‘Excuse me, but that’s my car you’re leaning on.’
‘Yes, it is.’ Ernst’s tone was as insolent as he dared. It was best to establish respect at once. ‘Ernst Lundgren, Tanumshede police station.’
Gabriel sighed. ‘What is it now? Have Stefan and Robert been up to something again?’
Ernst laughed. ‘I’m sure they have, if I know those two rotters, but nothing we’ve heard about at the moment. No, I have a couple of questions regarding the women who were found in the King’s Cleft.’ He nodded in the direction of the wooden stairs that wound up the side of the hill to the location that he’d mentioned.
Gabriel crossed his arms with his newspaper anchored under one arm.
‘What in the world would I know about that? I hope it’s not the old story about my brother again. Some of your colleagues have already asked me about that. First of all, it was a hell of a long time ago, and considering the events of the past few days, it should be obvious that Johannes had nothing to do with it. Look at this!’
He unfolded the newspaper and held it up in front of Ernst. The front page was dominated by a photograph of Jenny Möller, next to a blurry passport photo of Tanja Schmidt. The headline, not surprisingly, was pure sensationalism.
‘Do you think my brother rose up from the grave and did this?’ Gabriel’s voice shook with emotion. ‘How much time are you going to waste on interrogating my family while the real killer runs free? The only thing you have against us is testimony I gave over twenty years ago. Back then, I was positive about what I saw, but what the hell. It wasn’t really light outside, I’d been sitting by my ailing son’s sickbed, and maybe I simply made a mistake!’
Furious, Gabriel walked round the car to the driver’s side and pressed the remote control to trip the central lock. Before he got into the car he directed one last agitated harangue at Ernst.
‘If this keeps up, I’ll have to bring in our lawyers. I’m sick of having people staring at me so that their eyes are about to fall out ever since you found those bodies. And I don’t intend to let you keep sparking rumours about my family just because you can’t come up with anything better.’
Gabriel slammed the door and roared off. He drove up Galärbacken at a speed that made pedestrians dive for cover.
Ernst chuckled to himself. Gabriel Hult might have money, but as a policeman Ernst had the power to stir up trouble in his little pampered world. All at once life felt much better.
‘We’re facing a crisis that will affect the entire community.’ Stig Thulin, the most influential citizen in the community, narrowed his eyes at Mellberg, who did not look noticeably impressed.
‘Yes, as I’ve told you and everyone else who has called, we’re working at full speed on this investigation.’
‘I get dozens of calls every day from worried businesspeople, and I understand their concern. Have you seen how the campgrounds and marinas look around here? This is affecting not only business in Fjällbacka, which would have been bad enough. After the latest disappearance, tourists are fleeing from nearby towns as well. Grebbestad, Hamburgsund, Kämpersvik, even all the way up to Strömstad it’s beginning to be felt. I want to know what concrete measures you’re going to take to resolve this situation!’
Stig Thulin, normally sporting a toothy grin, now had a worried frown furrowing his noble brow. He had been the town’s foremost representative for more than a decade, and he even had a reputation as something of a stud in the district. Mellberg had to admit that he could understand why local women were receptive to his charms. Not that Mellberg leaned that way, he was quick to point out to himself, but not even a man could avoid seeing that Stig was in particularly good shape for a gent of fifty, with attractive greying temples combined with boyish blue eyes.
Mellberg smiled soothingly. ‘You know as well as I do, Stig, that I can’t go into detail on how we’re working this investigation. You’ll have to take my word for it when I say that we’re putting all our efforts into finding the Möller girl and the person who has committed this crime.’
‘Do you really have the resources for such a complex investigation? Shouldn’t you call in support from, I don’t know, Göteborg, maybe?’
Stig’s grey temples were glistening with sweat. His political status was dependent on how satisfied the businesspeople in the community were with his efforts. They had been so upset in the past few days that it didn’t bode well for the next election. He thrived in the corridors of power. He also guessed that his political prominence was largely the reason for his successes in bed.
