But Patrik wasn't laughing. 'I'm afraid not. He's being treated right now for arsenic poisoning. He barely made it through the night.'
'Arsenic poisoning?' said Niclas in surprise. 'But how…?' He still couldn't grasp what was happening, and didn't budge from the doorway.
'That's what we intend to find out. So if you would please let us come in…'
Without a word Niclas stepped to one side. The men behind Patrik picked up their cases and equipment and came in with determined looks on their faces.
Patrik stayed behind with Niclas in the hall and seemed to hesitate a moment before he said, 'We also have permission to exhume Lennart's grave. That work has probably already begun.'
Niclas felt his mouth fall open. What was happening was just too unreal for him to grasp.
'But why? What… who…?' he stammered.
'We can't explain it all right now, but we have good reason to believe that he was poisoned with arsenic as well. Though he wasn't as lucky as Stig,' Patrik added grimly. 'But now I'd appreciate it if you could stay out of the way and let my men do their job.' Patrik didn't wait for his answer, but went into the house.
Unsure of what to do next, Niclas went into the kitchen and sat down at the table, still holding Albin in his arms. He placed him in his highchair and bribed him with a biscuit to keep him quiet. Inside Niclas's mind the questions were tumbling around.
Martin was shivering in the biting wind. His uniform jacket provided little protection from the bitter winds blowing across the churchyard. Just after they arrived it had begun to drizzle as well.
The whole operation turned his stomach. He had only been to a few funerals, and to stand here and watch while a coffin was lifted out of the ground instead of down into it felt as wrong as watching a film running backwards. He understood why Patrik had asked him to take charge this time. Patrik had already been through this experience once, just a few months earlier, and once in a lifetime was surely enough. Confirming this notion, he thought he heard one of the gravediggers muttering, 'You guys must have been placing bets at the station to see how many old coots you could get us to dig up in the shortest possible time.'
Martin didn't reply, thinking that it probably wasn't worth it to make any more requests of the prosecutor for a while.
Torbjörn Ruud came over to stand next to him. He couldn't help making a comment either. 'I suppose they'd better start putting elastic bands on the coffins here in Fjällbacka. Then all you have to do is pull them up when you want them.'
Martin couldn't resist a wry smile despite the unsuitable occasion, and they were both fighting to keep from laughing when Torbjörn's mobile rang.
'Yes, this is Ruud.' He listened, then punched off and said to Martin, 'They're going into the Florins' house now. We've assigned three men there and two out here, so we'll see whether we have to regroup.'
'What exactly do you need to do here, right now I mean?' said Martin curiously.
'There's not much we can do. Right now we're just watching to make sure that everything is removed with as little contamination as possible. Then we'll take some soil samples too. But mostly it's a matter of taking the body to the M.E. so that he can start taking the samples he needs. As soon as the coffin has been sent off we'll go over to the Florins' and help out with the search. You're going too, I assume?'
Martin nodded. 'Yes, I thought I would.' He paused for a moment. 'What a bloody mess this has turned out to be.'
Ruud nodded in turn. 'You can say that again.'
Their topics of conversation run dry, they stood in silence as they waited for the men at the gravesite to finish their work. A little while later the lid of the coffin came into view. Lennart Klinga was above ground again.
His whole body ached. Stig saw blurry shadow figures hovering around him and then vanishing again. He tried to open his mouth to speak, but no part of his body seemed to obey him. It felt as though he'd gone a round with Mike Tyson and lost big-time. For a brief moment he wondered if he was dead. Nobody could feel like this and still be alive.
The thought made him panic, and he used all the energy he had left to try and make his vocal cords work. Somewhere far, far away he thought he heard a croaking sound that might be his own voice.
It was. One of the shadow figures came closer and took on more solid contours. A female face came into view, and he squinted to try and focus.
'Where?' he got out, and he hoped that she'd understand what he meant. She did.
'You're in Uddevalla Hospital, Stig. You've been here since yesterday.'
'Alive?' he croaked.
