The voices were louder now, and she had begun to see more of what her common sense told her was impossible; yet she knew it wasn’t just her imagination. The dead gave her a feeling of solace. They were her only company on this desolate island, and their sorrow resonated with her own. Their lives hadn’t turned out as they’d planned. They understood each other, even though their fates were separated by the thickest of walls. Death.
Karl and Julian didn’t notice them in the same way that she did. But once in a while the two men seemed filled with an uneasiness that they couldn’t explain. On those occasions, she could see their fear, and it made her secretly happy. She no longer lived for the love she had felt for Karl; he wasn’t the man she’d thought he was. However this was her life now, and there was nothing she could do about it. She could merely rejoice at his fear, and take comfort from the dead. They gave her a feeling of being specially chosen. She was the only one who knew that they existed. They were hers.
But after being ice-bound for a month, she began to realize that fear was also apparent in her own face. The atmosphere had grown more tense. Julian seized every opportunity to yell at her and vent his frustration at being confined to the island. Karl regarded her with a cold expression, and the two men were always whispering to each other. With their eyes fixed on her, they would sit on the kitchen bench and put their heads together, murmuring. She couldn’t hear what they said, but she knew it wasn’t good. Sometimes she would catch snatches of their conversation when they thought she was out of earshot. Lately they’d talked a lot about the letter that Karl had received from his parents shortly before the ice set in. Their voices were agitated whenever they discussed the letter, but she couldn’t work out what it might have said. And truth be told, she didn’t really want to know. The anger in Julian’s words and the resigned tone of Karl’s voice made shivers run down her spine.
Nor did she understand why her parents-in-law never came to visit, or why she and Karl never went to see them. His childhood home was only an hour’s journey from Fjällbacka. If they left early in the morning, they could have made it back well before darkness fell. But Emelie never dared broach the topic. Every time a letter arrived from his parents, Karl would be in a gloomy mood for days. The latest letter had prompted a reaction that was worse than ever. But as usual, Emelie was relegated to the sidelines, unable to comprehend what was happening around her.
9
‘Nice place,’ said Gösta. His eyes swept over the flat. Even though he was pleased with himself for taking the initiative, his stomach churned at the thought of Hedström’s reaction.
‘Probably gay,’ said Mellberg.
Gösta sighed. ‘What exactly are you basing that assumption on?’
‘Only gay guys have places as neat and tidy as this one. Real men always have a few piles of crap in the corners. And they definitely don’t have curtains on the windows.’ He frowned as he pointed to the snow-white curtains. ‘Besides, everybody says that he never had any girlfriends.’
‘I know, but …’ Gösta sighed again and gave up trying to argue. Mellberg may have been born with two ears, just like everyone else, but he seldom used them for listening.
‘If you take the bedroom, I’ll take the living room. Okay?’ Mellberg began pulling books from the shelves.
Gösta nodded as he surveyed the room. It was a bit impersonal. A beige sofa, a coffee table made of dark wood with a light-coloured rug underneath, a TV on a stand, and a bookcase with a small selection of books. At least half of them were non-fiction works about economics and accounting.
‘What a strange guy,’ said Mellberg. ‘He has hardly any possessions.’
‘Maybe he liked living an uncluttered life,’ said Gösta and then went into the bedroom.
It was as neat as the living room. A bed with a white headboard, a bedside table, several white-painted wardrobes, and a chest of drawers.
‘There’s a woman in the photograph in here,’ Gösta yelled to Mellberg as he picked up a small picture that was leaning against the lamp on the bedside table.
‘Is she a hottie? Let me see.’ Mellberg came into the bedroom.
‘Er, well, maybe pretty would be a better description.’
Mellberg glanced at the photo and made a face to indicate that he wasn’t especially impressed. He went back to the living room, leaving Gösta to stand there holding the picture. He wondered who she was. She must have meant something to Mats Sverin. It seemed to be the only photograph in the whole flat, and he’d kept it in the bedroom.
