Patrick Hedstrom 07: The Lost Boy

by Camilla Lackberg

  ‘Good,’ said Paula, sipping her coffee.

  ‘When will Patrik and Gösta be back?’ asked Martin.

  ‘No idea,’ said Annika. ‘They were heading for the council offices first. After that, they wanted to see Mats’s parents in Fjällbacka. So it might take a while.’

  ‘I hope they talk to the parents before the newspapers start phoning them,’ said Paula.

  ‘I wouldn’t count on it,’ said Martin, looking gloomy.

  ‘Damn Mellberg,’ said Annika.

  ‘Yes, damn Mellberg,’ muttered Paula.

  The three of them sat there in silence, staring down at the table.

  After a couple of hours spent reading and looking up things on the Internet, Erica could tell that she had been sitting too long. Still, her research had turned out to be quite productive. She’d found out a lot about Gråskär, its history, and the people who had lived there. And those who, according to legend, had never left the island. It made no difference that she didn’t believe in ghosts. The tales fascinated her, and part of her really did want to believe.

  ‘We need some fresh air, don’t you think?’ she said to the twins, who were lying close together on the blanket on the floor.

  It was always quite a job to get the two babies and herself dressed to go out, but it was starting to get easier now that they could make do with lighter coats. Sometimes there was a cold wind blowing, so she decided it was better to be safe than sorry and put a warm cap on each boy. A short time later they were off. She was looking forward to the day when she could get rid of the ungainly pram. It was heavy and hard to manoeuvre, even though it did provide her with plenty of much-needed exercise. Though she knew it was ridiculous to worry about the extra pounds she’d put on during her pregnancy, she’d never learned to be satisfied with her own body. She hated the fact that she was so shallow, so predictably like a girl, but that little voice inside her head kept whispering that she wasn’t good enough. And it seemed harder to get rid of that negative self-image than anything else.

  She picked up the pace and felt herself starting to sweat. Not many people were out, but she nodded at everyone she met, exchanging a few words here and there. Many asked after Anna, but Erica gave only brief replies. It seemed too personal to talk about how her sister was doing – or not doing. She didn’t yet want to share the warm feeling that she carried in her heart. It still felt much too fragile.

  After passing the row of boathouses, looking like a string of red beads, she paused to look up towards Badis. She wanted to have a brief talk with Vivianne, to thank her for the advice she’d offered regarding Anna, but climbing the steep flight of stairs seemed an insurmountable task. After a moment’s thought she realized that she could take the alternative path. It would be an easier climb than taking the stairs. Having made up her mind, she turned the heavy pram around and steered it towards the next street. When she finally reached the top of the steep hill, she was panting so hard that she thought her lungs would explode. But at least she’d made it, and now she could take the upper road to Badis.

  ‘Hello?’ She took a couple of steps inside. The twins were still in the pram, which she had parked just outside the front entrance. She wasn’t about to go to the trouble of lifting them out until she knew whether Vivianne was there.

  ‘Hi!’ Vivianne came around the corner, and her face lit up when she saw Erica. ‘Were you passing through the neighbourhood?’

  ‘I’m not disturbing you, am I? If I am, please say so. We’re just out for a walk, me and the boys.’

  ‘You’re not disturbing me in the least. Come on in. Would you like something to drink? Where are the twins?’ Vivianne glanced around, and Erica pointed towards the pram.

  ‘I left them in the pram because I wasn’t sure that you’d be here.’

  ‘It feels like I’m here twenty-four-seven lately,’ said Vivianne, laughing. ‘Can you manage on your own to bring the babies inside while I go get us some refreshments?’

  ‘Of course I can manage. I don’t have much choice,’ said Erica with a smile as she went outside to get her sons. There was something about Vivianne that made other people feel good in her presence. Erica wasn’t sure what it was, but she seemed to feel stronger around Vivianne.

  She set the carrycots on the table and sat down.

  ‘I didn’t think that you’d be interested in green tea, so I brewed some more of that special rot-gut that you like.’

  Vivianne winked and put a cup in front of Erica, who gratefully accepted the pitch-black coffee. She cast a suspicious glance at the pale contents of Vivianne’s cup.

