The Gallows Bird

Chapter 8

He really shouldn’t. He knew that. But he couldn’t help it. Sister didn’t like it when he begged, when he pleaded for what was unattainable. But something inside him made him do it. He had to find out what was out there. What was beyond the forest, beyond the field. Where she drove every day when she left them alone in the house. He simply had to find out what it looked like, the existence they were reminded of when an airplane flew over them up in the sky, or when they heard the sound of a car far, far in the distance.

At first she had refused. Told them it was out of the question. The only place they were safe, where he, her little jinx, was safe, was in the house, their sanctuary. But he kept on asking. And each time he asked he thought he could see her resistance wearing down. He could hear how insistent he sounded, how the stubborn tone slipped into his voice every time he talked about the unknown, which he wanted to see, if only once.

Sister always stood quietly beside him. Watching them, with a stuffed animal in her arms and her thumb in her mouth. She never said a word about having the same sense of longing. And she would never dare ask. But he sometimes saw a flash of the same desire in her eyes, when she sat on the bench by the window and looked out over the forest that seemed to go on for ever. Then he could see that the longing was just as strong in her.

That’s why he kept asking. He pleaded, he begged. She reminded him about the story they’d read so often. About the curious brother and sister who got lost in the forest. They were alone and scared, held captive by an evil witch. They could get lost out there. She was the one who protected them. Did they want to get lost? Did they want to risk never finding their way home to her? After all, she had already saved them from the witch once… Her voice always sounded so small, so sad when she answered his pleas with more questions. But something inside him made him keep asking, even though the distress tore and ripped at his breast when her voice trembled and tears filled her eyes.

But the temptation to know what was out there was too strong.

‘Welcome!’ Erling waved them into the hall and stood up a bit straighter when he saw the cameramen following behind.

‘Viveca and I think it’s so nice that you agreed to come over for a little farewell dinner. Here in our humble abode,’ he added towards the camera with a chuckle. The viewers would probably appreciate this brief glimpse into the lives of ‘the rich and famous’, as he had said to Fredrik Rehn when he presented the idea to him. Fredrik of course had thought it was a stroke of genius to invite the cast members to a farewell dinner at the home of the top dog in town. It was undoubtedly incredibly fitting.

‘So, come in, come in,’ said Erling, sweeping them into the living room. ‘Viveca will be right in to offer you a drink and welcome you here. Or perhaps you don’t imbibe?’ he said with a wink, laughing heartily at his own joke.

‘Look, here comes Viveca with the drinks,’ he said, pointing to his wife, who didn’t utter a word. They’d had a talk about this before the dinner guests and camera crew arrived. She had agreed to stay in the background and let him have his moment in the spotlight. After all, he was the one who had made the whole show possible.

‘I thought that you should taste some adult beverages for a change,’ said Erling, beaming. ‘A genuine “Dry Martini”, as we call them in Stockholm.’ He laughed again, a little too loudly, but he wanted to be sure that he could be heard on screen. The young people sniffed cautiously at their drinks, each of which held an olive speared on a toothpick.

‘Do we have to eat the olive?’ said Uffe, wrinkling his nose in distaste.

Erling smiled. ‘No, you can skip it if you like. It’s mostly for decoration.’

Uffe nodded and tossed back the drink while carefully avoiding the olive.

Some of the others followed his example. Erling, looking a bit bewildered and holding his glass up in the air, said, ‘Well, I had intended to bid you welcome, but some people are obviously thirsty. So skål!’ He raised his glass a bit higher, received a vague murmur in reply, and then sipped his Dry Martini.

‘Could I get another?’ said Uffe, holding out his glass to Viveca. She glanced at Erling, who nodded. What the heck, the kids had to have a bit of fun.

By the time dessert was served, Erling W. Larson was beginning to feel some regret. He vaguely recalled that Fredrik Rehn had warned him at their meeting not to serve too much alcohol during dinner, but he had stupidly waved aside Rehn’s words of advice. If Erling remembered rightly, he’d thought that nothing could be worse than the time in ’98 when the whole management team had gone on a business trip to Moscow. What had actually happened there was still a bit fuzzy in his mind, but he did recall a smattering of images, which included Russian caviar, a hell of a lot of vodka, and a brothel. What Erling hadn’t considered was that it was one thing to get pissed on a business trip and something altogether different to have five drunken youths in his own home. Even the food had been something of a disaster. They had hardly touched the whitefish roe on toast, and the risotto with coquilles Saint-Jacques had been greeted by gagging sound effects, especially from that barbarian Uffe. The climax of the evening seemed to be taking place even now, as he could hear the sounds of vomiting coming from the loo. Thinking that at least they had eaten the dessert, he saw with horror how the chocolate mousse was being regurgitated all over the beautiful, newly installed floor tiles.

‘I found some more wine, Earl the pearl,’ Uffe slurred, triumphantly coming in from the kitchen with an open wine bottle in his hand. With a sinking feeling in his stomach Erling realized that it was one of his best and most expensive vintage wines that Uffe had decided to uncork. Erling could feel rage bubbling up inside, but restrained himself when he realized that the camera was zooming in on him in the hope of just such a reaction.

‘Imagine that, what luck,’ he said through clenched teeth. Then he sent a look Fredrik Rehn’s way with an appeal for help. But the producer seemed to think the councilman had asked for it, and instead held out his empty wine glass to Uffe. ‘Pour me some, Uffe,’ he said, deliberately ignoring Erling.

‘Me too,’ said Viveca, who had spent the entire evening in silence, but now defiantly looked at her husband. Erling was seething inside. This was mutiny. Then he smiled at the camera.

Less than a week left before the wedding. Erica was starting to get nervous, but all the practical matters had been taken care of. She and Anna had worked like fiends to arrange everything: flowers, place cards, where the guests would stay, the music, all of it. Erica gave Patrik a worried look, as he sat across from her at the breakfast table chewing listlessly. She had fixed him hot chocolate and crispbread with cheese and caviar, his favourite breakfast. It usually made her feel sick just looking at it. Now she was prepared to do almost anything to get some nourishment into him. At least he wasn’t going to have any trouble getting into his tuxedo, she thought.

Lately Patrik had been walking round the house like a ghost. He would come home and eat, fall into bed, and then drive off to the station early the next morning. His face looked grey and haggard, marked by fatigue and frustration, and she had even begun to sense a certain dejected mood. A week ago he had told her that there had to be another victim somewhere. They had issued another query to all the police districts in the country but without result. With hopelessness in his voice he had also told her how they had gone through all the material they had, over and over again, without finding anything that could advance the investigation. Gösta had talked with Rasmus’s mother on the phone, but even she didn’t recognize the names Elsa Forsell and Börje Knudsen. The investigation was at a standstill.

‘What’s on the agenda for today?’ said Erica, trying to keep her tone neutral.

Patrik was nibbling like a mouse at one corner of the crispbread; in the last fifteen minutes he hadn’t managed to eat more than half of it. He said glumly, ‘Waiting for a miracle.’

‘But can’t you get some help from outside? From the other districts involved? Or from… the National Criminal Police or something?’

‘I’ve been in touch with Lund, Nyköping and Borås. They’re working hard on it too. And the NCP… well, I’d hoped we could manage this ourselves, but we’re starting to lean towards calling in reinforcements.’ Pensively he took another mini-bite, and Erica couldn’t help leaning over to caress his cheek.

‘Do you still want to go through with it on Saturday?’

He looked at her in surprise, then his expression softened. He reached for her hand and planted a kiss in the middle of her palm.

‘Darling, of course I do! We’re going to have a fantastic day on Saturday, the best of our lives, except for the day Maja was born, of course. And I promise to be happy and upbeat and completely focused on you and our day. Don’t worry. I’m longing to marry you.’

Erica gave him a searching look, but she saw nothing but honesty in his eyes.

‘Are you sure?’

‘I’m sure.’ Patrik smiled. ‘And don’t think that I don’t know what an enormous effort you and Anna have put into planning everything.’

‘I know you’ve had plenty on your mind. Besides, it’s done Anna some good,’ Erica said, glancing into the living room where Anna had settled down on the sofa with Emma and Adrian to watch kiddie TV. Maja was still asleep, and despite Patrik’s gloomy mood it felt luxurious to have him to herself for a while.

‘I just wish…’ Erica broke off.

Patrik seemed to read her thoughts. ‘You just wish that your parents could have been here.’

‘Yes, or no… To be completely honest I wish that Pappa could have been here. Mamma probably would have been as uninterested as she always was in whatever Anna and I do.’

‘Have you and Anna talked anymore about Elsy? About why she was like that?’

‘No,’ said Erica pensively. ‘But I’ve thought a lot about it. It’s strange that we know so little about Mamma’s life before she met Pappa. The only thing she ever said was that her parents had been dead a long time – that’s all that Anna and I know. We’ve never even seen any photos of them. Isn’t that odd?’

Patrik nodded. ‘Yes, it does sound strange. Maybe you should do some research into your genealogy? You’re good at rooting around in such things, digging up facts. It’s just a matter of getting started as soon as the wedding is over with.’

