‘How nice he was,’ murmured Erica as she studied the picture. She couldn’t recall having that thought at the time, but that was probably because she’d been so infatuated with Johan. He was in the same grade but in the other class, and she’d harboured an unrequited love for him throughout secondary school. She could see now that Matte was very cute. His blond hair was slightly tousled and shaggy; his serious expression was quite appealing. He was a bit lanky, but that was how all boys were at that age. She had no clear memories of Matte from those years in school. She hadn’t belonged to the same group. He was one of the popular kids, although he never boasted of the fact. Not like some of the other cool boys who were loud and arrogant and so full of themselves and their status in that little world where they were the kings. Matte just seemed to quietly drift along.
Erica put aside the yearbook and picked up the photo album. It was filled with pictures from school trips, various end-of-term celebrations, and a few parties that her parents had allowed her to attend. Nathalie was in a lot of the photos. Always in the very centre of the action, as if the camera lens sought her out. My God, she was pretty, thought Erica, and then found herself hoping rather mean-spiritedly that Nathalie was now overweight, with her hair cut in a plain, old-lady style. There was something about her that stirred both desire and jealousy. All the girls wanted to be like her; second best was to be included in her circle of friends. Erica had been neither. Nor was she in any of the photos. She was the one holding the camera, after all, but nobody had ever taken it from her and said that she ought to be in the picture. She was invisible, hiding behind the lens as she greedily took snapshots of all those scenes that she longed to be part of.
It annoyed Erica that she was still overwhelmed by bitterness. She couldn’t understand why her memories of that period had the power to diminish her and make her feel like the girl she once was instead of the woman she had become. She was a successful author, happily married, with three amazing children, a beautiful home, and great friends. Yet old jealousies rose to the fore, and she felt again the longing to fit in, accompanied by the terrible pain of knowing that she never would, that she would never be good enough, no matter how hard she tried.
The twins began whimpering as they lay on the blanket. Relieved to be forced back to the present, Erica got up and went over to her sons, leaving the yearbook and photo album on the table. Patrik would no doubt want to have a look at them too.
‘Where should we begin?’ Paula was struggling with motion sickness. She had started feeling ill by the time they reached Uddevalla, and it was only getting worse.
‘Do you want to stop for a while?’ Patrik cast a glance at her face, which had taken on a disturbing greenish hue.
‘No, we’re almost there anyway,’ she said, swallowing hard.
‘I was thinking we should start at the Sahlgrenska Hospital,’ said Patrik, negotiating Göteborg’s dense traffic with a determined expression on his face. ‘We’ve been given permission to look at Mats’s medical records, and I’ve phoned the doctor who was in charge of his care, telling him that we’re on our way.’
‘Good,’ said Paula, fighting off the nausea.
Ten minutes later they turned into the car park at the hospital, and she jumped out of the vehicle the minute it stopped. She leaned against the door, taking in deep breaths until the nausea eased. A vague sense of discomfort remained, however, and she knew it would stay with her until she got some food in her stomach.
‘Are you ready? Or do you need a few more minutes?’ asked Patrik. But she could see that he was so impatient to get going that he was shifting from one foot to the other.
‘I’m okay now. Let’s go. Do you know the way?’ She motioned with her head towards the vast hospital complex.
‘I think so,’ he said and started for the main entrance.
After taking a couple of wrong turns, they were finally able to knock on the door of Nils-Erik Lund’s office. He was the doctor who had been responsible for Mats’s care during the weeks he’d spent in hospital.
‘Come in,’ said a voice, and they stepped inside.
The doctor stood up and came around his desk to shake hands.
‘You’re from the police, I assume?’
‘Yes. We spoke on the phone earlier. I’m Patrik Hedström, and this is my colleague Paula Morales.’
They exchanged the usual pleasantries before they all sat down.
‘I’ve pulled out the information that I think you need,’ said Dr Lund, shoving a file across his desk.
‘Thanks. Could you tell us what you remember of Mats Sverin?’
