‘Okay, I’ll take the mutts,’ he said as he stood up.
‘Woof,’ she replied with a laugh. Then she started leafing through the folder before her.
‘I heard there was a bit of a drama going on here,’ said Lars with a stern look at the cast members sitting around him in a circle. Nobody said a word. He tried again. ‘Could somebody please clue me in on what happened?’
‘Tina made a fool of herself,’ muttered Jonna.
Tina gave her a dirty look. ‘The fuck I did!’ She looked around the circle. ‘You’re all just jealous because you didn’t find it and think of the same thing!’
‘I never would have done anything that despicable,’ said Mehmet, looking at the tips of his shoes. He’d been un usually subdued the past few days. Lars shifted his focus to him.
‘How are you doing, Mehmet? You seem pretty down.’
‘It’s nothing,’ he said, still staring intently at his shoes. Lars gave him a searching look but didn’t press him. Mehmet was apparently unwilling to share his feelings. Maybe things would go better in the individual session. Lars went back to Tina.
‘What was in the diary that was so upsetting to you?’ he said gently. Tina pretended to zip her lips shut. ‘What made you feel you were justified in hanging Barbie . . . Lillemor out to dry like that?’
‘She wrote in her diary that Tina doesn’t have any talent,’ said Calle helpfully. His relationship with Tina had been extremely frosty since the discussion at the Gestgifveri, and he gladly seized the opportunity to take a dig at her. The comment that she had flung at him still stung, so his voice had a nasty undertone. At the moment he wanted nothing more than to hurt her. ‘And you can’t blame Barbie,’ he said coldly. ‘She was just stating the facts.’
‘Shut up, shut up, shut up!’ Tina shrieked. Saliva sprayed out of her mouth.
‘Let’s all calm down,’ said Lars, his voice harsh. ‘Lillemor wrote something disparaging about you in her diary, so you felt you had the right to defame her memory.’ He gave Tina a stern look, and she averted her eyes. It sounded so . . . wicked and nasty when he said it like that.
‘She wrote shit about all of you,’ she said, looking round the group in the hope of shifting some of Lars’s displeasure from herself to the others. ‘She wrote that you were a spoilt rich brat, Calle. And she said that you, Uffe, were one of the stupidest people she’d ever met, and that Mehmet was so fucking insecure and worried about not pleasing his family that he ought to realize he should get himself some backbone!’ She paused but then turned her gaze on Jonna. ‘And you . . . She said it was so pathetic that you kept on cutting yourself like that. Nobody was spared. Now you know. Is there still anyone who thinks that “we should honour Barbie’s memory” or whatever the fuck drivel you’ve been talking about? If you feel guilty about all the shit you said to her at the party, forget it! She got what she deserved!’ Tina flung her hair back, challenging anyone to contradict her.
‘Did she deserve to die too?’ said Lars calmly.
There was silence in the room. Tina nervously chewed on a fingernail. Then she got up abruptly and ran out. All their eyes followed her.
The road stretched endlessly before them. All this driving had begun to wear Patrik down. He turned his head to look at his colleague in the driver’s seat. Martin had offered to drive today, in the hope that it would keep his nausea in check. So far it had worked, and they had less than a hundred kilometres to go until Nyköping. Martin yawned, and then Patrik did too. They both laughed.
‘I think we stayed up too late last night,’ said Patrik.
‘Yeah, I think so. But there was a lot to go over.’
‘Yep,’ Patrik said. They had spent the evening going over and over the details of the case in Patrik’s hotel room. Martin hadn’t retired to his own room until the wee hours. It had taken another hour for both of them to fall asleep, with all the thoughts and loose threads whirling about in their heads.
‘How’s Pia feeling?’ said Patrik, to change the subject.
‘Great!’ Martin brightened up. ‘The morning sickness has gone away. In fact, she feels fantastic now. I’m so excited I just can’t wait!’
‘Yeah, I know the feeling.’ Patrik was thinking about Maja. He longed so much to be home with her and Erica that it hurt.
‘Is Pia going to have ultrasound to find out the sex of the baby?’ Patrik asked as they turned off the motorway towards Nyköping.
