The Drowning

by Camilla Lackberg

  He quickly thanked her and then ran for his car. Not until he was behind the wheel did Anna’s remarks sink in. A trip to Göteborg? Yesterday? He didn’t understand. But it would just have to wait. Right now he had other things to think about.

  The whole police force was on site by the time he reached Badholmen. He parked his car in front of the Coast Guard boat and jogged out to the island. Torbjörn Ruud and the other techs were already at work.

  ‘When did the call come in?’ Patrik asked Gösta, who had come over to meet him. Torbjörn and his team must have driven over from Uddevalla, and shouldn’t have been able to get here faster than he had. Gösta and Martin either, since they had to come from Tanumshede. Why hadn’t anyone phoned him sooner?

  ‘Annika tried to reach you several times. Apparently last night too, but you didn’t answer.’

  Patrik pulled his mobile out of his pocket, prepared to show Gösta that he must be mistaken. But when he looked at the display, he saw that there were six missed calls. Three from yesterday and two from this morning.

  ‘Do you know why she phoned me yesterday?’ said Patrik, cursing himself for turning off the ringer, even for just one evening. Of course something had to happen the minute he allowed himself not to think about work, for the first time in ages.

  ‘I have no idea. But this morning it’s because of this.’ He motioned towards the diving tower, and Patrik gave a start. There was something so primeval and dramatic about the sight of a man swinging in the wind with a rope around his neck.

  ‘Damn it to hell,’ he said, and he really meant it. He thought about Sanna and the children. And about Erica. ‘Who found him?’ Patrik tried to step into his professional role, to lose himself in the work that needed to get done and push aside any thought of all the repercussions. Right now he couldn’t think of Christian as someone who had a wife and children, friends, and a life. At the moment he was just a victim, a mystery that had to be solved. The only thing Patrik could allow himself to think about was that something had happened here, and it was his job to find out what and why.

  ‘The old man over there. Sven-Olov Rönn. He lives in the white house.’ Gösta pointed towards one of the houses on the slope across from the row of boathouses. ‘Apparently he’s in the habit of surveying the area through his binoculars every morning. And that’s when he caught sight of something hanging from the diving tower. At first he thought it was some sort of kids’ prank, but when he made his way over here, he saw that it was for real.’

  ‘Is he okay?’

  ‘A bit shaken up, of course, but he seems to be made of stern stuff.’

  ‘Don’t let him leave until I have a chance to talk to him,’ said Patrik. Then he went over to Torbjörn, who was cordoning off the area around the tower.

  ‘You’re certainly keeping us busy, and that’s an understatement,’ said Torbjörn.

  ‘Believe me, we’d prefer a little peace and quiet.’ Patrik prepared himself to take another look at Christian, and then turned his gaze upwards. The body’s eyes were open and the head had fallen forward a bit when the neck was broken. It looked as if he were staring down at the water.

  Patrik shuddered.

  ‘How long do we have to leave him hanging there?’

  ‘Not much longer. We just need to take our photographs before we cut him down.’

  ‘What about transport?’

  ‘On the way,’ said Torbjörn tersely. He looked keen to get to work.

  ‘Do whatever you have to do,’ said Patrik, and Torbjörn immediately began issuing orders to his team.

  Patrik went over to join Gösta and the elderly man, who looked like he was freezing.

  ‘Patrik Hedström, Tanum police force,’ he said, holding out his hand.

  ‘Sven-Olov Rönn,’ said the man, shaking hands as he practically stood to attention.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ asked Patrik, studying the man’s face for signs of shock. Rönn was a little pale around the gills, but otherwise he looked quite composed.

  ‘Well, this wasn’t exactly pleasant,’ he said, ‘but I’m going to have myself a small fortifying drink when I get home, and then I’ll be fine.’

  ‘Would you like to talk to a doctor?’ asked Patrik, prompting a horrified expression to appear on the face of the man standing in front of him. Apparently he was the type of old man who would rather amputate his own arm than consult a doctor.