'Yes, you're alive,' said the nurse with a smile. She had a round, open face. 'It was touch-and-go, I have to tell you, but now you're through the worst of it.'
If he could have laughed he would have. 'Through the worst.' Sure, sure, easy for her to say. She didn't know how every fibre in his body burned and how it hurt all the way down to his bones. But he clearly was alive, at any rate. With an effort he tried to shape more words with his lips.
'Ma'am?' He couldn't manage to get out her name. For a moment he thought that a strange expression passed over the nurse's face, but then it was gone. It was no doubt the pain playing a trick on him.
'Now you have to get some rest,' said the nurse. 'Soon you'll be able to have visitors.'
He let himself be content with that. Exhaustion washed over him and he willingly let it carry him along. He wasn't dead, that was the main thing. He was in hospital, but he wasn't dead.
With great care they went over every inch of the house. They couldn't take a chance on missing anything, but they didn't have all day either. When they were finished it would look like a hurricane had gone through the house, but Patrik knew what they had to find, and he was sure it was here somewhere. He didn't intend to leave until he found it.
'How's it going?' came Martin's voice from the doorway.
Patrik turned round. 'We've got about halfway through the downstairs rooms. Nothing yet. How about you guys?'
'Well, the coffin is on its way. A bloody surreal experience, I might add.'
'You can count on that scene popping up in some nightmare sooner or later. I've had a couple, with skeleton hands coming up through the coffin lid and the like.
'Stop it,' said Martin with a grimace. 'Haven't you found anything yet?' he said, mostly as a way to get rid of the images that Patrik had put into his head.
'No, not a thing,' Patrik replied in frustration. 'But it has to be here, I can feel it.'
'I always thought you had a strong feminine side, so it must be woman's intuition,' said Martin with a smile.
'Go make yourself useful instead of standing here insulting my manhood.'
Martin took him at his word and went off to find his own corner to search.
A smile lingered on Patrik's lips but then vanished. Before him he saw Maja's little body in the hands of a murderer, and the fury he felt was so strong that it made him see red.
Two hours later he began to feel downhearted. The whole main floor and the cellar were done, and they hadn't found a thing. But they were able to confirm that Lilian was an especially assiduous housekeeper. The techs had gathered up a number of containers they found in the cellar, but they would need to be taken to the lab and analysed. Maybe he was wrong after all. But then he remembered the contents of the videotape he'd played over and over last night, and he felt his determination return. He hadn't been wrong. He couldn't have been. It was here. The only question was where.
'Shall we continue upstairs?' said Martin, nodding towards the staircase.
'Yeah, you might as well. I don't think we could have missed anything down here. We've gone over every millimetre.'
The whole team moved upstairs. Niclas had gone out for a walk with Albin, and they could work undisturbed.
'I'll start in Lilian's bedroom,' said Patrik.
He went through the doorway to the right of the stairs and looked around the room. Lilian's bedroom was as well-kept as the rest
of the house, and the bed had been made up so tightly that it would have passed inspection at boot camp. Otherwise the room was very feminine. Stig couldn't have felt much at home in there before he had to move to the guest room. The curtains and bedspread had flounces, and there were lace doilies on the night- stands and bureau. Small porcelain knick-knacks were everywhere, and the walls were covered with ceramic angels and pictures featuring angels. The colour scheme was overridingly pink. It was so sugar-sweet it almost made Patrik ill. He thought it resembled a room in a little girl's dollhouse. It was exactly how a five-year- old would decorate her mother's bedroom if given a free hand.
'Yuck,' said Martin as he stuck his head in the doorway. 'Looks like a flamingo puked in here.'
'Yeah, this room would never be featured in House Beautiful.'
'If it was, it would be the "before" picture. This place needs a make-over,' said Martin. 'Say, do you need some help in here? Looks like plenty of stuff to look through.'
'Hell, yeah. I don't want to be in here longer than I have to.'
They started at opposite ends of the room. Patrik sat down on the floor to go through the nightstand, and Martin worked on the wardrobes covering one wall.