‘Over with?’ said Erica in an ominous tone. ‘Do you regard our wedding as something we need to “get over with”…’

‘No,’ Patrik said, and then couldn’t think of anything better to say. Instead he dunked his crispbread in the hot chocolate. He knew when it was best to lie low. And let the food silence anything else he might say.

‘Well, today the fun comes to an end.’

Lars had wanted to meet with them under less formal conditions than usual, so he invited them for coffee and cakes at Pappa’s Lunch Café, which to no one’s surprise was located on the high street in Tanumshede.

‘It’s gonna be fucking great to get out of here,’ said Uffe, stuffing a pastry into his mouth.

Jonna looked at him in disgust, chewing instead on an apple.

‘What sort of plans have you got?’ said Lars, slurping a bit as he drank his tea. The cast members had watched in fascination as he plunked six lumps of sugar into his cup.

‘The usual,’ said Calle. ‘Go home and see my mates. Go out and booze it up. The babes at Kharma have missed me.’ He laughed, but his eyes looked dull and full of hopelessness.

Tina’s eyes flashed. ‘Isn’t that where Princess Madeleine usually hangs out?’

‘Oh yes, Maddie,’ said Calle nonchalantly. ‘She was going out with one of my mates before.’

‘She was?’ said Tina, impressed. For the first time in a month she looked at Calle with some respect.

‘Yeah, but he dumped her. Her mamma and pappa kept butting in too much.’

‘Her mamma and… Ohhhh,’ said Tina, and her eyes got even rounder. ‘Cool.’

‘So, what are you going to do?’ Lars asked Tina. She cracked her neck.

‘I’m going out on tour.’

‘On tour?’ Uffe scoffed, reaching for another pastry. ‘You’re going out with Boozer and maybe you’ll sing a song or two and then stand around in the bar. I’d hardly call that a tour.’

‘You know, there are a hell of a lot of clubs that have called to invite me to come and sing “I Want to Be Your Little Bunny”,’ Tina said. ‘Boozer said that a lot of record companies are going to call too.’

‘Sure, and what Boozer says is always true,’ Uffe snorted, rolling his eyes.

‘Shit, it’s going to be great to be rid of you, you’re so negative all the time!’ Tina snapped at Uffe and then demonstratively turned her back on him.

‘What about you, Mehmet?’ Everyone turned to look at Mehmet, who hadn’t said a word since they entered the café.

‘I’m going to stay here,’ he said, waiting defiantly for a reaction. He wasn’t disappointed.

Five pairs of incredulous eyes turned towards him. ‘What? You’re going to stay? Here?’ Calle looked as though Mehmet had been transformed into a frog before his very eyes.

‘Yes, I’m going to keep working at the bakery. I’ll sublet my flat for a while.’

‘And where are you going to live? With Simon, or what?’ Tina’s words rang out in the café, and Mehmet’s silence caused a shocked look to spread round the table.

‘You are? What’s the deal, are you two an item or what?’

‘No, we are not!’ Mehmet retorted. ‘Not that it’s any of your bloody business. We’re just… friends.’

‘Simon and Mehmet, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G,’ Uffe sang, laughing so hard he almost fell off his chair.

‘Cut it out, leave Mehmet alone,’ said Jonna almost in a whisper, which oddly enough made the others quiet down. ‘I think that’s a brave decision, Mehmet. You’re better than the rest of us!’

‘What do you mean, Jonna?’ said Lars kindly, cocking his head. ‘In what way is Mehmet better?’

‘He just is,’ said Jonna, pulling down her sleeves. ‘He’s nice. Kind and considerate.’

‘Aren’t you nice?’ Lars asked. The question seemed to contain many layers.

‘No,’ Jonna said quietly. In her mind’s eye she was replaying the scene outside the community centre and the hatred she’d felt towards Barbie. How hurt she’d been by what she’d heard Barbie had said about her, how much she’d wanted to hurt her back. She’d felt true satisfaction the instant she cut Barbie’s skin with the knife. A nice person wouldn’t have done that. But she didn’t mention any of that. Instead she looked out of the window at the traffic passing by. The cameramen had already packed up and gone home. That was what she had to do now too. Go home. To a big empty flat. To notes on the kitchen table telling her not to wait up. To brochures about various training courses that were left purposely out on the coffee table. To the silence.

‘So what are you going to do now?’ Uffe asked Lars, with a bit of a sarcastic tone. ‘Now that you won’t have us to pamper?’

‘I’ll find a way to keep busy,’ said Lars, taking a swallow of his sweet tea. ‘I’m going to work on my book, maybe open my own practice. And what about you, Uffe? You haven’t said what you’re going to do.’

With feigned nonchalance Uffe shrugged his shoulders. ‘Oh, nothing special. There’ll probably be a bar tour for a while. I’ll no doubt have to listen to that damn “I Want to Be Your Little Bunny” song till it’s coming out my ears.’ He glared at Tina. ‘Then, well, I don’t know. It’ll work out.’ For a moment the uncertainty was visible behind his tough-guy mask. Then it was gone again, and he laughed. ‘Just check out what I can do!’ He took the coffee spoon and hung it from his nose. Damn if he intended to waste time worrying about the future. Guys that could balance spoons on their nose would always get by.

When they left the café to go out to the bus that was waiting to take them away from Tanum, Jonna stopped for a moment. For an instant she thought she’d seen Barbie sitting among them. With that long blonde hair and those press-on nails that made it nearly impossible for her to do anything. Laughing, with that soft, sweet expression of hers. They’d all regarded it as a sign of weakness, but Jonna now realized that she’d been wrong. It wasn’t just Mehmet. Barbie had also been nice. For the first time she began to think about that Friday when everything had gone so wrong. About who had actually said what. About who’d been spreading those stories that Jonna now thought were lies. About who had pulled their strings like marionettes. Something was stirring in the back of her mind, but before the thought had fully emerged, the bus drove off from Tanumshede. She stared out of the window. The seat next to her was conspicuously empty.

Towards ten in the morning Patrik had begun to regret that he hadn’t forced himself to eat more breakfast. His stomach was growling, so he went to the break room looking for something edible. He was in luck. There was one lone cinnamon bun left in a bag on the table, and he shoved it hungrily into his mouth. Not the best snack, but it would have to do. He had no sooner returned to his office, his mouth full of bun, when the phone rang. He saw that it was Annika and tried to swallow the last bite, but it stuck in his throat. ‘Hello?’ he said with a cough.

‘Patrik?’

He swallowed a couple of times and managed to get the rest of the bun down. ‘Yes, it’s me.’

‘You have a visitor,’ she said, and he could hear from her tone that it was important.

‘Who is it?’

‘Sofie Kaspersen.’

He felt a spark of interest. Marit’s daughter? What could she want?

‘Send her in,’ he said and went out into the hall to wait for Sofie. She looked haggard and pale, and he vaguely recalled that Gösta had said something about her having a stomach flu when they visited her and Ola.

‘I hear you’ve been sick. Are you feeling better now?’ he said as he showed her into his office.

She nodded. ‘Yes, I had a touch of the flu. But it’s better now. I lost a few kilos is all,’ she said with a wry smile.

‘Oh, maybe I should get the flu too,’ he said with a laugh, as a way to lighten the mood. The girl looked shocked at the idea. There was an awkward pause. Patrik waited her out.

‘Have you found out anything more… about Mamma?’ she said at last.

‘No, I’m afraid we’ve hit a wall.’

‘So you don’t know what the connection is between her… and the others?’

‘No,’ Patrik said again, wondering what she was getting at. He went on cautiously, ‘There’s obviously something we haven’t discovered yet. Something we don’t know… about your mother, and the others.’

‘Hmm,’ was all Sofie said.

‘It’s important that we know everything. So that we can find the person who took your mother from you.’ He could hear the entreaty in his voice, but he could see that there was something Sofie wanted to tell him. Something about her mother.

After another long pause her hand gently touched the sleeve of his jacket. With her eyes lowered she took out a sheet of paper and held it out to Patrik. She raised her eyes again when he started to read, studying him intently.

‘Where did you find this?’ Patrik said when he’d finished reading. He felt a tingling sensation in his stomach.

‘In a drawer. In Pappa’s room. But it was with Mamma’s things that she had saved. It was in with a bunch of photos and stuff.’

‘Does your pappa know that you found this?’

Sofie shook her head. Her straight dark hair danced round her face. ‘No, and he won’t be happy about it. But the officers that came by last week said to contact you if we knew anything, and I felt that I should tell you. For Mamma’s sake,’ she added, and went back to studying her cuticles.

‘You did the right thing,’ Patrik said. ‘We needed to have this information, and I do believe you may have given us the key.’ He couldn’t hide his excitement. So much now fitted together. Other pieces of the puzzle were whirling round in his head: Börje’s criminal record, Rasmus’s injuries, Elsa’s guilt – it all made sense.

‘May I take this?’ He waved the paper.