  ‘No, no,’ said Rönn, ‘that’s not necessary.’

  ‘All right then,’ said Patrik. ‘I know that you’ve already talked to my colleague here,’ and he nodded towards Gösta, ‘but I’d like to hear for myself how you happened to find … the man in the tower.’

  ‘Well, you see, I’m always up at the crack of dawn,’ Rönn began, and then he went on to tell the same story that Gösta had reported to Patrik a few minutes earlier, although with a few more details added. After asking several follow-up questions, Patrik decided to send the old man home so he could get warmed up.

  ‘So, Gösta. What do you think this means?’ he asked after Rönn had left.

  ‘The first thing we need to find out is whether it was suicide. Or whether it was the same …’ He didn’t finish the sentence, but Patrik knew what he was thinking.

  ‘Have you seen anything to indicate a struggle, or some type of resistance?’ Patrik called to Torbjörn, who had stopped halfway up the steps to the diving tower.

  ‘Not so far. But we’re just getting started,’ he said. ‘We’ll take the photographs first.’ And he waved the big camera he was holding in his hand. ‘Then we’ll see what else we can find. I’ll let you know as soon as I can.’

  ‘Good. Thanks,’ said Patrik. He realized that there wasn’t much more he could do right now. And there was another task that required his attention.

  Martin Molin came over to join them, his face as pale as it always was whenever he had to be near a dead body.

  ‘Mellberg and Paula are on the way too.’

  ‘How nice,’ said Patrik without enthusiasm. Both Gösta and Martin knew that it wasn’t Paula who had prompted that tone of voice.

  ‘What do you want us to do?’ asked Martin.

  Patrik took a deep breath as he tried to form a plan in his mind. He was tempted to delegate the task that he was dreading, but his sense of responsibility took over, and after another deep breath, he said:

  ‘Martin, you wait here for Mellberg and Paula. We won’t count on Mellberg for any sort of help; he’ll just wander about and get in the way of the crime techs. But take Paula with you and start knocking on the doors of all the houses near the entrance to Badholmen. Most of them are empty this time of year, so it shouldn’t take long. Gösta, I’d like you come with me when I talk to Sanna.’

  Gösta’s expression darkened, but he said, ‘Fine, when do you want to go?’

  ‘Right now,’ said Patrik. He just wanted to get it over with. For a moment he considered ringing Annika to find out why she’d been trying to reach him the day before. But that would have to wait until later. He didn’t have time for it now.

  As they left Badholmen, both Patrik and Gösta made an effort not to turn around to look at the figure still swaying in the wind.

  ‘But I don’t understand. Who could have sent these to Christian?’ Sanna was staring in bewilderment at the drawings that lay on the table in front of her. She reached out her hand to pick up one of them, and Erica was glad that she’d had the presence of mind to put each drawing in a separate plastic bag so they could be handled without destroying any potential evidence.

  ‘I don’t know. I was hoping that you might be able to come up with some sort of explanation.’

  Sanna shook her head. ‘I have no idea. Where did you find them?’

  Erica told her about her visit to Christian’s old flat in Göteborg, and about Janos Kovács, who had saved the letters all these years.

  ‘Why are you so interested in Christian’s life?’ Sanna gave her an enquiring look.

  For a
moment Erica pondered how to explain her actions. Even she was hard-pressed to understand why she had become so involved.

  ‘Ever since I heard about the threatening letters, I’ve been worried about him. And since I’m the kind of person that I am, I couldn’t let it go. Christian wouldn’t tell me anything, so I started digging around a bit on my own.’

  ‘Have you shown these to Christian?’ asked Sanna, picking up another drawing to study it more closely.

  ‘No. I wanted to talk to you first.’ She paused for a moment and then said, ‘What do you know about Christian’s background? About his family and childhood.’

  Sanna smiled sadly.