Gösta put the picture back on the table and began going through the chest of drawers and wardrobes. He found only clothing, nothing of a more personal nature. No diaries, no old letters or photo albums. Though he meticulously searched every nook and cranny, after a while he had to concede that there was nothing of interest. It was almost as if Sverin had never existed prior to moving into the flat. The only thing that contradicted this was the picture of the woman.
Gösta went back to the bedside table and picked up the photograph again. He thought her very pretty. Slender and petite, with long blond hair, which the wind was ruffling around her face at the moment the picture was taken. He squinted and held the photo closer as he studied every detail. He was looking for some clue that might tell them who she was or at least where the photo was taken. Nothing had been written on the back, and the only thing to be seen behind the woman was a lot of greenery. But when he took another look, he suddenly noticed that on the right side of the photo a hand was visible. Someone was either on his way into or out of the picture. It was a small hand. The photo was too blurry for him to be a hundred per cent sure, but he thought it was a child’s hand. Gösta put the photo down. Even if he was right, that didn’t really tell him much. He turned on his heel and started to leave the bedroom, but then changed his mind. Returning to the bedside table, he picked up the photo and tucked it in his pocket.
‘This really wasn’t worth the trouble,’ muttered Mellberg. He was on his knees, peering under the sofa. ‘Maybe it would have been better to let Hedström handle the search after all. It feels like a complete waste of our time.’
‘We haven’t done the kitchen yet,’ said Gösta, pretending not to hear Mellberg’s complaints.
He began pulling out drawers and opening cupboards in the kitchen, but he found nothing of interest. The dishes looked as if they came from IKEA, and neither the refrigerator nor the pantry was particularly well stocked.
Gösta turned and leaned against the counter. Suddenly he caught sight of something lying on the kitchen table. A cord ran down under the table and was plugged into a socket in the wall. He picked up the cord for a closer look. It was a computer cable.
‘Do we know whether Sverin had a laptop?’ he called.
He didn’t get an answer, but he could hear footsteps trudging towards the kitchen.
‘Why do you ask?’ said Mellberg.
‘Because there’s a computer cable here, but nobody mentioned anything about a laptop.’
‘It’s probably at his office.’
‘But wouldn’t they have said so when Paula and I were over there? They must realize that we’d be interested in seeing his laptop.’
‘Did you ask them?’ Mellberg raised an eyebrow.
Gösta had to admit that they hadn’t. They’d completely forgotten to ask for permission to inspect Sverin’s computer. Presumably it was still in the council offices. He suddenly felt like a fool, standing there with the cable in his hand, so he let it fall to the floor.
‘I’ll drop by the council offices later on,’ he said, and walked out of the kitchen.
‘God, I hate waiting. Why does everything have to take so long?’ Patrik muttered with annoyance as he pulled into the car park in front of Göteborg police station.
‘Getting the report by next Wednesday is actually quite fast,’ said Paula. She held her breath as Patrik barely missed hitting a lamppost.
‘I suppose you’re right,’ replied Patrik as he got
out of the car. ‘But we have no idea how long it’s going to take to get the results from the forensics lab. Especially the data on the bullet. If there’s a match on record, we need that information now, not in two weeks’ time.’
‘It can’t be helped. Besides, there’s nothing we can do,’ said Paula, heading towards the entrance.
They’d phoned to say they were coming, but the receptionist still asked them to take a seat and wait. Ten minutes later a muscular and unbelievably tall man appeared and came striding over to them. Patrik reckoned he must be well over six feet tall. When he stood up to shake hands, he felt like a midget in comparison. It was even more extreme for Paula, who was so short that she reached only to the man’s waist.
‘Welcome. I’m Walter Heed. We spoke on the phone.’
Patrik and Paula introduced themselves and were duly escorted out of the reception area.
