But this case had generated more buzz than usual. Anything having to do with children usually stirred up emotions among the public, and nothing aroused stronger feelings than murder. But it was not a pleasant picture she derived from the general populace when she took the calls. Most noticeable was the fact that the modern tolerance for homosexuals had not taken root outside the big cities. She was now getting lots of tips about men who were suspicious individuals simply because of confirmed or suspected homosexuality. In most cases the arguments that were advanced were laughably simple-minded. It was enough for a man to have a non-traditional profession for Annika to be told that he must be 'one of those perverts'. According to small-town logic, that alone was enough to accuse him of all sorts of things. So far she had received multiple tips about a local hairdresser, a part- time florist, and a teacher who had apparently committed the outrageous error of favouring pink shirts. Most suspect of all was a male day-care aide. Annika counted ten calls about this latter individual, and she put them all aside with a sigh. Sometimes she wondered whether time moved forward at all in small towns.
The next call proved to be different. The woman on the other end of the line wanted to remain anonymous, but the tip she provided was undoubtedly of interest. Annika straightened up and wrote down exactly what the woman told her. This one was going on the top of the stack. A shiver ran down her back because she sensed that she'd just heard something crucial to the case. It was so seldom that she had any part in what could break a case wide open that she couldn't help feeling a certain satisfaction. This could be one of those moments. The phone rang again and she picked up the receiver. Another tip about the florist.
Reluctantly Arne placed the hymnals on the pews. Usually this task made him feel good, but not today. Newfangled inventions! A music service on Friday evening, and it was far from God-fearing music. Cheerful and lively and altogether heathen! Music should only be played in church during Sunday worship service, and then preferably traditional hymns from the hymnal. Nowadays anything at all could be played, and in some instances people had even taken to applauding. Well, he had to be glad that here it wasn't yet as bad as in STRÖMSTAD, where the pastor brought in one pop artist after another. This evening at least it was only some youths from the local music college who would appear, not silly Stockholm women touring the country with hummable tunes that they were just as happy to play in the house of God as for drunks in the public parks.
It was going to be hymns in any event, and with meticulous care Arne hung up the numbers on the board to the right of the choir. When he had finished posting the numbers he took a step back to make sure they all hung straight. He took pride in every detail being perfect.
If only he would be allowed to create the same order among human beings, everything would be so much better. Instead of thinking up their own idiocies, people could listen to him and learn. It was all in the Bible, after all. Everything was described in the smallest detail, if only one took the trouble to read what the Scriptures said.
He was again struck full force by the sorrow of not living his life as a pastor. After cautiously looking around to ensure that he was all alone, he opened the gate to the choir and stepped reverently up to the altar. He glanced up at the emaciated and wounded Jesus hanging on the cross. This was what life was all about. Studying the blood seeping out of Jesus's wounds, observing how the thorns cut into his scalp, and then bowing one's head in respect. He turned round and gazed out over the empty pews. In his mind's eye they were filled with people, his congregation, his audience. He tentatively raised his hands in the air and intoned in a crisp, echoing voice: 'May the Lord let his countenance shine upon you…'
He pictured the people being filled by his words. He saw them receiving the blessing into their hearts and looking at him with faces beaming. Arne slowly lowered his hands and stole a glance at the pulpit. He had never dared step up there, but today it was as if the Holy Spirit were filling him. If his father hadn't stood in the way of his calling, he could have approached the pulpit with the full right of a pastor. From that platform, elevated above the heads of the congregation, he could have preached God's word.
He tentatively moved towards the pulpit, but when he put his foot on the first step he heard the heavy church door creak open. He removed his foot and went back to his chores. The bitterness he felt ate into his breast like acid.
The shop was not open except during the summer months and on holiday weekends, so Patrik and Ernst had to look for Jeanette at the workplace where she made her living the other nine months of the year. She was a waitress at one of the few lunch spots in Grebbestad that was open in the winter, and Patrik felt his stomach rumble as they walked inside. But it was still too early for lunch, so the restaurant was empty of patrons. A young woman was slowly making the rounds of the tables, setting them up.
'Jeanette Lind?'
She looked up and nodded. 'Yes, that's me.'
'Patrik Hedström and Ernst Lundgren. We're from the Tanumshede police station. We'd like to ask you a few questions if that's all right.'
She nodded curtly but quickly lowered her gaze. If she had any powers of deduction she probably knew why they were there.
'Would you like some coffee?' she asked, and both Patrik and Ernst nodded eagerly.
Patrik watched her as she walked over to the coffee-maker. He recognized her type. Small, dark and curvaceous. Big brown eyes and hair with a natural wave that reached well below her shoulders. Certainly the prettiest girl in her class, maybe even in her whole grade level at school. Popular and always going with one of the older, cooler guys. But when the school years were over, the heyday of such girls came to an end as well. And yet they stayed in their home towns, aware that there at least they retained a bit of star status, while in any of the nearby cities they would suddenly seem mediocre in comparison with the hordes of other pretty girls. He judged that Jeanette was a lot younger than he was, and also much younger than Niclas. Twenty-five at most.