‘Well, I don’t know yet. But I don’t think so,’ Martin said, paying close attention to the road signs. ‘What did you guys do? Did you find out beforehand?’
‘No. It feels sort of like cheating. We wanted it to be a surprise. And with the first child it doesn’t matter that much. But with the second one it’d be nice if it was a boy, so we’d have one of each.’
‘You’re not going to have . . .?’ Martin turned towards Patrik.
‘No, no, no.’ Patrik laughed. ‘Not yet, thank God. We have our hands full getting used to living with Maja. But maybe later . . .’
‘What does Erica say about it? Considering how much trouble she had . . .’ Martin stopped, unsure whether it was okay to bring up that topic.
‘We actually haven’t discussed it. I probably just assumed we’d have two,’ said Patrik pensively. ‘Well, here we are at last,’ he noted, happy to put an end to that subject.
They climbed out of the car with stiff legs and stretched before they went inside the station house. The routine was beginning to feel familiar, at least for Patrik. This was the third time that he had visited a new police station in a new city. When they met the superintendent Patrik was again struck by how non-homogeneous the police force was in Sweden. Nor had he ever met anyone whose appearance differed so much from the image he’d formed based on a name. For one thing, Gerda Svensson was much younger than he had thought, around thirty-five. And despite her extremely Swedish name her complexion was the same colour and lustre as dark mahogany. She was a strikingly beautiful woman. Patrik realized that he was standing there gaping like a fish, and a brief glance at Martin showed that he, too, was making a fool of himself. Patrik gave Martin a poke in the side with his elbow and then held out his hand to Superintendent Svensson.
‘My colleagues are waiting for us in the conference room,’ said Gerda Svensson as she led the way. Her voice was deep and soft at the same time, and extremely pleasant. Patrik could feel that he was having a hard time taking his eyes off her.
They said nothing as they walked towards the conference room. The only sound was the tap of their shoes on the floor. When they entered the room two men got up and came over to them with outstretched hands. One was in his fifties, short and stocky but with a glint in his eye and a warm smile. He introduced himself as Konrad Meltzer. The other was about the same age as Gerda, a big, powerful man with blond hair. Patrik couldn’t help reflecting that he and Gerda made a striking pair. When he introduced himself as Rickard Svensson Patrik realized his intuition had been correct. They were indeed a couple.
‘From what I understand you have a good deal of relevant information about one of our murder cases that has remained unsolved.’ Gerda sat down between Konrad and her husband, and neither of them seemed to mind that she took charge. ‘I was the one who led the investigation of Elsa Forsell’s death,’ she said, as if she’d read Patrik’s mind. ‘Konrad and Rickard worked with me on the team, and we put in a lot of hours on this investigation. Unfortunately we reached a point where we could go no further. Until your query arrived the day before yesterday.’
‘We knew immediately that your case was connected to ours when we read about the page from the book,’ said Rickard, folding his hands on the table. Patrik couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to have your wife as your boss. Even though Patrik considered himself a liberated man, he would have had a hard time putting up with Erica as his superior. On the other hand, she wouldn’t have appreciated having him as her boss either.
‘Rickard and I got married after t
he investigation was terminated. Since then we’ve worked in different units.’ Gerda looked at him and Patrik felt himself blush. For a moment he wondered whether she really could read his mind, but then realized that it probably wasn’t that hard to guess what he was thinking. No doubt he wasn’t the first.
‘Where was the page of the book found?’ he said to change the subject. A tiny smile played at the corners of Gerda’s mouth, signalling that she saw that he got the message, but it was Konrad who spoke now.
‘It was stuck inside a Bible next to her.’
‘Where was she found?’
‘In her flat. By one of the members of her congregation.’
‘Congregation?’ said Patrik. ‘What sort of congregation?’
‘The Cross of the Virgin Mary,’ Gerda replied. ‘A Catholic congregation.’
‘Catholic?’ said Martin. ‘Was she from some southern country?’