Those shoes must be special-order, thought Patrik, staring in fascination at Walter’s feet. They were like small boats. Paula gave Patrik a poke in the side. Embarrassed, he made an effort to look straight ahead.
‘Come in. This is my office. Would you like a cup of coffee?’
They both nodded and were immediately served coffee from the vending machine out in the hall.
‘So, you need information on an assault case, is that right?’
Patrik merely nodded in reply.
‘I have the file here, but I’m not sure I’ll be able to tell you much.’
‘Could you give us a brief summary of the facts?’ asked Paula.
‘Of course. Now, let me see …’ Walter opened the folder and swiftly scanned a few documents. He cleared his throat. ‘Mats Sverin returned home late to his flat on Erik Dahlbergsgatan. He wasn’t sure of the exact time, but he thought it was not long after midnight. He’d been out to dinner with some friends. The victim’s memory was rather hazy afterwards, because he suffered severe blows to the head, and there were gaps in what he could recall.’ Walter raised his eyes from the folder and continued his report without referring to the file again. ‘In the end, what we managed to get out of him was that a bunch of young thugs were standing outside his front door. When he told one of them off for taking a piss there, they attacked him. But he couldn’t give us a clear description or even tell us how many there were. We interviewed Mats Sverin on several occasions after he regained consciousness, but unfortunately we learned very little.’ Walter sighed as he closed the file folder.
‘And that’s as far as you got with the investigation?’ asked Patrik.
‘Yes. There was too little to go on. And no witnesses. But …’ He hesitated and then took a sip of his coffee.
‘But what?’
‘This is just speculation on my part …’ Again he hesitated.
‘We’d appreciate anything you can give us,’ said Paula.
‘Well, the whole time I had the feeling that Sverin knew more than he was telling. I have no proof, but when we were talking to him, he seemed to be holding back.’
‘You mean he knew who attacked him?’ asked Patrik.
‘I have no idea whether he did or not.’ Walter threw out his hands. ‘As I said, it was just a sense that he was withholding information. But you know as well as I do that there are lots of reasons why a victim might choose to remain silent.’
Patrik and Paula nodded.
‘I wish I could have devoted more time to the case and dug up more information. But we just don’t have the resources, and in the end we had to shelve the investigation. We realized that we weren’t going to get any further unless some new lead turned up.’
‘You might say that’s exactly what has happened now,’ said Patrik.
‘Do you think there’s a connection between the assault and the murder?’
Patrik crossed his legs and took a few seconds to consider the question before he answered.
‘At this stage we’re trying to keep an open mind. But that’s certainly one possibility. It’s an interesting coincidence that Sverin was assaulted only a few months before he was found shot to death.’
‘True. Well, be sure to let us know if there’s any way we can assist you.’ Walter stood up, unfolding his tall body. ‘Our investigation remains open, and we might be able to help each other out.’
‘Absolutely,’ said Patrik, shaking hands with him. ‘Could we have a copy of your file?’
‘I’ve already had one made for you,’ said Walter, giving Patrik a stack of documents. ‘Can you find your way out?’
‘Sure. By the way …’ Patrik turned as they were about to leave the office. ‘We were thinking of paying a visit to the organization that Sverin used to work for. Can you tell us how to get there?’ He took out a piece of paper on which he’d jotted down the address.
Walter gave them a few simple directions, and then they said goodbye.
‘That wasn’t very productive,’ said Paula when they were once again seated in the car.
‘Don’t say that. It took a lot for him to stick out his neck like that and admit that a crime victim was holding back information. We need to find out more about the attack on Sverin. Maybe his move to Fjällbacka was an unsuccessful attempt to flee from something in Göteborg.’
‘Oh, so that’s why we’re starting with his previous employer,’ Paula concluded as she fastened her seat belt.
Patrik backed out of the car park, and Paula closed her eyes when he almost ran into the side of a blue Volvo 740 which, for some inexplicable reason, he hadn’t noticed in the rear-view mirror. Next time she was going to insist on taking the wheel. Her nerves weren’t going to stand much more of Patrik’s driving.
