With a sigh he picked up the phone to ring the owners of the house and inform them that a dead body had been found in their rubbish bin. He punched in the number. Might as well get it over with.
‘What’s this all about?’ Uffe looked tired and irritated as he sat in the interview room.
Patrik took his time answering. Before saying anything both he and Martin put their papers carefully in order. They were sitting across from Uffe at a rickety table. Other than four chairs, it was the only furniture in the room. Uffe didn’t look particularly nervous, Patrik noticed, but he had learned over the years that the way an interview subject looked on the outside did not necessarily reflect the way he or she felt inside. He cleared his throat, folded his hands on top of the stack of papers and leaned forward.
‘I hear there was some trouble last night.’ Patrik studied Uffe’s reaction closely. All he got was a sneer. Uffe leaned back nonchalantly in his chair. He gave a little laugh.
‘Oh yeah, that. Yeah, he was pretty rough, when I come to think of it.’ He nodded at Martin. ‘Maybe somebody ought to think about filing a complaint about police brutality.’ He laughed again, and Patrik felt his anger rising.
‘Well,’ he said calmly, ‘we received a report from my colleague here and from the other officer on site. Now I want to hear your version.’
‘My version.’ Uffe stretched out his legs, until he was almost reclining in the chair. It didn’t look very comfortable. ‘My version is that there was an argument. A drunken argument. That’s all. So what?’ His eyes narrowed and Patrik could see his alcohol-besotted brain working frantically.
‘We’re the ones asking the questions, not you,’ Patrik said sharply. ‘At ten o’clock last night two of our officers saw you attack one of the female cast members, Lillemor Persson.’
‘Barbie, you mean,’ Uffe interrupted with a laugh. ‘Lillemor . . .Jesus, that’s funny.’
Patrik had to check an impulse to give the youth in front of him a hard slap. Martin noticed what was happening, so he took over and gave Patrik a moment to collect himself.
‘We witnessed how you were shoving and hitting Lillemor. What was it that started the fight?’
‘Well, I don’t get why you’re pestering me about this. It was nothing. We had a slight . . . disagreement, that’s all. I hardly touched her!’ Now Uffe’s nonchalance began to slip, and some uneasiness showed through.
‘What was the disagreement about?’ Martin went on.
‘Nothing! Or, well, okay, she’d been saying some shit about me and I heard about it. I just wanted her to admit it. And take it back! She can’t go around spreading shit like that. I just wanted her to realize it.’
‘And was that what you and the others tried to make her admit later that night?’ said Patrik, looking at the report in front of him.
‘Yeah,’ Uffe said. He was sitting up straighter in his chair now. His sneer had also begun to fade. ‘But all you have to do is go talk to Barbie about this, I promise you she’ll back up what I just said. It was an argument. I don’t see why the cops have to get mixed up in this.’
For a moment Patrik met Martin’s gaze, then he looked calmly at Uffe and said, ‘I’m afraid Lillemor won’t be saying much about anything. She was found dead this morning. Murdered.’
Silence descended over the interview room. Uffe had turned pale. Martin and Patrik waited him out.
‘You . . . both of you . . . you’re kidding, right?’ he finally said. No reaction from the two officers. What Patrik had said slowly sank into his brain. Now there was no hint of a smile.
‘What the hell? Do you think that I . . .? But I . . . It was just a little argument! I wouldn’t . . . I didn’t . . .’ He stammered and his eyes were shifting all around.
‘We’re going to need a DNA sample from you,’ said Patrik, taking out the necessary implements. ‘You don’t have any objections, do you?’
Uffe hesitated. ‘No, damn it. Take whatever the fuck you want. I didn’t do anything.’
Patrik leaned forward and with a Q-tip took a sample from the inside of Uffe’s cheek. For a moment Uffe looked like he might be regretting giving his consent, but then the swab was dropped into an envelope and sealed, so it was too late. Uffe stared at the envelope. He swallowed and then looked wide-eyed at Patrik.
‘You’re not going to shut down the series now, are you? You can’t do that, can you? I mean, you just can’t do that!’ His voice was filled with desperation, and Patrik felt his contempt for the whole spectacle growing. How could a TV programme be so important that it took precedence over a person’s life?
‘That’s not up to us to decide,’ he said dryly. ‘The production company will determine that. If it were my decision I would have shut that crap down in five seconds, but . . .’ He threw out his hands and saw the look of relief that spread across Uffe’s face.
‘You can go now,’ said Patrik curtly. He could still see the image of Barbie’s naked dead body, and it gave him a sour taste in his mouth to think that her death would be turned into entertainment. What was wrong with these people, anyway?
