‘It’s astounding how tolerant you’ve become lately,’ said Erica sullenly, though she had to admit that he had a point. ‘Why are you being so magnanimous?’
‘I’m always magnanimous when it comes to twenty-one-year-olds. They have such fine qualities.’
‘Oh yeah, like what?’ Erica snapped before she realized that Patrik was teasing her. ‘Oh, never mind. You’re probably right. Of course we should invite Dan and his little cutie.’
‘Listen to you.’
‘All right, all right, Dan and Maria. I’m sure it’ll be fun. I could get out Emma’s old doll house so she’ll have something to do while we grown-ups have dinner.’
‘Erica . . .’
‘Okay,I’ll stop. It’s just so hard to resist. It’s like some sort of tic.’
‘You wicked girl. Come here and get a hug instead of hatching yourdastardly plans.’
She took him at his word and they curled up on the sofa together. For Patrik this was what made it possible for him to face the darker sides of humanity that he encountered in his work. Erica, and the thought that perhaps he could make a small contribution to ensuring the world would be a safer place for the baby now pressing the soles of its feet against his palm inside the skin stretched across Erica’s belly. Outside their windows the wind died down as twilight fell, and the colour of the sky turned from grey to flaming pink. He predicted that tomorrow it would be sunny again.
Patrik’s premonitions about sunshine turned out to be true. The next day it seemed as though the rain had never come. By noon the asphalt was steaming again. Although he was dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, Martin was sweating but that was starting to feel like a normal state. Yesterday’s cool temperature was only a dream.
Martin felt a bit bewildered about how to proceed with his assignment. Patrik was in Mellberg’s office, so Martin hadn’t had a chance to confer with him yet. One problem he had was the information from Germany. The German police might get back to him at any time, and he was afraid of missing anything they might say, because of his poor knowledge of German. So the best thing would be to find someone who could help him interpret, in a three-way phone hook-up. But who would he ask for help? The interpreters Martin had worked with before had mostly been people who spoke the Baltic languages, along with Russian and Polish, because of problems with stolen vehicles that kept vanishing to those countries. He’d never needed help with German before. He took out the phone book and paged through it more or less at random, not sure what he was looking for. One heading gave him a bright idea. Considering the number of German touriststhat streamed through Fjällbacka each year, the Fjällbacka tourist bureau must have someone on staff who was fluent in the language. He eagerly dialed their number.
A bright, cheerful female voice answered the phone. ‘Fjällbacka Tourist Bureau, good morning, this is Pia.’
‘Hello, this is Martin Molin at the Tanumshede police station. I wonder whether you have anyone there who’s fluent in German?’
‘Well, I suppose that would be me. What’s this about?’
Her voice sounded more and more attractive with each second, and Martin had a brilliant idea. ‘Could I come down there and discuss it with you? Do you have time?’
‘Of course. I’m going to lunch in half an hour. If you could be here by then, maybe we could meet for lunch at Bryggan.’
‘That sounds perfect. I’ll see you there in half an hour.’
Exhilarated, Martin hung up the phone. He wasn’t really sure what sort of foolishness had come over him, but she had such a pleasant voice.
He parked his car hall an hour later outside the ironmonger’s shop and walked across Ingrid Bergman Square making his way through all the summer visitors. He was starting to get cold feet. This isn’t a date, this is police business, he reminded himself. But he couldn’t deny that he would be cruelly disappointed if Pia at the tourist bureau turned out to have buck teeth and weigh 450 pounds.
He headed along the wharf to the cafe tables and looked around. At one of the tables by the railing a young woman in a blue blouse and a colourful scarf with the tourist bureau’s logo on it was waving to him. He heaved a sigh of relief, immediately followed by a sense of triumph that he had guessed right. Pia was as sweet as a piece of chocolate. Big brown eyes and dark, curly hair.A big smile with gleaming teeth and charming dimples. This was going to be a much more pleasant lunch than shoveling down a cold pasta salad with Hedström in the lunchroom at the station. Not that he didn’t like Hedström, but his colleague was certainly no match for this peach!
