Annika’s holiday memories were abruptly interrupted by a melodious male voice speaking with the unmistakable accent of Lysekil to the south.
Annika told him what she needed to know.
‘Oh, how exciting. A murder investigation. Despite thirty years in the fertilizer business, this is the first time I’ve ever been asked for help with a homicide.’
Happy to be able to gild your day, thought Annika sourly, but she kept her caustic comment to herself, so as not to stifle his eagerness to assist her. Sometimes the public’s appetite for sensation bordered on the morbid.
‘We’d like some help compiling a customer list for your fertilizer FZ-302,’ Annika told the man.
‘Well, that’s not going to be easy. We stopped selling that type in 1985. Fantastic product, but new environmental regulations forced us to stop manufacturing it.’ The sales manager sighed heavily at the injustice of environmental protection laws circumscribing the sales of a successful product.
‘But I assume you have some form of documentation?’ Annika coaxed him.
‘Well, I’d have to check it with the administrative department, but it’s possible there’s information on it in the old archives. In fact, up until 1987 we had manual storage of all such data; after that everything was computerized. But I don’t think we threw anything out.’
‘You don’t recall anyone who purchased …,’ she checked her notes again, ‘the product FZ-302 in this area?’
‘No, my dear. That was so many years ago that I can’t just pick the information out of thin air.’ He laughed. ‘There’s been a lot of water under the bridge since then.’
‘Okay, I didn’t really think it would be that easy. How long would it take for you to gather the information?’
He thought for a moment. ‘Let’s see, if I take some pastries over to the girls in admin with a few kind words, I should say you might be able to get an answer late today or early tomorrow morning. Will that do?’
That was faster than Annika had dared hope when he started talking about the old archives, so she thanked him profusely. She wrote a note to Martin about the result of her conversation and put it on his desk.
‘Say, Gösta?’
‘Yes, Ernst?’
‘Does life get any better than this?’
They were sitting at a rest stop outside Tanumshede, having laid claim to one of the picnic tables. They were no amateurs at this, so they had been foresighted enough to bring along a thermos of coffee from Ernst’s house. Then they bought a big bag of buns at the bakery in Tanumshede. Ernst had unbuttoned his shirt to expose his sunken white chest to the sun. Out of the corner of his eye he discreetly watched a bunch of young women in their early twenties who were laughing and chattering, taking a pause in their driving trip.
‘Hey, put your tongue back in your mouth. And button up your shirt, for that matter. What if one of our colleagues drove past? We’re supposed to look like we’re working.’
‘Oh, relax, will you? They’re all busy searching for that teenage chick. Nobody cares what we’re doing.’
Gösta’s face clouded over. ‘Her name is Jenny Möller. Not “that teenage chick”. And shouldn’t we be helping out too, instead of sitting here like a couple of bloody dirty old men?’ He nodded towards the scantily clad girls a couple of tables away. Ernst could hardly tear his eyes away from them.
‘You’re a fine one to talk. I’ve never heard you complain before when I’ve rescued you from the daily grind. Don’t tell me that the devil has gone and got religion in his old age.’
Ernst turned to look at him, and his eyes had narrowed in an alarming way. Gösta got cold feet. Maybe it was stupid to have said anything. He’d always been a little afraid of Ernst. He reminded him too much of the boys at school who had stood waiting for him outside the schoolyard. Boys who could smell weakness and then ruthlessly exploited their superiority. Gösta had seen for himself what happened to people who contradicted Ernst, and he regretted his words. He mumbled a reply.
‘Oh, I didn’t mean anything by it. I just feel sorry for her parents. The girl’s only seventeen.’
‘They don’t want our help anyway. Mellberg has started kissing that fucking Hedström’s arse for some reason, so there’s no way I’m going to bust my rear end for nothing.’ His voice was so loud and hostile that the girls turned to look at them.