‘There are Catholics in Scandinavia too,’ said Patrik, a bit embarrassed at Martin’s ignorance. ‘That form of Christianity is practised all over the globe, and there are several thousand Catholics here in Sweden.’
‘Quite right,’ said Rickard. ‘There are actually about a hundred and sixty thousand Catholics in Sweden. Elsa had been a member for many years, and the congregation was basically her family.’
‘Didn’t she have any relatives?’ asked Patrik.
‘No, we weren’t able to find any close relations,’ said Gerda. ‘We conducted many interviews with members of her congregation to see whether there was any schism there, anything that might have led to Elsa’s murder. But we drew a blank.’
‘If we wanted to talk with somebody in the congregation who was close to Elsa, who would that be?’ Martin held his pen ready to take notes.
‘The priest, without a doubt. Father Silvio Mancini. And he is from southern Europe.’ Gerda winked at Martin, who blushed.
‘From what I gather, the victim in Tanumshede also bore traces of having been tied up?’ Rickard directed the question to Patrik.
‘Yes, that’s true. Our ME found cord grooves on both the arms and wrists. Was that one of the things that led you to designate Elsa’s death as a homicide straight away?’
‘Yes.’ Gerda took out a photo and slid it across the table to Patrik and Martin. They looked at it for a few seconds and saw that the cord marks were very evident. Elsa Forsell had without a doubt been tied up. Patrik also recognized the odd blue marks around her mouth. ‘Did you also find traces of tape?’ He looked at Gerda, who nodded.
‘Yes, adhesive from ordinary brown tape.’ She cleared her throat. ‘We’re very interested in seeing all the information you have regarding these homicides. We will of course share everything we have. I know that sometimes there’s a certain rivalry between police districts, but we sincerely hope that we can all cooperate and keep the channels open between us.’ This was not an appeal but a cold statement. Patrik nodded without hesitation.
‘Naturally. We need all the help we can get. Including yours. So by all means let’s share copies of whatever material we both have. And we can stay in touch by phone.’
‘Good,’ said Gerda.
Patrik couldn’t help noticing the admiring glance she got from her husband. Patrik’s respect for Rickard Svensson grew. It took a real man to appreciate having a wife who had climbed higher on the career ladder than he had.
‘Do you know where we can get hold of Father Mancini?’ said Martin as they stood up to leave.
‘The Catholic congregation has premises downtown.’ Konrad jotted down the address and gave the slip of paper to Martin. He also told them how to find their way there.
‘After you’ve talked with Father Silvio you can come back and pick up a packet with all the material at reception,’ said Gerda as she shook Patrik’s hand. ‘I’ll see to it that copies of everything are made for you.’
‘Thanks for your help,’ said Patrik, and he meant it. Cooperation between districts was, as Gerda had pointed out, not always favoured by the police, so he was very glad that this investigation would be taking a different tack.
‘When are you going to stop all these stupid goings-on?’
Jonna shut her eyes. Her mamma’s voice on the phone was always so harsh, so accusatory.
‘Pappa and I have talked, and we think that it’s irresponsible of you to waste your life like this. And we have our reputations at the hospital to think of as well; you have to understand that you’re making fools of us too!’
‘I knew this would have something to do with the hospital,’ Jonna muttered.