The children were running around in the courtyard. Madeleine was chain-smoking, even though she knew that she ought to stop. But here in Denmark it seemed everybody smoked.
‘Mamma, can I go over to Mette’s?’ Her daughter Vilda was standing in front of her with tousled hair and rosy cheeks from all the fresh air and activity.
‘Of course you can,’ she said, kissing Vilda on the forehead.
One of the best things about this block of flats was that the big courtyard was always filled with children, and they were constantly running in and out of each other’s homes, like one big family. She smiled and lit another cigarette. It was strange to feel so safe. She hadn’t felt this way in such a long time that she could hardly remember what it was like. They’d been living here in Copenhagen for four months now, and the days seemed to pass at a leisurely pace. She had even stopped flinching when she went past the windows. Now she walked past, standing tall, even when the curtains were open.
They’d taken care of everything. It wasn’t the first time, but things were different now. She had spoken to them herself, explained why she and her children needed to disappear again. And they had listened. The next night she’d received word to pack a bag for herself and her kids, and go down to the car that was waiting, with the motor running.
She had made up her mind not to look back. Not for an instant had she doubted that she’d made the right decision, yet sometimes she couldn’t push aside the pain. It appeared in her dreams, waking her, and she’d lie in bed staring into the darkness. There she would see him – the man she couldn’t allow herself to think about.
The cigarette burned her fingers, and she swore and tossed the butt to the ground. Kevin gave her an intent look. She’d been so lost in her own thoughts that she hadn’t noticed when he sat down next to her on the bench. She reached out to ruffle his hair, and he offered no objection. He was such a serious boy. Her big little boy. Even though he was only eight, he’d already been through so much.
All around them they heard happy shouts echoing between the buildings. She had already noticed some Danish words sneaking into her children’s vocabulary. She was both amused and frightened. Letting go of what had once been, of the people they once were, involved a sense of loss. Over time, the children would lose their own language, lose their Swedish with the Göteborg accent. But she was willing
to make that sacrifice. They were home now, and they wouldn’t have to move any more. They could stay here and forget everything that they’d left behind.
She stroked Kevin’s cheek. In time he would become a child like the others again. And that would make it all worthwhile.
Maja came running and threw herself into Erica’s arms, which was what she always did when her mother came to pick her up. After giving Erica a hug and a wet kiss, she reached up her hands to try and pat her little brothers in the pram.
‘Looks like somebody is very fond of her brothers,’ said Ewa, who stood outside, ticking off the names of the children from her list as someone came to fetch each of them.
‘Yes, most of the time, at least. But they do get a swat now and then.’ Erica patted Noel’s cheek.
‘It’s not unusual for a child to react when younger siblings arrive and she’s no longer getting her parents’ full attention.’ Ewa leaned over the pram to say hello to the twins.
‘I agree. It’s perfectly understandable, and things have actually been going amazingly well.’
‘Do they sleep through the night?’ Ewa tickled the boys and received two toothless smiles in return.
‘They’re good sleepers. The only problem is that Maja thinks it’s boring when they’re asleep, so if she gets the chance she likes to slip upstairs and wake them.’
‘I can imagine! She’s a very plucky and resourceful little girl.’
‘That’s putting it mildly.’
The twins started squirming in the pram, and Erica glanced around to see what had become of her daughter.
‘Go and have a look at the jungle gym.’ Ewa nodded towards the playground. ‘That’s her favourite place.’
And she was right. At that very moment Erica saw Maja come racing down the slide, a big smile on her face. She took some convincing, but eventually Maja agreed to stand on the running board so they could leave the day-care centre.
‘Go home?’ asked Maja. Erica had turned right instead of left as she usually did when they were walking home.
The Lost Boy (Patrick Hedstrom and Erica Falck, Book 7) Page 14