‘Could you make a copy instead?’ Sofie said. ‘Absolutely. And if your pappa makes a fuss, tell him to call me. You did the right thing.’

He made a copy on the machine out in the corridor, gave Sofie back the original, and then escorted her out. He stood watching as she trudged across the street, her head lowered and her hands stuck deep in her pockets. She seemed to be headed over to Kerstin’s. He hoped so. Those two needed each other more than they realized.

With triumph in his eyes he went back inside to set everything in motion. At long last they had their breakthrough!

The past week had been the best in Bertil Mellberg’s life. He could hardly believe this was happening. Rose-Marie had slept over two more times, and even though his nocturnal activities were beginning to leave their mark in the form of dark rings under his eyes, it was worth it. He caught himself walking about and humming, and he even made an occasional jump for joy. But only when no one was looking.

She was fantastic. He couldn’t get over what luck he’d had. It was amazing that this vision of a woman had picked him as her chosen one. No, he just couldn’t understand it. And they had already begun talking about the future. They had shyly agreed that they did have a future together. No doubt about that. Mellberg, who had always had a healthy reluctance to carry on a long-term relationship, now could hardly contain himself.

They had talked a lot about the past too. He had told her about Simon and proudly showed her a picture of his son who had come into his life so late. Rose-Marie had commented on how handsome he was, so like his father; she said that she really looked forward to meeting him. She herself had a daughter up north in Kiruna and one in the States. So far away, both of them, she’d said with sorrow in her voice, and she showed him pictures of her two grandchildren who lived in America. Maybe they could take a trip over there together next summer, Rose-Marie had suggested, and he had nodded eagerly. America – he’d never dreamed of travelling so far. To tell the truth, he’d never even been outside the borders of Sweden before. A brief trip across the bridge to Norway at Svinesund hardly counted as foreign travel. But Rose-Marie was opening a whole new world for him. She had just begun to think about buying a time-share condo in Spain, she told him as she lay in his arms one night. A white stucco house with a balcony, a view over the Mediterranean, its own pool, and bougainvillea climbing up the façade, smelling so wonderful in the warm air. Mellberg could picture it. How he and Rose-Marie would sit on the balcony on a warm summer evening with their arms round each other, sipping their ice-cold drinks. A thought had then occurred to him and refused to let go. In the darkness of the bedroom he had turned his face to hers and solemnly suggested that they buy the apartment together. He waited nervously for her reaction; at first she hadn’t been as enthusiastic as he’d hoped; she seemed a bit uneasy. Then they’d talked about having to get legal documents for everything so that it wouldn’t lead to any arguments about money. That wouldn’t do at all. He had smiled and kissed the tip of her nose. She was so cute when she was worried. But at last they’d agreed to do it.

As Mellberg sat there in his office chair with his eyes closed he could almost feel the warm breeze on his cheeks. The scent of sun-tan oil and fresh peaches. The curtains fluttering in the wind that brought the smell of the sea. He saw himself leaning over to Rose-Marie, lifting the brim of her sun hat, and… A knock on his door woke him out of his daydream.

‘Come in,’ he said crossly, quickly taking his feet down from his desk and shuffling the papers that lay spread out in front of him.

‘I hope this is important, I’m very busy,’ he said to Hedström as he came in.

Patrik nodded and sat down. ‘It’s very important,’ he said, placing the copy of Sofie’s paper on the desk.

Mellberg read it. And for once he agreed.

There was something about springtime that always made Annika feel sad. She went to work, did what she had to do, went home, hung out with Lennart and the dogs, and then went to bed. The same routine as during the other seasons, but in the springtime she got a feeling it was all meaningless. Actually she had a very good life. She and Lennart had a better marriage than most and their shared passion for drag racing took them all over Sweden. Most of the time, that was enough. But for some reason she always felt there was something missing in the spring. That was when her longing for children hit her full force. She had no idea why. Maybe it was because her first miscarriage had been in the spring. The third of April, a date that would for ever be etched into her heart. Even though it was more than fifteen years ago. Eight more miscarriages had followed, countless visits to the doctor, examinations, treatments. But nothing had helped. And finally they’d accepted the situation and tried to make the best of things. Of course they’d discussed adoption as well, but they never seemed to get around to it. All those years of miscalculations and disappointment had made them feel vulnerable and insecure. They didn’t dare take the risk again. And so, each spring, she longed for her little boys and girls, who for some reason had not been ready for life, either in her womb or outside of it. Sometimes she pictured them in her mind as tiny angels, hovering round her like promises. Days like that were hard. And today was one of those days.

Annika blinked away the tears and tried to concentrate on the Excel spreadsheet on her computer. Nobody at the station knew anything about her personal tragedy. All they knew was that Annika and Lennart had never had children, and she didn’t want to make a fool of herself by sitting here and blubbering in reception. She squinted as she tried to match up the data in the cells before her. The name of the dog owner on the left and the address information on the right. It had taken more time than she’d thought, but now she finally had all the addresses entered onto the list. She saved the file on a disk and popped it out of the computer. The cherubs hovered round her, asking what their names would have been, what games they would have played together, what they would have become when they grew up. Annika felt the sobs rising again and looked at the clock. Eleven thirty; she ought to go home for lunch today. She felt that she needed some time in peace and quiet by herself. But first she had to give Patrik the disk. She knew that he wanted to have all the information ASAP.

In the corridor she ran into Hanna and saw an opportunity to avoid Patrik’s piercing gaze. ‘Hi, Hanna,’ she said. ‘Could you drop this off with Patrik? It’s a list of the dog owners with addresses. I… I have to go home for lunch today.’

‘What’s the matter? Aren’t you feeling well?’ Hanna said with concern, taking the diskette.

Annika forced a smile. ‘I’m fine, I just feel like having a home-cooked meal today.’

‘Okay,’ said Hanna. ‘I’ll drop off the disk with Patrik. See you later.’

‘See you,’ said Annika, hurrying out the door. The cherubs followed her home.

Patrik looked up when Hanna came in.

‘Here, this is from Annika. The dog owners.’ She handed him the disk and Patrik put it on the desk.

‘Sit down for a moment,’ he said, pointing to a chair. She did, and Patrik gave her a searching look.

‘So how has your first month been? Do you like working here? A bit chaotic in the beginning, perhaps?’ He smiled and received a wan smile in return. To be completely honest, he’d been worrying a bit about his new colleague. She was looking tired and worn out. Sure, that’s how they all looked but there was something else. Something transparent about her face, something more than normal exhaustion. Her blonde hair was combed back in a ponytail as usual, but it had no lustre and she had dark circles under her eyes.

‘Things have been going great,’ she said cheerfully, not seeming to notice how he was scrutinizing her. ‘I’m enjoying it and I like being busy.’ She looked around, at all the documents and photographs pinned up on the walls, and paused. ‘That sounded tactless. But you know what I mean.’

‘I know,’ Patrik said with a smile. ‘And Mellberg, has it…’ he searched for the right word, ‘has he behaved himself?’

Hanna laughed and for a moment her face softened and he recognized the woman who had started with them five weeks earlier. ‘I’ve hardly seen him, to tell the truth, so yes, you could say he’s behaved himself. If there’s anything I’ve learned, it’s that everybody regards you as the person in charge. And that you do the job proud.’

Patrik felt himself blush. It wasn’t often he got a compliment, and he didn’t know how to handle it.

‘Thanks,’ he muttered, and then quickly changed the subject. ‘I’m going to have a new run-through in an hour. I thought we’d gather in the break room. It’s so cramped in here.’

‘Have you got something new?’ Hanna said, sitting up straight in her chair.

‘Well, yes, you could say that,’ said Patrik and couldn’t repress a smile. ‘We may have found the key to what connects the cases.’ His smile grew.

Hanna sat up even straighter. ‘The connection? You’ve found it?’

‘It just came to me, you might say. But first I have to make two calls to confirm things, so I don’t want to say anything before the meeting. So far I’ve only told Mellberg.’

‘Okay, then I’ll see you in an hour,’ said Hanna, getting up to leave.

Patrik still couldn’t shake off the feeling that something was wrong. But she would probably tell him soon enough.

He picked up the receiver and punched in the first number.

‘We’ve found the connection we’ve been looking for.’ Patrik looked around, enjoying the effect of his announcement. His gaze paused for a moment on Annika, and he noticed she looked a bit red round the eyes. That was highly unusual. Annika was always happy and positive in all situations, and he made a mental note to talk with her after the meeting to hear how she was doing.

‘The crucial piece of the puzzle was brought in by Sofie Kaspersen today. She found an old newspaper article among her mother’s things and decided to bring it to us. Gösta and Hanna visited her and her father last week, and apparently they made a good impression on her, which led to her decision to contact us. Well done!’ he said, nodding his approval in their direction.

‘The article…’ he couldn’t resist pausing for effect as he felt the tension mounting in the room, ‘the article deals with the fact that twenty years ago Marit was involved in an auto accident that resulted in a fatality. She crashed into a car driven by an elderly lady, who died. When the police arrived at the scene it turned out that Marit had a high alcohol count in her blood. She was sentenced to prison for eleven months.’