‘What did you say? You have to speak up so I can hear what you’re saying, Jonna. You’re nineteen years old now, and you have to learn to articulate properly. And I have to say that these latest newspaper articles have been especially upsetting for Pappa and me. People are starting to wonder what sort of parents we are. And we’ve done our best, I can assure you. But Pappa and I have an important job to do, and you’re old enough now, Jonna, that you really should understand that. You need to show more respect for what we do. You know, yesterday I operated on a little Russian boy who had come here for treatment to repair a serious heart defect. He couldn’t get the operation he needed in his homeland, but I was able to help him! Because of me he will survive and live a worthwhile life! I think you ought to display a bit more humility towards life, Jonna. You’ve always had it so easy. Have we ever denied you anything? You’ve always had clothes on your back, a roof over your head, and food on the table. Think of all the children who haven’t even had half, no, a tenth of what you’ve enjoyed. They would be grateful to be in your position. And they wouldn’t keep doing such stupid things and injuring themselves. No, I think you’re being selfish, Jonna. It’s high time for you to grow up! Pappa and I think that –’
Jonna cut off the call and sank slowly down to sit with her back against the wall. The anxiety grew and grew until it felt as though it wanted to pour out of her throat. It filled every part of her body, making her feel she was going to explode. The feeling of not having anywhere to go, anywhere to flee, overpowered her as it had so many times before. With trembling hands she took out the razor blade that she always kept in her wallet. Her fingers were now shaking so hard that she dropped the blade, and with a curse she tried to pick it up from the floor. She cut her fingers several times trying, but eventually she picked it up and moved it slowly down the underside of her right forearm. With deep concentration she looked at the razor blade as she lowered it towards the scarred, damaged skin that looked like a lunar landscape of alternating white and pink flesh, with sharp red ridges like tiny rivers. When the first blood trickled out she felt the anxiety subside. She pressed harder and the rivulet became a red, pulsing stream. Jonna watched it with relief written all over her face. She lifted the razor blade and drew a new river among the scars. Then she raised her head and smiled into the camera. She looked almost blissful.
‘We’re looking for Father Silvio Mancini.’ Patrik held up his police identification to the woman who opened the door. She stepped aside and called, ‘Silvio! The police are here about something!’
A white-haired man dressed in jeans and a sweater came towards them. Patrik had expected him to appear in full priestly regalia, not in everyday clothes. He knew that the priest couldn’t go about in his clerical garb all the time, but it still took him a second to recover from his surprise.
‘I’m Patrik Hedström, and this is Martin Molin,’ he said, pointing to his colleague. The priest nodded and showed them to a small sofa group. The sanctuary was small but well kept, and there were plenty of the attributes that Patrik with his layman’s knowledge associated with Catholicism, such as pictures of the Virgin Mary and a big crucifix. The woman who had opened the door for them brought in coffee and cakes. Father Silvio thanked her warmly. She smiled in response but then retreated. Father Silvio turned his attention to them and asked in perfect Swedish, but with an unmistakable Italian accent, ‘So, what can I do for the police?’
‘We’d like to ask a few questions about Elsa Forsell.’
Father Silvio sighed. ‘I was hoping that sooner or later the police would find some sort of lead. Even though I truly believe in the flames of purgatory, I would prefer that the murderer receive his punishment while still in this life.’ He smiled, showing humour and empathy at the same time. Patrik got the impression that he and Elsa had been close, which was confirmed by Father Silvio’s next comment.
‘Elsa was a good friend for many, many years. She was very involved in the work of the congregation, and I was also her father confessor.’
‘Was Elsa born Catholic?’
‘No, she was not,’ Father Silvio said with a laugh. ‘Few people are in Sweden, unless they have family that have immigrated from a Catholic country. But she came to one of our services, and yes, I believe she felt as though she’d found a home. Elsa was . . . what you might call a damaged soul. She was searching for something, and she felt she had found it with us.’
‘And what was she looking for?’ said Patrik. The priest’s whole demeanour bore witness to the fact that he was a man of great empathy, a man who radiated calm and peace. A true man of God.
Father Silvio sat quietly for a while before he replied. He seemed to want to weigh his words, but at last he looked Patrik straight in the eye and said: ‘Forgiveness.’
‘Forgiveness?’ asked Martin.
‘Forgiveness,’ Father Silvio repeated calmly. ‘It’s what we all seek, most of us without even knowing it. Forgiveness for our sins, for our failures, for our shortcomings and mistakes. Forgiveness for things we have done . . . and for things we didn’t do.’
‘And what was Elsa Forsell seeking forgiveness for?’ Patrik said quietly, looking hard at the priest. For a moment it seemed that Father Silvio was on the verge of telling them something. Then he lowered his eyes and said, ‘Confession is a sacrament. And what does it matter? We all have something to be forgiven for.’
Patrik sensed that there was something more behind his words, but he knew enough about a father confessor’s vow of silence not to try and press the priest.
The Gallows Bird Page 27
