Patrik rang Paula. After a few minutes he ended the call.
‘They’ve got the situation under control, so we’ll stick to our plans here. We can stop at the hospital on our way home, if they’re still there.’
‘Good. Did she find out where the kids found the stuff?’
‘In a litter bin outside the block of flats where Mats Sverin lived.’
Martin didn’t say a word for a moment. Then he asked, ‘Do you think it’s related to the case?’
‘Who knows?’ Patrik shrugged. ‘The cocaine could belong to any number of people who live in that building. But it’s definitely interesting that it was found outside Sverin’s front door.’
Martin leaned forward to read the street signs. ‘Turn here. Erik Dahlbergsgatan. What number are we looking for?’
‘Forty-eight.’ Patrik slammed on the brakes to avoid hitting an old woman who was taking her time to cross the street. He waited impatiently for her to pass before he stepped on the accelerator again.
‘Take it easy,’ said Martin, leaning against the door.
‘There it is,’ replied Patrik, ignoring his comment. ‘Number forty-eight.’
‘I hope somebody’s home. Maybe we should have phoned ahead.’
‘We’ll ring the bell and hope we’re in luck.’
It was a lovely old brick building. The flats probably all had old-fashioned stucco work and hardwood floors.
‘What’s the name of the tenant?’ asked Martin when they reached the door.
Patrik took a slip of paper out of his pocket. ‘Jonsson. Rasmus Jonsson. And the flat is on the first floor.’
Martin nodded and pressed a button on the intercom. The nameplate next to it still said Sverin. He was rewarded almost immediately with a crackling sound.
‘Yes?’
‘We’re from the police. We’d like to talk to you. Would you mind letting us in?’ Martin spoke as distinctly as he could into the intercom.
‘What’s this about?’
‘We’ll explain when you let us in. Would you please unlock the door?’
There was a click on the intercom, and then the buzzing of the front door.
They walked up a flight of stairs, studying the nameplates on the doors.
‘Here it is,’ said Martin, pointing to the one on the left.
He rang the bell. When they heard footsteps approaching from inside, they both took a step back. The door opened, but the safety chain was still on. A young man in his twenties peered at them suspiciously.
‘Are you Rasmus Jonsson?’ asked Patrik.
‘Who wants to know?’
‘As we said, we’re from the police. We want to talk to you about Mats Sverin, the person who sublet you this flat.’
‘Is that so?’ His tone of voice bordered on impudence, and he still hadn’t removed the safety chain.
Patrik felt annoyance creeping over him, and he glared at the young man.
‘Either you let us in so we can have a quiet, friendly conversation. Or I make a few calls, and you’ll end up having your entire flat searched while you spend the rest of the day and maybe part of tomorrow down at the station.’
Martin glanced at his colleague. It wasn’t like Patrik to issue empty threats. They had no reason to search this flat or to take Jonsson in for questioning.
For several seconds no one spoke. Then the man unhooked the safety chain.
‘Fucking fascists,’ said Rasmus Jonsson, backing into the hall.
‘Wise decision,’ said Patrik.
There was a heavy scent of hash hovering over the flat, which explained why the young man had shown such reluctance to allow the police in. When they entered the living room they saw piles of anarchist literature and anti-establishment posters tacked up on the walls. Clearly they were in enemy territory.
‘Don’t get too comfortable. I’m studying, and I don’t have time for shit like this.’ Rasmus sat down at a small desk, which was cluttered with books and notepads.
‘What are you studying?’ asked Martin. They didn’t run into many anarchists in Tanumshede, and he was genuinely curious.
‘Political science,’ said Rasmus. ‘In order to get a better understanding of how we’ve ended up in this bloody mess, and how we can change society.’ He sounded as if he were lecturing first-graders, and Patrik stared at him in amusement. He wondered whether life and the passage of time would eventually alter this young man’s ideals.
‘Are you subletting this flat from Mats Sverin?’
