Patrick Hedstrom 07: The Lost Boy

by Camilla Lackberg

  As if on cue, the receptionist appeared in the doorway with flushed cheeks and a worried expression.

  ‘I don’t know what it’s about, Erling, but the phones have gone crazy. A lot of reporters are trying to reach you, and both Aftonbladet and GT want to speak to you urgently.’

  ‘Dear God,’ said Erling, wiping his brow where beads of sweat had gathered.

  ‘The only advice we can give you is to say as little as possible,’ said Patrik. ‘I’m very sorry that the press has become involved at such an early stage in the investigation. Unfortunately, there was nothing I could do to prevent it.’ His tone was bitter, but Erling seemed oblivious to anything but his own crisis situation.

  ‘Of course I’ll have to take the calls,’ he said, nervously rocking his chair back and forth. ‘I’ll deal with the situation, but a drug addict working for the town … How on earth am I going to explain that?’

  Patrik and Gösta realized that they weren’t going to get another sensible word out of Erling, so they stood up.

  ‘We’d like to talk to the rest of the staff,’ said Patrik.

  Erling glanced up, although he wasn’t really focusing on them.

  ‘Yes, of course. Go ahead and talk to them. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to take these calls.’ He wiped his forehead with a handkerchief.

  They slipped out and knocked on the door of the next office.

  ‘Come in,’ chirped Gunilla, apparently blissfully unaware of what was going on.

  ‘Could we have a few words with you?’ said Patrik.

  Gunilla nodded cheerfully. Then her expression changed.

  ‘Oh dear. Here I am, merrily laughing. But I assume you’re here about Mats, right? Have you found out anything?’

  Patrik and Gösta exchanged glances, uncertain how to tell her what they wanted to know. They sat down.

  ‘We have a few more questions,’ Gösta began. He was feeling nervous. They really didn’t know enough to ask sensible questions.

  ‘All right. Go ahead and ask,’ said Gunilla, smiling again.

  Evidently she’s the kind of person who’s always upbeat and positive, thought Gösta. The sort that he wouldn’t want to have around at seven in the morning before he’d had his first cup of coffee. He was grateful that his late wife had shared his own sour mood in the morning, so they’d been able to grumble to themselves in peace and quiet.

  ‘Yesterday several schoolkids ended up in hospital after tasting some cocaine that they’d found,’ said Patrik. ‘Maybe you heard about it?’

  ‘Yes, it was awful. But I heard the incident is going to have a happy ending.’

  ‘That’s right. The boys are okay. But it turns out that there are certain connections between the incident and our investigation.’

  ‘Connections?’ said Gunilla, shifting her perky chipmunk eyes from Patrik to Gösta and back again.

  ‘Yes. We’ve found a link between Mats Sverin and the cocaine.’ He could hear that he sounded a tad formal, which always happened when he was feeling uncomfortable. And this was not a pleasant situation. But it was better for Mats’s co-workers to hear about it now instead of reading it in the newspapers.

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Well, we think that Mats may have used cocaine.’ Gösta looked down at the floor.

  ‘Mats?’ Gunilla’s voice sounded a bit shrill. ‘You can’t be serious. Not Mats.’

  ‘We know nothing of the circumstances,’ Patrik explained. ‘And that’s why we’re here. To find out if anyone noticed anything strange about him.’

  ‘Anything strange?’ repeated Gunilla. Patrik could see that she was starting to get upset. ‘Mats was the nicest man you could ever meet. I just can’t imagine that he … no, I just can’t.’

  ‘So there was nothing about his behaviour that struck you as odd? Nothing that you noticed?’ Patrik was clutching at straws now.

  ‘Mats was an exceptionally wonderful person. It’s unthinkable that he would ever have been involved with drugs.’ She tapped her pen on the desk to emphasize each syllable.

  ‘I’m sorry, but we have to ask these questions,’ Gösta apologized. Patrik nodded and stood up. Gunilla stared after them angrily as they left her office.

  An hour later they were finally able to leave the council building. They had talked to the other staff members, and they had all reacted in the same way. Not one of them could imagine Mats Sverin being mixed up in drugs.