She placed a coffee cup in front of each of them and tossed her hair back as she sat down at the table. In her teens she had undoubtedly practised that move hundreds of times in front of the mirror. Patrik had to admit that by now she had the flirtatious gesture down pat.
'All right, shoot, or whatever it is they say in American films.' She gave them a wry smile and her eyes narrowed slightly as she stared at Patrik.
Against his will he had to admit that he could understand what it was that Niclas saw in her. He too had spent many years pining for the cutest girls in school. Boys were all alike. But he had really never had a chance. Short, thin and with decent grades, he had qualified as one of the average guys. He could only admire from afar the tough guys who cut maths class to hang out in the smoking area with a cigarette hanging from the corner of their mouth. Although over time, of course, he had already got to know many of those boys well in his professional capacity.
Some of them could even call the drunk tank at the station their second home.
'We were just speaking with Niclas Klinga and…' he hesitated, 'your name came up.'
'Yes, I'm sure it did,' said Jeanette, obviously not embarrassed in the least about the context in which her name must have been mentioned. She looked at Patrik calmly and waited for him to continue.
Ernst was sitting quietly as usual, and now took a cautious sip of his hot coffee. The looks he gave Jeanette belied the fact that he was old enough to be her father. Patrik glared angrily at his colleague and had to restrain a desire to kick him in the shin underneath the table.
'Well, he says that you were together Monday morning, is that correct?'
She tossed her hair again in her practised way and then nodded. 'Yes, that's true. We were at my place. I had the day off on Monday.'
'What time did Niclas arrive at your house?'
She examined her fingernails as she considered what to say. They were long and well manicured. Patrik wondered how she could do her work with such long nails.
'
Sometime around nine thirty, I think. No, actually, I'm sure of it, because I had set the alarm clock for nine fifteen and I was in the shower when Niclas arrived.'
She giggled, and Patrik began to feel some distaste for her. Before him he saw Charlotte, Sara and Albin, but such images apparently didn't bother Jeanette.
'And how long did he stay?'
'We had lunch at noon, and he had an appointment at one o'clock at the clinic, so he probably left my place about twenty minutes before that, I should think. I live up on Kullen, so it's not far to his office from there.' Another little titter.
Now Patrik really had to control himself to keep from showing the disgust he felt. But Ernst didn't seem to have any such objections to Jeanette. His gaze grew more enthralled the longer they sat there.
'And Niclas was at your house the whole time? He didn't leave to run an errand?'
'No,' she said calmly, 'he didn't go anywhere, I can assure you of that.'
Patrik looked at Ernst and asked, 'Do you have anything to add?' His colleague responded by shaking his head, so he gathered up his notes.
'We'll be coming back with more questions, I'm sure, but that's all for now.'
'Well, I hope I've been of some help,' she said, getting up. She hadn't uttered a word about the fact that her lover's daughter had died. That a child had been murdered while she was rolling around in bed with the father. There was something indecent about her obvious lack of sympathy.
'Yes, thank you,' he said curtly, putting on his jacket he'd hung over the back of his chair. As they went out the door he saw that she'd gone back to setting the tables. She was humming some tune, but he couldn't hear what it was.
Charlotte paced aimlessly back and forth in the cellar flat where they had been living for the past few months. The pain in her chest made her restless and forced her to keep moving. She felt guilty that she hadn't been able to take care of Albin properly. Instead she had left him largely in the care of her mother-in-law; in the midst of her grief there was just no room for the baby. In his smile and his blue eyes she saw only Sara. He looked so much like she had looked at the same age; it hurt to see how similar they were. It also pained her to see what an anxious and timorous child he was. It was as if Sara had sucked up all the energy that should have been divided between the two children, leaving nothing for him. And yet Charlotte knew better than that. The secret chafed in her breast. She hoped that she could make amends.
Charlotte regretted what she had said to Erica yesterday. Right now she and Niclas needed to stick together; her suspicions were just making everything worse. She could see that he was suffering, and if this tragedy couldn't bring them back together, there was really no hope for them.
Since she'd emerged from her sedated fog, Charlotte had hoped that Niclas would be the man she always knew he could be. Tender, considerate and loving. She had seen glimpses before, and it was this side of him that she loved. Now she wanted nothing more than to be able to lean on him; she wanted him to be the stronger one. But it hadn't turned out that way. He had shut himself off, gone back to work as quickly as he could, leaving her here among the broken pieces of their life.
Her foot struck something. Charlotte started to bend down but stopped abruptly. She'd asked Niclas to move all Sara's things out of sight, and he'd spent a whole morning putting everything in boxes and taking them up to the attic. But he'd missed one thing. Sara's old teddy bear lay halfway under the bed, and that was what Charlotte had felt with her foot. She gently picked it up and then had to sit down on the edge of the bed when everything started spinning before her eyes. The teddy bear felt grubby in her hands. Sara had refused to let them wash it, so it looked like it had been through a street fight. The bear also gave off an odd smell, and presumably it was this smell that absolutely mustn't be lost in the washing machine and replaced by the scent of laundry detergent. One eye was missing from the bear, and Charlotte touched the threads that had once held the button eye in place. It had been two hours since she'd last wept, the longest dry spell since the police had brought the news of Sara's death. Now the sobs began rising in her chest again. Charlotte hugged the teddy bear and lay down on her side on the bed. Then her grief took over.
