The Preacher

by Camilla Lackberg

  Gösta drove on in silence towards Tanumshede. He wasn’t so sure.

  * * *

  The news had also reached Gabriel and his family. All three of them sat silently at the breakfast table, each lost in thought. To their great surprise, Linda had arrived home with her overnight things the night before and without a word went to bed in her room, which stood ready for her.

  Hesitantly Laine broke the silence. ‘How nice that you came home, Linda.’

  Linda muttered something in reply, with her eyes fixed on the piece of bread she was buttering.

  ‘Talk louder, Linda, it’s not polite to mumble like that.’

  Gabriel got a withering look from Laine, but he didn’t much care. This was his house and he had no intention of making a fuss over the girl simply for the dubious pleasure of having her at home for a while.

  ‘I told you I’ll only be here for a night or two, then I’m going back to Västergården. Just needed a change of scene. All that hallelujah crap was getting to me. And it’s damned depressing to see the way they treat the kids. I think it’s really creepy too, the way the kids go around talking about Jesus …’

  ‘Yes, I’ve told Jacob that I think they’re a little too strict with the children. But they mean well. And faith is important for Jacob and Marita, we have to respect that. I know for instance that Jacob gets very upset when he hears you swearing. It’s actually not language that’s becoming for a young lady.’

  Linda rolled her eyes in annoyance. She’d simply wanted to get away from Stefan for a while, and she knew he wouldn’t dare ring her here. But the harping was already starting to get on her nerves. She’d probably have to go back to her brother’s place tonight anyway. She couldn’t live like this.

  ‘Yes, I assume you heard at Jacob’s house about the exhumation,’ said Laine. ‘Pappa rang there yesterday when the police contacted him. What an idiotic theory they’ve come up with! They’re talking about some plan that Ephraim supposedly cooked up to make it look like Johannes was dead. That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.’

  Red patches appeared on the white skin of Laine’s chest, and she kept fidgeting with her pearl necklace. Linda had to stifle an urge to reach over and tear off the necklace and shove all those fucking pearls down her throat.

  Gabriel cleared his throat and joined the discussion with an authoritative voice. The whole business with the exhumation bothered him. It disturbed his routines and stirred up dust in his well-ordered world. He was strongly against the whole idea. He didn’t think for a minute that the police had any reason for their assertions, but that wasn’t the problem. Nor was it the thought that the peace of his brother’s final resting place would be disturbed, even though that was definitely not pleasant. No, it was the disruption that the whole procedure involved. Coffins were supposed to be buried, not dug up. Once graves were dug they should be left untouched, and coffins that were once closed should remain closed. That’s how things should be. Debit and credit. Everything in its proper order.

  ‘Well, I think it’s a little strange that the police are allowed to take arbitrary action like this,’ said Gabriel. ‘I don’t know what arms they had to twist to get permission, but I intend to get to the bottom of it, believe me. This isn’t a police state we live in, after all.’

  Once again Linda muttered something into her plate.

  ‘Pardon me, what did you say, dear?’ said Laine, turning to her daughter.

  ‘I said shouldn’t you at least give a thought to how this must be for Solveig, Robert and Stefan? Do you have any idea how it must feel for them to have Johannes dug up like this? But no, the only thing you can do is complain about what a shame it is for you. Why don’t you think a little about someone else for a change?’

  She threw her napkin on the plate and left the table. Laine’s hands flew to her necklace again and she seemed to be wondering whether to follow after her daughter or not. A look from Gabriel made her stay where she was.

  ‘Well, we know where she got that high-strung temper ament.’

  His tone was accusatory. Laine didn’t say a word.

  ‘She has the nerve to claim that we don’t care about how Solveig and the boys are taking all this. Of course we care, but time after time they’ve shown that they don’t want our sympathy. As you make your bed, so must you lie in it …’

  Sometimes Laine hated her husband. He sat there so smug, eating his eggs with a good appetite. In her mind she pictured herself going over to him, picking up his plate and slowly rubbing it against his chest. Instead she set about clearing the table.

  8

  SUMMER 1979

  They were sharing the pain now. Like two Siamese twins they were squeezed together into a symbiotic relationship that was held together by equal parts love and hate. On the one hand there was a security in not having to be alone down there in the dark. On the other, an antagonistic relationship was created from the desire to be spared, the wish that the other girl would have to endure the pain the next time he appeared.

  They didn’t speak much. Their voices echoed in a much too ghastly way in the blindness underground. When the footsteps approached they flew apart from each other, relinquishing the skin to skin contact that was their only defence against the cold and the dark. Now only the flight from pain was relevant, and they threw themselves at each other in a struggle to make the other girl the first to land in the hands of the evil one.

  This time she won, and she heard the screams begin. In a way it was almost as bad to be the one who escaped. The sound of bones being broken was well imprinted on her auditory memory, and she felt every scream in her own mangled body. She also knew what would come after the screams. Then the hands that prised and twisted, cut and wounded would be transformed, now warm and tender, placed on the spot where the pain was worst. Those hands she now knew as well as her own. They were big and strong, but at the same time smooth, without roughness or irregularities. The fingers were long and sensitive like a pianist’s. And even though she had never actually seen them she could picture them quite clearly in her mind’s eye.

