‘Yes, but it certainly is a long wait,’ said Patrik, glad to talk about something else.
‘I’m surprised it takes so long. I had no idea. I mean, the child is there, so what’s the problem?’ Gösta was almost as frustrated about it as Annika and her husband Lennart were.
‘Bureaucracy,’ said Patrik. ‘And I suppose we should be grateful that they check up on everyone properly and don’t hand over the children to just anybody.’
‘You’re right about that.’
‘Okay, we’re here.’ Patrik turned into the drive in front of the Bengtssons’ house and parked the car. A second later the other police car pulled up, with Paula at the wheel. When she turned off the engine, the only sound was the soughing of the wind in the nearby woods.
Kenneth Bengtsson opened the front door. His face was pale, and he looked confused.
‘Patrik Hedström,’ said Patrik, shaking hands with Kenneth. ‘Where is she?’ He motioned for his colleagues to wait outside. It would create problems for the crime-scene techs if they all tromped about inside the house. Kenneth opened the door wider and pointed down the hallway.
‘In there. I … would it be all right if I stay here?’ He was looking at Patrik, but his eyes had a blank look.
‘Stay here with my colleagues, and I’ll go inside,’ said Patrik, glancing at Gösta to get him to take charge of the victim’s spouse. Gösta’s skills as a police officer left a lot to be desired, but he had a talent for dealing with people, and Patrik knew that Kenneth would be in good hands. The medics would be arriving any minute. He had phoned them before leaving the station, so the ambulance should be here soon.
Patrik cautiously stepped inside and took off his shoes. He headed in the direction that Kenneth had indicated, assuming he meant the door at the end of the hall. It was closed, and Patrik stopped himself as he was about to touch the door handle. There might be fingerprints. Using his elbow, he pushed down on the handle and opened the door by leaning against it.
She was lying in bed with her eyes closed and her arms at her sides. She looked like she was sleeping. He took a couple of steps closer, looking for any injuries on the body. There was no blood, no wounds. But her body did show clear signs of her illness. Her bones were visible under the taut, dry skin, and her head looked bald under the scarf she was wearing. His heart ached at the thought of what she must have suffered, and what Kenneth must have suffered as he was forced to see his wife in this state. But there was nothing to indicate anything except that she had died in her sleep. Patrik carefully backed out of the room.
When he stepped outside into the cold again, Gösta was speaking in a soothing voice to Kenneth while Paula and Martin were helping the ambulance driver back his vehicle into the drive.
‘I went in to see her,’ Patrik told Kenneth in a low voice, putting his hand on the man’s shoulder. ‘And I don’t see any sign that she was murdered, as you said on the phone. From what I understand, your wife was seriously ill. Is that right?’
Kenneth nodded mutely.
‘Isn’t it more likely that she simply died in her sleep?’
‘No, she was murdered,’ Kenneth replied vehemently.
Patrik exchanged glances with Gösta. It wasn’t unusual for someone in shock to react oddly and say strange things.
‘Why do you think so? As I said, I just went in to see your wife, and there are no obvious injuries to her body, nothing to indicate anything … out of the ordinary.’
‘She was murdered!’ Kenneth insisted, and Patrik began to realize that there was nothing more they could do here. He would ask the medics to tend to the poor man.
‘Take a look at this!’ Kenneth pulled something out of his pocket and held it out to Patrik, who took it without thinking. It was a small white piece of paper, folded in half. Patrik gave Kenneth an inquisitive look and then opened the paper. In black cursive script it said: The truth about you killed her.
Patrik instantly recognized the handwriting.
‘Where did you find this?’
‘In Lisbet’s hand. I took it out of her hand,’ Kenneth stammered.
‘And she didn’t write this herself?’ Patrik already knew the answer, but he still felt that he had to ask the question to remove any doubt. The handwriting was the same. And the few words conveyed the same sense of evil as the letter that Erica had taken from Christian.