‘Why are you asking?’ said Rasmus The sun shone through the living-room window, and Patrik realized that he was looking at someone who had the exact same shade of red hair as Martin. But Rasmus had chosen to grow a beard, so the impression was even more intense than with Martin.
‘I repeat: are you subletting this flat from Mats Sverin?’ Patrik spoke calmly, though he was beginning to lose patience.
‘Yes, that’s correct,’ Rasmus admitted reluctantly.
‘I’m sorry to tell you that Mats Sverin is dead. Murdered.’
Rasmus stared at him.
‘Murdered? What the hell do you mean? And what does this have to do with me?’
‘Nothing, hopefully. But we’re trying to find out more about Mats and his life.’
‘I don’t really know him, so I can’t be much help.’
‘Let us decide that,’ said Patrik. ‘Did you sublet the place furnished?’
‘Yes. Everything in the flat belongs to him.’
‘He didn’t take anything with him?’
Rasmus shrugged. ‘I don’t think so. He packed up anything that was personal in nature, like photographs and so on. But then he drove all of it to the rubbish dump. He said he wanted to get rid of the old junk.’
Patrik glanced around. There seemed to be as few personal belongings here as in the flat in Fjällbacka. They still had no idea why, but apparently Mats Sverin had wanted to make a fresh start. Patrik turned again to Rasmus.
‘How’d you get the flat?’
‘Through an advert. He needed to rent it out fast. Apparently he’d been assaulted and he wanted to leave town.’
‘Did he tell you anything about it?’ Martin interjected.
‘About what?’
‘The assault,’ said Martin patiently. The source of the sweet smell in the flat was obviously making the young student a bit foggy.
‘No, not really.’ Rasmus hesitated, which roused Patrik’s interest.
‘But …?’
‘But what?’ Rasmus began rocking the desk chair from side to side.
‘If you know anything about the attack on Mats, we’d appreciate hearing about it.’
‘I don’t cooperate with cops.’ His eyes narrowed.
Patrik took a couple of deep breaths to calm himself down. This guy was really getting on his nerves.
‘My offer stands. A nice, calm conversation with us, or else we call in the troops – and that means the flat will be searched while you take a trip down to the station.’
Rasmus stopped rocking the chair. He sighed. ‘I didn’t see anything personally, so you’ve got nothing on me. But you should have a talk with old man Pettersson upstairs. He seems to have seen a lot.’
‘Why hasn’t he told the police?’
‘You’ll have to ask him. All I know is that there’s been talk in the building that the old guy knows something.’ Rasmus pressed his lips together, and they realized they’d had all they were going to get out of him.
‘Thanks for your help,’ said Patrik. ‘Here’s my card, in case you happen to think of anything else.’
Rasmus glanced at the card Patrik held out, then took it, holding it between his thumb and index finger, as if it smelled bad. Then he deliberately dropped it into the wastepaper basket.
Patrik and Martin were both relieved to go back out to the landing and leave the cloying smell of hash behind.
‘What a nasty piece of work.’ Martin shook his head.
‘I’m sure life will
catch up with him some day,’ said Patrik, hoping that he wasn’t getting as cynical as he sounded.
They went upstairs and rang the bell next to the nameplate that said F. Pettersson. An elderly man opened the door.
‘What do you want?’ He sounded as cross as Rasmus. Patrik silently wondered if there was something in the water that was affecting the mood in this building. Everybody seemed to have got out of the wrong side of the bed.
‘We’re from the police, and we’d like to ask you a few questions about a previous tenant named Mats Sverin. He lived in the flat below.’ What with sullen anarchists and grumpy old men, Patrik’s patience was at breaking point. It took a real effort to stay calm.
‘Mats? Now that was a strange boy,’ said the man without showing any intention of letting them in.
‘He was assaulted outside the building before he moved away.’
‘The police have already been here to ask about that.’
The man leaned on his cane. Sensing indecision, Patrik moved a step closer.
‘We have reason to believe that you know more than you’ve told the police.’
Pettersson looked down and then motioned them inside with his head.