  ‘You get used to it, believe me,’ said Vivianne, taking a sip. ‘Green tea has tons of anti-oxidants. They help the body prevent cancer. Among other things.’

  ‘Oh, really?’ said Erica, sipping her coffee. No matter how healthy the tea was, she couldn’t do without caffeine.

  ‘How’s your sister doing?’ asked Vivianne as she patted Noel on the cheek.

  ‘Better, thanks.’ Erica smiled. ‘That was why I dropped by. I wanted to thank you for the advice you gave me. I think it helped.’

  ‘Good. There are lots of studies showing the healing effect of human touch.’

  Noel started whimpering. After giving Erica an enquiring look, Vivianne lifted him out and held him in her arms.

  ‘He likes you,’ said Erica when her son instantly settled down. ‘He’s not always that easy to please.’

  ‘They’re both wonderful.’ Vivianne nuzzled her nose against Noel’s and he tried to grab her hair with his chubby little fists. ‘So now you’re probably sitting there wondering if you dare ask me why I’ve never had any kids of my own.’

  Erica nodded with embarrassment.

  ‘I’ve just never been that lucky,’ said Vivianne, rubbing Noel’s back.

  Something flashed, and Erica looked at Vivianne’s hand. ‘Wait a minute. Are you engaged? That’s fantastic! Congratulations!’

  ‘Thank you. Yes, it’s great.’ Vivianne smiled faintly and then averted her eyes.

  ‘Forgive me for saying this, but you don’t sound very enthusiastic.’

  ‘I’m just tired,’ said Vivianne, pushing her plait over her shoulder so Noel couldn’t reach it. ‘We’ve been working night and day, so it’s hard to muster much enthusiasm for anything. But of course I’m very happy.’

  ‘So maybe now …’ Erica motioned towards Noel and then realized she was being a little too pushy. At the same time, she couldn’t help herself. She could see so much longing in Vivianne’s face when she looked at the babies.

  ‘We’ll have to wait and see,’ said Vivianne. ‘Why don’t you tell me about your work. I realize that you’re on maternity leave right now and fully occupied with these two, but have you started thinking about a new book?’

  ‘Not yet. But I’m enjoying doing some research of my own in the meantime. Just to keep on my toes, so I don’t fill up my whole brain with baby prattle.’

  ‘Research on what?’ Vivianne was gently bouncing Noel up and down on her knee, and he appeared to be enjoying the motion. Erica told her about the trip out to Gråskär, about Nathalie, and about the local nickname for the island.

  ‘Ghost Isle,’ said Vivianne pensively. ‘There’s usually a grain of truth in those kinds of old legends.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know if I really believe in ghosts and spirits,’ laughed Erica.

  ‘There are plenty of things that we may not see but that still exist,’ said Vivianne, staring at her with a solemn expression.

  ‘Are you saying that you believe in ghosts?’

  ‘I think that’s the wrong word to use. But after working with health issues for so many years, it’s my experience that there’s more to us than the physical body. A person consists of energies, and energy never disappears; it just becomes transformed.’

  ‘Have you personal experience? Of ghosts, or whatever you want to call them?’

  Vivianne nodded. ‘Many times. It’s a natural part of our ex
istence. So if that’s the rumour about Gråskär, then there’s probably some truth to it. You should talk to Nathalie. I’m sure she’s seen manifestations out there. Provided she’s receptive to that sort of thing, of course.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’ Erica was fascinated by this subject, hanging on Vivianne’s every word.

  ‘Some people are more receptive to such things – things that we can’t perceive with our normal senses. Just as some people can hear or see better than others, some of us are more perceptive than others. But everyone has the potential for developing that ability.’

  ‘I’m sceptical about that. But I’d love to be proven wrong.’

  ‘So go back out to Gråskär.’ Vivianne winked. ‘There seem to be plenty of them out there.’

  ‘All that aside, the island has an interesting history. I’d like to discuss it with Nathalie and find out what she knows. If nothing else, maybe she’s curious about the island’s past. And I could at least tell her what I’ve found out so far.’