As expected, Kenneth shook his head. ‘No,’ he said, holding up something else that Patrik hadn’t noticed he was clutching in his hand. ‘The same person sent these.’
Inside the plastic bag were several white envelopes. The address had been written with black ink in an elegant script. The same as on the piece of paper that Patrik was holding.
‘When did you get these?’ he asked, feeling his heart pounding hard.
‘We were just going to turn them over to the police,’ said Kenneth quietly, handing the plastic bag to Patrik.
‘Who do you mean by “we”?’
‘Erik and I. He received similar letters.’
‘Erik Lind? He has letters too?’ Patrik repeated, wanting to make sure that he’d heard correctly.
Kenneth nodded.
‘Why didn’t you tell the police about this before?’ Patrik tried to keep his frustration out of his voice. The man standing in front of him had just lost his wife, so this was not the proper time for reproaches.
‘I … we … It wasn’t until today that Erik and I realized that we’d both received these sorts of letters. And we only heard about Christian getting threats when we read about it in the paper this weekend. I can’t speak for Erik, but for my part, I didn’t want to upset …’ His voice trailed off.
Patrik took another look at the letters inside the plastic bag. ‘Only three of them have an address and postmark on them. One of them just has your name on the envelope. How did that letter arrive?’
‘Someone came into the house last night and left it on the kitchen table.’ He hesitated, but Patrik didn’t speak, sensing that Kenneth had more to say. ‘And there was a knife lying next to the letter. One of our kitchen knives. I suppose that’s a message that could be interpreted several different ways.’ He began to cry as he went on. ‘I thought it was me that someone wanted to harm. Why Lisbet? Why kill Lisbet?’ He wiped away a tear with the back of his hand, apparently embarrassed to be crying in front of Patrik and the other officers.
‘We don’t know whether she was actually murdered,’ said Patrik gently. ‘But someone has definitely been inside your house. Do you have any idea who that might be? Or who would have sent you these letters?’ He kept his eyes fixed on Kenneth, wanting to see if there was any change in his expression. As far as he could tell, Kenneth was speaking the truth when he said:
‘I’ve thought a lot about it ever since the first letter appeared. That was right before Christmas. But I can’t think of anyone who would want to harm me. No one at all. I’ve never made any enemies in that way. I’m too … unimportant.’
‘What about Erik? How long has he been getting these letters?’
‘About the same as me. He has them over at the office. I was just coming home to pick mine up and then we were going to contact the police …’ His voice faded again, and Patrik could see his thoughts were back in that room where he’d found his wife dead.
‘What do you think the message on this note means?’ asked Patrik cautiously. ‘It refers to a “truth about yourself” – what do you think that could be?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Kenneth quietly. ‘I really have no idea.’ Then he took a deep breath. ‘What will you do with her now?’
‘She’ll be taken to Göteborg for closer examination.’
‘Closer examination? Do you mean a post-mortem?’ Kenneth grimaced.
‘Yes. A post-mortem. I’m afraid it’s necessary so we can work out what actually happened here.’
Kenneth nodded, but his eyes were glazed, and his lips were looking slightly blue. Realizing that they’d been standing outdoors in the
cold too long, considering the thin clothing that Kenneth was wearing, Patrick added:
‘It’s cold out here, and you need to go inside.’ He paused for a moment. ‘Would you like to drive over to the office with me? To your office, I mean? Then we can have a talk with Erik. Feel free to say no if you’re not up to it, and I’ll go over there myself. Is there anyone you’d like to phone, by the way?’
‘No. I’d like to go with you,’ said Kenneth, almost defiantly. ‘I want to know who did this.’
‘All right, then.’ Patrik took him lightly by the arm to steer him towards the car. He opened the door on the passenger side so Kenneth could get in. Then he went over to Martin and Paula to give them some brief instructions. He went inside to get a jacket for Kenneth before he motioned for Gösta to come with him. The tech team was on its way, and Patrik hoped to get back before they were finished. Otherwise he’d have to talk to them later. Right now going to see Erik was so urgent that it couldn’t wait.