‘Hello, I’m Martin Molin.’
‘I’m Pia Löfstedt.’
After the introductions were made, they each ordered fish soup from the tall, blonde waitress.
‘We’re in luck,’ said Pia. ‘“The Herring” is here this week.’ She could see that Martin had no idea what she was talking about.
‘Christian Hellberg.Chef of the Year in 2001. He’s from Fjällbacka. You’ll see once you taste the fish soup. It’s divine.’
She gestured eagerly the whole time she was talking, and Martin found himself staring at her in fascination. Pia was totally unlike the girls he usually met, and that was probably why it felt so great to be sitting across from her. He had to remind himself again that this wasn’t a date; it was a working lunch, and he actually did have business to discuss.
‘I have to admit that it’s not every day the police ring us up. I assume this has to do with the body you found in the King’s Cleft, right?’
The question was posed as a statement of fact, not as an attempt to sensationalize, and Martin nodded affirmatively.
‘Yes, that’s correct. As you’ve probably heard, the victim was a German tourist, and we may need some help with interpreting. Do you think you could handle it?’
‘I studied in Germany for two years, so it shouldn’t be any problem.’
Their soup arrived, and after one spoonful Martin was inclined to agree with Pia’s evaluation of ‘divine’. He tried hard not to slurp it up, but couldn’t help himself. He hoped that she had read Emil in Lönneberga by Astrid Lindgren. ‘You have to slurp it up or you won’t know it’s soup …’
‘That’s funny …’ said Pia, pausing to eat another spoonful of soup. A light breeze swept over the tables now and then, providing a few seconds of cool air. Both of them watched an old-fashioned cutter as it struggled forward with its sails barely luffing. There wasn’t enough wind for a good day of sailing, so most of the boats were running their engines. Pia went on, ‘That German girl … Tanja was her name, wasn’t it? She came into the bureau about a week ago, wanting help translating some articles.’
Martin’s interest was instantly aroused. ‘What sort of articles?’
‘About those girls that were found with her.Articles about their disappearance. Old articles she’d photocopied, apparently from the library, I would guess.’
His spoon clattered when he dropped it into his bowl out of sheer astonishment. ‘Why did she want help reading them?’
‘I really don’t know. And I didn’t ask her, either. We’re actually not supposed to do stuff like that during working hours, but it was the middle of the day and all the tourists were out on the skerries swimming, so it was quiet. And besides, she seemed so anxious that I felt sorry for her.’ Pia hesitated. ‘Do you think it has anything to do with the murder? Maybe I should have called and told you about it earlier …’
She sounded worried, and Martin hastened to reassure her. For some reason he didn’t want to risk prompting any sort of unpleasant feelings in Pia.
‘There’s no way you could know that it might be important,’ he said. ‘But it’s good that you told me about it.’
They ate their lunch and talked about more pleasant subjects. Her lunch hour was over way too soon. Pia had to rush off to the little information kiosk in the middle of the square before her colleague got annoyed at having her own lunch delayed. Before Martin knew it she was gone, after a too-hasty goodbye. It
was on the tip of his tongue to ask whether they could meet again, but he couldn’t quite get the words out. Muttering and swearing, he walked to his car. On the way back to Tanumshede his thoughts reluctantly turned to what Pia had told him about Tanja asking for help. Why was she interested in those girls? Who was she? What was the connection between Tanja, Siv and Mona? What was he not seeing?
Life was good. Life was very good. He couldn’t recall when the air had seemed so clean, the aromas so strong or the colours so bright. Life was truly good.
Mellberg looked at Hedström, who was sitting in the chair opposite him. A handsome fellow, and a talented cop. He may not have expressed it in just those terms before, but he was going to make the most of the opportunity right now. It was important for his colleagues to feel appreciated. He had read somewhere that a good leader should offer criticism and praise with the same firm hand. Previously he might have been a bit too free with the criticism. His newfound clarity allowed him to see that, and he intended to rectify the situation.