‘I have thousands of patients every year, so it’s impossible to remember them all. But after reviewing his records, I’ve managed to recall a few things.’ He tugged at his shaggy white beard. ‘The patient came to us with extensive injuries. He had been severely beaten, probably by more than one individual. You’ll have to ask the police for more details.’
‘We’ll do that,’ said Patrik. ‘But feel free to tell us your own thoughts. Any information you can provide may prove valuable.’
‘Very well,’ said Dr Lund. ‘I won’t bother you with the medical terminology – you can read that in the file later on – but the patient had received blows and kicks to the head, resulting in bleeding in the brain as well as a number of broken facial bones, swelling, damage to the underlying tissues, and extensive discoloration of the skin. He had also suffered injuries to his abdomen, with two broken ribs and a ruptured spleen. His injuries were extremely serious, and we found it necessary to operate at once. We also took X-rays to determine the severity of the bleeding in his brain.’
‘Did you judge his injuries to be life-threatening?’ asked Paula.
‘The patient was in critical condition, and he was unconscious when admitted to the hospital. Having established that the bleeding in his brain was minor and did not warrant surgery, we focused our attention on his abdominal injuries. There was a risk that the broken ribs might puncture his lungs, which is a major concern.’
‘You were able to stabilize his condition?’
‘I would venture to say that we did a superb job. Quick and effective. Thanks to excellent teamwork.’
‘Did Mats Sverin tell you what had happened to him? Did he talk about the assault?’ asked Patrik.
Dr Lund tugged at his beard as he tried to recall. It’s a wonder he has any beard left, thought Patrik, considering the way he keeps pulling on it.
‘No, I can’t remember that he did.’
‘Did he seem scared? Did you get the sense he felt threatened or was trying to hide something?’
‘Not that I recall. But as I said, it was several months ago, and a lot of patients have come and gone in the meantime. You’ll have to ask the officers who were in charge of the police investigation.’
‘Do you know whether he had any visitors while he was here?’
‘It’s possible that he did, but I’m afraid I have no idea.’
‘Then we’ll thank you for your time,’ said Patrik, standing up. ‘Are these copies?’ He pointed at the file lying on the desk.
‘Yes, you can take them with you,’ said Dr Lund, getting up as well.
On their way out, Patrik suddenly had an idea.
‘Shall we stop by and see Pedersen? Find out if he has anything for us?’
‘Okay,’ said Paula, nodding. She followed Patrik, who now seemed to know which corridors to take. She was still feeling slightly ill, and she wasn’t sure that a visit to the morgue was going to help matters.
What was the point of living any more? Signe had hauled herself out of bed to make breakfast, and later on she fixed lunch. Neither of them had any appetite. She had vacuumed the entire ground floor, washed the bed linens, and made coffee, which they didn’t drink. She had done everything she usually did, but she felt as if she were as dead as Mats. She was merely moving her body about the house, a body without purpose, without life.
She sank down on to the bench in
the kitchen. The hose to the vacuum cleaner fell to the floor, but neither of them reacted. Gunnar was sitting at the kitchen table. He’d been sitting there all day. They seemed to have switched roles. Yesterday he had been the one moving around, while it had taken her an enormous effort merely to get her muscles to cooperate with her benumbed brain. Today he sat there while she tried to fill the hole in her heart with feverish activity.
She stared at the back of Gunnar’s neck, noticing as she had so many times in the past that Matte had inherited the same whorl of hair at the edge of his shirt collar. Now it would never be passed on to the little blond boy that she had pictured so often in her daydreams. Or it could have been passed on to a girl, for that matter. It didn’t matter whether it was a boy or a girl; either would have been welcome. If only she’d been given a grandchild to pamper, offering sweets before dinner and far too many gifts at Christmas time. A child with Matte’s eyes and somebody else’s mouth. Because that was something she had always looked forward to, wondering what sort of girlfriend he would bring home. What would she be like? Would he find someone like his mother, or somebody who was the exact opposite? She couldn’t deny that she’d been curious, but she had vowed to be nice. She didn’t want to be one of those dreadful mothers-in-law who meddled. And she would have been ready to babysit whenever needed.
