The third cattle guard rumbled under the tires and shortly after that the fourth.
“Now it’s up on the right,” said Malin.
Leif Knutsson slowed down, but the gravel still sprayed around the tires as he took the curve up toward the house. The big pile of timber was outlined against the still-not-completely-black sky.
His colleague made a radio hail and said to someone who responded with a numerical code that they were at the address. Leif Knutsson stopped right across from the gate, next to Malin’s Honda. He turned around and asked her to wait in the car while they went down to the house.
Malin could only nod, felt that her throat was paralyzed, and mutely handed over the key. Leif Knutsson took it and winked at her with both eyes. This would probably work out.
As the police officers opened the doors and got out, she heard music from a distance. Before they closed, Malin was able to recognize the artist. Rihanna, one of Maria’s favorites.
She watched as Gunilla Borg released something from her belt and the next moment the ground in front of her and her police colleague was lit up by a cold light. Malin slid closer to the door and stared out the window toward the house, but could see no more than the upper half of the bottom floor. The police and the beam of light disappeared below the rise and soon it was only their heads and shoulders that stuck up.
She wanted to rush out and follow them; she wanted to stay sitting there; she wanted to hide. Were the doors locked?
Her head was rocking, light and heavy at the same time. She leaned her forehead against the window, vaguely heard bass tones from the music. Then a light came closer. She stared out into the evening. It was Leif Knutsson who had come back up the slope. He waved to her. For her? Should she come? Yes, it appeared that way.
She quickly opened the car door and got out, pointed to herself with a questioning expression. Leif waved again. Malin hurried over and opened the gate. At the same moment she heard the familiar engine sound of the Mercedes SUV from the road below, but continued toward the house.
She had not gone far before she caught sight of Maria, who was talking with the other police officer. And the children? Why weren’t the children there? She ran down to the house with pounding heart and stopped in front of Maria.
There they were. Axel and Ellen sat perched on the lowest branches in one of the apple trees. They caught sight of her and Ellen jumped down from her branch and came running. Axel took it a little more carefully. For him it was farther down to the ground, although the branch was up just as high. Malin wanted to hurry over and help him when she saw how he uncertainly sought a foothold, but she was prevented by Ellen, who was already clinging to her leg.
The music was booming from speakers that were set out on a little table outside one of the windows. Maria held her hand in front of her mouth in an unhappy gesture.
“Do you think we can turn that down a little?” Leif Knutsson said as he came up to them.
“Sure, of course,” said Maria, waving her hands nervously.
She looked at Malin with big regretful eyes.
“Forgive me, I’m so sorry, forgive me. I don’t know what I was thinking. We’ve been outside playing and I set out the speakers to … well, so we could have a little music. Forgive me, Malin. You must have been completely—”
Leif Knutsson had clearly had enough of Rihanna. He went into the house himself, and after a little while the music stopped.
“I didn’t bring the cell phone out, but I don’t understand that I didn’t hear anything. The window is open, after all.”
Maria pointed at the living room window, which was propped open with the hasp. But the phone was in the study and the music no doubt took care of the rest.
Now Axel had wriggled down from the tree and came toward her with outstretched arms. She leaned down and lifted him up. He looked tired. She did not know what she should think about Maria’s blunder. Mostly she was just happy that everything was as it should be, even if she was a little embarrassed in front of the police.
She heard steps in the grass. Henrik approached with a big question etched on his face. He looked at Malin and the kids, the police, and his sister-in-law.
“Everything’s okay,” said Malin.
Henrik furrowed his brow, did not really understand.
“Everything’s okay,” Malin repeated. “Maria didn’t hear the phone.”
Henrik’s facial features smoothed out and he smiled with relief.
Maria had turned to the police officers.
“I’m so sorry, truly … I don’t know what to say. Forgive me. I can’t even bear to think that you drove all the way from Visby.”
“It’s no problem,” said Leif Knutsson. “The most important thing is that you’re all safe and sound.”
39.
It took awhile before they could go to bed, but at last they were lying there, side by side in the Fårö darkness and the Fårö silence. The alarm was on, the misunderstandings explained and apologies made.
Henrik turned on his side. Malin felt four fingertips against her hip. The light touch was like a cautious question. They had not made love since they came home from vacation. That was almost two weeks now. Henrik had not been at home, of course, for some of that time.
The four fingertips became a hand stroking her belly. Malin felt desire coming. There were a lot of things moving around in her head, an unusually large number of negative thoughts. Worry, paranoia, irritation. Not sexy at all. But the desire came anyway, heavy and demanding, almost a little unwelcome. She reached out her hand and felt that he was already hard. She slowly moved her hand as she wriggled out of her underpants with the other. Henrik was panting against her neck. When he stuck his tongue in her ear, such a strong shudder passed through her body that she was forced to turn her head aside.
* * *
It only took a few minutes from the fingers on the hip until he came. But that didn’t matter. She had come, too. It was more discharge than drawn-out pleasure they needed.
In the new, more relaxed silence Malin told that she had forced Stina Hansson off the road outside the ICA in Fårösund. And that Stina reported her. Presumably she would have to pay a fine. It was most likely she would have to pay a fine.