Gösta didn’t dare tell Ernst to quiet down, but he lowered his own voice and hoped that Ernst would follow his example. He wasn’t about to mention whose fault it was that Ernst wasn’t included on the investigative team. Ernst himself had conveniently repressed his failure to report Tanja missing.
‘I think Hedström’s doing a damn good job. Molin has been working hard too. And to be honest, I haven’t contributed as much as I could have done,’ said Gösta.
Ernst looked as if he couldn’t believe his ears. ‘What the hell are you saying, Flygare? Are you sitting here claiming that two striplings who don’t have a fraction of our combined experience can do a better job than we can? Is that what you’re saying, you stupid shit?’
If Gösta had thought before he opened his mouth he would have foreseen the effect his comment would have on Ernst’s wounded ego. Now he had to back-pedal as fast as he could.
‘No, that’s not quite what I meant. I just said that … no, of course they don’t have the experience we have. And they haven’t exactly come up with any results yet, so – ’
‘No, they certainly haven’t,’ Ernst agreed, slightly mollified. ‘They haven’t been able to show shit yet.’
Gösta exhaled in relief. His desire to try to display a little backbone had rapidly faded.
‘So, what do you say, Flygare? Should we have another drop of coffee and another bun?’
Gösta simply nodded. He had lived so long by the law of least resistance that by now it was the only thing that came natural to him.
Martin looked around with interest when they turned in by the little cabin. He’d never been to visit Solveig and her boys before, and he gazed at the chaos in fascination.
‘How the hell can anyone live like this?’
They got out of the car and Patrik threw his arms out. ‘It’s beyond me. My fingers are itching to clean up this mess. Some of these wrecked cars were here back in Johannes’s time, I think.’
They heard shuffling footsteps when they knocked on the door. Solveig had probably been sitting in her usual spot at the kitchen table, and she was in no hurry to open the door.
‘Now what? Can’t honest folks be left in peace?’
Martin and Patrik exchanged a glance. Her assertion was contradicted by the extensive rap sheet of her sons.
‘We’d like to talk with you a bit. And to Stefan and Robert too, if they’re home.’
‘They’re asleep.’
Sullenly Solveig stepped aside and let them come in. Martin couldn’t conceal a disgusted expression, and Patrik elbowed him in the side as a warning. Martin quickly put on his best poker-face and followed Patrik and Solveig into the kitchen. She left them there while she went to wake up her sons, who were sleeping in the room they shared, just as she’d said. ‘Up and at ’em, boys, the cops are here snooping around again. Get moving so we can get rid of these jailers quick.’
She didn’t seem concerned about whether Patrik and Martin might hear what she said. She came waddling back to the kitchen and calmly sat down in her place.
Groggy with sleep, Stefan and Robert came out dressed only in their underpants.
‘These guys don’t ever quit, do they? It’s starting to look like harassment to me,’ said Robert. He was as cool as ever.
Stefan peered at them from under the shock of hair hanging in his eyes. He reached for a packet of cigarettes on the table and lit one, dribbling the ash nervously until Robert hissed at him to stop.
Martin wondered how his colleague would deal with this sensitive matter. He was still pretty sure that Patrik was out tilting at windmills.
‘We have a f
ew questions regarding your husband’s death.’
Solveig and her sons stared at Patrik in astonishment.
‘Johannes’s death? Why? He hanged himself, and there isn’t much more to say about it. Except that it was people like you who drove him to it!’
Robert angrily hushed his mother. He glowered at Patrik. ‘What is it you’re after, anyway? Mamma’s right. He hanged himself, and that’s all there is to say.’
‘We just want to get everything clarified. You were the one who found him?’
Robert nodded. ‘Yes, and I’ll have to live with that image for the rest of my life.’
‘Could you tell us exactly what happened that day?’
‘I don’t see what good that would do,’ said Robert sourly.
‘I’d still appreciate it if you’d tell us,’ Patrik cajoled him, and after waiting a moment he received an indifferent shrug in reply.
