‘Yes, she did. I sat there in her house about a week before she died, listening to her naive ideas about coming to terms with the past, taking all the old skeletons out of the closet, and so on and so forth. Modern drivel in my opinion. Today, everyone seems obsessed with washing their dirty linen in public, claiming it’s so healthy to reveal all their secrets and sins. But some things should remain private. I told her that as well. I don’t know whether she listened to me, but I hope so. Otherwise, I only had a stubborn bladder inflammation to show for the trouble of sitting there in her freezing house.’
And with that Vera signalled that the discussion was over and walked towards the front door. She opened it for Patrik and said a very guarded farewell.
When he found himself standing out in the cold again with his cap pulled down over his ears and his mittens on, he literally didn’t know which foot to stand on. He hopped a few times to warm himself up and then headed briskly for his car.
Vera was a complicated woman, he had gathered that much from their conversation. She belonged to a completely different generation, but in many ways she was in conflict with that generation’s values. During her son’s childhood she had supported him by her own labour, and even after he reached adulthood and should have taken care of himself, she continued to keep him under her wing. In her way, she was a liberated woman who over all those years had got along without a man. At the same time, she was bound by the rules that existed for women, and men for that matter, from her generation. He couldn’t help feeling a certain reluctant admiration for her. She was a strong woman. A complex woman, who had endured more than any person should have to endure in a lifetime.
He didn’t know what the consequences might be for Vera when it came out that she had interfered to make Anders’s suicide look like a murder. He would definitely need to turn in that information to the police station, but he had no idea what would happen after that. If it were his decision, he would choose to look through his fingers, but he couldn’t promise that’s what would occur. From a purely legal point of view it was possible to charge her with obstructing an investigation, for example, but he sincerely hoped that wouldn’t happen. He liked Vera, he couldn’t get away from that. She was a fighter, and there weren’t many like her.
When he got into his car and flipped open his mobile, he discovered a message waiting for him. It was from Erica. She reported that there were three ladies and a very, very small gentleman who hoped he would have dinner with them this evening. Patrik glanced at the clock. It was already five, so he decided without great internal debate that it was probably already too late to go to the station. And what did he have at home to do? Before he started the car he rang Annika at the station and gave her a brief report on what he’d accomplished, but he left out the details since he wanted to report on the whole situation when he had Mellberg face to face. He wanted at all costs to prevent the situation from being misinterpreted, and to prevent Mellberg from mobilizing some enormous operation simply for his own amusement.
As Patrik drove back to Erica’s house, the thoughts of Alex’s murder kept returning. It frustrated him that he had run into yet another blind alley. Two murders meant twice the chance that the killer had made a mistake. Now he was back at the beginning once more, and for the first time he thought he might never find the person who had murdered Alex. That made him strangely sad. It felt somehow that he knew Alex better than anyone else did. What he’d found out about her childhood and life after the assaults had moved him deeply. He wanted to find her killer more than he’d ever wanted anything in his whole life.
But he had to accept the situation. He had now reached another blind alley, and he didn’t know where he should go from here, or where to look. Patrik forced himself to let it go for the time being. Right now he was going over to see Erica, her sister, and especially the kids, and that was exactly what he needed this evening. All this misery had made him feel frayed inside.
Mellberg drummed impatiently with his fingers on the desktop. Where the hell was that young whippersnapper? Did he think this was some sort of damned day-care? That he could come and go as he liked? Of course it was Sunday, but anyone who thought he could take a day off before this was all over was seriously mistaken. Well, he would soon disabuse him of that notion. At his station, it was strict regulations and clear discipline that counted. Good honest leadership. It was the watchword of the times, and if anyone had ever been born with leadership qualities, then he was the one. His mother had always said that he would make something great out of himself. Even if he had to admit that it may have been taking a bit longer than either of them had expected, he had never doubted that his excellent qualifications would pay off sooner or later.
That’s why it was so frustrating that they seemed to be stuck in these investigations. Mellberg felt that his big chance was so close that he could taste it. But if his miserable team didn’t start delivering results soon, he might as well give up any hope of a promotion and a move back to Göteborg. Slackers, that’s what they were, village cops who could hardly find their own arse with both hands and a pocket torch. He’d had some hope for young Hedström, but it seemed as if he, too, would disappoint him. Patrik still hadn’t reported the results of his trip to Göteborg, so it might turn out to be nothing more than an entry on the expense side of the books. It was ten past nine and he still hadn’t seen any trace of him.
‘Annika!’ He yelled in the direction of the open door and felt his irritation rise even higher when it took a good minute before she deigned to respond to his call.
‘Yes, what is it?’
‘Have you heard anything from Hedström? Is he still asleep in his warm bed, or what?’
‘I should hardly think so. He rang and said that he had a little trouble getting his car started this morning but that he was on the way.’ She looked at the clock. ‘He should be here in fifteen minutes or so.’
‘What the hell, he could walk here if he wanted to.’
Annika hesitated and to his astonishment he saw a little smile play over the corners of her mouth.
‘Well, I don’t think he was at home.’
‘Where the hell was he then?’
