The Preacher
Page 27
‘As I said, she seemed to be trying to find out more information about what happened to her mother. And considering the fact that your uncle was the prime suspect in the case …’ He didn’t finish the sentence.
‘I must say that this all sounds like wild speculation to my ears. My uncle was innocent, and yet you drove him to his death with your insinuations. With him gone, you apparently want to try and put another one of us in prison. Tell me, what sort of splinter is in your heart that gnaws at you and makes you feel such a need to tear down what someone else has created? Is it our faith and the joy we find in it, that sticks in your craw?’
Jacob had switched to sermonizing, and Martin understood why he was such an esteemed preacher. There was something spellbinding about the rising and falling cadence of his gentle voice.
‘We’re just doing our job.’
Patrik’s tone was curt and he had to stop himself from showing his distaste for all that he regarded as religious drivel. But he too had to admit that Jacob had a certain power when he spoke. Weaker people than himself might easily give in to that voice and be tempted by its message. He went on, ‘So you’re saying that Tanja Schmidt never came to Västergården?’
Jacob threw out his hands. ‘I swear that I never saw the girl. Is there anything else?’
Martin thought about what they had learned from Pedersen, the pathologist. The fact that Johannes did not commit suicide. That information would probably shake up Jacob quite a bit. But he knew that Patrik was right. They would hardly be out of the room before the phones would probably start ringing at the homes of the rest of the Hult family.
‘No, I think that’s all. But it’s possible that we’ll return later on.’
‘I wouldn’t be surprised.’
Jacob’s voice had lost its preaching tone and was again mild and calm. Martin was just about to reach for the door handle when the door quietly swung open. Kennedy had been standing silently outside, and he opened it at precisely the right moment. There was no doubt that he’d been eavesdropping. A black fire was blazing in his eyes. Martin shrank from the hatred he saw there. Jacob must have been teaching him more about ‘an eye for an eye’ than ‘love thy neighbour’.
The mood was oppressive around the little table. Not that it had ever been cheerful. Not since Johannes died.
‘When is this going to end?’ said Solveig, pressing her hand to her breast. ‘Why do we always have to land in the shit? Everyone seems to believe that we’re just sitting here waiting for someone to kick us!’ she wailed. ‘What are people going to say now, when they hear that the police dug up Johannes! I thought the gossip would finally come to an end when they found that last girl, but now it’s all starting up again.’
‘Let people talk, damn it! What do we care what they gossip about in their homes?’ Robert stubbed out a cigarette so hard that the ashtray tipped over.
Solveig snatched away her albums. ‘Robert! Be careful! You could get burn marks on the albums.’
‘I’m so sick of your fucking albums! Day in, day out you sit there fiddling with those damned old photos. Don’t you get it? Those days are gone. It’s like a hundred years ago, but you keep sighing and messing about with your sodding pictures. Pappa is gone and you’re no beauty queen any more. Just look at yourself.’
Robert grabbed the albums and flung them across the floor. Solveig threw herself after them with a shriek and began gathering up the pictures that were scattered all over the floor. That just made Robert even more furious. He ignored Solveig’s pleading look, bent down, picked up a handful of photos and began tearing them into tiny bits.
‘No, Robert, no, not my pictures! Please, Robert!’ Her mouth was like an open wound.
‘You’re a fat old woman, haven’t you realized that? And Pappa killed himself. It’s time you dealt with that.’
Stefan had sat as if frozen during this scene. Now he got up and took a firm grip on Robert’s hand. He prised loose the rest of the photos that Robert was clutching and forced his brother to listen.
‘Now, you calm down. This is exactly what they want, don’t you see that? They want to turn us against each other so that our family will be torn apart. But we won’t give them that satisfaction, do you hear me? We’re going to stick together. Now help Mamma pick up the albums.’
Robert’s anger fizzled out like the air from a balloon. He rubbed his hand over his eyes and looked in horror at the mess he had made. Solveig lay on the floor like a big, soft heap of despair, sniffling, with pieces of photos sliding through her fingers. Her sobs were heartrending. Robert sank to his knees and put his arms round her. Tenderly he stroked a greasy strand of hair from her forehead and then helped her up.