  ‘Almost nothing. You have no idea. I’ve never met anyone who is so unwilling to talk about himself. There’s so much I’ve wanted to know about his parents, how they lived, what he did when he was a kid, what sort of friends he had … all those questions people ask when they’re getting to know someone. But Christian has never been willing to discuss his past. He told me that his parents are dead, that he has no brothers or sisters, and that his childhood was just like everyone else’s, so it’s not really worth talking about.’ Sanna swallowed hard.

  ‘Didn’t that seem strange to you?’ asked Erica, and she couldn’t help letting a trace of sympathy slip into her tone of voice. She could see how hard Sanna was fighting to hold back the tears.

  ‘I love him. And he always got annoyed if I pestered him with those kinds of questions, so I stopped. All I wanted … All I ever wanted was for him to stay with me.’ She whispered the words, her eyes fixed on her lap.

  Erica had an urge to sit down next to Sanna and put her arms around her. She suddenly looked so young and vulnerable. It couldn’t be easy to live in that kind of relationship, always feeling at a disadvantage. Because Erica understood what Sanna was hinting at: the fact that she loved Christian, but he had never loved her.

  ‘So you don’t know who that small figure standing next to Christian might be?’ asked Erica gently.

  ‘I have no idea, but a child must have made these drawings. Maybe he has kids that I don’t know about.’ She attempted to laugh, but the laugh lodged in her throat.

  ‘Now don’t go jumping to conclusions.’ Erica was suddenly worried that she might be making things even worse for Sanna, who was clearly on the verge of a breakdown.

  ‘I won’t, but I have to admit that I’ve been wondering too. I’ve asked him a thousand times since the letters started arriving, and he just says that he doesn’t know who sent them. But I’m not sure that I believe him.’ She bit her lip.

  ‘So he has never mentioned any old girlfriends or anything like that? Nothing about a woman who might have been part of his life before?’ Erica realized that she was being a bit pushy, but maybe Christian had said something once, something that might be buried deep in Sanna’s subconscious.

  Sanna shook her head and laughed bitterly. ‘Believe me, I would remember if he’d ever mentioned another woman. I even thought …’ She stopped herself, looking as if she regretted starting the sentence.

  ‘What did you think?’ asked Erica, but Sanna retreated.

  ‘It’s nothing. Just foolishness on my part. I have problems with jealousy, you might say.’

  And no wonder, thought Erica. Living with a stranger for so many years, and loving someone without being loved in return. It was no wonder that Sanna was jealous. But she didn’t say anything. Instead, she chose to steer the conversation towards what had been on her mind since the day before.

  ‘You talked to one of Patrik’s colleagues yesterday, didn’t you? Paula Morales?’

  Sanna nodded. ‘She was really nice. And I liked Gösta too. He helped me get the children washed up. Tell Patrik to thank him for me. I don’t think I remembered to do that yesterday.’

  ‘I will,’ said Erica, and then paused for a moment before going on. ‘There was one thing in your conversation that I don’t think Paula caught.’

  ‘How would you know that?’ asked Sanna in surprise.

  ‘Paula taped your conversation, and Patrik was listening to it at home last night. I couldn’t help overhearing.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Sanna, seeming to accept the white lie. ‘What was it you …’

  ‘Well, you said something to Paula about Christian not having an easy time of it. And it sounded like you were thinking about something specific.’

  Sanna’s expression froze. She avoided looking Erica in the eye and started plucking at the fringe of the tablecloth.

  ‘I don’t know what –’

  ‘Sanna,’ Erica pleaded. ‘This isn’t the time for secrets or keeping quiet in order to protect someone, to protect Christian. Your whole family is in danger, and others too, but maybe we can prevent anyone else from sharing Magnus’s terrible fate. I don’t know what you’re not saying, or why. It might not even have anything to do with this, and maybe that’s what you’re thinking. Otherwise I’m sure that you would have mentioned it. Especially after what happened to your children yesterday. But can you be absolutely sure about that?’

  Sanna looked out of the window, staring at a spot far away, beyond the buildings, out towards the frozen water and the islands. She didn’t speak for a long time, and Erica didn’t either, allowing Sanna to fight the battle with herself.