‘Come in,’ he said, shuffling along the hall to lead the way.
This flat was not only much brighter than the flat below, it was also much more pleasantly decorated, with classic furniture and paintings on the walls.
‘Have a seat,’ said the old man, pointing his cane at a sofa in the living room.
Patrik and Martin did as he said and then introduced themselves. They learned that the man’s first name was Folke.
‘I’m afraid I have nothing to offer in the way of refreshments,’ said Folke, his tone much less belligerent than before.
‘That’s okay. We’re actually in a bit of a hurry,’ said Martin.
‘As I was saying …’ Patrik cleared his throat. ‘From what we understand, you have information regarding what happened to Mats Sverin the night he was assaulted.’
‘Hmm … I’m not so sure about that,’ said Folke.
‘It’s important that you tell the truth this time. Because Mats has been murdered.’ The old man’s startled expression gave Patrik a moment’s petty satisfaction.
‘That can’t be right.’
‘Unfortunately, it is. And if you have anything to tell us about the assault, I’d appreciate hearing it now.’
‘It’s not good to get involved. There’s no knowing what those types might do,’ said Folke, placing his cane on the floor in front of him. He clasped his hands on his lap, suddenly looking very old and fragile.
‘What do you mean by “those types”? According to Mats’s own statement to the police, it was a bunch of young thugs who attacked him.’
‘Young thugs,’ snorted Folke. ‘Those weren’t young thugs! No, those were the sort of guys that you should never get mixed up with. I don’t understand how a nice boy like Mats would end up in their company.’
‘What do you mean by that, sir?’ asked Patrik. He suddenly found himself taking a more formal tone with the elderly gentleman.
‘Motorcyclists.’
‘Motorcyclists?’ Martin looked at Patrik in surprise.
‘The kind you read about in the papers. Like Hells Angels and the Bandits, or whatever they’re called.’
‘Bandidos,’ Patrik automatically corrected him as all sorts of thoughts began whirling through his mind. ‘If I understand you correctly, it wasn’t kids who assaulted Mats, it was a motorcycle gang?’
‘Yes, that’s what I said. Are you deaf, son?’
‘Why did you lie to the police and tell them that you hadn’t seen anything? I was told there were no witnesses to the incident.’ Patrik couldn’t hide his frustration. If only they’d known about this from the beginning.
‘It’s best to stay out of the way of those types,’ Folke stubbornly insisted. ‘It had nothing to do with me. I don’t like to get involved in other people’s business.’
‘So that’s why you said that you hadn’t seen anything?’ It was one of the things Patrik found hardest to accept: people who stood by and watched, then threw up their hands and said it wasn’t their concern.
‘It’s best to stay out of the way of those types,’ Folke repeated, but he couldn’t look them in the eye.
‘Did you see anything that might give us a lead as to who these guys were?’ asked Martin.
‘They had an eagle on their backs. A big, yellow eagle.’
‘Thank you,’ said Martin, and got up to shake the old man’s hand. After a moment’s hesitation, Patrik did the same.
A short time later they were on their way to Uddevalla. Both of them were deeply engrossed in their own thoughts.
Erica couldn’t wait any longer. After pulling herself together, she rang Kristina and asked her to babysit. And as soon as she heard her mother-in-law’s car door slam, she threw on her jacket, rushed outside, and drove towards Falkeliden. When she got there she remained sitting in the car for a long time. Maybe she ought to stay away for a while and leave them in peace. Anna’s brief phone message was a bit confusing. She might have misinterpreted what her sister had said.
Erica gripped the steering wheel as she sat there with the engine switched off. She didn’t want to make a mess of things. There had been occasions in the past when Anna had accused her of barging in and trying to meddle in her affairs. And often she was right. When they were growing up, Erica had wanted to compensate for what she thought was a lack of love from their mother. Now she knew better, and Anna did too. Elsy had loved them, but she hadn’t been capable of showing it. And the two sisters had grown close over the past few years, especially after all the trouble with Lucas.