They worked in silence. Martin's back gave a crack when he reached for some shoeboxes on the top shelf of one wardrobe. He set them down carefully on the bed and then stopped for a moment to massage the small of his back. All that strain from moving was still bothering him, and he realized he should probably pay a visit to the chiropractor.
'What have you got there?' said Patrik, looking up from his spot on the floor.
'Some shoeboxes.' He removed the lid from the first box, carefully inspected the contents, and then set it aside and replaced the lid. 'Just a bunch of old photos.' He lifted the top of the next carton and lifted out a worn blue wooden box. The lid was stuck, so he had to use a little force to open it. When Patrik heard him gasp he looked up at once.
'Bingo,' said Martin.
Patrik smiled. 'Bingo,' he repeated triumphantly.
Charlotte had sauntered past the candy-vending machine a few times but finally gave in. If she couldn't allow herself a piece of chocolate at a moment like this, when could she?
She inserted some coins and pressed the button for a Snickers to drop down into the slot. A 'King Size' just for good measure.
She considered gobbling down the whole thing before she went back, but knew she would just get sick if she ate it too fast. So she restrained herself and went back to the waiting room where Lilian was sitting. Quite right. Her mother's eyes went straight to the candy bar in her hand, and she gave Charlotte an accusing look.
'Do you know how many calories are in one of those? You need to lose weight, not put on more pounds. That thing will go straight to your behind. Now that you've finally managed to lose a few pounds…'
Charlotte sighed. She'd heard the same old song her whole life. Lilian had never permitted any sweets in the house, yet she was one of those women who always weighed the same, and she never had one ounce more than necessary on her body. Maybe that was precisely why sweets had been so tempting to Charlotte, who had eaten them in secret. She stole change out of her parents' pockets and then sneaked off to the Central Kiosk to buy chocolate balls and assorted boiled sweets, which she voraciously devoured before she went home. By middle school she was already overweight, and Lilian had been furious. Sometimes she'd made Charlotte take off her clothes and stand in front of the full-length mirror so she could mercilessly pinch her spare tyres.
'Look at yourself. You look like a fat pig! You don't really want to look like a pig, do you?'
Charlotte had hated her mother at those moments. But Lilian had only dared do that when Lennart wasn't at home. He would never have allowed it. Pappa had been Charlotte's salvation. She was grown-up when he died, but without him she felt like a helpless little girl.
She regarded her mother sitting across from her. As usual she was impeccably dressed, a sharp contrast to Charlotte who hadn't brought a change of clothes from home. Lilian, on the other hand, had managed to pack a small overnight case and had changed her clothes and put on fresh make-up this morning.
Charlotte defiantly stuffed the last bit of the large chocolate bar in her mouth, ignoring Lilian's disapproving glance. Imagine that she would bother to worry about Charlotte's eating habits when Stig lay fighting for his life. Her mother never ceased to amaze her. But considering what Grandmother was like, maybe it wasn't so odd.
'When are we going to get to see Stig?' said Lilian in frustration. 'I don't understand it. How can they keep the relatives out like this?'
'I'm sure they have their reasons,' said Charlotte, trying to sound reassuring, but for an instant she pictured the strange look on the doctor's face. 'We'd probably only be in the way.'
Lilian snorted and got up from her chair to pace demonstratively back and forth.
Charlotte sighed. She was really trying to hold on to the sympathy she'd felt for her mother last night, but Lilian was making it damned hard. Charlotte took out her mobile to make sure it was turned on. It was a bit odd that Niclas hadn't rung. The display was dead, and she realized that the battery had run down without her noticing. Damn. She got up to ring from the pay phone out in the corridor, but almost ran into two men. She was surprised to see that it was Patrik Hedström and his red-haired colleague who grimly peered over her shoulder into the waiting room.
'Hello, what are you doing here?' she asked, but then the thought struck her full force. 'Did you find something? Something about Sara? You did, didn't you? What is it? What…?' She glanced eagerly and yet with a feeling of dread from Patrik to Martin, but got no reply.