‘Well, if it’ll give you something to work on, then…’ Like his brother he lit a cigarette. The smoke now hovered in a thick cloud over a corner of the kitchen.
‘I came home after school and went out in the yard to play for a while. I saw that the door to the barn was open and I got curious. I went over to check. It was dark in there, as usual. The only light was whatever seeped through the slats. It smelled like hay.’ Robert looked as though he’d dis appeared into his own private world. He went on, ‘Something wasn’t right.’ He paused. ‘I can’t really describe it, but it felt different.’
Stefan was watching his brother in fascination. Martin got the impression that it was the first time he’d ever heard in detail about the day his father hanged himself.
Robert continued. ‘I crept farther inside, pretending that I was sneaking up on Indians. Ever so quietly I tiptoed over to the hayloft, and when I got a few steps into the barn I saw that something was lying on the ground. I went up to it. When I saw that it was Pappa I was happy. I thought he was playing a joke on me. I thought that I was supposed to go over to him and then he would jump up and start tickling me or something.’ Robert swallowed hard. ‘But he didn’t move. I poked at him with my foot, but he was completely still. Then I saw that he had a rope round his neck. When I looked up I saw that a piece of rope was hanging from the roof-beam too.’
His hand holding the cigarette was trembling. Martin cast a glance at Patrik to see how he reacted to the story. It was quite obvious to him that Robert was not making this up. Robert’s pain was so palpable that Martin felt that he could reach out his hand and touch it. He saw that his colleague was thinking the same thing.
Downhearted, Patrik continued. ‘Then what did you do?’
Robert blew a smoke ring and watched as it disintegrated and vanished.
‘I went to get Mamma, of course. She came out to the barn and started shrieking so loud I thought my eardrums were going to burst. Then she rang Grandpa.’
Patrik was taken aback. ‘Not the police?’
Solveig scratched nervously on the tablecloth and said, ‘No, I called Ephraim. That was the first thing that occurred to me.’
‘So the police never came here?’
‘No, Ephraim took care of everything. He rang Dr Hammarström, who was the district doctor in those days, and he came over and examined Johannes. Then the doctor wrote up one of those certificates about the cause of death, or whatever it’s called, and saw to it that the undertaker came and took him away.’
‘But no police?’ Patrik persisted.
‘No, I told you that. Ephraim took care of everything. Dr Hammarström certainly talked to the police, but they never came out here. Why should they? It was suicide!’
Patrik chose not to explain that the police always have to be called to the scene of a suicide. Obviously Ephraim Hult and this Dr Hammarström had decided on their own authority not to contact the police before the body was removed from the scene. The question was: why? In any case, it was clear that they weren’t going to get any farther right now. But Martin had an idea.
‘You haven’t seen a young woman here in this area? Twenty-five, brown hair, normal build.’
Robert laughed. The serious nature of his story had not left any traces in his voice. ‘Considering how many chicks run around here, you’ll have to be a bit more specific.’
Stefan was watching them intently. He said to Robert, ‘You saw a picture of her. She’s the one on the newspaper placards. The German tourist they found with the other girls.’
Solveig reacted explosively. ‘What the hell are you talking about? Why would she have been here? Are you going to drag us through the mud all over again? First, you accuse Johannes of abducting some girls and now you come here and ask my boys incriminating questions. Get out! I don’t ever want to see you here again! Go to hell!’
She stood up and hustled them out with the sheer force of her huge body. Robert laughed, but Stefan looked pensive.
When Solveig returned, snorting after slamming the door behind Martin and Patrik, Stefan went back into the bedroom again without a word. He pulled the covers over his head and pretended to sleep. There was something he needed to think about.
Anna felt miserable as she sat on the luxurious sailboat. Gustav had agreed without question to set sail immediately and leave her in peace in the bow, where she was sitting with her arms wrapped around her knees. With a magnanimous air he had accepted her excuses and promised to take her and the children to Strömstad. From there they could take the train home.