‘Forgive me, Mamma, I’m so sorry, so sorry. I’ll help you fix up the albums again. I can’t mend the pictures I tore up, but there weren’t very many. See, the best ones are still here. Look at you in this one, how beautiful you were.’
He held up a picture in front of her. Solveig posing in a modestly cut bathing suit with a banner across her breast that said ‘May Queen 1967’. And she really was beautiful. Her sobs changed to a hacking cough. She took the pictures from him and smiled. ‘I really was beautiful, wasn’t I, Robert?’
‘Yes, Mamma, you were. The most beautiful girl I ever saw!’
‘Do you really think so?’
She gave him a coquettish smile and stroked his hair. He helped her over to the kitchen chair.
‘Yes, I do. Cross my heart.’
A moment later, everything was gathered up and she was once again fiddling happily with her albums. Stefan signalled to Robert that they should go outside. They sat on the steps outside the cabin and each lit a cigarette.
‘Damn, Robert, you can’t flip out now.’
Robert scraped his foot in the gravel. He said nothing. What should he say?
Stefan took a deep drag and enjoyed the feeling of the smoke seeping out between his lips. ‘We can’t play into their hands. I meant what I said in there. We have to stick together.’
Robert still sat in silence. He was ashamed. A big hole in the gravel had formed where he was dragging his foot back and forth. He tossed the fag-end in the hole and covered it with dirt, though that was quite unnecessary. The ground around them was littered with old cigarette butts. After a while he turned to look at Stefan.
‘Stefan, you said you saw that girl at Västergården.’ He hesitated. ‘Was it true?’
Stefan took one last drag on his cigarette and tossed the butt to the ground as well. He stood up without looking at his brother.
‘Damn straight it’s true.’ Then he went back inside the cabin.
Robert sat there and for the first time in his life he felt that a chasm had opened up between him and his brother. It scared the shit out of him.
The afternoon passed in deceptive calm. Until they heard more details about the post-mortem on Johannes, Patrik didn’t want to do anything hasty, so he more or less sat and waited for the telephone to ring. He felt restless and went in to see Annika to have a chat.
‘How’s it going for you?’ As usual she peered at him over the rim of her glasses.
‘This heat doesn’t make it any easier.’ As he said that he noticed a pleasant breeze in Annika’s office. A big fan was whirring on her desk, and Patrik closed his eyes with pleasure.
‘Why didn’t I think of that? I bought a fan for Erica to have at home, so why didn’t I get one for the office as well? That’s the first thing I’m going to do in the morning, that’s for sure.’
‘So, how’s it going with Erica’s pregnancy? It must be miserable for that poor girl in this heat.’
‘Yes, before I bought her the fan, she was about to climb the walls. She’s not sleeping well, she has cramps in her calves, and she can’t lie on her stomach at all. You know how it is.’
‘No, I can’t say as I do,’ said Annika.
Patrik realized with a shock what he’d said. Annika and her husband had no children, and he’d neve
r dared ask why. Perhaps they couldn’t have children. If so, he’d really put his foot in it with his rash comment. She saw his embarrassment.
‘Don’t worry about it. It’s a conscious decision on our part. We’ve never felt any great desire to have children. For us it’s enough to lavish our affection on the dogs.’
Patrik could feel the colour returning to his cheeks. ‘I was afraid I’d put my foot in it there. In any case, it’s hard for both of us right now, even though it’s obviously harder for Erica. We just want to get it over with somehow. And our house has been sort of invaded lately.’
‘Invaded?’ Annika raised an eyebrow.
‘Relatives and acquaintances who think that Fjällbacka in July sounds like a fantastic idea.’
‘And they really enjoy bossing you around, right?’ Annika said. ‘Yes, we know all about that. We had the same problem with our summer house at first, until we’d had enough and told all the freeloaders to get lost. We haven’t heard from them since, but we noticed that we didn’t miss them at all. Real friends show up in November too. The others you can afford to lose.’