But as the years passed, she had begun to give up hope. Occasionally it occurred to her that Matte might not be interested in women. That would have required some getting used to, and she would have regretted not having any grandchildren, but she could have accepted the situation. All she wanted was for him to be happy. But he had never brought anyone home, and now all hope was gone for ever. There would be no towheaded child with a whorl of hair at the nape of his neck; no grandchild to whom she could slip a sweet before dinner. No heap of Christmas presents that cost too much and fell apart in a matter of weeks. Nothing except emptiness. The years stretched ahead of them like a desolate country road. She glanced at Gunnar as he sat motionless at the kitchen table. Why should they keep on living? Why should she keep on living?
‘You really wanted to go to Göteborg, didn’t you?’ Annika glanced up from her computer screen and gave Martin a long look. He was her protégé at the station, and they had established a special bond.
‘Yes,’ he admitted. ‘But this is important work too.’
‘Do you want to know why Patrik took Paula with him?’ asked Annika.
‘It doesn’t matter. Patrik can take whoever he wants,’ he replied rather sullenly. Before Paula joined the force, he had almost always been Patrik’s first choice. To be honest, that was because at the time the station didn’t have anyone else worth considering, but Martin couldn’t deny that it hurt.
‘Patrik thinks that Paula has seemed a bit depressed lately, so he wants to give her something else to think about.’
‘Is that so? I hadn’t noticed,’ said Martin, feeling a pang of guilt. ‘What’s going on with her?’
‘No idea. Paula isn’t exactly a talkative person. But I think Patrik is doing the right thing. She hasn’t been herself lately.’
‘Well, just the thought of having to live in the same flat with Mellberg would be enough to break me.’
‘You can say that again,’ said Annika with a laugh, and then turned serious. ‘But I don’t think that’s the problem. We’ll just have to let her be until she feels like talking. At least you know now why Patrik wanted her to go with him.’
‘Thanks for telling me.’ Yet Martin felt ashamed that he had reacted so immaturely. The important thing was that the job got done, not who was assigned to do it.
‘Shall we get started on this?’ he asked, stretching his spine. ‘It’d be great if we could find out more about Sverin by the time they get back.’
‘Good idea,’ said Annika, and she began tapping on the keyboard.
‘Do you ever think of him?’ Anders took a sip of his coffee. He and Vivianne were having lunch together at the Lilla Berith restaurant, which they did almost daily in order to get away from all the construction noise at Badis.
‘Who?’ asked Vivianne, even though she knew exactly who he meant. Anders noticed how her knuckles turned white as she gripped her coffee cup.
‘Olof.’
They had always called him by that name. He had insisted on it, and nothing else had seemed natural. He deserved no other name.
‘Of course. Once in a while.’ She looked at the patch of lawn at the top of Galärbacken. The town had started coming to life. More people were out and about, and it felt as if Fjällbacka was slowly thawing out, stretching its limbs, and getting ready for the onslaught. It was a dramatic transformation from the torpor that gripped the small town the rest of the year.
‘So what do you think?’
Vivianne turned to face Anders, giving him a sharp look.
‘Why are you suddenly talking about him? He no longer exists. He’s of no importance.’
‘I’m not sure,’ he replied. ‘It’s something to do with Fjällbacka. I don’t know why, but I feel safe here. Safe enough to think about him.’
‘Don’t get too comfortable. We’re not going to be here long,’ she snapped, immediately regretting her tone of voice. She was angry at Olof, not Anders. But she was cross that he’d started talking about him. What good would it do? She took a deep breath and decided to answer Anders’s question. He had always supported her, gone with her everywhere. She depended on him, and the least she could do was to give him an answer.