  ‘That confirms my own feeling. And I never even met the man,’ said Patrik when they were once again sitting in the car.

  ‘I agree, and we still have the worst ahead of us.’

  ‘I know,’ said Patrik as he drove out of the car park and headed for Fjällbacka.

  He had found them. She knew it. Just as she knew that she had nowhere else to go. She had used up all possible avenues of escape. It had been so easy to shatter everything once again. All it took was a postcard – without any message or the name of the sender, postmarked in Sweden – to destroy her hopes for the future.

  Madeleine’s hand shook as she turned over the postcard after studying the side that was blank except for her name and new address. No words were necessary; the picture on the card said everything. The message couldn’t be more clear.

  Slowly she walked over to the window. Down in the courtyard Kevin and Vilda were playing, unaware that their lives were about to change again. She clutched the postcard in her hand until it was damp with sweat from her fingers. She was trying to gather her thoughts to make a decision. The children looked so happy as they played with the other kids. The desperate look in their eyes had gradually disappeared, though a hint of fear still remained. They had seen too much, and that was something she could never undo, no matter how much love she showered upon them. And now everything was wrecked. This had seemed like the only option, one last chance at a normal life. Leaving behind Sweden and him and everything else. How could she give them a sense of security when her last lifeline had been cut?

  Madeleine leaned her forehead against the windowpane. It felt cold on her skin. She watched as Kevin helped his sister up the ladder of the slide. He placed his hands on Vilda’s rear end, both supporting her and giving her a little push. Maybe she’d done the wrong thing by making him the man in the family. He was only eight. But he had so naturally assumed the role and taken care of his girls, as he called them. He had grown with the responsibility, finding security in his role. Kevin raised his hand to push a lock of hair out of his eyes. He looked so much like his father, but he had her heart. Her weakness, as he used to call it as the blows fell.

  Slowly she began beating her forehead against the window. Hopelessness filled her body. Now nothing was left of the future she had planned. Harder and harder she pounded her head on the glass, noticing how the familiar feeling of pain brought with it a strange sense of calm. She dropped the postcard and the picture of the eagle with outspread wings slid along the floor. Outside, Vilda came down the slide with a delighted smile.

  FJÄLLBACKA 1871

  ‘So how are things going for you out there on the island? It must be terribly lonely.’ Dagmar gave Emelie and Karl a piercing look as they sat stiffly on the loveseat across from her. The delicate little coffee cup looked so out of place in Karl’s rough hand, but Emelie managed to hold it with a certain elegance as she sipped at the hot drink.

  ‘How could it be otherwise?’ replied Karl, without looking at Emelie. ‘Lighthouses are always in isolated locations. But we’re doing fine. And I’m sure you know that, don’t you?’

  Emelie was embarrassed. She thought Karl was speaking too brusquely to Dagmar, who was his aunt, after all. Emelie had been taught to show respect for her elders, and the minute she met Dagmar, she instinctively liked this woman. And besides, of all people, Dagmar ought to understand her situation, because she too had been married to a lighthouse keeper. Her husband, Karl’s uncle, had held that job for many years. While Karl’s father had been expected to inherit and run the family
farm, his younger brother had been given free rein to choose his own path. Karl’s uncle had been his hero and the one who inspired him to turn to the sea and to lighthouses for his living. During the period when he was still talking to her, Karl had once told Emelie about this. But now Karl’s uncle Allan was dead, and Dagmar lived alone in a little house next to Brand Park in Fjällbacka.

  ‘Of course I know what it’s like,’ said Dagmar. ‘And you knew what you were getting into after hearing Allan’s stories. The question is whether Emelie knew.’

  ‘She’s my wife, so she has no say in the matter.’

  Emelie again felt embarrassed by her husband’s behaviour, and tears began welling up in her eyes. But Dagmar merely raised her eyebrows in response to Karl’s remark.

  ‘I heard from the pastor that you’re a very good housekeeper,’ she said, turning to Emelie.

  ‘Thank you. I’m glad he thinks so,’ said Emelie quietly, bowing her head to hide her blush. She took another sip of coffee, savouring the taste of it. It was seldom that she could enjoy a good, strong cup of coffee. Karl and Julian usually bought very little of that particular staple when they were in Fjällbacka. They’d rather spend their money at Abela’s tavern, she thought bitterly.