‘Why haven’t we heard about this earlier?’ asked Martin. ‘Was this before she moved here?’

‘No, she and Ola were twenty years old and had lived here for a year when it happened. But it was a long time ago; people forget, and there was probably some sympathy for Marit as well. Her blood alcohol was just over the legal limit. She had got into the car after having dinner at a friend’s house and drinking a few glasses of wine. I know this because I found the documents about the accident. We had them down in the archives.’

‘So we had a file on this the whole time?’ said Gösta incredulously.

Patrik nodded. ‘Yes, I know, but it’s not so strange that we didn’t find it. It happened so long ago that it wasn’t entered into any database, and there was no reason to go through the documents down there willy-nilly. And definitely no reason to go through all the archived boxes of DWI convictions.’

‘And yet…’ Gösta muttered, looking subdued.

‘I’ve checked with Lund, Nyköping and Borås. Rasmus Olsson became disabled when he wrapped his car around a tree, and his passenger, a friend the same age, died. Rasmus was drunk when the accident occurred. Börje Knudsen has a rap sheet as long as my arm. One of the items is the report of an accident fifteen years ago, when he caused a head-on crash in which a five-year-old girl died. So this is the common denominator in three cases out of the four; they all drove drunk and killed someone because of it.’

‘And Elsa Forsell?’ asked Hanna, staring at Patrik. He threw out his hands.

‘That’s the only case I couldn’t get any confirmation about yet. There are no records of a conviction against her in Nyköping, but the priest of her congregation talked a lot about Elsa’s “guilt”. I think there’s something there, but we haven’t found it yet. I’m going to ring Father Silvio after our meeting and see if I can get anything more out of him.’

‘Good work, Hedström,’ said Mellberg from his seat at the kitchen table. Everyone turned their gaze to him.

‘Thanks,’ said Patrik in astonishment. A compliment from Mellberg was like… no, he couldn’t even think of anything to compare it with. One simply didn’t get compliments from Mellberg. Ever. Slightly bewildered by this comment out of the blue, Patrik went on, ‘What we have to do now is to start working from this new assumption. Find out as much as you can about the accidents. Gösta, you take Marit; Martin, you can have Borås; Hanna, you take Lund, and I’ll try to find out more about Elsa Forsell in Nyköping. Any questions?’

Nobody said anything, so Patrik adjourned the meeting. Then he went to ring Nyköping. There was a sort of frenzy, a tense energy, filling the air at the station. It was so palpable that Patrik felt as if he could reach out and touch it. He stopped in the corridor, took a deep breath and then went to make his calls.

Whenever Father Silvio took a trip home to visit his family and friends in Italy, he often got the same question. How could he stand it up in the cold North? Weren’t the Swedes odd? From what they had heard, Swedes most often stayed at home and hardly talked to each other. And they couldn’t handle alcohol at all. They drank like sponges and always overdid it. Why would he want to live there?

Silvio usually sipped on a glass of good red wine, looked out over his brother’s olive groves, and replied, ‘The Swedes need me.’ And that was how he felt. It had seemed like an adventure when he first went to Sweden almost thirty years earlier. An offer of a temporary position in the Catholic congregation in Stockholm had presented the opportunity he’d always wanted, a chance to move to the country which had always seemed so mythical and strange. Maybe it wasn’t all that strange. And he almost froze to death that first winter until he learned that three layers of clothing were a must if he wanted to go outdoors in January. But it was still love at first sight. He loved the light, the food, the Swedes’ cold exterior but glowing interior. He had learned to appreciate and understand the small gestures, the discreet comments, the muted friendliness he found with the fair-haired northerners. And that was another stereotype that had turned out to be false. He had been amazed when he landed on Swedish soil and saw that not all Swedes were blond and blue-eyed.

In any case, he had stayed. After ten years assisting with the congregation in Stockholm, he took an opportunity to lead his own church in Nyköping. Over the years a certain Sörmland accent had crept into his Italian-Swedish, and he enjoyed the merriment that this odd mixture sometimes aroused. If there was anything that Swedes did far too seldom, it was laugh. People in general might not associate Catholicism with joy and laughter, but for him the religion was precisely that. If love for God was not something bright and enjoyable, what else would be?

It had surprised Elsa at first. She had come to him, perhaps in the hope of finding a scourge and a hair shirt. Instead she found a warm handshake and a friendly gaze. They had spoken so much about this. Her feeling of guilt, her need to be punished. Over the years he had gently guided her through all the different concepts of guilt and forgiveness. The most important part of forgiveness was remorse. True remorse. And that was something Elsa had in abundance. For over thirty-five years she had felt remorse every second of every day. It was a long time to bear such a burden. He was glad that he’d been able to lighten her load a bit, so that she could breathe more freely, at least for a few years. Up until she died.

Father Silvio frowned. He had thought a lot about Elsa’s life – and her death – ever since the police had come to call. He had thought a lot about it before as well. But their questions had let loose a flood of emotions and memories. Yet the sacrament of confession was holy. The trust between a priest and a parishioner must not be broken. Still, the thoughts whirled round in his head, making him long to break a promise that God had bound him to. But he knew it was impossible.

When the telephone rang on his desk, he knew instinctively what it was about. He answered half in anticipation, half in dread: ‘Father Silvio Mancini.’

He smiled when he heard the officer from Tanumshede introduce himself. He listened a long while to what Patrik Hedström had to say and then shook his head.

‘Unfortunately I cannot talk about what Elsa confided in me.

‘No, that is included in the vow of confidentiality.’

His heart was pounding. For a moment he thought he saw Elsa sitting in the chair in front of him. Elsa with the erect posture, the short white hair and the thin figure. He had tried to fatten her up with pasta and pastry, but nothing seemed to stick to her. She gave him a kindly look.

‘I’m terribly sorry, but I simply can’t. You’ll have to find another way to…’

Elsa nodded urgently to him from her place in the chair, and he tried to understand what she meant. Did she want him to speak? But that didn’t help; he still couldn’t. She continued to watch him, and then he had an idea. Softly he said, ‘I can’t reveal what Elsa told me. But I can tell you things that were generally known. Elsa was from your part of the country. She was from Uddevalla.’

From her place facing him Elsa smiled. Then she was gone. He knew that she hadn’t been real, that she was only a figment of his imagination. But it had still been lovely to see her.

When he hung up he felt at peace. He hadn’t betrayed God, nor had he betrayed Elsa. Now the rest was up to the police.

Erica could see that something had happened as soon as Patrik walked in the front door. There was a lightness to his step, and he seemed more relaxed than he had in a long time.

‘Did things go well today?’ she asked cautiously, carrying Maja as she went to meet him. Beaming with happiness, Maja held out her arms to her pappa, and he swept her up in his embrace.

‘Things went fantastic,’ he said, taking a few dance steps with his daughter. She laughed so hard that she almost choked. Pappa was hysterically funny. She had obviously already decided that.

‘Tell me more,’ said Erica, heading for the kitchen to finish cooking dinner. Patrik and Maja followed her. Anna, Emma and Adrian were watching the Bolibompa show and gave Patrik a distracted wave when he came in. On the TV Björne was demanding all their attention.

‘We found the connection,’ he said, setting Maja on the floor. She sat there a while, torn between Pappa on one side and Björne on the other, but decided at last to take the furrier of the two and crawled over to the TV.

‘Always rejected, always number two,’ Patrik sighed as he watched Maja go.

‘Mmm, but for me you’re always number one,’ said Erica and gave him a big hug before she went back to cooking. Patrik sat down to watch.

Erica cleared her throat and looked pointedly at the vegetables lying on the worktop.

Patrik promptly jumped up from his chair and started chopping cucumbers for the salad. ‘If you say “hop”, I ask “how high”,’ he said with a laugh, taking a step to one side to avoid the kick she playfully aimed at his shin.

‘You just wait, after Saturday I’ll be wielding the whip with renewed vigour,’ said Erica, trying to look stern. She was happy he was even thinking about the wedding.

‘I think you’re doing a pretty good job of it already,’ he said, bending over to kiss her.

‘Lay off out there,’ Anna shouted from the living room. ‘I can hear you smooching. There are children present.’ She laughed.

‘Mmm, maybe we’ll have to save this till later,’ said Erica with a wink at Patrik. ‘Now tell me more about what happened.’

Patrik gave her a brief rundown of what they’d found out, and the smile vanished from Erica’s face. There was so much tragedy, so much death mixed up in the case, and despite the fact that the investigation had now taken a big step forward she understood that things were going to be difficult in future as well.

‘So the victim in Nyköping had also killed someone in an accident?’

‘Yes,’ Patrik said, cutting tomato wedges. ‘Although not in Nyköping, but in Uddevalla.’

‘Who was it she killed?’ said Erica, stirring her pork filet stew.