  ‘I can see that you’re not very good at putting aside all other interests while you’re on maternity leave,’ said Vivianne with a smile.

  Erica had to agree. It wasn’t her strong suit, playing the role of a full-time mother. She reached out for Anton. No doubt Nathalie would enjoy hearing more about the island and its history. Not to mention the ghosts.

  Gunnar looked at the ringing telephone. It was the old-fashioned kind, with a number dial and a heavy receiver sitting on the cradle. Matte had tried to get them to replace it with a wireless phone. He had even given them one as a Christmas present a couple of years back, but it was still in its box somewhere down in the basement. They liked the old phone, he and Signe. Now it made no difference.

  He continued to stare at the phone. Slowly his brain worked out that the shrill tone meant that he was supposed to pick up the receiver and answer.

  ‘Hello?’ He listened carefully to what the voice on the other end was saying. ‘That can’t be right. What kind of idiot are you? How can you even say such—’ Unable to bring himself to continue the conversation, he slammed down the receiver.

  A moment later the doorbell rang. Still shaking from the phone call, Gunnar went to the front hall and opened the door. A camera flashed, and a flood of questions was hurled at him. He quickly slammed the door, turned the lock, and leaned his back against the wooden panelling. What was going on? He looked up at the stairs. Signe was resting in the bedroom. He wondered if she’d been awakened by all the commotion. What was he going to say to her if she came downstairs? He didn’t understand a word of what they’d told him. It was so preposterous.

  The doorbell rang again. He shut his eyes, exhaustion flooding over him. Some sort of conversation was going on outside, but he couldn’t make out any of the words. All he could distinguish was the loud and angry tone of the exchange. Then he heard a familiar voice.

  ‘Gunnar, it’s Patrik and Gösta from the police. Could you let us in?’

  Gunnar pictured Matte in his mind. First alive, then lying on the hall floor in a pool of blood and with the back of his head blown apart. He opened his eyes, turned around, and unlocked the door. Patrik and Gösta slipped inside.

  ‘What’s happening?’ asked Gunnar. Even to him his voice sounded strange and far away.

  ‘Could we sit down somewhere?’ Without waiting for an answer, Patrik turned towards the kitchen.

  The doorbell rang again, along with the phone. The two sounds were piercing. Patrik lifted up the receiver, put it down, and then removed it from the cradle.

  ‘I can’t switch off the doorbell,’ said Gunnar in confusion.

  Gösta and Patrik exchanged a look over his head, and then Gösta went back to the front door. He stepped outside, hastily pulling the door closed behind him. Once again Gunnar could hear angry voices flinging words at each other. A moment later Gösta returned.

  ‘That should keep them quiet for a while.’ Then he gently steered Gunnar towards the kitchen.

  ‘We need to speak to Signe too,’ said Patrik, his expression taking on a hint of embarrassment.

  Now Gunnar was truly nervous. If only he knew what this was all about.

  ‘I’ll go get her,’ he said, turning around.

  ‘I’m right here.’ Signe was coming down the stairs, looking as if she’d just got out of bed. She wore a bathrobe wrapped tightly around her, and on one side of her head, her hair was standing on end. ‘Who keeps ringing the doorbell? And what are you doing here? Have you found out anything?’ She fixed her gaze on Patrik and Gösta.

  ‘Let’s all go into the kitchen and sit down,’ said Patrik.

  Signe now looked just as uneasy as Gunnar.

  ‘What’s happened?’ She came down the last steps and followed them to the kitchen.

  ‘Have a seat,’ said Patrik.

  Gösta pulled out a chair for Signe, and then everyone else sat down too. Patrik cleared his throat. Gunnar wanted to cover his ears with his hands; he couldn’t bear to hear more about what the voice on the phone had insinuated. As Patrik began speaking, Gunnar looked down at the table. It was all lies – incomprehensible lies. But he realized what was going to happen. The lies would be printed in black and white and become truths. He glanced at Signe and saw that she too understood. The more the police officer talked, the emptier her expression became. He had never seen anyone die before, but that’s what he was seeing right now. And there was nothing he could do. Just as he’d been unable to protect Matte, he was now paralysed as he watched his wife disappear.