  ‘How’s it going with the man who is helping you out? Is he a good worker who does a decent job? We had all sorts of different types helping us, Allan and I. Some of them weren’t much good.’

  ‘He does a fine job,’ said Karl, setting his cup down on the saucer so hard that it rattled. ‘Isn’t that so, Emelie?’

  ‘Yes,’ she murmured, although she didn’t dare look at Dagmar.

  ‘How did you happen to find him, Karl? I hope he was recommended to you, because you can never trust adverts in the newspapers.’

  ‘Julian came with excellent references, and he quickly proved himself worthy of the praise.’

  Emelie looked at her husband in surprise. Karl and Julian had worked together for years on a lightship. That was something she’d learned when she overheard them talking about it. Why didn’t he mention that now? She pictured Julian’s glowering eyes. His hatred that had grown worse and worse, and she shuddered at the thought of it. All of a sudden she noticed that Dagmar was looking at her.

  ‘So you have an appointment to see Dr Albrektson today, is that right?’ she said.

  Emelie nodded. ‘I’m going to see him a little later. So he can make sure that everything is fine with the baby boy. Or girl.’

  ‘Looks to me like it’s a boy,’ said Dagmar, and there was genuine warmth in her eyes as she gazed at the rounded swell of Emelie’s stomach.

  ‘Do you have any children? Karl didn’t tell me,’ said Emelie. She wasn’t shy about the attention her pregnancy attracted, and she was eager to talk about the miracle happening inside of her body, especially with someone who had been through the same experience. But she instantly received a sharp poke in the side.

  ‘Don’t be so nosy,’ Karl snapped.

  Dagmar waved aside his admonishment. But her eyes were sad as she replied. ‘Three times I carried the same joy that you now carry. But each time the good Lord had other plans. All of my babies are up there in heaven.’ She looked up, and in spite of her sorrow, she seemed confident in her belief that God knew best.

  ‘I’m sorry, I …’ Emelie didn’t know what to say. She was dismayed that she hadn’t known.

  ‘That’s all right, my dear,’ said Dagmar. Impulsively she leaned forward and placed her hand on Emelie’s.

  This kind gesture, the first in such a long time, almost made Emelie burst into tears. But because of Karl’s blatantly scornful stare she controlled herself. The three of them sat in silence for a while. Emelie could feel the elderly woman’s gaze boring into her, as if she could see the chaos and darkness. Dagmar didn’t remove her hand, which was thin and sinewy and marked by years of hard work. But Emelie thought it was beautiful – just as beautiful as the woman’s narrow face, with all its furrows and wrinkles, revealing a well-lived life that had been filled with love. Emelie suspected that Dagmar’s grey hair, which was pulled back in a tight bun, would still fall in lovely, thick tresses to her waist when she took out the hairpins.

  ‘Since you don’t know your way around here, I was thinking of going with you to see the doctor,’ said Dagmar at last, lifting her hand from Emelie’s.

  Karl immediately voiced his objection.

  ‘I can do that. I know where his office is. There’s no need for you to trouble yourself.’

  ‘It’s no trouble.’ Dagmar gave Karl a stern look. Emelie saw that some sort of power struggle was playing out between them, and finally Karl gave in.

  ‘All right, if you insist,’ he said, setting down the dainty china cup. ‘I can take care of some more important matters in the meantime.’

  ‘Yes, you do that,’ said Dagmar, continuing to stare at him without blinking. ‘We’ll be gone about an hour, and then you can meet us back here. Because I assume you don’t intend to do the grocery shopping without your wife, do you?’

  It was formulated as a question, but Karl correctly took it to be an order, and he replied with a slight shake of his head.

  ‘All right then.’ Dagmar got up and motioned for Emelie to follow her. ‘Let’s go, you and I, so we won’t be late. And we’ll let Karl tend to his own business.’