‘We don’t know the details yet. That accident was much longer ago than the others, so it will take a while to find out more. But I talked with our colleagues in Uddevalla today, and they’re sending over all the material as soon as they dig it up. Some poor soul will have to crawl around among dusty boxes for a while.’

‘So somebody is murdering drunk drivers who killed someone. And the first accident occurred thirty-five years ago, while the last one was… when was the last one?’

‘Seventeen years ago. Rasmus Olsson.’

‘And the locations are spread all over Sweden,’ said Erica pensively as she kept stirring. ‘From Lund all the way up here. When did the first murder take place?’

‘Ten years ago,’ Patrik answered obediently, watching his future wife. Erica was used to handling facts and analysing them, and he welcomed help from her sharp mind.

‘So the killer moves over a large geographical area, has a great time spread for his deeds, and the only thing the victims have in common is that they were killed because of a fatal accident they caused by driving drunk.’

‘Yep, that’s about it,’ said Patrik with a sigh. It sounded utterly hopeless when Erica summed up the situation. He poured the veggies into a big bowl, mixed them up, and placed the salad on the kitchen table.

‘Don’t forget that we’re most likely missing one victim,’ he said quietly as he sat down. ‘In all likelihood it’s victim number two that we haven’t found yet. But I’m sure there is another victim. Somebody we missed.’

‘Isn’t it possible to get more out of those book pages?’ Erica asked, setting the steaming pot of stew on a trivet on the table.

‘It doesn’t seem so. What I’m pinning my best hopes on now is that we can develop something that will take us further once we get all the details about Elsa Forsell’s accident. She was the first victim, and something tells me she’s the most important one.’

‘Mmm, you may be right,’ said Erica and then called Anna and the children for dinner. They could talk more later.

Two days had passed since they had worked out what the serial killer’s victims had in common. The initial euphoria had subsided, and discouragement had taken its place. They still didn’t understand why the geographic territory was so large. Did the murderer travel about in his hunt for victims, or had he actually lived in all these towns? There were just too many questions. They had pored over all the available material on the accidents involving the murder victims, but nowhere did they find anything to connect them. Patrik was leaning more and more towards the idea that there was no personal connection among the victims, but that the killer was a person filled with hate who randomly chose his victims based on their actions. In that case it seemed that the murderer took no notice of the fact that several of his victims had shown real remorse after the events. Elsa had struggled with guilt and sought redemption in religion; Marit had never touched alcohol again; the same was true of Rasmus, but he couldn’t drink anyway for physiological reasons because of the injuries he had suffered in the car crash. Börje was the exception. He had continued to drink, continued to drive drunk, and didn’t seem to have worried about the girl whose death he had caused.

But it was impossible to draw any conclusions when one victim was missing. When the phone rang at nine o’clock on Wednesday morning, Patrik had no idea that the call would give him the last piece of the puzzle.

‘Patrik Hedström,’ he answered, placing his hand over the receiver so that the person calling wouldn’t hear that he was yawning. Consequently he didn’t catch the name of the caller.

‘Excuse me, what was your name?’

‘My name is Vilgot Runberg, and I’m superintendent of the Ortboda police station.’

‘Ortboda?’ said Patrik, feverishly searching his geographic memory.

‘Outside Eskilstuna,’ Superintendent Runberg said impatiently. ‘But it’s a small station, only three of us work here.’ He coughed, turned away from the receiver, but then went on, ‘The thing is, I just came back from a two-week holiday in Thailand.’

‘Oh yes?’ said Patrik, wondering where this was leading. ‘Yes, that’s why I hadn’t seen the query you sent out. Until now.’

‘I see,’ said Patrik with much greater interest. He felt his fingers starting to tingle from anticipation at what might come next.

‘Yes, my younger colleagues here are relatively new to the region, so they didn’t know anything about it. But I recognize the case. Without a doubt. I was the one who investigated it eight years ago.’

‘What case?’ said Patrik, his breathing turning short and shallow. He pressed the receiver hard against his ear, afraid of missing a single word.

‘We had a man here eight years ago who… well, I thought there was something strange about the whole thing. But he had a history of alcohol abuse, and…’ Runberg paused with embarrassment, apparently reluctant to admit the mistake he’d made. ‘Well, we all just thought that he’d had a relapse and then drank himself to death. But the injuries you mention, I have to admit in hindsight that I wondered about them.’ The line went silent and Patrik understood how much it was costing the superintendent to have this conversation.

‘What was the man’s name?’ said Patrik to break the silence.

‘Jan-Olov Persson,’ said Superintendent Runberg. ‘He was forty-two years old, worked as a cabinetmaker. Widower.’

‘And he was an alcoholic?’

‘Yes, he had a big problem for a while. When his wife died, then, well, he went to pieces. It all turned into a very sad story. One evening he got into his car drunk and ran into a young couple who were out walking. The man died, and Jan-Olov spent some time in jail. But after he got out he never touched alcohol again. Behaved himself, did his job, took care of his daughter.’

‘And then he was suddenly found dead of alcohol poisoning?’

‘Yes,’ Runberg sighed. ‘As I said, we thought he’d had a relapse and things got out of control. His ten-year-old daughter found him. She claimed that she had met a stranger, a man, in the doorway, but we didn’t really believe her. Thought it must have been the shock, or that she wanted to protect her pappa…’ His voice died out and the shame hung heavy in his silence.

‘Was there a book page next to him? From a children’s book?’

‘I tried to remember when I read your query. But I can’t recall anything like that,’ Runberg said. ‘At least if there was a book page we didn’t give it any thought. We probably assumed it belonged to the girl.’

‘So there’s nothing like that left?’ Patrik could hear how disappointed he sounded.

‘No, we don’t have much left from the investigation. As I said, we thought the guy had drunk himself to death. But I can send you what we do have.’

‘Do you have a fax? Could you fax it over? It would be good to have it ASAP.’

‘Of course,’ said Runberg. Then he added, ‘Poor girl. What a life. First her mamma died when she was little and her pappa went to prison. Then he dies and leaves her all alone. And now I read in the papers that the girl was murdered over in your town. I think she was in some reality show. I never would have recognized her from the photos. Lillemor didn’t look at all like herself. As a ten-year-old she was small, dark, and thin, and now… well, a lot has happened over the years.’

Patrik could feel the walls whirling around him. At first he couldn’t process the information. Then he suddenly realized what Vilgot Runberg was saying. Lillemor, Barbie, was the daughter of the second victim. And eight years earlier she had seen the killer.

When Mellberg walked into the bank he felt happier and more secure than he had felt in many, many years. He who hated to spend money was now going to spend two hundred thousand – and he felt not the slightest hesitation. He was buying himself a future, a future with Rose-Marie. Whenever he closed his eyes, which actually occurred rather often during working hours, he could smell the scent of hibiscus, of sunshine, of salt water, and of Rose-Marie. He could hardly fathom what luck he’d had and how much his life had changed in only a few weeks. In June they would fly down to see the condo for the first time, and then stay there for four weeks. He was already counting the days.

‘I’d like to transfer two hundred thousand kronor,’ he said, sliding the note with his account number across the counter to the teller. He felt rather proud. There weren’t many people who could save up so much on a policeman’s salary, but every öre helped, and by now he had a sizable nest egg. Rose-Marie was putting in the same amount and they could borrow the rest, she said. But when she rang yesterday she’d said that it was important that they close the deal quickly, because another couple had also expressed interest in the apartment.

He savoured the words. ‘Another couple.’ Imagine that he had gone and become a ‘couple’ at his advanced age. He chuckled at himself. Yes, and he and Rose-Marie could give the young people a run for their money in the sack as well. She was simply wonderful. In every respect.

He was just about to turn and leave after finishing his business, when he suddenly had a brilliant idea. ‘How much do I have left in the account?’ he asked the teller eagerly.

‘Sixteen thousand four hundred,’ she said. Mellberg hesitated for a millisecond before he made his decision.

‘I’d like to withdraw all of it. In cash.’

‘Cash?’ said the cashier, and he nodded. A plan was taking shape in his mind, and it felt more right the longer he thought about it. He carefully stuffed the money into his wallet and went back to the station. To think that it could feel so good to spend money. He never would have imagined it.

‘Martin.’ Patrik sounded out of breath when he rushed into his colleague’s office, and Martin wondered what was up.

‘Martin,’ Patrik repeated, but then sat down to catch his breath.

‘Too much exercise just running down the hall?’ said Martin with a smile. ‘You should probably see about getting in shape.’

Patrik waved his hand dismissively and for once didn’t jump at the chance to exchange friendly banter.

‘They’re related,’ he said, leaning forward.

‘Who are related?’ Martin asked, wondering what had got into Patrik.

‘Our investigations,’ said Patrik in triumph.

Martin felt even more confused. ‘Well, yes,’ he said, puzzled. ‘We already confirmed that DWI is the common denominator.’ He frowned and tried to understand what Patrik was raving about.

‘No, not those investigations. Our separate investigations. The murder of Lillemor – it’s connected to the others. It’s the same perp.’