  Now the screams intensified, and she wished that she could lift her arms to put her hands to her ears. But her arms hung limp and useless by her side and refused to obey her instructions.

  When the screams died out and the little hatch above their heads was opened and then closed again, she crawled across the cold, damp surface to the source of the screams.

  Now it was time for solace.

  alt

  When the lid of the coffin was lifted, there was total silence. Patrik caught himself half turning to stare nervously at the church. He didn’t know what he expected. Maybe a bolt of lightning from the church tower that would strike them down in the midst of their blasphemous activity. But nothing of the sort occurred.

  When Patrik saw the skeleton in the coffin his heart sank. He was wrong.

  ‘Well, Hedström. This is a hell of a mess you’ve landed us in here.’

  Mellberg shook his head in regret. With that one sentence he made Patrik feel as if his head had been placed on the chopping block. But his boss was right. It was a hell of a mess.

  ‘We’re going to take the body with us then, so we can confirm that it’s the right guy. But there probably won’t be any surprises on that point. You don’t have any theories about switched bodies or the like, do you?’

  Patrik just shook his head. He assumed that he’d got what he deserved. The techs did their job, and a while later when the skeleton was on its way to Göteborg, Patrik and Martin got into their car to drive back to the station.

  ‘You could have been right. It wasn’t that far-fetched.’ Martin’s voice was consoling, but Patrik merely shook his head again.

  ‘No, you were right. The conspiracy theories were a little too grandiose to be plausible. I suppose I’m going to have to live with this mistake for a long time to come.’

  ‘Yes, you can probably count on that,’ said Martin sympathetically. ‘But ask yourself this:
could you have lived with yourself if you hadn’t done it? What if later on you found out you were right and it cost Jenny Möller her life? At least you tried. We just have to keep working with all the ideas that pop into our heads, crazy or not. That’s our only chance to find her in time.’

  ‘If it’s not already too late,’ said Patrik dismally.

  ‘See, that’s exactly the way we shouldn’t be thinking. We haven’t found her dead yet, so she must be alive. There isn’t any other alternative.’

  ‘You’re right. But I simply don’t know which way to turn. Where should we look? We keep coming back to that damned Hult family, but there’s never enough to give us anything concrete to go on.’

  ‘We have the connection between the murders of Siv, Mona and Tanja.’

  ‘But nothing that connects them to Jenny’s disappearance.’

  ‘No,’ Martin admitted. ‘But it doesn’t really matter, does it? The main thing is that we do everything we can to search for Tanja’s killer and for whoever kidnapped Jenny. Whether it’s the same person, or two different perps, time will tell. But we’re doing everything we can.’

  Martin stressed every word in that last sentence, hoping that the significance of what he was saying sank in. He understood why Patrik was kicking himself after the disinterment that failed to support his theory, but right now they couldn’t afford an investigative leader with no self-confidence. Patrik had to believe in what they were doing.

  When they arrived back at the station, Annika stopped them at the reception desk. She was holding the phone in one hand and covering the mouthpiece with her other so the person on the other end wouldn’t hear what she said to Patrik and Martin.

  ‘Patrik, it’s Stefan Hult. He’s very anxious to get hold of you. Can you take it in your office?’

  Patrik nodded and strode off. A second later the phone on his desk rang.

  ‘Hello, Patrik Hedström.’

  He listened eagerly, interrupted with a couple of questions, and then dashed into Martin’s office with renewed energy.

  ‘Let’s go, Molin, we’re off to Fjällbacka.’

  ‘But we just came from there. Where are we going?’

  ‘We have to have a little talk with Linda Hult. I think something interesting is developing, something really interesting.’

  Erica had hoped that her guests, like the Flood family, would want to go boating during the day, so that she would be rid of them for a while. She was wrong on that score.

  ‘We’re not much for the sea, Madde and I. We’d rather keep you company here in the garden. It’s such a beautiful view.’

  Jörgen happily gazed towards the islands and prepared himself for a day in the sun. Erica suppressed a laugh. He looked idiotic. He was as pale as an albino and apparently intended to remain that way. He had smeared himself head to toe with sunblock, which made him even whiter, if that was possible. His nose was also covered with some kind of neon-coloured cream that provided extra protection. A big sun hat completed the look, and after half an hour of pottering about he settled with a contented sigh into a garden chair next to his wife. Erica had felt called upon to fetch chairs for them.

  ‘Ah, this is paradise, don’t you think, Madde?’

  He closed his eyes, so Erica reckoned that she could sneak inside for a while.

  Then he opened one eye and said, ‘Would it be too much trouble to ask you to bring us something to drink? A big glass of juice would be wonderful. Madde would probably like one too.’