“But what the hell,” said Henrik, lying silently a long time in the darkness.
“Say something then,” said Malin.
He took a deep breath.
“We have to hope you don’t end up in prison.”
“Prison,” she said, as if it was a bad joke.
Then the ridicule did a U-turn, was transformed into something black and heavy that was dragging her down. Prison? She had not even come close to the thought. Fredrik Broman had not said anything about punishment at all. She had figured out for herself that she would have to pay a fine. But prison?
“What the hell were you thinking?” said Henrik.
“I don’t know, I—”
“That’s not exactly the smartest thing you could have done after moving here from Stockholm,” he said drily.
She felt a sudden flash of anger.
“Thanks so fucking much.”
It was as if he was putting himself on their side. The Gotlanders. Pointing her out as an outsider. As if it was him and Gotland against her, not him and her against the rest of the world. She turned on the lamp on the nightstand and sat up in bed.
“I found your old porno photos of her,” she blurted out.
She could not help it.
“Who? Of who do you mean?”
Henrik sounded completely uncomprehending, as if he was the most innocent person in the whole world. “Now I’m not really following you.”
“Yes, who the hell is it we’re talking about?” she hissed.
He blinked at the light with a sleepy look.
Malin jumped out of bed and stomped off into the sitting room, without caring whether she woke Maria, and came back with the contact sheet. She threw it on Henrik’s cover. He picked it up and looked at it.
“I see. And?” he said.
Malin almost choked, could not get out the words.
“Is that why you rammed Stina’s car? Because I took pictures of her naked fifteen years ago?”
She was unable to answer that. As he was saying it she realized that maybe he was right.
“Calm down now,” he said with a gentle look in his eyes. “Come to bed.”
She did as he said, pulled the cover up over her legs, sat with her arms crossed and her head leaning against the wall. He placed a hand on her legs, on top of the cover. She decided to keep silent until she was sure she could open her mouth without having another outburst.
Henrik said something about the pictures, that it started with Stina pulling up her shirt in jest in the car. Malin could not keep from listening, but actually she did not want to hear Henrik talk about Stina at all. She did not like her name in his mouth. It did not please her that he only said her first name. It sounded so familiar.
At last the fury and the jealousy subsided anyway. Out of pure exhaustion, if nothing else. It had been a long day full of emotions.
“I could talk with her,” said Henrik. “If that’s okay with you, of course.”
“Talk with her? What do you mean?”
It was hardly okay. She felt how everything was speeding up again just when she had started to settle down.
“Yes, about the report. Maybe she could consider withdrawing it. We’ll have to pay for the damage to the car, of course.”
“I don’t have the energy to think about it now,” she said. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”
She turned off the light. What would Henrik have to do to get Stina Hansson to withdraw the report? Sleep with her?
40.
Göran Eide stepped into Fredrik’s office and stopped just inside the doorway. Considering the size of the room, there weren’t that many alternatives.
“What’s really going on with that Malin Andersson?”
More than a week had passed since an unknown woman had lured Ellen Andersson Kjellander into her car, and it felt as if the investigation was going backward.
“First that woman in Fårösund she went after … What was her name?” Göran continued, extending an encouraging palm toward Fredrik.
“Stina Hansson.”
“Exactly. In the parking lot. And then the false alarm yesterday. Is she in the process of freaking out?”
“It wouldn’t be all that strange if she was,” said Fredrik.
They had not been able to give Malin Andersson any reassuring news. The IP number in Uppsala pointed away from the island, toward something more complicated than an old girlfriend or family grudge. It could, of course, be a smoke screen, but that seemed farfetched.
“I’m getting a little worried that this will degenerate into some kind of personal vendetta,” said Göran. “On incorrect grounds, besides.”
“Malin Andersson sounded very contrite when I talked with her,” said Fredrik. “I don’t think it’s going to escalate.”
“Well, I hope you’re right.”
Göran crossed his arms and looked thoughtfully at him.
“How’s it going? Do you really have nothing?”
Nothing, thought Fredrik, that seemed unnecessarily harsh. You never really have nothing.
“Everyone that we have had reason to suspect either has an alibi or can be removed for other reasons.”
Göran Eide emitted a tired little hum.
“And what do you think, if you were to guess a little?”
Fredrik rolled his chair back a foot or two and put his right leg over the left.
“Henrik Kjellander’s oldest sister, Elisabet Vogler, seems to be one tough lady, and her husband and relatives would surely lie to back her up if that were so. And there is some kind of motive, with the inheritance dispute and old peculiarities. But I have a hard time believing that she would do something as stupid as abduct Ellen. The risk that some witness would recognize her or that Ellen could point her out is much too great. To me it doesn’t fit.”
“No, not to me, either.”
“Then there is the lead to Uppsala.”
“Yes, what’s happening there?”
“The lead to the public library produced nothing. The house on Fårö must have been booked with a private computer via the wireless network and you log onto that with the library’s own password. Then we have produced lists of cars rented by women from Uppsala in the days before and after Ellen was kidnapped.”