‘You’ll have to ask Patrik that,’ said Annika, turning to go back to her room.
The fact that Patrik seemed to have a good excuse for being late annoyed Mellberg even more, for some reason. Couldn’t he plan ahead and allow for some extra time in the morning in case he had car trouble?
Fifteen minutes later, Patrik knocked discreetly on the open door and came in. He looked out of breath and red-cheeked and seemed unabashedly happy and brisk even though he’d made his boss wait for almost half an hour.
‘Do you think this is a part-time job here, or what? And where the hell were you yesterday? Wasn’t it two days ago that you drove to Göteborg?’
Patrik sat down in the visitor’s chair across the desk and calmly answered Mellberg’s barrage of questions.
‘I apologize for being late. The car wouldn’t start this morning, and it took over half an hour to get it going. Yes, it was the day before yesterday that I went to Göteborg, and I thought I’d report on that first, before I tell you what I did yesterday.’
Mellberg grunted in reluctant agreement. Patrik told him what he’d found out about Alex’s childhood. He included all the disgusting details. At the news that Julia was Alex’s daughter, Mellberg felt his jaw drop in the direction of his chest. He’d never heard anything like it before. Patrik continued to tell him about Karl-Erik’s emergency trip to the hospital and how he’d had a piece of paper from Anders’s flat analyzed on the spot. He explained that it had turned out to be a suicide note, and then he gave an account of what he’d done yesterday and why. Patrik then summed it all up for an unusually quiet Mellberg.
‘So one of our murders has turned out to be a suicide, and as for the other, we still have no idea who did it or why. I have a feeling that it has something to do with what Alexandra’s parents told me, but I have ab
solutely no evidence or actual facts to support that theory. So now you know everything that I know. Do you have any ideas about how to proceed?’
After another moment of silence, Mellberg managed to regain his composure. ‘Well, that was certainly an amazing story. I would have put my money on that guy she was screwing, rather than a rehash of some old incident from twenty-five years ago. I suggest you talk to Alex’s lover boy and tighten the thumb-screws a little extra this time around. I think that would prove to be a considerably better use of our resources.’
As soon as Patrik told him who the child’s father was, Mellberg had moved Dan up to the top of the list of suspects.
Patrik nodded, a bit too willingly in Mellberg’s suspicious mind, and stood up to go.
‘Oh, uh, good job, Hedström,’ Mellberg said reluctantly. ‘Are you following up on that now?’
‘Absolutely, Chief, consider it done.’
Did he catch a trace of sarcasm there? But Patrik looked at him with an innocent expression and Mellberg waved off the suspicion. The fellow probably had enough sense between his ears to recognize the voice of experience when he heard it.
The purpose of a yawn was to get more oxygen to the brain. Patrik was very doubtful whether it was doing him any good. The fatigue from the night he’d spent at home tossing and turning had caught up with him, and sleeping with Erica had been vetoed by a majority decision. He looked wearily at the by now familiar piles of paper on his desk and had to quell an impulse to take all the documents and toss them in the wastebasket. He was sincerely sick of this whole investigation by now. It felt as if months had passed, while actually it had been no more than two weeks. So much had happened and yet he hadn’t made any progress. Annika went past his office and saw him rubbing his eyes. She came back with a much-needed cup of coffee and set it in front of him.
‘Feeling bogged down?’
‘Yes, I have to admit that it’s a little rough going just now. But all I have to do is start over from the beginning. Somewhere in these stacks of paper is the answer, I know it. All I need is a tiny little lead that I missed before.’ He tossed his pencil on top of the piles in resignation.
‘Anything else?’
‘What?’
‘I mean, how’s life, apart from the job? You know what I mean.’
‘Yes, Annika, I know exactly what you mean. What do you want to know?’
‘Is it still bingo?’
Patrik wasn’t sure he really wanted to know, but against his better judgement he asked anyway. ‘Bingo?’
‘Yes, you know. Five in a row…’ Then she left, shutting the door with a mischievous smile on her lips.
Patrik chuckled to himself. Yes, you could probably call it that.
He forced his thoughts back to the task at hand and scratched his head meditatively with a pencil. There was something that didn’t fit. Something that Vera had said just didn’t seem right. He took out the notebook he’d been writing in during their conversation and went through his notes methodically, word for word. An idea was slowly forming. It was only a small detail, but it might be important. He pulled out a sheet of paper from one of the piles on his desk. The impression of chaos was deceptive. He knew precisely where everything was.
He read over this item with great meticulousness and circumspection, and then reached for the telephone.
‘Yes, hello, this is Patrik Hedström from the police in Tanumshede. I was wondering if you’ll be home for a while, I have a few questions. You will be? That’s great, then I’ll be over there in twenty minutes. Where exactly do you live? Just on the way into Fjällbacka. Take a right just after the steep hill and it’s the third house on the left. A red house with white trim? Okay, I should be able to find it. Otherwise I’ll call you back. See you soon.’