Her whole life had been nothing but a constant bloody chaos. The injustice of Erica’s words made her eyes sting with tears of anger, but her rage was mixed with sorrow that they kept ending up on a collision course. Everything was so complicated with Erica. She was never content to be the big sister – to offer advice and encouraging remarks. Instead she’d taken it upon herself to play the role of mother without understanding that it only increased the vacuum left behind by the maternal support they should have had.
Unlike Erica, Anna had never blamed Elsy for the indifference she had displayed towards her daughters. Or at least Anna had believed that she’d accepted it as one of the hard facts of life. But when both their parents had suddenly died, Anna realized that she had always hoped that Elsy would soften with the years and step into the maternal role. It would have given Erica more space to simply be the sister. But when their mother died the two sisters became stuck in roles that neither of them knew how to change. Periods of tacit peace were inevitably replaced by trench warfare, and every time that happened, a part of Anna’s soul was torn from her body.
At the same time Erica and the children were all she had now. Even though Anna hadn’t wanted to admit it to Erica, she did see Gustav for what he was – a superficial, spoiled little boy. And yet she couldn’t withstand the temptation; it was a boost to her self-esteem to show up with a man like Gustav. On his arm she became visible. People whispered and wondered who she was. Women gave approving looks to the lovely designer clothes that Gustav showered on her. Even out on the water, people would turn and point at the magnifi cent sailboat, and she felt a foolish pride as she lay on the bow like a bathing beauty.
But at other times she was ashamed to realize that it was the children who had to pay the price for her need for re assurance. They had already put up with too much during the years with their father, and Anna couldn’t in good conscience claim that Gustav was a decent substitute for a father. He was stern and impatient with the children, and she was reluctant to leave them alone with him.
Sometimes she felt so envious of Erica that she could throw up. While Anna was in the middle of a fierce custody battle with Lucas, having difficulties making ends meet, and involved in what was (to be quite honest) an empty relationship, Erica sailed forth like a pregnant madonna. The man Erica had chosen to be the father of her child was precisely the sort of man that Anna herself needed to be happy. But she kept going for the wrong types out of sheer self-destruction. Erica was now living a financially trouble-free life and even enjoying a certain ce
lebrity status. And that made the envious little demons of sibling rivalry reappear. Anna didn’t want to be petty, but it was hard to resist feeling bitter when her own life was painted only in dull grey hues.
The excited shrieks of the children followed by Gustav’s frustrated wailing snapped her out of her self-pity and brought her back to reality. She pulled her sailing jacket tighter and walked carefully along the railing back to the stern. After getting the children to calm down, she forced herself to smile at Gustav. Even when you had a lousy hand you had to play the cards you were dealt.
Like so many times before, Laine wandered about in the big house. Gabriel was gone on another of his business trips, and she was alone. The meeting with Solveig had left a nasty taste in her mouth, and again she felt the hopelessness of the situation. She would never be free. Solveig’s filthy, distorted world clung to her like a bad smell.
She stopped in front of the stairs leading to the top floor in the left wing of the manor house. Ephraim’s floor. Laine hadn’t been up there since he died, or many times before that either. It had always been Jacob’s domain, and occasionally Gabriel’s as well. Ephraim had sat up there and held audiences for the men, like a feudal lord. Women in his world had been mere shadow figures, assigned to please and look after the ground-floor service facilities.
Hesitantly she climbed the stairs. She stopped in front of the door. Then she resolutely pushed it open. The flat looked exactly as she remembered it. An air of masculinity still hovered over the silent rooms. It was here that her son had spent so many hours of his childhood. She had been so jealous. In comparison with grandfather Ephraim, both she and Gabriel had come up short. To Jacob they had seemed ordinary, sad, and deadly dull, while he viewed Ephraim as practically divine in status. When he died so suddenly, shock had been Jacob’s first reaction. How could Ephraim simply disappear like that? Here one day, gone the next. He had seemed like an impregnable fortress, an ineradicable fact.
The Preacher Page 21