‘True, so true,’ said Patrik, ‘but easier said than done. Erica basically threw out the first bunch that came, but now we’re stuck with the next round of guests, trying to be hospitable. And poor Erica, who’s at home all day, has to keep waiting on them.’ He sighed.
‘Then maybe you need to be a man about it and resolve the situation.’
‘Me?’ Patrik gave Annika an offended look.
‘Sure, if Erica is stressed out while you manage to escape all day long, maybe you should put your foot down and see to it that she gets a little peace and quiet. It can’t be easy for her. She’s used to having her own career and all, and suddenly she has to sit at home and stare at her navel while your life rolls along as usual.’
‘I never thought of it that way,’ Patrik said sheepishly.
‘No, I figured you hadn’t. So this evening you need to throw out the guests, no matter what Martin Luther is whispering in your ear. And then you have to make a proper fuss over the expectant mother. Have you talked to her and asked how she’s doing, alone at home all day? I assume she can’t go out, either, in this heat, so she’s pretty much a prisoner in the house.’
‘Right.’ Patrik was whispering by now. It was like being run over by a steamroller. His throat felt thick with worry. It didn’t take a genius to see that Annika was right. A mixture of short-sighted selfishness and his habit of letting himself get swallowed up by his work had made him neglect Erica. He had assumed that it must be great for her to take a holiday and devote herself to the pregnancy. What made him so embarrassed was that he knew Erica better than that. He knew how important it was for her to be doing something meaningful. It wasn’t like her to be idle. No doubt it had suited his purposes to fool himself.
‘So, don’t you think you should go home a little early and take care of your wife?’
‘But I’m waiting for a call,’ was his automatic response. The look Annika gave him told him that was the wrong answer.
‘Your mobile phone only works within the walls of the station, you mean? Kind of a limited range, don’t you think?’
‘Right,’ Patrik whimpered. He jumped up from his chair. ‘I’m going home right now. Will you patch any calls through to my mobile … ?’
Annika looked at him as if he were developmentally challenged, and he backed out the door. If he’d had a cap, he would have been clutching it in his hands, bowing his way out the door …
But unforeseen events intervened, and it was more than an hour before he left the station.
Ernst was trying to choose amongst the coffee cakes at Hedemyr’s. He’d intended to try the bakery, but the queue there made him change his mind.
In the middle of deciding between cinnamon buns and Delicato balls, his attention was caught by a dreadful commotion upstairs. He put down the cakes and went to check on things. The shop was divided into three floors. On the ground floor was the restaurant, kiosk and bookshop, on the next floor groceries, and the top floor had clothing, shoes and gifts. Two women were standing by the cash register tugging at a handbag. One woman was wearing a badge on her chest that identified her as one of the staff, while the other woman looked like someone in a low-budget Russian film. A short miniskirt, net stockings, a top that would have fit a twelve-year-old, and enough make-up to colour a road map from Beckers.
‘No, no, my bag!’ shrieked the woman in broken English.
‘I saw you took something,’ replied the shop assistant, also in English but with a distinct Swedish intonation. She looked relieved when she spied Ernst.
‘Thank goodness, please arrest this woman. I saw her walking about and stuffing things in her handbag, and then she brazenly tried to walk out of here with them.’
Ernst didn’t hesitate. In two long strides he reached the woman and took the suspected shoplifter by the arm. Since he knew no English, he didn’t bother to ask any questions. Instead he tore the capacious handbag brusquely from her grasp and simply dumped the contents on the floor. A hair dryer, a shaver, an electric toothbrush and, for some unknown reason, a ceramic pig with a midsummer wreath on its head, all poured out of the bag.
‘What do you say to this, eh?’ Ernst said in Swedish. The assistant translated.
The woman just shook her head and tried to look as though she was stunned. She said, ‘I know nothing. Speak to my boyfriend, he will fix this. He is boss of police!’
‘What’s the dame saying?’ Ernst hissed. It irritated him to have to rely on a woman to translate for him.
‘She says that she doesn’t know anything. And that you should talk to her boyfriend. She says he’s the Chief of Police?’