  His wife just nodded without looking up. She had been engrossed in a book about tax law since she first came outside, and she too seemed to have a panicky terror of getting any kind of suntan. Ankle-length slacks and a long-sleeved shirt took care of that risk. She also had a sun hat on and a neon-coloured nose. Evidently one could never be safe enough. Side by side they looked like two aliens who had landed on Erica and Patrik’s lawn.

  Erica waddled inside and mixed some juice. As long as she didn’t have to talk to them. They were the most amazingly tedious pair she’d ever encountered. If anyone had asked her last night to choose between talking with them or watching paint dry, there was no doubt which she would have chosen. When the time came, she would give Patrik’s mother a piece of her mind for so generously giving them their phone number.

  Patrik could at least escape for a while by going to work. Although she could tell that he was exhausted. She’d never seen him so haunted, so determined to produce results. But there had never been so much at stake before.

  She wished she could have been more help to him. During the investigation of her friend Alex’s death, she was able to help the police in several instances, but then she’d had a personal involvement with the case. Now she was also hindered by her gigantic body. Her belly and the heat had conspired to force her into involuntary idleness for the first time in her life. In some sense it felt as though her brain was also in neutral. All her thoughts were directed at the baby in her belly and the Herculean effort that would be required very soon. Her mind stubbornly refused to focus on other matters for long. She was amazed by the mothers who worked right up until the day before delivery. Perhaps she was simply different, because as the pregnancy progressed she had become more and more reduced – or elevated, depending on how you wanted to look at it – to a brooding, pulsating, nourishing organism of propagation. Every fibre in her body was concentrated on giving birth to the baby, and that’s why interlopers were even more of a bother. They disturbed her concentration. She couldn’t believe that she’d felt so restless being at home by herself. Right now the prospect seemed like paradise.

  With a sigh, she mixed up a big pitcher of juice with crushed ice and carried it outside along with two glasses to the people from Mars on her lawn.

  A quick check of Västergården revealed that Linda was not there. Marita looked puzzled when the two policemen showed up, but she didn’t ask any questions. Instead she directed them to the manor house. For the second time in as many days, Patrik drove down the long avenue. Once again he was struck by how beautiful the place was. He could see Martin sitting next to him with his mouth hanging open.

  ‘Damn, some people sure know how to live.’

  ‘Yes, some have it good,’ said Patrik.

  ‘So only two people are living in that huge house?’

  ‘Three if you count Linda.’

  ‘Jesus, it’s no wonder there’s a housing shortage in Sweden.’

  This time it was Laine who answered the door when they rang the bell.

  ‘How can I help you?’

  Did Patrik sense a hint of nervousness in her voice?

  ‘We’re looking for Linda,’ Martin said. ‘We were just at Västergården, but your daughter-in-law told us she was here.’ Martin nodded vaguely in the opposite direction.

  ‘What do you want from her?’ Gabriel came up behind Laine, who still hadn’t opened the door enough to allow them in.

  ‘We have some questions for her.’

  ‘Nobody asks questions of my daughter unless we know what it’s about.’ Gabriel puffed out his chest, preparing to defend his offspring.

  As Patrik was about to launch into his argument, Linda came walking round the corner of the manor house. She was dressed in riding clothes and appeared to be on her way to the stable.

  ‘Are you looking for me?’

  Patrik nodded, relieved at not having to enter into a direct confrontation with her father. ‘Yes, we have a few questions for you. Would you like to go inside or stay out here?’

  Gabriel interrupted. ‘What’s this all about, Linda? Have you been up to something we should know about? We have no intention of letting the police question you unless we’re present, just so you know.’

  Linda, who all at once looked like a frightened little girl, nodded weakly.

  ‘Let’s go inside,’ she said.

  Listlessly, she followed Martin and Patrik through the front door and into the living room. She didn’t seem to worry about the furniture as she fl
opped down on the sofa in clothes that stank of horse. Laine couldn’t help wrinkling her nose and casting a worried glance at the white upholstery. Linda gave her mother a defiant look.

  ‘Is it all right if we ask you some questions with your parents present? If this were an official interview we wouldn’t be able to forbid them from taking part since you’re underage, but right now we just want to ask a few questions, so …’

  Gabriel looked as though he were about to cast himself into a new argument about this point, but Linda shrugged her shoulders. For a moment, Patrik also thought he glimpsed a certain amount of expectant satisfaction mixed with her nervousness. But it vanished instantly.

  ‘We recently received a call from Stefan Hult, your cousin. Do you know what it might have been about?’

  Linda shrugged again and began absently picking at her cuticles.

  ‘The two of you have been seeing each other a good deal, right?’

  Patrik was advancing cautiously, one step at a time. Stefan had explained a little about their relationship, and Patrik understood that the news would not be well received by Gabriel and Laine.

  ‘Yes, that’s right, we’ve been seeing each other a good deal.’

  ‘What the hell are you saying?’

  Both Laine and Linda jumped. Like his son, Gabriel never used strong language. They couldn’t remember ever hearing him utter such words before.

  ‘What do you care? I’ll see whoever I want to see. It’s none of your business.’