Now Martin was sure that Patrik must have flipped out. He wondered whether it was stress-related. All that work lately, combined with the stress leading up to the wedding. Even the calmest person might…

Patrik seemed to know what he was thinking and cut him off, sounding annoyed. ‘They belong together, I tell you. Listen here.’

He briefly told him what Runberg had said, and as he talked Martin’s astonishment grew. He could hardly believe it. It sounded wildly improbable. He looked at Patrik and tried to grasp all the facts.

‘So what you’re saying is that victim number two is one Jan-Olov Persson, who was Lillemor Persson’s father. And Lillemor saw the murderer when she was ten years old.’

‘Yes,’ said Patrik, relieved that Martin finally seemed to get it. ‘And it’s true! Think about what she wrote in her diary. That she recognized somebody but couldn’t quite place him. A brief meeting eight years ago, when she was just ten years old; that couldn’t have been a very clear memory, given the circumstances.’

‘But the murderer knew who she was, and he was afraid that she would connect him to what had happened.’

‘And so he had to kill her before she identified him, thereby linking him to the murder of Marit.’

‘And by extension, to the other murders,’ Martin filled in, excited now.

‘It all fits, don’t you think?’ said Patrik with the same excitement in his voice.

‘So if we catch the person who killed Lillemor Persson, we also solve the other murders,’ Martin said quietly.

‘Yes. Or vice versa. If we solve the other cases, we find the person who killed Lillemor.’

Both sat silent for a moment.

‘What have we got now to go on in the Lillemor investigation?’ Patrik asked rhetorically. ‘We have the dog hairs and we have the tape from the night of the murder. You looked at all the footage again on Monday. Did you see anything else of interest?’

Something stirred in Martin’s subconscious, but it refused to come up to the surface, so he shook his head. ‘No, I didn’t see anything new. Only what Hanna and I reported from that evening.’

‘Then we’ll have to start by checking the list of the dog owners. I got it from Annika the other day.’ He stood up. ‘I’ll go and tell the others the news.’

‘Do that,’ said Martin absentmindedly. He was still trying to remember what had slipped his mind. What the hell was it he’d seen on the video? Or not seen? The more he tried to pinpoint it, the further away it slipped. He sighed. Might as well drop it for a while.

The news hit the station like a bomb. At first everyone reacted with the same disbelief as Martin, but when Patrik presented the facts in the case they accepted the news with ever increasing enthusiasm. Once they were all informed, Patrik went back to his desk to try and formulate a strategy for how they should proceed.

‘That was some shocking news you uncovered,’ said Gösta from the doorway. Patrik simply nodded. ‘Come in, have a seat,’ he said, and Gösta sat down in the visitor’s chair.

‘The only problem is that I don’t know how to put it all together,’ said Patrik. ‘I thought I’d go over the list of dog owners that you compiled and look through the documents that arrived from Ortboda.’ He pointed at the fax lying on his desk. It had arrived ten minutes earlier.

‘Yep, there’s a good deal to go over,’ Gösta sighed, looking around at all the things pinned up on the walls. ‘It’s like some gigantic spider web, but without any clue to where the spider has gone.’

Patrik chuckled. I didn’t know you had such a poetic streak, Gösta.’

Gösta only muttered in reply. Then he got up and walked slowly around the room, his face only inches from the documents and photographs that were pinned up.

‘There must be something, some detail that we missed,’ he said.

‘Well, if you find anything I’d be more than grateful. I seem to have stared myself blind at all this.’ Patrik swept his hand round the office.

‘Personally I don’t understand how you can work with these pictures all around you.’ Gösta pointed at the photos of the dead victims that were arranged in the order they’d been killed. Elsa closest to the window, and Marit near the door.

‘You haven’t put up Jan-Olov yet,’ Gösta then said dryly, pointing at the space to the right of Elsa Forsell.

‘No, I haven’t got around to it,’ said Patrik, casting a glance at his colleague. Sometimes the man had a sudden inclination to work, the good Gösta Flygare, and this was clearly one of those times.

‘Shall I get out of your way?’ said Patrik as Gösta tried to squeeze in behind his desk chair.

‘Yes, that would help,’ said Gösta, stepping aside to let Patrik by. Patrik went and leaned on the opposite wall and crossed his arms. It was probably a good idea that someone was taking another look.

‘You got all the book pages back from NCL, I see.’ Gösta turned to look at Patrik.

‘They arrived yesterday. The only page we don’t have is Jan-Olov’s. But the police no longer had it.’

‘That’s a shame,’ said Gösta, still moving back in time in the direction of Elsa Forsell. ‘I wonder why it’s Hansel and Gretel specifically,’ he said pensively. ‘Is it random, or does it have some meaning?’

‘I wish I knew. There’s a lot more I wish I knew too.’

‘Hmm,’ said Gösta, now standing in front of the section of the wall where the photos and documents dealing with Elsa were pinned up.

‘I rang Uddevalla,’ Patrik said, anticipating Gösta’s question. ‘They haven’t found the files about her accident yet. But they’ll fax over the documents as soon as they locate them.’

Gösta didn’t reply. He just stood there in silence for a while, gazing at what was displayed on the wall. The spring sunshine filtered in from the window, illuminating some of the papers in bright light. He frowned. Took half a step back. Then leaned forward again, this time so close that he almost pressed his ear to the wall. Patrik observed him in amazement. What was the guy doing?

Gösta seemed to be studying the book page from the side. Elsa’s page was the first in the fairy tale, and the story of Hansel and Gretel began there. With a triumphant expression Gösta turned to Patrik.

‘Stand over here where I’m standing,’ said Gösta, taking a step to the side.

Patrik hurried to take up the same position, leaned his head close to the wall by the book page, just as Gösta had done. And there, in the backlight from the window, he saw what Gösta had discovered.

Sofie felt as if she were frozen inside. She watched the coffin being lowered into the ground. Watched, but didn’t understand. Couldn’t understand. How could it be her mamma lying in the coffin?

The pastor spoke, or at least his lips were moving, but Sofie couldn’t hear what he said because of the white noise in her ears that drowned out everything else. She glanced at her pappa. Ola looked solemn and withdrawn, with his head bowed and his arm around Grandma. Sofie’s maternal grandparents had come down from Norway yesterday. They looked different from the way she remembered them, though she had seen them last Christmas. But they seemed shorter, greyer, thinner. Grandma had furrows on her face that weren’t there before, and Sofie hadn’t known how to approach her. Grandpa had also changed. He was more silent, more vague. He had always been cheerful and boisterous, but this time he had just wandered about the flat, speaking only when spoken to.

Out of the corner of her eye Sofie saw something moving by the gate, on the other side of the churchyard. She turned her head and saw Kerstin standing there in her red coat, her hands clutching the grating of the gate. Sofie had to look away. She felt ashamed. Because Pappa was standing here but not Kerstin. Ashamed that she hadn’t fought for Kerstin’s right to be here and say farewell to Marit. But Pappa had been so belligerent, so determined. And she simply couldn’t fight him anymore. He’d been berating her ever since he found out she’d given the newspaper article about Marit to the police. He said that she’d disgraced the whole family. Made a fool of him. Then he had started talking about the funeral, saying that it would be only for close relatives, Marit’s family. He hoped ‘that person’ wouldn’t dare show herself. So Sofie had taken the only way out and shut up. She knew it was wrong, but Pappa was so hateful, so furious, that she knew trying to protest would have cost her too much.

But when Sofie saw Kerstin’s face in the distance she was deeply sorry. There stood her mamma’s life partner, alone, with no chance to say a last farewell. Sofie should have been braver. She should have been stronger. Kerstin hadn’t even been mentioned in the obituary in the paper. Instead Ola had submitted a death announcement in which he, Sofie, and Marit’s parents were listed as the closest family members. But Kerstin had sent in one of her own. Ola was livid when he saw it in the paper, but he couldn’t do a thing about it.

Suddenly Sofie was so tired of everything: all the hyp o crisy, the injustice. She took a step onto the gravel path, hesitated a second, and then strode rapidly towards Kerstin. For a moment she again felt her mother’s hand on her shoulder, and Sofie smiled when she threw herself into Kerstin’s arms.

‘Sigrid Jansson,’ said Patrik, squinting. ‘Look here, doesn’t it say Sigrid Jansson?’

He moved over so Gösta could take a look at the book page and the name that was visible in the light from the springtime sun.

‘It looks that way to me,’ said Gösta, sounding pleased with himself.

‘Funny that the NCL didn’t notice this,’ Patrik said, but then remembered that they asked them only to look for fingerprints. But apparently the owner of the book had written her name on the first page and the pen had left an imprint on the page beneath it, the first page, the one found next to Elsa Forsell’s body.

‘What do we do now?’ said Gösta, still with the same satisfied look on his face.

‘The name isn’t particularly uncommon, but we’ll have to start by doing a search for all the Sigrid Janssons in Sweden and see what turns up.’

‘The book was old. The owner could be dead.’