'Will wonders never cease?' Pedersen said on the telephone. 'For the first time in the history of the world we got an analysis result back sooner than they predicted.'
'Hold on, I just have to pull over,' said Patrik, looking for a suitable spot. Ernst pointed to a little forest track on their side of the highway that would do.
'All right, I'm not a danger to traffic anymore. So, what did the tests show?' he said. It was clear from his tone of voice that he wasn't expecting much. They'd probably only managed to identify what Sara had eaten for breakfast. As for the water in her lungs, Patrik had done a little investigating on his own and found out that there wasn't much hope of identifying exactly what brand of soap was involved. Pedersen confirmed this at once.
'As I said before, the water was ordinary tap water, and the particular mixture of substances found in the water shows without any doubt that it was from the Fjällbacka area. Unfortunately the traces of soap couldn't be linked to any specific brand.'
'Well, that's not much to go on,' Patrik sighed. He was discouraged and once again felt the case slipping out of his hands.
'No, not as far as what was found in her lungs,' said Pedersen with a mysterious tone of voice. Patrik sat up straighter in the driver's seat.
'What else have you got?' he said, holding his breath as he waited for the answer.
'All right, here goes, even though I don't know what it means,' the M.E. replied. 'Analysis of the contents of the girl's stomach confirms what the family said she ate for breakfast, but…' Then he paused and Patrik almost screamed with impatience. 'There was something strange in her stomach. It seems as though the girl had eaten ashes.'
'Ashes?' said Patrik with a gobsmacked look on his face.
'Yes,' Pedersen said, 'and since we found them in the stomach, the lab did another check of the water in her lungs and found minute traces of ash there too. We missed them in the first analysis.'
'But how the hell could she have got ashes inside her body?' Out of the corner of his eye Patrik saw Ernst give a start and turn to stare at him.
'It's impossible to say for certain, but after looking at the data and going over the post-mortem report again, my theory is that someone forced the ashes into her orally. We did find traces in her mouth and oesophagus as well, even though most of it was flushed out by the water.'
Patrik didn't say a word, but his thoughts were tumbling round in his head. Why in the world would anyone have forced the girl to eat ashes? He tried to collect himself and focus on what he ought to ask about.
'But why would she have ashes in her lungs, if she had been forced to swallow them?'
'Once again, it's only speculation on my part, but it's possible the ashes went down the wrong way when they were stuffed in her mouth. If she was already in the bathtub when she was force-fed the ashes, some could have ended up in the water. And when she was drowned, the ash in the water could have then got into her lungs.'
With alarming clarity Patrik could see the whole scene before him. Sara in a bathtub, an unknown, menacing figure forcing a handful of ashes into her mouth and then holding her nose and mouth shut to force her to swallow. The same hands that later held her head underwater until bubbles stopped rising to the surface and everything was still.
A rustling sound came from the woods outside the car and broke the oppressive silence. In a low voice he said to Pedersen, 'Can you fax all this to us?'
'Already done. And the lab will be doing more tests on the ashes to see if they can find anything useful there. But they didn't want to wait for the results; they thought it was better to give us this information right away.'
'Yes, they were right about that. When do you think we can get more info on the ashes?'
'By the middle of next week, I should think,' said Pedersen. Then
he added quietly, 'How's it going? Are you getting anywhere?'
It was unusual for the M.E. to ask questions about the investigation, but it didn't really surprise Patrik. Sara's death seemed to have affected so many people, even the most jaded. He thought for a moment before he replied.
'Not really, I'm afraid. To be honest, we don't have much to go on. But hopefully this will give us a lead. Not that I can see how at the moment, but it's an odd enough piece of information that it might break open the case.'
'Yes, let's hope so,' said Pedersen.
Patrik then gave Ernst a brief rundown of what he'd found out. They both sat in silence for a while, as the rustling continued in the bushes outside the car. Patrik was half-expecting to see a bull elk come rushing towards them, but it was probably just some birds or squirrels rummaging about in the fallen red leaves of autumn.
'What do you think, is it time to take a closer look at the Florins' bathroom?'
'Shouldn't we have done that already?' asked Ernst.
'Could be,' Patrik replied bitterly, well aware that Ernst had a point. 'But we didn't, so it's better to do it late than never.'
Ernst didn't answer. Patrik took out his mobile and made the necessary calls to summon backup and the technical team from Uddevalla. With Ernst's words ringing in his ears, he made his request sound as urgent as he could and was promised that the team would come out that very afternoon.
With a sigh Patrik started the car and put it in reverse. In his head whirled thoughts of ashes. And death.
* * *
FJÅLLBACKA 1924
The Stone Cutter Page 18