Finally Patrik said, 'At the moment we have nothing concrete to tell you about Sara.'
'But why…?' she said in bewilderment without finishing her sentence.
Astonished, Charlotte stepped aside when they signalled that they would like to get by. As if in a fog she saw the other people in the waiting room tensely watching the drama as the police officers went over and took up position before Lilian, who was standing with her arms crossed and looking at them with raised eyebrows.
'We would like you to come with us.'
'I can't do that, as I'm sure you understand,' said Lilian belligerently. 'My husband is fighting for his life and I can't leave him.' She stamped her foot to emphasize her point, but neither of the detectives seemed to take any notice.
'Stig is going to pull through, and unfortunately you have no choice. I'm only going to ask politely one time,' said Patrik.
Charlotte couldn't believe her ears. The whole thing must be a gigantic misunderstanding. If only Niclas were here, she was sure he could calm everybody down and straighten it all out in no time. She herself felt at a loss what to do. The whole situation was so absurd.
'And what is this regarding?' Lilian snapped. She said out loud what Charlotte had just been thinking. 'There must be some kind of misunderstanding.'
This morning we exhumed your husband Lennart's body. The medical examiners are in the process of taking samples from his remains. Samples from Stig have already been analysed. We have also conducted a search of your house today, and…' Patrik glanced at Charlotte but then turned back to Lilian, 'we made a few other discoveries. We can discuss them here if you like, in front of your daughter and everyone else here, or you can come with us to the station.' His voice was devoid of any emotion, but his eyes contained a coldness that she didn't think he was capable of.
Lilian's eyes met Charlotte's for a moment. Charlotte understood nothing Patrik was saying. A brief glimpse at Lilian's eyes increased her confusion and made an icy chill spread down her spine. Something was definitely wrong.
'But Pappa had Guillain-Barre syndrome. He died of a nerve disease,' she said, both as explanation and inquiry, directed at Patrik.
He didn't reply. Soon enough Charlotte would find out more than she ever wanted to know.
Lilian turned her gaze away from her daughter
and seemed to make a decision. Then she said calmly to Patrik, 'All right. I'll go with you.'
Stunned, Charlotte stood there, unsure of whether to stay or go with them. At last her indecision settled the matter. She watched as the officers and her mother vanished down the corridor.
* * *
HINSEBERG 1962
It was the only visit to Agnes she intended to make. She no longer thought of her as Mother. Only as Agnes.
Mary had just turned eighteen, and she had left her last foster family without looking back. She didn't miss them, and they didn't miss her.
Over the years the letters had arrived frequently. Thick letters that smelled of Agnes. She hadn't opened a single one. But she hadn't thrown them out either. They lay in a trunk waiting to be read one day.
That was also the first thing Agnes asked her. 'Darling, did you read my letters?'
Mary looked at Agnes without answering. She hadn't seen her in four years, and she needed to learn her facial features again before she could say anything.
It surprised her how little the time in prison seemed to have affected Agnes. She couldn't do anything about the clothing, so the elegant dresses and suits were only a memory, but otherwise she seemed to have taken care of herself and her appearance with the same ardour as before. Her hair was newly coiffed, now in a beehive that was the latest style. Her eyeliner was also fashionably thick, and her nails were just as long as Mary remembered them. Now Agnes drummed them impatiently as she waited for an answer.
It took another moment before Mary spoke. 'No, I haven't read them. And don't call me "darling",' she said, then waited with curiosity for the reply. She was no longer afraid of the woman facing her. The monster inside her had gradually devoured that fear as the hatred had grown. With so much hatred there was no room for fear.
Agnes couldn't pass up such a splendid opportunity for a dramatic scene.
'You didn't read them!' she shrieked. 'Here I sit locked up while you're out running loose and having fun and God knows what else, and the only joy I have is to know that my dear daughter is reading the letters I spend so many hours writing. And I never got a single letter from you or a single telephone call in four years!' Agnes was now sobbing loudly, but no tears came. They would wreck her perfect eyeliner.
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