‘I think about how much I hate him.’ She felt her jaw tighten. ‘I think about how much he destroyed, how much he took from me and from us. Isn’t that what you think about too?’
She suddenly felt scared. They had always shared a hatred for Olof. That had been the glue that held them together, the reason why they hadn’t gone separate ways but had always stayed together, through good times and bad. Mostly bad.
‘I don’t know,’ said Anders, turning to look at the sea. ‘Maybe it’s time to …’
‘Time to what?’
‘To forgive.’
There they were. The words she didn’t want to hear, the thought she refused to entertain. Forgive Olof? When he had robbed them of their childhood, turned them into adults who clung to each other like victims of a shipwreck? He was the driving force behind everything they had done, everything they still were doing.
‘I’ve given it a lot of thought lately,’ Anders went on. ‘We can’t keep going like this. We’re running away, Vivianne. But we’re running away from something we can never escape, because it’s inside here.’ He pointed to his temple as he fixed her with a penetrating, resolute stare.
‘What exactly are you trying to say? Are you starting to get cold feet?’ She could feel tears welling up in her eyes. Was he planning to desert her? Betray her, the way Olof had done?
‘It feels like we’re always searching for the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, and if only we could find it, then Olof would disappear. But we’re never going to find it. Because it doesn’t exist.’
Vivianne closed her eyes. She remembered all too clearly the filth, the smells, the people who came and went, and Olof wasn’t there to protect them. Olof, who hated them. He’d told them that quite bluntly, that they should never have been born, that he’d ended up with them because of his sins. They were disgusting, ugly, and stupid. And they were the ones who had driven their mother to her death.
She abruptly opened her eyes. How could Anders talk about forgiveness? He had thrown himself in between so many times, protecting her body with his own and suffering the brunt of the blows.
‘I don’t want to discuss Olof.’ Her voice sounded strained because of everything she was holding back. Terror overwhelmed her. What did it matter that Anders talked of forgiveness when that was something that could never happen?
‘I love you, sister.’ Anders gently stroked her cheek. But Vivianne didn’t hear him. The dark memories were roaring too loudly in her ears.
‘Well, look at that. I’ve got visitors.’ Tord Pedersen, the medical examiner, peered at them over the top of his glasses.
‘Yes. We thought it would be good if the mountain came to Muhammad for a change,’ said Patrik with a smile as he stepped forward to shake hands. ‘This is my colleague Paula Morales. We were over at the Sahlgrenska Hospital to make a few enquiries about Mats Sverin. So we thought we might as well drop in to see you and find out how things are going.’
‘Your visit is a bit premature, I’m afraid.’ Pedersen shook his head.
‘Does that mean you don’t have anything for us?’
‘I’ve only had time to make a preliminary examination.’
‘And what do you think?’ asked Paula.
Pedersen laughed.
‘I thought it couldn’t get any worse than having Patrik breathing down my neck.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Paula apologized, but her expression told Pedersen that she was still waiting for an answer.
‘Come with me. Let’s go to my office.’ The medical examiner opened a door on their left.
They followed him inside and took seats in front of his desk while Pedersen sat down across from them. He folded his hands.
‘Based on an external examination, I can tell you that the only obvious injury is the gunshot wound in the back of his head. However, he does have other healed wounds that look relatively recent and probably stem from an assault that occurred a few months ago.’
Patrik nodded. ‘That’s why we called in at the hospital to talk to the doctor. How long had he been dead?’
‘Not more than a week, I would say. The post-mortem will tell us more.’
‘Do you have any idea what type of gun was used?’ Paula asked, leaning forward.
‘The bullet is still lodged in his head, but we should have an answer to your question as soon as I remove it. Provided it’s in reasonable condition, that is.’
‘But you must have seen countless gunshot wounds,’ said Paula. ‘Can’t you take a guess?’ She deliberately didn’t mention the empty casing and what it signified. She wanted to hear Pedersen’s own opinion.
Patrick Hedstrom 07: The Lost Boy Page 12