  ‘I found a dress up in the attic. A blue dress,’ said Sanna at last. Then she proceeded to tell Erica everything. About how she had confronted Christian, about her anger and her uncertainty. About what he had finally told her. The whole horrible story.

  When Sanna was finished, she seemed to shrink, looking utterly drained. Erica sat motionless, trying to digest what she’d just heard, but it was impossible. There were certain things that the human brain just couldn’t fathom. All she could do was reach out her hand and place it on top of Sanna’s.

  For the first time Erik felt panic overwhelm him. Christian was dead. He was swaying in the wind like a rag doll, hanging from the diving tower at Badholmen.

  A female police officer had phoned to tell him the news. She told him to be cautious, and not to hesitate to call the police. He had thanked her, saying he didn’t think that would be necessary. For the life of him, he couldn’t understand who could be after them. But he had no intention of just sitting around, waiting for his turn. This time he was determined to take control, to hold on to his power.

  Patches of sweat appeared on his shirt, proving that he wasn’t as calm as he tried to pretend. He still held the phone in his hand, and with fumbling fingers he punched in Kenneth’s mobile number. After five rings, his voicemail answered. Angrily Erik ended the call and tossed the mobile on his desk. He tried to force himself to act rationally and think through everything he now needed to do.

  The phone rang. He jumped and then looked at the display. Kenneth.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘I can’t pick up the phone on my own,’ Kenneth explained. ‘I have to have help to put on the Bluetooth. I can’t hold the phone,’ he said, without any self-pity in his voice.

  For a moment Erik thought he should have taken the trouble to visit Kenneth in the hospital. Or at least sent him flowers. Oh well, he couldn’t think of everything, and somebody had be to at the office. He was sure Kenneth would understand.

  ‘How are you doing?’ he asked now, trying to sound as if he were actually interested.

  ‘Fine,’ said Kenneth curtly. He knew Erik too well to think that he had asked about his health because he cared.

  ‘I have some unpleasant news.’ Might as well get right to the point. Kenneth didn’t reply as he waited for him to go on. ‘Christian is dead.’ Erik tugged at the collar of his shirt. He was still sweating heavily, and he could feel that the hand holding the phone was damp. ‘I just heard about it. The police rang. He’s hanging from the diving tower at Badholmen.’

  Still no answer.

  ‘Hello? Did you hear what I said? Christian is dead. The officer I talked to refused to tell me more, but any idiot can see that it’s the same
nutcase who’s been doing everything else.’

  ‘Yes, it’s her,’ said Kenneth at last. His voice was icy and calm.

  ‘What do you mean? Do you know who it is?’ Erik practically screamed. Kenneth knew who it was, and yet he hadn’t told anyone? If nothing else happened to Kenneth first, he was going to kill the man himself.

  ‘She’ll be coming after us next.’

  The eerie calm in his voice made the little hairs on Erik’s arms stand on end. For a moment he wondered whether Kenneth might have suffered a blow to the head.

  ‘Would you please let me in on what you know?’

  ‘She’ll probably save you for last.’

  Erik had to restrain himself from slamming his mobile on to the desk out of sheer frustration. ‘Who is it?’

  ‘You mean you really don’t know? Have you hurt and injured so many people that you can’t pick her out of the crowd? For me it was easy. She’s the only person that I ever harmed. I don’t know whether Magnus ever realized that she was after him. But I do know that he suffered. That’s not something you’ve ever done, have you, Erik? You’ve never suffered or lain awake at night because of what you’ve done.’ Kenneth didn’t sound upset or accusatory. He was still calm and composed.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ snarled Erik, as thoughts raced through his head. A vague memory, an image, a face. Something began stirring. Something that had been buried so deep that it was never supposed to resurface again.

  He gripped the phone hard. Could it be …?

  Kenneth was silent, and Erik didn’t need to say out loud that he now knew too. His own silence spoke volumes. Without saying goodbye, he ended the conversation with Kenneth, trying to push away the certainty that had been forced upon him.

  After that he opened his email and swiftly began doing what had to be done. It was urgent.