“And?” said Göran.
“The ones we’ve managed to get hold of we’ve been able to rule out.”
“The mental hospital? They don’t have any crazies up there? On Fårö, that is.”
“No, no one who matches the description. Not the behavior, either, for that matter.”
“And the mainland hasn’t let out any crazies?” Göran asked.
“Well then,” said Fredrik with a hint of a laugh. “But they’re still on the mainland.”
Göran stood silent a little while, staring out into space, fingering the reading glasses he had stuck in the chest pocket of the short-sleeved shirt.
“Surveillance cameras,” he said. “Maybe it’s too late, but in any case it’s worth a try. The bank where the rent for the house was paid must have cameras. The train station in Uppsala the hours around the booking. Get Henrik Kjellander and Malin Andersson to look through that, if there are any left.”
Fredrik wrote surveillance cameras? on his pad. The thought had already flashed past when he got the news about the computer at the Uppsala public library, but he had let it go. The investigation did not really have that weight, he thought. Was that a wrong assessment?
“We’ll have to take everything one more time, broader and deeper,” said Göran before he left Fredrik alone in the office.
Fredrik looked out the window, trying to find a loose end to tug on: The perpetrator books the house on Fårö from a computer in Uppsala and gives an address in Gothenburg. She, if she was alone, had demonstrably been in Uppsala on the fourth of June. Presumably not just to book the house, even if that could not be ruled out.
They had checked train reservations, but had not managed to sift out anything to go further with. Tens of thousands of people commuted between Stockholm and Uppsala every day and the tickets could be bought with cash on board. It was easy to travel without leaving any traces.
He would make an attempt with the last tenants again, the retired couple from Gothenburg. He could not keep from thinking that there must be a connection. Even if a vague one.
Gothenburg, Uppsala, Fårö. Three coordinates. It wasn’t much to go on, but at the same time it felt as if they ought to be able to triangulate out the perpetrator if they only pushed the right buttons.
41.
The terminal at Visby Airport was a low, plain building, no larger than a normal-sized day care center. Henrik dropped off the model, the makeup artist, and the advertising director outside the entry and they rolled off waving with their bags full of clothes, makeup, and props. They were booked on Gotland Air’s last departure at 6:55 P.M. and were arriving just in time to check in.
Henrik felt mildly euphoric as he slowly rolled out from the airport area between the fences of freshly cut juniper. It had been one of those divinely inspired workdays when already after the first exposures he felt that the photos would turn out really great. Certain days it was just that way, that you knew.
There were two Swedish haute couture dresses to shoot, and the newspaper’s AD was looking for majestic but severe. A little Lars Norén meets Louis XIV. “But with a heart and a twist?” Henrik had responded. The AD laughed and then added seriously: “No, no heart.”
They had taken the first picture by the stone pillars in Holmhällar and the others in the afternoon light far out on Gotland’s southernmost spit. No more than a few stones sticking up out of the sea. He had used medium format to make sure of the material sense in stone and fabric and to get proper draw i
n the dark sea in the background. The contrast between cloth, stone, and sea should bring out the various materials even more.
Henrik brought along an assistant from Hemse Folk High School. It was hard to keep an assistant on Fårö, and besides he couldn’t really afford it right now, but he had worked up a network of students at the folk high school and in Visby who could work a day or two now and then. He got the makeup artist to help out with one of the reflex screens, too. It had gone well. There were some people who balked at having to do those types of services, thought it was unprofessional, but fortunately they were the exception. Henrik had a hard time understanding that kind of whining. They were just standing there alongside staring ninety percent of the time anyway.
Actually they could just as well have taken the pictures on Fårö, but the AD had insisted on south Gotland because she had been there herself and could visualize it. And Henrik saw no reason to be obstinate. When they packed up the equipment the sun was hanging right above the horizon.
That Maria had come down had in a way been a blessing. If it hadn’t been for her he would not have been able to do the job in Barcelona. But it was also stressful for him having her in the vicinity. He was not sure that Maria understood that. In any event, it didn’t seem like it. And they had not talked about it.
Malin had not said anything more about them not being able to keep living in the house. It was typical of her to react so drastically. In the first place, it was not because she was afraid. It was just her way. Action. As certain as she was one day that an alarm was the solution to their problems, the next day she was just as certain that they had to check into a hotel. Problems were solved by buying something or doing something—change. Hard to say that there was anything wrong with that; on the contrary, that she was so energetic was one of the reasons he had fallen for her. But sometimes you needed to sit down and think things through, too. Have a goal a little farther ahead than tomorrow.
And they had a few things to think about. Debts, interest, leasing agreements, and an extremely shaky market. Deep down he was sure that it would work out. That it was heavy right now was more lack of flow than anything else. Sure there were times when he could think that they shouldn’t have taken on so much at one time. Additions, renovations, new studio lights, the slightly expensive second car, and all that. On the other hand, it was important to hold your head high. It was part of the industry. Success breeds success. It wouldn’t do to be content with shabby.
The Intruder Page 18