Patrik thought a moment before he answered. ‘That’s why we’ll have to expand the search to include women other than those alive today. Instead we’ll have to include, say, women born during the nineteenth century.’

‘Sounds like a plan,’ said Gösta. ‘Do you think it means anything that Elsa got the first page? Could she be connected somehow to this Sigrid Jansson?’

Patrik shrugged. Nothing would surprise him in this case. ‘It’s something we’ll have to check out. And maybe we’ll find out more when Uddevalla calls back.’

As if on cue, the phone on Patrik’s desk rang. ‘Patrik Hedström,’ he said, waving to Gösta to stay put when he heard who was on the line.

‘An accident. 1969. Yes… Yes… No… Yes…’

Gösta was shifting his feet with impatience. He gathered from Patrik’s expression that he’d heard something crucial. Which turned out to be quite true.

When Patrik hung up he said triumphantly, ‘That was Uddevalla. They found the information about Elsa Forsell. She was behind the wheel in a head-on collision with another car in 1969. She was drunk. And guess the name of the woman who died.’

‘Sigrid Jansson,’ Gösta whispered.

Patrik nodded. ‘Are you coming with me to Uddevalla?’

Gösta merely snorted. Of course he was.

‘Where did Patrik and Gösta take off to?’ asked Martin when he came out of Patrik’s empty office.

‘They went to Uddevalla,’ said Annika over the top of her glasses. She’d always had a soft spot for Martin. There was something puppylike about him, something unspoiled, that aroused her maternal instincts. Before he met Pia he had spent many hours in her office discussing his love woes. Even though Annika was happy that he now had a steady relationship, sometimes she did miss those days.

‘Sit down,’ she said, and Martin obeyed. Not obeying Annika was an impossibility for anyone at the station. Not even Mellberg dared otherwise.

‘How are you doing? Is everything good? Do the two of you like your flat? Talk.’ She gave him a stern look. To her surprise she saw a big grin spread across Martin’s face, and he could hardly sit still.

‘I’m going to be a pappa,’ he said, and his smile got even wider. Annika could feel her eyes tearing up. Not out of envy, or sorrow that she had missed the experience herself, but out of pure and unadulterated joy for Martin’s sake.

‘What are you saying?’ she said, laughing as she wiped off a tear running down her cheek. ‘God, what a fool I am, sitting here and crying,’ she said with embarrassment, but she saw that Martin was also moved.

‘When’s the baby due?’

‘End of November,’ said Martin with another big smile. It warmed Annika’s heart to see him so happy.

‘The end of November,’ she said. ‘Yes, I must say… Well, don’t just sit there, give me a hug!’ She held out her arms and he came over and gave her a big hug. They talked about the coming happy event for a while longer, but then Martin turned serious and his smile vanished.

‘Do you think we’ll ever get to the bottom of all this?’

‘The murders, you mean?’ Annika shook her head. ‘I don’t know. I’m worried that Patrik is in over his head on this one. It’s just too… complicated.’

Martin nodded. ‘I had the same thought. What are they doing in Uddevalla, by the way?’

‘I don’t know. Patrik just said they’d called about Elsa Forsell and that he and Gösta were driving down there to find out more. One thing is for sure – they looked awfully serious.’

Martin’s curiosity was definitely aroused. ‘They must have found out something important about her. I wonder what…’

‘We’ll find out more this afternoon,’ said Annika, but she couldn’t help speculating about what had made Patrik and Gösta take off in such a rush.

‘Yes, I suppose we will,’ said Martin, getting up to go back to his office. All of a sudden he was longing so terribly for November.

It took four hours before Gösta and Patrik were back at the station. As soon as they stepped in the door, Annika could see that they had important news.

‘We’re meeting in the break room,’ Patrik said curtly, and went to hang up his jacket. Five minutes later everyone was present.

‘We’ve had two breakthroughs today,’ said Patrik with a look at Gösta. ‘First, Gösta discovered that a name could be read on Elsa Forsell’s book page. The name was Sigrid Jansson. Then we got a call from Uddevalla, so we drove down there to learn all the details. And everything fits together.’

He paused, took a drink of water, and leaned against the worktop. Everyone was staring at him, eager to hear what he would say next.

‘Elsa Forsell was the driver in a fatal car accident in 1969. Like the other victims, she was driving drunk, and was sentenced to prison for one year. The car she crashed into was driven by a woman in her thirties, who had two children with her in the car. The woman died instantly, but the children miraculously survived without a scratch.’ Here he paused for effect and then said, ‘The woman’s name was Sigrid Jansson.’

The others gasped. Gösta nodded in satisfaction. It had been a long time since he’d felt so pleased with his contribution to a case.

Martin raised his hand to say something, but Patrik stopped him. ‘Wait, there’s more. At first the police assumed that the children in the car were Sigrid’s. But the problem was, she didn’t have any children. She was a recluse who lived in the country outside of Uddevalla, in her childhood home which she had inherited after her parents died. She worked as a shop assistant in an elegant clothing boutique in town and was always polite and pleasant to customers. But when the police interviewed her co-workers they said that she always kept to herself. As far as they knew she had no relatives or friends. And definitely no children.’

‘But… whose were they then?’ said Mellberg, scratching his forehead.

‘Nobody knows. There were no missing persons reports for children of that age. No one called in to claim them. When the police drove out to Sigrid’s house to have a look, they could see that the two children had definitely been living with her. We talked with one of the officers who was there when the accident happened. He told us that the children shared a room that was full of toys. But Sigrid had never given birth, as the autopsy showed. They also took blood samples to determine whether she was related to the children, but their blood types didn’t match Sigrid’s.’

‘So Elsa Forsell was the cause of it all,’ said Martin. ‘Yes, that’s how it looks,’ said Patrik. ‘It seems as though her accident set in motion a whole chain of murders. Apparently the killer began with her.’

‘Where are the children now?’ Hanna asked, giving voice to what everyone was thinking.

‘We’re working on that,’ said Gösta. ‘Our colleagues in Uddevalla are trying to get the documents from the social welfare authorities, but that may take some time.’

‘We have to keep working on the investigation based on the information we have,’ Patrik said. ‘But the key to the case is Elsa Forsell, so we’ll focus on her.’

They all trooped out of the break room, but Patrik called Hanna back.

‘Yes?’ she said. When Patrik saw how pale she looked, he was even more determined to have a talk with her.

‘Sit down,’ he said, dropping onto one of the chairs himself. ‘How are you doing?’ he said, studying her intently.

‘So-so, to be honest,’ she said, looking down. ‘I’ve been feeling lousy for several days, and I think I’m getting a fever.’

‘Yes, I noticed that you haven’t been yourself lately. I think you should go home and get some rest. It won’t help anyone if you play the woman of steel and try to keep working when you’re sick. You need to take it easy, so you can come back with renewed strength.’

‘But the investigation…’

Patrik stood up. ‘That’s an order. Go home and rest,’ he said, feigning a gruff tone of voice.

‘Yes, boss,’ said Hanna and smiled as she gave him a mock salute. ‘I just have to finish up a few things first. They can’t wait until later.’

‘Okay, it’s up to you. But then go straight home, inspector!’ Hanna smiled wanly and left. Patrik watched her with concern. She really didn’t look well.

He turned to look out of the window and allowed himself to sit there for a moment. They’d made a lot of progress over the past few days, but if they were going to solve this case they needed to find the children fast. Those children who seemed to have appeared from nowhere. The important thing now was to find out what had happened to them.

‘It’s a perfect fit!’ Anna beamed, and Erica had to agree. The dress needed to be taken in here and there, but once the alterations were done it would fit like a dream. Some of the pregnancy kilos that had hung on so stubbornly had vanished, and Erica felt both slimmer and livelier as a result of the change in her diet.

‘You’re going to look so beautiful!’ said Anna as they drove home from the fitting.

Erica smiled at her sister, who was almost more enthusiastic about Saturday’s wedding than she was. She cast a glance at Maja, who was asleep in her push-chair.

‘I’m worried about Patrik,’ Erica said, and her smile faded. ‘He’s wound up so tight. Do you think he’ll be able to enjoy the wedding?’

Anna looked at her for a moment as she seemed to be weighing whether to say something. Finally she decided. ‘This was supposed to be a surprise,’ she said. ‘But we talked a bit with the guys and agreed to skip the hen party and bachelor party. Instead we booked you a room and made a dinner reservation for you at Stora Hotellet for Friday night. So you can unwind in peace and quiet before Saturday. I hope that’s okay with you.’

‘God, how sweet of you. And it’s a super idea. I don’t think Patrik would have been up for a bachelor party as things stand. It will be great to have a quiet evening on Friday. I don’t think there’ll be much peace and quiet on Saturday.’

‘No, I shouldn’t think so,’ Anna said with a laugh, relieved that her sister approved of her idea.

Erica then changed the subject. ‘Anna, I’ve decided to do a little investigating. About Mamma.’

‘Investigating? How do you mean?’

‘Well… do some genealogical research. Find out where she came from and things like that. Maybe find some answers.