As they backed out of the driveway, Kenneth cast a long look at the house. His lips moved, as if forming the words of a silent farewell.
Nothing had really changed; it felt just as empty as before. The only difference was that now there was a body to bury and the last glimmer of hope had vanished. Cia’s premonitions had turned out to be right, after all. Dear God, how she wished she’d been wrong.
How was she going to live without Magnus? How would her life look without him? It seemed so unreal that her husband, the father of her children, would be lying in a grave in the cemetery. Magnus, who had always been so full of life, who had always wanted to have fun and make sure that everyone else enjoyed themselves too. Of course she had been annoyed with him on occasion, irritated by his carefree attitude and constant teasing. It drove her crazy whenever she wanted to talk about something serious and he just played about and teased her until she couldn’t help laughing even though she didn’t want to. At the same time, she had never wanted to change anything about him.
What she wouldn’t give for just one more hour with him! Half an hour, even one minute! They weren’t finished with their life together; in fact, they had just begun. They’d only had the chance to make half the journey they’d envisioned for themselves. The exhilarating first meeting when they were nineteen. The first years when they were so in love. Magnus proposing to her, and then their wedding in Fjällbacka church. The children. The nights filled with crying infants, when they’d taken turns getting some sleep. All the hours of playing and laughing with Elin and Ludvig. The nights when they had made love or just fallen asleep, holding hands. And the last few years when the children were getting older and she and Magnus had been able to get to know each other again.
But there was so much more they had wanted to do; the road ahead had seemed long and filled with anticipated experiences. Magnus was looking forward to teasing his children’s first boyfriend and girlfriend, respectively, who would turn up at their house to be introduced, awkward and shy and stammering. They were planning to help Elin and Ludvig when they moved into their first flats, carrying in furniture, painting the walls, and sewing curtains. As the father, Magnus would give a speech when each of his children married. He would talk too long, get too sentimental, and tell too many details about their childhood. Cia and Magnus had even imagined their first grandchild, even though it would be years until that happened. But it was there in the future, like a promise, sparkling like a jewel. And they would be the world’s best grandparents. Always ready to lend a hand and spoil the grandchildren. Give them cake for dinner and buy them far too many toys. Offering their time, all the time that they had.
All of that was now gone. Their dreams for the future would never be realized. Suddenly Cia felt a hand on her shoulder. She heard his voice, but it sounded so unbearably like Magnus that she shut it out, refused to listen. After a while the voice fell silent and the hand was taken away. In front of her she saw that the road had vanished, as if it had never existed.
On the last stretch of the drive to Christian’s house Erica felt as if she were heading towards Golgotha. She had phoned the library to speak to him, but was told that he’d gone home. So she had squeezed herself in behind the wheel to drive over there. She still wasn’t sure that it was a good idea to do as Gaby had asked. At the same time, she didn’t really see how she could get out of the situation. Gaby never took no for an answer.
‘What do you want?’ asked Sanna when she opened the door. She looked even sadder than usual.
‘I need to talk to Christian,’ Erica told her, hoping that she wouldn’t be asked to explain why.
‘He’s not home.’
‘When do you expect him?’ asked Erica patiently, feeling almost grateful for the chance to postpone the meeting.
‘He’s writing. Over in the boathouse. You can go down there if you want to, but you’ll be disturbing him at your own risk.’
‘That’s okay. I’ll take the risk.’ Erica hesitated. ‘It’s important,’ she added.
Sanna shrugged. ‘Do whatever you like. Do you know where it is?’
Erica nodded. She had visited Christian in his little writer’s den a couple of times before.
Five minutes later she parked the car next to the row of boathouses. The one Christian was working in had been inherited from Sanna’s family. Her maternal grandfather had bought it for a song, and now it was one of the few still owned by someone who lived in Fjällbacka year-round.
Christian must have heard her car, because he opened the door even before she could knock. Erica noticed that he had a cut on his forehead, but she decided that it wasn’t the right time to ask him about it.