The day had started off so well for Erling. First he’d gone for a long jog in the cool spring air. He wasn’t usually one of those nature-lovers, but this morning he’d surprised himself by how happy he was to see the sun’s light filtering through the crowns of the trees. The expansive feeling in his chest had lasted all the way home, and it had prompted him to make love to Viveca, who proved to be easily persuaded for a change. This was usually one of the few dark clouds in Erling’s life. After they got married she had more or less lost interest in sex. It occurred to him that it felt rather meaningless to have got himself a young, fresh wife if he wasn’t going to be allowed access to her body. No, that was going to have to change. This morning’s activities had convinced him even more that he had to have a serious talk with Viveca about that detail. Explain to her that a marriage was about favours both given and received. And if she still wanted to be on the receiving end when it came to clothes, jewellery, amusements, and beautiful things for their home, well, then she’d have to generate a little enthusiasm for the favours that he as a man required. There hadn’t been any problem in that area before they got married. She had been installed in a comfortable flat which he paid for. That was when he’d had a wife of thirty years to deal with. Back then he and Viveca would have sex at any time and in all sorts of different locations. Erling could feel his libido awakening at the memory. Maybe it was about time to remind her. He did have a great deal coming to him, after all.
Erling had just taken the first step upstairs to talk to Viveca when he was interrupted by the telephone. For a moment he considered letting it ring, but then he turned towards the cordless phone on the coffee table. It might be something important.
Five minutes later he sat there mutely holding the receiver in his hand. The consequences of what he’d heard were tumbling round in his head, and his brain was already trying to formulate possible solutions. He stood up and called upstairs, ‘Viveca, I have to go into the office. Something’s happened and I have to deal with it.’
A muttered answer from upstairs confirmed that she’d heard him, and he pulled on his jacket and grabbed the car keys hanging on the hook by the front door. This was something he hadn’t reckoned with. What the hell was he going to do now?
On a day like today it felt good to be the chief. Mellberg had to consciously rearrange his expression to conceal the satisfaction he was feeling inside. Instead he needed to show a combination of empathy and resolve. But there was something about standing in the spotlight that appealed to him. It simply suited him. And he couldn’t help wondering how Rose-Marie would react at seeing him on the evening news, heading up the investigation. He puffed out his chest and squared his shoulders, assuming a pose that exuded power. The flashes of the cameras almost blinded him, but he maintained his serious demeanour. This was an opportunity he couldn’t let slip out of his hands.
‘I’ll give you one mor
e minute to take pictures, then you’ll have to settle down. The flashes from the cameras went on for another few moments until he held up his hand and looked out over the attentive faces of the reporters.
‘As you already know, we discovered the body of Lillemor Persson this morning.’ A sea of hands went up in the air, and he nodded benevolently at the reporter from Expressen.
‘Has it been established that she was murdered?’ Everyone waited for his answer with their pens hovering over their notebooks. Mellberg cleared his throat.
‘Before the autopsy report is finished, we can’t say that for certain. But all indications are that she was a victim of homicide.’ His reply was followed by a murmur and the scratching of pens on notepads. The TV cameras, marked with the call letters of their channels, were humming, and the bright lights were all aimed at him. Mellberg pondered which of them he should give priority. After careful con sideration he chose to turn his best side to the camera from TV4. Questions were hurled at him, and he nodded to another reporter from an evening newspaper.
‘Do you have a suspect yet?’ Another tense silence in anticipation of Mellberg’s reply. He squinted into the spotlights.
‘We have brought in several individuals for questioning,’ he said, ‘but we have no definite suspect at this time.’
‘Will Sodding Tanum be curtailing their shoot because of this?’ This time it was a reporter from Aktuellt TV news who asked the question.
‘As things now stand, we have no right, or reason, to make that decision. That’s something to be determined by the programme’s producers and the management of the broadcasting company.’
‘But can a programme that’s supposed to be entertainment really continue to shoot after one of its cast members has been murdered?’ asked the same TV reporter.
With noticeable irritation Mellberg said, ‘As I said, we have no say in this matter. You’ll have to talk to the TV station about that.’
‘Was she raped?’ No one was waiting for Mellberg’s nod any longer; the questions came flying at him like small projectiles.
‘That’s a question for the medical examiner.’
‘But were there any indications of sexual assault?’
‘She was naked when we found her, so you can draw your own conclusions.’ As soon as he said that, Mellberg realized that it probably wasn’t such a good idea to release that information. But he was feeling overwhelmed by the pressure of the situation, and some of his excitement about the press conference began to abate. This was something quite different than answering questions from the local press.
‘Was the place where she was found connected to the crime?’ This time it was one of the local reporters who finally managed to squeeze in a question. The big-city papers and TV seemed to have considerably sharper elbows.
Mellberg thought carefully about his answer. He didn’t want to put his foot in his mouth again. ‘There is nothing to indicate that at the present time,’ he said at last.
‘So where was she found?’ The evening press now jumped in. ‘There’s a rumour that she was found in a rubbish truck. Is that correct?’ Once more everyone’s eyes were fixed on Mellberg’s face. He licked his lips nervously. ‘No comment.’ Damn, they would know that such an answer meant that they had heard correctly. Maybe he should have taken Hedström up on his offer and let him handle the press conference. But Mellberg wasn’t about to give up his moment in the limelight. Merely thinking about Hedström made him so annoyed that he straightened up again. ‘Yes?’ He pointed to a female reporter who’d been waving her hand for a long time to be given the floor.
‘Have any of the participants in Sodding Tanum been questioned?’
Mellberg nodded. Those types loved to flaunt themselves in the media, so it didn’t bother him in the least to share that information. ‘We have interviewed them, yes.’