Now an annoyed furrow also appeared on Mellberg’s equally noble brow.
‘We don’t need any help with this case, I can assure you. And I must say that I don’t appreciate your lack of faith in our expertise when you ask such a question. We haven’t ever had any complaints about our work methods, and I see no reason for any unwarranted criticism in this particular situation.’
Thanks to his excellent people skills, which had served him well in politics, Stig understood when it was time to retreat. He took a deep breath and reminded himself that it didn’t serve his purposes to tangle with the local police department.
‘All right, perhaps it was a bit premature to start questioning your methods. Naturally you enjoy our fullest confidence. But I really must stress the gravity of resolving this matter as soon as possible.’
Mellberg merely nodded in reply. After the usual polite formalities of farewell, the community’s most influential citizen swept out of the police station.
Melanie examined herself critically in the full-length mirror that she had pestered her father to put up in the caravan. Not bad. Although losing a few more pounds wouldn’t hurt. She smoothed the skin on her stomach and sucked it in. There, now it looked better. She didn’t want even an ounce of fat to be visible. She decided that for the next few weeks she would eat only an apple for lunch. Her mamma could say whatever she liked, but Melanie would give anything not to be as fat and disgusting as her mother.
After adjusting her string bikini one last time, Melanie took her beach bag and towel and was just about to set off for the swimming area. A knock on the door interrupted her. She thought it was some of her pals on their way out for a swim. They probably wanted to ask her to come along. She opened the door. The next instant she was flung back into the caravan and the small of her back slammed against the little table. The pain made her vision go black. The blow knocked the wind out of her lungs and made it impossible for her to utter a sound. A man forced his way in, and she searched her memory for where she had seen him before. He was vaguely familiar, but the shock and the pain made it hard for her to focus. But one thought popped up immediately: Jenny’s disappearance. Panic now stripped her of all resistance, and she sank defenceless to the floor.
She didn’t protest when he yanked her up by one arm and forced her over to the bed. But when he started to pull on the bikini strings tied at her back, terror gave her strength, and she aimed a kick back at his crotch. She missed and hit his thigh instead, and the reply came at once. A fist landed on the small of her back exactly where she had struck the table, and the wind was knocked out of her again. She sank onto the bed and gave up. The force of the man’s blow made her feel small and helpless, and survival was the only thought in her head. She prepared herself to die. Just as she was now sure that Jenny had died.
A sound made the man turn round just as he’d pulled Melanie’s bikini bottoms to her knees. Before he could react, something hit the man in the head, and with a guttural moan he sank to his knees. Behind him Melanie saw Per – the nerd – with a baseball bat in his hand. The heavy bat. That was all she managed to notice before everything went black.
‘Damn, I should have recognized him!’
Martin was stamping his feet out of sheer frustration and gesticulating at the man now being shoved into the back seat of a police car with handcuffs on.
‘How the hell could you have done that? He beefed up at least forty pounds in the jo
int and bleached his hair blond. Not even his mother would have recognized him. Besides, all you’ve ever seen is a photo.’
Patrik tried to console Martin as best he could, but suspected that he was speaking to deaf ears. They were standing in Grebbestad campground, next to the caravan belonging to Melanie’s parents. All around them a big crowd of gawkers had gathered to see what was going on. Melanie had already been taken away by ambulance to Uddevalla Hospital. Her parents had been at Svinesund shopping centre when Patrik got hold of them on their mobile, and in shock they had driven straight to the hospital.
‘I looked straight at him, Patrik. I think I even nodded to him. He must have laughed himself silly when we drove off. Besides, his tent was right next to Tanja and Liese’s. Shit, how fucking stupid could I be?’
He hit his forehead with his fist to emphasize his words, feeling anxiety beginning to swell in his chest. The ‘what-if game’ had already begun its devilish play with him. If only he had recognized Mårten Frist, Jenny would have been home with her parents now. If, if, if.