‘What are you doing here?’ he asked with the same lack of enthusiasm that Sanna had displayed.
Erica was starting to feel as if she were carrying the plague. ‘It’s just me and a couple of others,’ she tried to joke, but Christian didn’t look amused.
‘I’m working,’ he said, making no sign of inviting her inside.
‘I’ll only bother you for a few minutes.’
‘You of all people should know what it’s like to be in the middle of writing something,’ he said.
This was going a lot worse than Erica had expected. ‘I had a visit from Gaby a while ago. She told me about your meeting.’
Christian’s shoulders sagged and he sighed. ‘She came all the way here just to tell you about that?’
‘She was in Göteborg for a meeting. She’s really upset. And she thought that I could … Er, couldn’t we go inside to talk instead of just standing here in the doorway?’
Without saying a word, Christian finally stepped aside and let her come in. The ceiling was so low that he had to bow his head a bit, but Erica, who was half a head shorter, was able to stand up straight. He turned his back to her and led the way into the room facing the sea. The computer was on and manuscript pages lay strewn over the drop-leaf table in front of the window, indicating that he really had been working.
‘All right, what did she say?’ He sat down, crossed his long legs and folded his arms. His whole body radiated antipathy.
‘As I mentioned, she’s very upset. Or maybe concerned is a better word. She says that you refuse to do any more interviews or other promotion for your book.’
‘That’s right,’ replied Christian, looking even more defiant.
‘May I ask why?’
‘I’m sure you know why,’ he snapped, and Erica gave a start. He noticed her reaction and seemed to regret his tone of voice. ‘You know why,’ he repeated dully. ‘I can’t … I just can’t. Not after everything that has been said in the media.’
‘Are you worried about attracting more attention? Is that it? Have you received more threats? Do you know who’s sending them?’ The questions poured out of her.
Christian shook his head vigorously. ‘I have no idea. His voice rose again. ‘I have absolutely no idea! I just want a little peace and quiet so I can work undisturbed and not have to …’ He turned away.
&n
bsp; Erica studied Christian in silence. He didn’t really fit in with this setting. That was something she’d thought about before, when she met him here at the boathouse, and the feeling was even stronger this time. He looked so out of place among all the fishing gear and nets adorning the walls. The little shed seemed like a doll’s house into which he had squeezed his long limbs and then got stuck so he couldn’t get out. In a sense, that might have been exactly what happened. She glanced at the manuscript on the table. It was impossible to see what the text was about, but she estimated that there were nearly a hundred pages.
‘Is that a new book?’ She had no intention of dropping the topic that seemed to upset him so much, but she was willing to give him a short breathing space so he could calm down.
‘Yes,’ he said, and seemed to relax a bit.
‘Is it a sequel? To The Mermaid?’
Christian smiled. ‘There is no sequel to The Mermaid,’ he told her, turning to look out at the sea. Then he added, hesitantly, ‘I don’t understand how anyone would dare.’
‘Sorry?’ Erica didn’t think she’d said anything that would cause him to smile. ‘What do you mean by “dare”?’
‘Dive.’
Erica turned to see what he was looking at, and suddenly she understood what he meant.
‘You mean from the diving tower? At Badholmen?’
‘Yes.’ Christian was staring at it without blinking.
‘I’ve never dared. But on the other hand, I have to admit that I’m afraid of the water, which is rather embarrassing considering that I grew up here.’
‘I’ve never dared either.’ Christian spoke in a voice that sounded far away, almost dreamy. Erica waited anxiously for him to say more. There was something in the air, a tension that seemed close to bursting point. She didn’t dare move, she hardly dared breathe. After a few moments Christian went on. But he no longer seemed aware of her presence.
‘She dared.’
‘Who?’ Erica whispered the question. At first she didn’t think she’d get an answer. Silence settled between then. Then Christian said in such a low voice that his words were barely audible:
The Drowning Page 21
