had any sense she’d shit on this fucking caravan holiday and go back to him.’
‘Don’t you even think of doing something like that! That Tobbe…’
Patrik found himself forced to break up the quarrel between father and daughter. He waved his hand cautiously to attract their attention. They calmed down, fortunately.
‘So you have no idea why she didn’t show up?’
‘No, not a clue.’
‘Do you know if she hung out with any other kids here at the campground? Anyone that she may have confided in?’
As if by accident Melanie brushed her bare leg against the policeman’s and enjoyed seeing him jump. Guys were so damned easy. It didn’t matter how old they were, they only had one thing on their minds. If a girl knew that, she could get them to do anything she wanted. She brushed against his leg again. He was starting to look a little sweaty on his upper lip. Although it was pretty stuffy inside the caravan too.
She paused for a moment before answering.
‘There was a guy, some bloody nerd she must have been seeing here in the summertime ever since she was little. Totally pathetic, but as I said she wasn’t super-cool herself, so they were a good match.’
‘Do you know his name, or maybe where I can find him?’
‘His parents have a caravan parked two rows over. It’s the one with the brown-and-white-striped awning and all the bloody geraniums in pots in front.’
Patrik thanked the girl for her help and with flushed cheeks squeezed past Melanie on his way out.
She tried to strike as seductive a pose as she could in the doorway when she waved goodbye to the policeman. Pappa had started in on his harangue again, but she turned a deaf ear. He never said anything worth listening to anyway.
Sweaty for more reasons than the oppressive heat, Patrik quickly walked away. It was a relief to escape from the cramped little caravan into the crowded grounds outside. He’d felt like a paedophile when that little teenager had thrust her small breasts at his face, and when she started pressing against his leg he hadn’t known what to do. He thought it was so unpleasant. And she wasn’t wearing much, either. About as much fabric as a handkerchief was distributed in total over her body. In a flash, he realized that in seventeen years, his own daughter might be dressing that way and making passes at older men. He shuddered at the thought and hoped all at once that Erica was carrying a son. At least he knew how teenage boys functioned. This girl had felt like a creature from another planet, with all her make-up and big, dangly jewellery. Nor could he avoid noticing the ring she had in her navel. Maybe he was getting old, but it didn’t seem the least bit sexy to him. Instead he thought about the risk of infection and scarring. But no doubt it had to do with his age. The memory was still fresh in his mind how his mother had chewed him out when he came home with a ring in one ear, and he’d been nineteen at the time. The ring came off at once, and that was as daring as he’d ever been.
He lost himself among the caravans, which were set so close to each other that they almost looked as if they’d been stacked up. Personally he couldn’t understand why people would voluntarily spend their holidays packed together like sardines with a crowd of other people. But purely intellectually he understood that for many it had become a lifestyle, and what appealed to them was the company of other campers who returned to the same spot every year. Some of the caravans could hardly be called caravans any longer, the way they were built out with tents in every direction. They looked more like small permanent houses, set up in the same spot, year after year.
After asking for directions, Patrik finally found his way to the caravan that Melanie had described. He saw a tall, gangly and extremely pimply young man sitting outside. Patrik felt sorry for him when he
saw the red and white pustules. The boy couldn’t seem to keep from squeezing them a bit, despite the fact that he would certainly end up with scars that would last long after the acne was gone.
The sun shone in Patrik’s eyes as he stopped in front of the young man, and he had to shade his eyes with his hand. He’d left his sunglasses back at the station.
‘Hello, I’m with the police. I spoke with Melanie down the way, who said that you know Jenny Möller, is that right?’
The boy nodded mutely. Patrik sat down on the grass beside him and saw that, unlike the teenage Lolita a few caravans away, he looked genuinely worried.
‘My name’s Patrik, what’s yours?’
‘Per.’
Patrik raised his eyebrows to indicate he expected something more.
‘Per Thorsson.’ He was impatiently pulling tufts of grass out of the ground and staring hard at what he was doing. Without looking at Patrik he said, ‘It’s my fault that something happened to her.’
‘What do you mean?’ said Patrik, startled.
‘It was because of me she missed the bus. We’ve been meeting here every summer since we were little, and we always had a great time together. But after she met that little monkey Melanie, she got so damn boring. All she talked about was Melanie this and Melanie that and Melanie says this and on and on. Before, I could talk to Jenny about important things, things that meant something, but now it was just make-up and clothes and shit like that. She didn’t even dare tell Melanie if she was going to meet me, because Melanie obviously thought I was nerdy or something.’
He was pulling up grass at a faster pace now, and a little bald spot was forming in front of him, growing bigger with each tuft he pulled up. The strong smell of food on the grill hovered over their heads, insinuating itself into their nostrils. It made Patrik’s stomach growl.
‘That’s how teenage girls are. It’ll pass, I promise. Then they’ll be regular people again.’ Patrik smiled, but then turned serious. ‘But how do you mean, it was your fault? Do you know where she is? Because if you do, you should know that her parents are terribly worried …’
The Preacher Page 15