‘How’s it going with the investigation?’ he asked. Hedström ran down the main points of the work they had done so far.
‘Excellent, excellent,’ said Mellberg, nodding jovially. ‘I’ve had a number of unpleasant calls today. People are very anxious for this case to be solved quickly so that it won’t have long-lasting effects on the tourism industry, as someone expressed it so aptly. But that’s not anything you need to worry about, Hedström. I’ve personally assured everyone that the Department’s finest are working and day to put the perpetrator behind bars. So just keep working at yourusual high level and I’ll take care of the town’s bigwigs.’
Hedström gave his boss an odd look.
Mellberg kept his eyes fixed on his colleagueand fired off a broad smile. If Hedström only knew …
The debriefing with Mellberg had taken over an hour. Patrik looked for Martin on the way back to his office, but he didn’t seem to be around. So Patrik went to Hedemyr’s and bought a plastic-wrapped sandwich, which he wolfed down with a cup of coffee in the lunchroom. Just as he finished eating he heard Martin coming down the hall. He signaled to him to come into his office.
Patrik started off by saying, ‘Have you noticed anything funny about Mellberg recently?’
‘Besides the fact that he doesn’t complain or criticize, laughs all the time, has lost a lot of weight and is wearing clothes that actually look as if they were in fashion as recently as the Nineties? No.’ Martin smiled.
‘There’s something fishy going on. Not that I’m complaining. He’s not interfering in the investigation, and today he praised me so much that I blushed. But there’s something …’ Patrik shook his head. But their speculations about the new Bertil Mellberg would have to wait; there were more pressing matters to discuss. Some things should just be enjoyed without questioning.
Martin told him about making a fruitless visit to the campground and how they hadn’t got anything else useful out of Liese. Then he reported on what Pia had said about Tanja, that she had come in to get some articles about Mona and Siv translated. That was when Patrik’s interest perked up.
‘I knew there had to be a connection there! But what the heck could it be?’ he said, scratching his head.
‘What did the parents tell you yesterday?’
The two photographs Patrik had been given by Albert and Gun layon the desk. He picked them up and handed them to Martin. He described the meeting with Mona’s father and Siv’s mother, unable to hide his distaste for the latter.
‘Still, must be a relief for them to hear that the girls have finally been found. It must have been torture to go through year after year without knowing where they were. People say that the uncertainty is the worst.’
‘Yes, although now I hope that Pedersen confirms that the second skeleton is Siv Lantin, or else we’ll really be in hot water.’
‘That’s true, but the odds are that it’s her skeleton. Is there still nothing on the analysis of the dirt found on the bones?’
‘No, unfortunately. And I don’t know how much that will tell us anyway. They could have been buried anywhere. Even if we identify the type of soil, it’s like searching for a needle in ahaystack.’
‘The DNA is what I’m counting on most. As soon as we have a suspect, we’ll know if it’s the right person by analysing his DNA and comparing it with what we have.’
‘Sure, all we have to do now is find the right person.’
They thought about the case for a while in silence, until Martin broke the dismal mood and stood up.
‘Well, we’re not going to get anything done just sitting here. I’d better be off to the salt mines again.’
He left a meditative Patrik sitting at his desk.
The mood at dinner was very tense. That was nothing unusual, ever since Linda had moved in, but just now the air was so thick they could cut it with a knife. Her brother had just told them as briefly as possible about Solveig’s visit to their father, but he wasn’t particularly keen on discussing the subject.
Linda didn’t intend to let that stop her. ‘So it wasn’t Uncle Johannes who murdered those girls after all. Pappa must feel really awful. He fingers his own brother who later turns out to be innocent.’
‘Shut your mouth –you shouldn’t talk about things you know nothing about.’