‘Are any of them considered suspects?’ Rapport was filming, and the reporter held out his big microphone to capture Mellberg’s answer.
‘First of all, it has not yet been confirmed that this is a homicide, and no, we have no information pointing to any specific individual at this time.’ A white lie. He had read Molin’s and Kruse’s report, and he already had a clear picture of who the guilty party was. But he wasn’t so bloody stupid as to share this little nugget until everything was wrapped up and ready.
The questions now lost steam, and Mellberg heard himself repeating the same answers over and over. Finally he’d had enough, and he declared the press conference over. With the cameras flashing behind him, he walked as authoritatively as he could out of the room. He wanted Rose-Marie to see a man of power when she turned on the news this evening.
Several times in the days that had passed since Barbie’s death, Jonna had seen people whispering and pointing at her. Ever since she’d been on Big Brother, she’d got used to being scrutinized. But this was something of an entirely different order. It wasn’t due to curiosity or admiration because she’d been on TV. This was the lust of sensationalism and a kind of media bloodthirstiness that made her skin crawl.
As soon as she heard about Barbie, she wanted to go home. Her first instinct was to flee, to go back to the only place she knew. But she realized that wasn’t an option. At home she would encounter only the same emptiness, the same loneliness. No one would be there to hold her or stroke her hair. All those small consoling gestures that her body was screaming for. But there was nobody who could fill that need. Neither at home nor here. So she decided that she might as well stay.
The checkout stand behind her felt empty. Another girl was sitting there now, one of the usual employees. But it still felt as if there was nobody there. Jonna was astonished at what a void Barbie had left. She had scoffed at the girl, brushed her aside. She’d hardly considered her a human being. But afterwards, now that she was gone, Jonna realized what joy Barbie had radiated, in spite of all her uncertainty, her blonde vapidness, her desire for attention. Barbie had always been the one who kept their spirits up. She was always laughing, excited about the programme, and trying to cheer up everyone else. As thanks they had scorned her and rejected her as a dumb bimbo who didn’t deserve their respect. Only now did they notice what she had actually contributed.
Jonna pulled down the sleeves of her jumper. Today she had no desire to get any funny looks, conveying both sympathy and disgusted amazement. The wounds on her arms were deeper than usual. She had cut herself every day since Barbie died. Harder and more brutal than ever before. Slicing deeper into her flesh, until she saw her skin open and spill blood. But the sight of the pulsating red fluid could no longer quell her anxiety. The feeling was now so overwhelming that nothing could hold it in.
Sometimes she heard the excited voices inside her head. Like a tape recording. She could hear what was said as if from outside, from above. It was so awful. Everything had turned out wrong. Horribly wrong. The darkness had welled up inside her, and she couldn’t stop it. All the darkness that she tried to expel with her blood, with the wounds, had instead surged inside her like a reckless fury.
Now she felt the emptiness of the checkout stand behind her mixing with the shame. And terror. Her veins were pulsating. More blood wanted to come out.
‘Damn it all, if I have any say in the matter, we’re going to shut down this bloody circus!’ Uno Brorsson slammed his fist on the big conference table in the community centre and glared at Erling. He didn’t even look at Fredrik Rehn, who had been invited to discuss what had happened and report on the views of the production company.
‘I think you ought to calm down,’ Erling admonished him. Actually he had a good mind to take Uno by the ear and drag him out of the meeting room like an unruly child, but stifled the impulse. ‘What happened is incredibly tragic, but that doesn’t mean we have to take any hasty decisions based purely on emotion. We’re here today to discuss the project in a sensible manner. I’ve invited Fredrik so that he can tell us their views on whether the project should continue or not. I recommend that you liste
n to what he has to say. In spite of everything, it’s Fredrik who has the experience with this type of production. Even though what happened is something entirely new, and yes, tragic, as I said, I’m sure he has a number of wise points to make about how the whole thing should be handled.’
‘Useless idiot,’ Uno muttered under his breath, but loud enough for Fredrik to hear. The producer chose to ignore the comment and took up position behind his chair with his hands gripping the back.
‘Well, I can understand that this has stirred up plenty of emotions. Of course we mourn Barbie – Lillemor – deeply. The whole production team and also the management in Stockholm regret deeply what happened. Just as I do personally.’ He cleared his throat and lowered his eyes sadly. After a moment of uncomfortable silence he looked up. ‘But as they say in America: “The show must go on.” I’m sure that neither of you would be able to stop working if anything, God forbid, should happen to your family. We can’t do that either. I am also convinced that Barbie – Lillemor – would have wanted us to continue.’ Silence again, his gaze mournful.
A sniffle was heard from the far end of the big shiny table. ‘The poor child.’ Gunilla Kjellin carefully blotted away a tear with her paper napkin.
For a moment Fredrik looked a bit self-conscious. Then he went on, ‘Nor can we ignore the realities of the situation. And one reality is that we have invested a considerable sum in Sodding Tanum, an investment that we always hoped would reap dividends for both you and ourselves. We would gain viewers and advertising revenue, while you would profit from the boost to tourism. A very simple equation.’
The Gallows Bird Page 16