The assistant looked back and forth in astonishment between Ernst and the woman, who now stood with a superior smile on her face.
‘Oh yes, she’ll get a chance to talk to the police, all right. Then we’ll see if she keeps up with her bullshit story about a “boyfriend who’s chief of police”. That number might work in Russia or wherever the hell you come from, lady, but it won’t work around here,’ he yelled, his face only a couple of centimetres from the woman’s. She didn’t understand a word, but for the first time she looked a little uncertain.
Ernst roughly escorted her out of Hedemyr’s and across the street to the police station. The woman was practically dragged behind him in her high heels, and people slowed down in their cars to watch the spectacle. Annika opened her eyes wide as he stormed past the reception desk.
‘Mellberg!’ Ernst called so it echoed down the corridor. Patrik, Martin and Gösta all stuck their heads out to see what was going on. Ernst yelled once again towards Mellberg’s office. ‘Mellberg, come here, I have your girlfriend here!’ He chuckled to himself. Now she’d get her comeuppance. It was alarmingly quiet in Bertil’s office, and Ernst began to wonder whether the chief had slipped out while he was shopping. ‘Mellberg?’ he called a third time, now a bit less enthusiastic about his plan to make the woman eat her words. Ernst stood in the corridor with the woman in a firm grip and everyone stared at him. Finally Mellberg emerged from his office with his gaze fixed on the floor. Ernst felt a lump forming in his stomach as he realized that things were probably not going to work out as splendidly as he had imagined.
‘Be-e-ertil!’ The woman tore herself loose and ran over to Mellberg, who froze in his tracks like a deer in the headlights. Since she was twenty centimetres taller than he was, it looked funny when she pressed him close in an embrace. Ernst’s jaw dropped open. Feeling like sinking through the floor, he decided to start writing his letter of resignation at once. Before he got the boot. In horror he realized that several years of steady kissing-up to the chief had been ruined by one unfortunate act.
The woman released her hold on Mellberg and turned to point at Ernst, who stood sheepishly holding her handbag.
‘This brutal man put hands on me! He say I steal! Oh, Bertil, you must help your poor Irina!’
His English could be termed halting at best, but she understood what he said and did not appreciate it.
‘No, Bertil. I stay here. You talk to that man, and I stay here and see you work, okay?’
He shook his head firmly and began shooing her out ahead of him. She turned anxiously and said, ‘But Bertil, honey, Irina not steal, okay?’
Then she strutted out on her high heels after casting one last spiteful look of triumph at Ernst. For his part he was still staring down at the carpet and didn’t dare meet Mellberg’s gaze.
‘Lundgren! In my office now!’
In Ernst’s ears this sounded like doomsday. He slouched obediently after Mellberg. In the corridor heads were still sticking out, with mouths agape. Now at least they knew the cause of all the mood swings.
‘Now would you please tell me what happened?’ said Mellberg.
Ernst nodded feebly. Sweat broke out on his brow. This time it wasn’t because of the heat.
He told his boss about the commotion at Hedemyr’s and how he saw the woman involved in a tug-of-war with the shop assistant. With a quavering voice he also recounted how he had dumped out the contents of the handbag, and how a number of items had not been paid for. Then he fell silent and waited for the judgement. To his surprise Mellberg leaned back in his chair with a deep sigh.
‘It’s a hell of a mess I’ve landed in.’ He paused for a moment, then leaned down and pulled out a drawer. He took out something that he tossed on the desk towards Ernst.
‘This is what I expected. Page three.’
Curious, Ernst picked up what looked like a class catalogue and turned to page three. The pages were full of photos of women, with brief descriptions of height, weight, eye colour and interests. He suddenly realized what Irina was: a ‘mail-order bride’. Although, there was not much similarity between the actual Irina and the portrait of her in the catalogue. In the description she had deducted at least ten years, ten kilos and a kilo of make-up. In the pictures she was beautiful and innocent, staring into the camera with a broad smile. Ernst looked at the portrait and then at Mellberg, who threw his arms wide.