  He felt a rushing inside of his head. A roaring sound filled his ears, and he thought it strange that none of the others reacted. The sound got louder with the passing of every minute, until he could no longer hear what the policemen were saying. He was merely aware of their lips moving. He felt his own lips move, forming the words to tell them that he needed to use the toilet. He felt his legs standing up and then carrying him towards the hall. It was as if someone else had taken over and was manipulating his body. And he obeyed in order not to listen to the words that he didn’t want to hear, in order to get away from that empty look in Signe’s eyes.

  Behind him they continued to talk as he staggered along the hall, past the toilet, and over to the door that was next to the front entrance. His hand moved of its own accord, pressing down on the handle to open the door. He stumbled but then regained his balance, and slowly, step by step, made his way downstairs.

  The basement was shrouded in darkness, but he had no intention of turning on the light. The darkness suited the roaring sound, and it propelled him forward. Fumbling, he opened the cupboard next to the furnace. It wasn’t locked, as it should have been, but that didn’t matter. If he’d found it locked, he would have smashed it open.

  The butt was a familiar shape in his hand after all the elk hunts earlier in the year. Without thinking, he took a bullet out of the box. He wouldn’t need more than one, so there was no need to waste time by putting in more. He loaded the bullet, hearing the click, which was strangely audible through the roaring noise that kept getting louder and louder.

  Then he sat down on the chair near the workbench. Without hesitation, his finger located the trigger. He gave a start when he felt the steel scrape against his teeth, but after that his only thought was how right this was, how necessary.

  Gunnar pulled the trigger. The roaring stopped.

  Mellberg had an unfamiliar pressure in his chest. It was unlike anything he’d ever felt before, and it had started the moment that Patrik phoned from Fjällbacka. An uncomfortable pressure that refused to go away.

  Ernst was whimpering in his basket. In his own dog-like way, he seemed to sense his master’s depressed mood. He got up, shook his huge body for a moment, and then padded over to Mellberg and lay down at his feet. That helped a little, but the unpleasant feeling remained. How could he have known that this would happen? That the man would go down to the basement, stick his hunting rifle in his mouth, and blow his head off? Surel
y no one could expect him to have foreseen that? Try as he might to cling to such thoughts, they refused to take hold.

  Mellberg stood up abruptly, and Ernst gave a start as his pillow suddenly vanished.

  ‘Come on, old boy, let’s go home.’ Mellberg took the dog’s lead from its hook on the wall and fastened it to Ernst’s collar.

  It was eerily quiet as they stepped out into the corridor. Everyone was holed up in their offices behind closed doors, but he could sense their reproach through the walls. He’d seen it in their eyes. And for perhaps the first time in his life, he was forced to do some soul-searching. A voice inside of him was saying that they might be right.

  Ernst was tugging on the lead, so Mellberg hurried out into the fresh air. He pushed away the image of Gunnar lying on a cold gurney, waiting for the post-mortem. He also tried not to think about the wife – or rather, the widow, since that was her status now. Hedström had said that she had seemed totally out of it, and she hadn’t uttered a sound when the shot was fired in the basement. Patrik and Gösta had rushed downstairs, and when they came back to the kitchen, they found that Signe hadn’t moved. She’d been taken to hospital for observation, but the look in her eyes told Hedström that she would never really be alive again. He’d seen it happen a few times in the course of his career. People who looked as if they were alive, who were breathing and moving about, and yet they were completely empty inside.

  Mellberg took a deep breath before opening the door to the flat. He was on the verge of panic. He wished he could get rid of the pressure in his chest, he wished everything would return to normal. He didn’t want to think about what he’d done or not done. He’d never been very good at dealing with the consequences of his actions, nor had it ever bothered him very much when things went wrong. Until now.

  ‘Hello?’ Suddenly he longed desperately to hear Rita’s voice and feel enveloped by her calm, which always made him feel so good.

  ‘Hi, sweetheart! I’m in the kitchen.’