  Emelie didn’t dare look at her husband. He had lost the tug-of-war, and she knew that she would pay for it later. But as she followed Dagmar out to the street and headed towards the marketplace, she pushed all such thoughts aside. She wanted to enjoy the moment, no matter how high the price might be. She stumbled on a cobblestone, and Dagmar’s hand instantly gripped her arm. Feeling safe, Emelie leaned on her for support.

  16

  ‘Any word from Patrik and Gösta?’ Paula asked as she paused outside Annika’s door.

  ‘No, not yet,’ said Annika. She started to say something else, but Paula was already on her way to the kitchen, eager for some coffee in a clean cup after spending all morning in the filthy homes of drug addicts. Just to be safe, she nipped into the toilet to wash her hands thoroughly. When she turned around, Martin was waiting his turn.

  ‘Great minds think alike,’ he said with a laugh.

  Paula dried her hands and stepped aside to make room for him at the sink.

  ‘Shall I pour you a cup too?’ she asked over her shoulder as she headed for the kitchen.

  ‘Sure, thanks,’ he shouted over the sound of the water gushing from the tap.

  The coffee pot was empty, but the hotplate underneath was red-hot. Paula swore, switched off the coffeemaker, and began scrubbing the black residue in the bottom of the pot.

  ‘It smells like something’s burning in here,’ said Martin as he came in.

  ‘Some idiot took the last drop of coffee and then forgot to turn off the machine. Wait a few minutes and I’ll make a fresh pot.’

  ‘I wouldn’t mind a cup myself,’ said Annika behind them. She went over to the kitchen table and sat down.

  ‘How’s it going?’ asked Martin as he sat down next to Annika and put his arm around her.

  ‘I assume you haven’t heard the news?’

  ‘What news?’ Paula was scooping coffee into the filter.

  ‘There was quite a commotion here this morning.’

  Paula turned around to give her an enquiring look.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Mellberg held a press conference.’

  Martin and Paula exchanged glances, as if to see if they’d really heard the same thing.

  ‘A press conference?’ said Martin, leaning back in his chair. ‘You’re kidding!’

  ‘No. Apparently he got this brilliant idea last night and rang the newspapers and the radio stations. And they all took the bait. We had a full house here. Even GT and Aftonbladet turned up.’

  Paula set down the holder for the coffee filter with a bang.

  ‘Is he out of his mind? What the hell was he thinking?’ She could fe
el her pulse quicken and forced herself to take a deep breath. ‘Does Patrik know about this?’

  ‘Oh yes, he certainly does. They were locked in Mellberg’s office for some time. I couldn’t hear much, but the language they were using wasn’t exactly child-friendly.’

  ‘I’m not surprised,’ said Martin. ‘Why on earth would Mellberg do a thing like that? I assume he talked about the cocaine angle, right?’

  Annika nodded.

  ‘It’s really premature to do that. We don’t know anything yet,’ said Paula, sounding discouraged.

  ‘I’m sure that’s what Patrik tried to point out,’ said Annika.

  ‘How did the press conference go?’ Paula finally pressed the button on the coffeemaker and sat down as the coffee began dripping into the pot.

  ‘Well, it was the usual Mellberg circus. I wouldn’t be surprised if the newspapers put the story on the front page tomorrow.’

  ‘Bloody hell,’ said Martin.

  For a few moments none of them spoke.

  ‘So how’d it go for you?’ asked Annika, deciding to change the subject. She’d had more than enough of Bertil Mellberg for one day.

  ‘Nothing much to report.’ Paula got up and poured coffee into three mugs. ‘We talked to some of the usual suspects who are involved with drug dealing around here, but we didn’t find any links to Mats.’

  ‘I can’t really picture him hanging out with the likes of Rolle and his pals.’ Martin gratefully took the mug of steaming black coffee that Paula handed him.

  ‘I have a hard time picturing that myself,’ she said. ‘Still, it was worth a try. Not that there’s much cocaine being bought and sold around here. It’s mostly heroin and amphetamines.’

  ‘Have you heard from Lennart?’ asked Martin.

  Annika shook her head.

  ‘No. I’ll tell you as soon as he gets back to me. I know that he spent a couple of hours going through the documents last night, so at least he’s making progress. And he said he’d have something for you by Wednesday.’