At this moment, Erica wasn’t at all sure what to do. Anna had her own family, after all. Dan and the children. Maybe they needed to have her to themselves. Suddenly Erica caught sight of her sister in the kitchen window. She fluttered past like a ghost, then turned and peered at Erica’s car. She raised her hand and motioned for her to come inside.
Erica flung open the car door and hurried up the steps. Dan opened the door before she could ring the bell.
‘Come in,’ he said, and she saw a thousand different emotions flit across his face.
‘Thanks.’ Hesitantly she stepped inside, hung up her jacket, and with a strange feeling of reverence went into the kitchen.
Anna was sitting on a chair at the kitchen table. She hadn’t spent the entire time in bed, so Erica had seen her downstairs before. But since the accident, Anna hadn’t seemed truly present. Now she did.
‘I listened to your phone message,’ said Erica, sitting down across from Anna.
Dan poured each of them a cup of coffee and then discreetly left to join the noisy kids in the living room so the two sisters could talk in peace.
Anna’s hand shook slightly as she raised the cup to her lips. She looked almost transparent. Fragile. But her gaze was steady.
‘I was so scared,’ said Erica, feeling the tears begin to fall.
‘I know. I was scared too. Scared to come back.’
‘But why? I mean, I understand. I get that …’ She struggled to find the right thing to say. How could she put words to Anna’s grief when the truth was that she really didn’t understand the first thing about it?
‘It was dark. And it hurt less to stay in the dark than to be out here with all of you.’
‘But now?’ Erica’s voice quavered. ‘Now you’re here.’
Anna nodded gently and took another sip of coffee.
‘Where are the twins?’
Erica didn’t know what to say, but Anna seemed to understand her hesitation. She smiled.
‘I’m so anxious to meet them. Who do they take after? Are they very much alike?’
Erica looked at her, still cautious about how to react.
‘They’re actually not much alike. Not at all. Noel is louder. He makes it very clear when he wants something, and he’s so determined.
Stubborn as could be. Anton is almost the exact opposite. He never screams for anything, and he seems to think that life is great. He’s very content, in other words. But I don’t really know who they take after.’
Anna’s smile grew wider. ‘You’re kidding me, right? You’ve just described yourself and Patrik. And you’re not the one who’s content, if I may say so.’
‘No, but …’ Erica began, then fell silent as she realized that what Anna had said was true. She had, in fact, described herself and Patrik, though she knew that he wasn’t always as calm at work as he was at home.
‘I’d like to meet them,’ Anna said again, looking steadily at Erica. ‘There’s no connection to what happened to me, and you know it. It wasn’t the twins’ fault that my son died.’
Now Erica couldn’t hold back her tears. She wasn’t yet convinced that Anna was right about there being no connection – it would take time for her to believe that – but the guilt that she’d carried during the past months slowly began seeping away.
‘I can bring them over any time you like. As soon as you feel up to it.’
‘Why don’t you go get them now? If it’s not too much trouble, that is,’ said Anna. Some colour had returned to her cheeks.
‘I could phone Kristina and ask her to drive over with them.’
Anna nodded. A couple of minutes later Erica had arranged for her mother-in-law to bring the boys to the house.
‘It’s hard,’ said Anna. ‘I feel like the darkness is there even now, hovering on the edge of things.’
‘At least you’re here now.’ Erica put her hand over her sister’s. ‘I came over to see you while you were lying in bed upstairs, and it was so awful. It felt like only a shell of you was there.’
‘I suppose that’s true. It almost makes me panic when I realize that I’m still partially that way. I feel like a fragile shell, and I don’t know how I’m going to fill myself up again. It’s so empty. In here.’ She placed her hand over her stomach, stroking it gently.
‘Do you remember anything about the funeral?’
‘No.’ Anna shook her head. ‘I remember it was important for us to have a funeral, that it seemed necessary. But I can’t recall the actual service.’
The Lost Boy (Patrick Hedstrom and Erica Falck, Book 7) Page 25