Patrik was well aware what was going on in Martin’s mind, but he didn’t know what words he could offer to soothe his colleague’s torment. He probably would have gone through the same thing in his position, even though the self-criticism was completely groundless. It had been next to impossible to identify the rapist who’d been arrested for four rapes five summers ago. Mårten Frisk was then only seventeen years old, a skinny, dark-haired youth who used a knife to force his victims into submission. Now he was a blond mountain of muscle who obviously thought he only needed to rely on strength to be the master of the situation. Patrik also suspected that steroids, which were easy to get hold of in the country’s penal institutions, had played a role in Mårten’s physical transformation. And the man’s newfound strength had done nothing to alleviate his inherent aggressiveness; instead it had converted a smouldering glow into a raging inferno.
Martin pointed at the young man standing a little awkwardly off to the side, nervously biting his nails. The bat had already been confiscated by the police, and nervousness was clearly apparent on his face. He was probably unsure whether he would be called a hero or a criminal by the long arm of the law. Patrik nodded to Martin to come with him, and they went over to the boy where he stood shifting his weight from one foot to another.
‘It’s Per Thorsson, isn’t it?’
He nodded.
Patrik explained to Martin. ‘He’s Jenny Möller’s friend. He’s the one who told me she was going to hitchhike into Fjällbacka.’
Patrik turned back to Per. ‘That was a great thing you did. How did you know that Melanie was about to be raped?’
Per looked down at the ground. ‘I like to sit and watch the people who come by. I noticed the guy right away when he pitched his tent here the other day. There was something about the way he went around showing off to all the young girls. He thought he looked so cool with his fucking gorilla arms. I saw the way he looked at the girls too. Especially if they weren’t wearing much.’
‘And what happened today?’ Martin impatiently steered him onto the right track.
Still staring at the ground, Per continued. ‘I noticed that he was sitting and watching when Melanie’s parents drove off, and then he just sat and waited for a while.’
‘How long?’ said Patrik.
Per thought about it. ‘Five minutes, maybe. Then he walked over to Melanie’s caravan, looking determined, and I thought maybe he was going to make a pass at her or something. But when she opened the door he just lunged in, and I thought, shit, he must be the one who took Jenny. So I went and got one of the baseball bats that the kids have and then I ran inside and hit him on the head with it.’
Per had to stop and catch his breath, and for the first time he raised his eyes and looked straight at Patrik and Martin. They could see his lower lip quivering.
‘Am I going to get in trouble for this? Because I hit him on the head, I mean?’
Patrik put a comforting hand on his shoulder.
‘I can promise you there won’t be any repercussions because of what happened. Not that we encourage civilians to take action on their own, don’t get me wrong – but the truth is that if you hadn’t stepped in, he probably would have raped Melanie.’
Per literally collapsed with relief, but he soon straightened up again and said, ‘Could he have been the one who… with Jenny, I mean?’
He couldn’t even say the words, and here Patrik’s comforting assurances ceased. Because Per’s question went right to the heart of what he was thinking himself.
‘I don’t know. Did you notice whether he ever looked at Jenny that way?’
Per thought feverishly, but at last shook his head. ‘I don’t know. I mean, I’m sure he did, he looked at all the girls who went by, but I can’t say that he looked at her in particular.’
They thanked Per and turned him over to his worried parents. Then they drove off towards the station. There, already in custody, was perhaps the person they had been looking for so intently. Martin and Patrik were both crossing their fingers that he was the perp.
In the interrogation room the mood was tense. The thought of Jenny Möller was putting on the pressure and they were all eager to get the truth out of Mårten Frisk, but they also knew that certain things could not be forced. Patrik was leading the interrogation, and it hadn’t surprised anyone that he asked Martin to assist him. After going through the obligatory procedures, stating names, date and time for the benefit of the tape recorder, they set to work.
‘You’re under arrest for the attempted rape of Melanie Johansson. Do you have anything to say about that?’