Everyone at the table gave a start. Jacob seldom if ever raised his voice. Even Linda felt a bit scared for a moment, but she swallowed hard and went on. ‘So why did Pappa think that it was Uncle Johannes anyway? Nobody has ever told me.’
Jacob hesitated a momentbut realized that it wouldn’t do to tell her to stop asking questions, so he decided to oblige her. At least partly.
‘Pappa saw one of the girls in Johannes’s car the night she disappeared.’
‘Why was Pappa out driving in the middle of the night?’
‘He’d been to visit me at the hospital and decided to drive home instead of staying overnight.’
‘So that’s all it was? That was the reason he reported Johannes to the police? Imean, there must be plenty of other explanations for something like that. Maybe he was giving her a ride part-way home.’
‘Could be. Although Johannes denied that he even saw the girl that night. He claimed that he’d been at home in bed at that hour.’
‘But what did Grandpa say? Wasn’t he furious when Gabriel called the police about Johannes?’
Linda was totally fascinated. She’d been born after the girls had disappeared and had never heard more than fragments of the story. Nobody ever wanted to talk about what had happened, so most of what Jacob was now saying was completely new to her.
Jacob snorted. ‘Was Grandpa angry? You’d better believe it. Besides, he was in hospital at the time, fully engaged with saving my life, so he was furious at Pappa that he could do something like that.’
The children had been sent out of the room. Otherwise their eyes would have sparkled at the mention of how their old grandfather had saved the life of their Pappa. They had heard the story many, many times and never tired of it.
Jacob went on, ‘He was so angry that he even considered changing his will and naming Johannes as sole heir, but there was no time for that before Johannes died. If he hadn’t died, we might have been the ones living in the forester’s cottage, instead of Solveig and the boys.’
‘But why did Pappa think so badly of Johannes?’
‘Well, I don’t really know. Pappa has never been very talkative on the subject, but Grandpa told us a great deal that might explain it. Mamma’s father died when Johannes was born, and after that they travelled about with Grandpa when he drove up and down the west coast giving sermons and worship services. Grandpa told me that he understood early on that both Johannes and Gabriel had the power to heal, so each worship service concluded with them healing people with handicaps and illnesses who were in the audience.’
‘Pappa did that? Healed people, I mean? Can he still do it?’
Linda’s mouth fell openi
n astonishment. The door to a whole new room in her family history had been opened wide. She hardly dared breathe for fear that Jacob clam up and refuse to share what else he knew. She’d heard that he and Grandpa had always had a special bond, especially after it turned out that Grandpa’s bone marrow was a perfect match as a donor for Jacob, who was suffering from leukemia. But Linda hadn’t known that Grandpa had told him so much. Naturally, she’d heard that Grandpa was called ‘the Preacher’ in popular parlance. She’d also heard mutterings that he somehow had swindled his way to his fortune, but she’d never viewed the stories about Ephraim as anything other than exaggerated tales. Linda was so young when he died that he seemed merely astern older man in the family photographs.
‘No, I hardly believe he can.’ Jacob smiled a little at the thought of his correct father as a healer of the sick and lame. ‘As far as Pappa is concerned, probably nothing ever happened. And according to Grandpa it’s not unusual for a person to lose the ability when he enters puberty. It may be possible to regain the ability later, but it’s not easy. I believe that both Gabriel and Johannes lost itafter they reached adulthood. I think Pappa detested Johannes because they were so different. Johannes was very handsome and could charm the trousers off anyone, but he was hopelessly irresponsible with everything in his life. Both he and Gabriel received a large portion of the money when Grandpa was still alive, but it took only a year before Johannes had run through his share. That made Grandpa furious, and he changed his will making Gabriel his primary heir insteadof dividing the inheritance equally between them. But as I mentioned, if he had lived longer he might have changed his mind again.’
‘But there must have been something else,’ Linda said. ‘Pappa couldn’t have hated Johannes so much just because he was nicer-looking and more charming. That’s no reason to report your brother to the police, is it?’
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