Scarcely twenty minutes later Patrik stood outside the door. He’d had no problem finding the little house, where he guessed that Eilert had lived for many, many years with his family. When he knocked on the door it was opened almost at once by a woman with a pinched-looking face. She introduced herself effusively as Svea Berg, Eilert’s wife, and showed him into a small living room. Patrik could see that his call had triggered feverish activity. The good china was on the dining-room table, and seven kinds of pastry were piled on a tall three-level cake plate. This case was going to give him a real spare tyre by the time it was over, Patrik sighed to himself.
Even though he instinctively took a dislike to Svea Berg, he instantly liked her husband when he encountered a pair of lively, clear-blue eyes above a firm handshake. He could feel the calluses on Eilert’s hand and knew that this was a man who had worked hard his whole life.
The sofa cover looked wrinkled when Eilert got up, and with a deep frown Svea was there to smooth it out with a reproachful glance at her husband. The whole house was squeaky clean, without a wrinkle, and it was hard to believe that anyone actually lived in the place. Patrik felt sorry for Eilert. He looked lost in his own home.
The effect turned almost comical when Svea quickly alternated between the ingratiating smile when she was facing Patrik to the reproachful grimace when she turned to her husband. Patrik wondered what it was her husband had done to bring on such disapproval. He suspected that Eilert’s mere presence was a source of vexation for Svea.
‘Well, Constable, take a seat and have some coffee and cakes.’
Patrik sat down obediently on the chair facing the window, and Eilert made a move to sit on the chair across from him.
‘Not there, Eilert, you know that. Sit over there.’
Svea pointed dictatorially to the chair at the head of the table, and Eilert obeyed politely. Patrik looked around as Svea dashed about like a lost soul, pouring coffee as she simultaneously smoothed out invisible wrinkles in the tablecloth and curtains. The home had apparently been decorated by someone who wanted to give the appearance of a prosperity that did not exist. Everything was a bad copy of the real thing, from the curtains that were supposed to look like silk with plenty of flounces and rosettes in a ‘progressive’ design to the plethora of knick-knacks made of silver plate and imitation gold. Eilert looked like a fish out of water in all this simulated pomp.
To Patrik’s frustration, it took a while before he could get on to his actual business. Svea babbled incessantly as she slurped loudly from her coffee cup.
‘This coffee service, you understand, was sent to me by my sister in America. She married a wealthy man there and she’s always sending me such fine presents. It’s very expensive, this service.’
She raised her elegantly decorated coffee cup with great ostentation. Patrik was rather sceptical of the value of the service, but wisely chose not to comment.
‘Yes, I would have gone to America as well, if I weren’t always in such delicate health. If it hadn’t been for that, I probably would have married a rich man there too, instead of sitting in this hovel for fifty years.’
Svea cast an accusatory eye at Eilert, who calmly let the comment pass. It was undoubtedly a tune he’d heard many times before.
‘It’s gout, the constable should know. My joints are all used up, and I’m in pain from morning till night. It’s lucky I’m not the type to complain. With my terrible migraines as well, there would be plenty to complain about, but it’s not in my nature to complain, you understand. No, one must bear one’s afflictions with equanimity, as they say. I don’t know how many times I’ve heard, “How strong you are, Svea, going on day in and day out with your infirmities.” But that’s the way I am.’
She modestly lowered her eyelids as she made a great show of wringing her hands, which in Patrik’s layman’s eyes looked anything but gout-ridden. What a damned harpy, he thought. Painted and dolled up with far too much cheap jewellery and a thick layer of make-up. The only positive thing he could say about her appearance was that at least it matched the decor. How on earth could such a mismatched couple as Eilert and Svea have stayed married for fifty years? But he assumed it was a generational thing. Their generation
got divorced only for considerably worse reasons than mutual differences, But it was a shame. Eilert couldn’t have had much fun in his life.
Patrik cleared his throat to interrupt Svea’s torrent of words. She obediently fell silent, and her eyes hung on his lips to hear what exciting news he might come out with. The gossip grapevine was going to start up as soon as he stepped out the door.
‘Well, I have a few questions about the days before you found Alexandra Wijkner’s body. When you were there looking after the house.’
He stopped and looked at Eilert, waiting to hear what he would say. But Svea began first.
‘Yes, I do declare. That something like that would happen here. And that my Eilert would discover the body. No one has talked about anything else the past few weeks.’
Her cheeks were glowing with excitement, and Patrik had to restrain himself from offering a sharp comment. Instead he gave a sly smile and said, ‘If you’ll forgive me, I wonder if it would be possible for me and your husband to speak undisturbed for a while. It’s standard protocol in the police that we only take testimony when persons not directly concerned are not present.’
A pure lie, but he saw to his satisfaction that Svea, despite her great annoyance at being excluded from the centre of all the excitement, accepted his authority in the matter and reluctantly got up from the table. Patrik was rewarded at once with an appreciative and amused glance from Eilert, who could hardly conceal his glee at seeing Svea so ignominiously robbed of her gossip tidbits.
When she had reluctantly dragged herself out of the kitchen, Patrik went on, ‘Now where were we? Yes, you were going to start by telling me about the week before, when you were at Alexandra Wijkner’s house.’
‘Why is that important?’
‘I’m not sure just yet. But it could be important. So try to remember as many details as possible.’
The Ice Princess Page 36