‘Yeah, you’d better believe it!’
Mårten was lazily leaning back in his chair, with one of his enormous biceps draped over the chair back. He was wearing summer clothes: a tank shirt and short shorts with minimal fabric to expose as much muscle as possible. His bleached hair was a little too long and a lock kept falling into his eyes.
‘I didn’t do anything she didn’t agree to, and if she says otherwise she’s lying! We’d made a date when her parents would be away, and we’d just started to get a little cosy when that fucking idiot comes rushing in with his bat. And by the way, I want to press charges for assault. So you can write that down in your notes.’ He pointed at the notebooks that both Patrik and Martin had in front of them, and laughed.
‘We can talk about that later. Right now we’re talking about the accusations directed at you.’
Patrik’s curt tone contained all the contempt that this man brought out in him. Big guys who attacked small girls belonged to the lowest of the low in his world.
Mårten shrugged his shoulders as if it made no difference to him. His years in prison had schooled him well. The last time he’d sat before Patrik he’d been a skinny, insecure seventeen-year-old who reeled off a confession to the four rapes almost as soon as they sat down. Now he’d learned from the big boys, and his physical transformation matched the mental development that he’d undergone. What remained the same was his hatred and aggression towards women. As far as the police knew, this had previously led him to commit brutal rapes, but not murder. Patrik worried that the years in prison had caused more damage than they could imagine. Had Mårten Frisk advanced from rapist to murderer? If so, where was Jenny Möller and how was her disappearance connected to the deaths of Mona and Siv? When the two girls were killed, Mårten had not even been born!
Patrik sighed and continued his questioning. ‘Let’s pretend that we believe you. We still have a big coincidence that bothers us, namely that you were staying at Grebbestad campground when a girl named Jenny Möller disappeared. You were also staying at Sälvik campground in Fjällbacka when a German tourist disappeared and was later found murdered. And your tent was right next to the tent belonging to Tanja Schmidt and her friend. A little strange, we think.’
Mårten turned noticeably pale. ‘Hey, what the fuck? I didn’t have anything to do with all that.’
‘But you know which girl we mean?’
Reluctantly he said, ‘Yeah, I saw those lesbos in the tent next to mine, but I’ve never been much for that type, and besides, they were a little too old for my taste. They both looked like hags to me.’
Patrik thought of Tanja’s somewhat plain but friendly face in her passport photo. He repressed an impulse to throw his notebook in Mårten’s face. His eyes were ice-cold when he looked at the man in front of him.
‘What about Jenny Möller? Seventeen, a pretty blonde. She’d be just your type, right?’
Little beads of sweat began to appear on Mårten’s forehead. He had small eyes that blinked rapidly when he got nervous, and now he was blinking frantically.
‘I didn’t have a fucking thing to do with that. I never touched her, I swear!’
He threw up his hands to signal that he was innocent. Against his will, Patrik thought he heard a note of truth in the man’s protests. His behaviour when Tanja and Jenny were mentioned was quite different from when they were questioning him about Melanie. Out of the corner of his eye, Patrik could see that Martin looked pensive as well.
‘Okay, I’ll admit that this chick today maybe wasn’t going along with everything, but you have to believe me, I have no idea what you’re talking about when it comes to the other two. I swear!’
The panic in Mårten’s voice was obvious. In a wordless exchange of glances, Martin and Patrik agreed to break off the interrogation. Unfortunately, they believed the man. That meant that somewhere, somebody else was holding Jenny Möller captive, unless she was already dead. All at once it seemed very unlikely that they would fulfil their promise to Albert Thernblad to find his daughter’s killer.
Gösta was nervous. It was as though he’d suddenly regained life in a part of his body that had been numb for a long time. Police work had filled him with indifference for so long that it was strange to feel something again that almost resembled commitment. He knocked cautiously on Patrik’s door and said, ‘May I come in?’
The Preacher Page 18