‘Do you think it will do any good?’ said Anna sceptically. ‘Of course, you should do as you see fit, but Mamma wasn’t particularly sentimental by nature. That’s probably why she didn’t save anything from the past or tell us anything about her childhood. You know how uninterested she was in documenting ours.’

Anna’s laughter had a tinge of bitterness that surprised Erica. Her sister had always pretended that she wasn’t bothered for their mother’s coldness.

‘But aren’t you the least bit curious?’ Erica said, giving her sister a sidelong glance.

Anna looked out of the window on the passenger side. ‘No,’ she said after a brief but significant moment of hesitation.

‘I don’t believe you. But anyway, I’m going to start looking into it. If you want to hear what I find out, let me know. But it’s up to you.’

‘What if you don’t find any answers?’ said Anna, turning to look at Erica. ‘What if you find out that she had a normal childhood, an ordinary adolescence. And there’s no other explanation except that she simply wasn’t interested in us. What will you do then?’

‘Live with it,’ said Erica quietly. ‘Just the way I’ve always done.’

They sat in silence the rest of the way home. Both of them were immersed in their own thoughts.

Patrik went over the list a third time as he tried to stop himself from staring at the phone. Each time it rang he hoped it was Uddevalla with more information about the children. But he was disappointed every time.

He was also disappointed with the list of dog owners and their addresses. They were spread all over Sweden, and there were none in the immediate vicinity of Tanumshede. It had always been a long shot, but he had still harboured some hope. Just to be sure, he slowly scanned the list for the fourth time. A hundred and fifty-nine names. A hundred and fifty-nine addresses, but the closest one was outside Trollhättan. Patrik sighed. So much of his job consisted of boring and time-wasting tasks, but after the events of the past few days he had almost managed to forget that. He swivelled round and looked up at the map of Sweden on the wall. The pins seemed to be staring at him, challenging him to see the pattern, break the code they represented. Five pins, five locations, spread over the southern half of the oblong country of Sweden. What was it that made the murderer move from one place to the other? Was it work? Was it pleasure? Was it a tactic designed to confuse? Was the killer’s home base somewhere else? Patrik didn’t believe the last option. Something told him that the answer lay in the geographical pattern, that the murderer for some reason had followed that pattern. He also believed that the killer was still here in the area. It was more of a gut feeling, and it was so strong that he couldn’t help scrutinizing everyone he saw on the street. Was that person the killer? Or that one? Who was hiding behind the guise of an ordinary citizen?

Patrik sighed and looked up when Gösta came in, after knocking discreetly.

‘Well,’ Gösta said, taking a chair. ‘It’s like this: something has been working overtime up here,’ he tapped his temple, ‘since we heard about the children yesterday. It’s probably nothing. Might sound a bit far-fetched.’

He hemmed and hawed and Patrik had to suppress an urge to lean across the desk and shake Gösta to make him stop mumbling.

‘Well, I was thinking about a case that happened in 1967. In Fjällbacka. I was a rookie here back then.’

Patrik looked at him with increasing irritation. Talk about long-winded!

Gösta continued: ‘As I said, I hadn’t been on the job long when we got a call about two kids who had drowned. Twins, three years old. They lived with their mother out on the island of Kalvö. Their father had drowned a couple of months earlier when he fell through the ice, and the mother had apparently started drinking heavily. And on this day, it was in March if I remember rightly, she took their boat to Fjällbacka and then drove her car down to Uddevalla to do some errands. When they took the boat back out to the island, a storm was blowing up. According to the mother, the boat capsized just before they reached the island, and both children drowned. She had swum ashore and called for help on the radio.’

‘But what made you think of this in connection with our case? Those children drowned, so they couldn’t have been with Sigrid Jansson in the car two years later.’

Gösta hesitated. ‘But there was a witness…’ He paused but then went on, ‘A witness who claimed that the mother, Hedda Kjellander, didn’t have the children with her in the boat when she set off.’

Patrik sat in silence for a long moment. ‘Why didn’t anyone ever get to the bottom of this?’

Gösta looked dejected. ‘The witness was an elderly lady. A bit barmy, according to what people said. She used to sit at the window all day looking through her binoculars, and from time to time she claimed to see things… Sea monsters and things like that,’ said Gösta, but he still looked just as dejected.

He said he’d thought about the case occasionally. About the twins, whose bodies never washed up anywhere. But every time he had repressed the thought and convinced himself again that it was a tragic accident. Nothing more.

‘After meeting the mother, Hedda, I also had a hard time believing that she might be lying. She was in such despair. So upset. There was no reason to believe…’ The words died out and he didn’t dare look at Patrik.

‘What happened to her? The mother?’

‘Nothing. She still lives on the island. Seldom shows herself in town. She gets food and booze delivered out to her cabin. Although it’s mostly the booze she’s interested in.’

Patrik heard the penny drop. ‘Is it “Hedda on Kalvö” you’re talking about?’ He couldn’t believe it. But he’d never heard that Hedda had once had two kids. All the gossip he’d heard about her was that she had suffered two tragedies and since then had devoted herself to drinking herself senseless.

‘So you think…’

Gösta shrugged. ‘I don’t know what to think. But it’s a remarkable coincidence. And the ages match.’ He sat quietly and let Patrik consider what he’d said.

‘I think we need to go out there and talk to her.’

Gösta nodded.

‘We can take our boat,’ said Patrik, getting up. Gösta was still looking despondent as Patrik turned to him.

‘It was many years ago, Gösta. And I can’t say I would have done any different. I probably would have come to the same conclusion. And besides, you weren’t the one in charge.’

Gösta wasn’t so sure that Patrik would have dropped the matter so easily. And he probably could have leaned on his boss at the time a bit harder. But what’s done is done. It was no use brooding over it now.

‘Are you sick?’ Worried, Lars sat down on the edge of the bed and placed a cool hand on Hanna’s forehead. ‘You’re burning up,’ he said, pulling the covers up to her chin. She was shaking from a cold coming on and had that weird feeling of freezing even though she was sweating.

‘I just want to be alone,’ she said, turning on her side.

‘I was only trying to help,’ said Lars, hurt, and removed his hand that lay on top of the covers.

‘You’ve helped me enough,’ said Hanna bitterly with her teeth chattering.

‘Did you report in sick?’ He sat down with his back to her and looked out through the balcony door. There was such a distance between them that they might as well have been on separate continents. Something was tightening around Lars’s heart. It felt like fear, but it was a fear that was so deep, so penetrating that he couldn’t recall the last time he’d felt anything like it. He took a deep breath.

‘If I changed my mind about having kids, would that change anything?’

The chattering stopped for a second. Hanna sat up, propping herself against the pillows, but kept the covers drawn up to her chin. She was shaking so hard that the bed felt as if it was trembling too.

‘That would change everything,’ Hanna said, gazing at him with eyes shining with fever. ‘That would change everything,’ she repeated. But after a moment she added, ‘Or would it?’

He turned his back to her again and looked out at the roof of the house next door. ‘It probably would,’ he said, although he wasn’t sure whether he was telling the truth or not. ‘It would.’

He turned round. Hanna had fallen asleep. He looked at her for a long time. Then he tiptoed out of the bedroom.

‘Can you find it?’ Patrik turned to Gösta when they set out from the boat landing at Badholmen.

Gösta nodded. ‘Sure, I can find it.’

They sat in silence on the trip out to the island of Kalvö. When they docked at the worn and leaky pier, Gösta’s face had turned ashen grey. He had been out here several times since that day thirty-seven years ago, but it was always that first visit that popped up in his memory.

They walked slowly up to the cabin that stood on the highest spot on the island. It was obvious that no repairs had been made in a very long time, and weeds had sprouted up around the patch of lawn surrounding the house. Otherwise there was only granite as far as the eye could see, although a closer examination revealed signs of plants that were waiting for the warmth of spring to come and wake them up. The house was white, with the paint peeling off in big flakes that exposed the grey, wind-battered wood underneath. The roofing tiles were hanging crooked, and here and there one was missing, like in a mouth with missing teeth.

Gösta took the lead and knocked cautiously on the door. No answer. He knocked harder. ‘Hedda?’ He pounded his fist even harder on the wooden door, then tried to see if it would open. The door wasn’t locked and it swung open.

When they stepped inside they automatically put their arms over their noses because of the stench. It was like walking into a pig-sty strewn with rubbish, food scraps, old newspapers, and above all empty bottles.

Gösta advanced cautiously into the hall and called out. ‘Hedda?’ Still no answer.

‘I’ll go round and look for her,’ Gösta said, and Patrik could only nod. It was beyond comprehension how anyone could live like this.

After a few minutes Gösta came back and gestured to Patrik to come with him.

‘She’s lying in bed. Knocked out. We’ll have to try and get some life into her. Will you put on some coffee?’

Patrik looked around the kitchen at a loss. Finally he found a jar of instant coffee and an empty pot. It seemed to be mostly used for boiling water, since it was relatively clean compared to the other kitchen equipment.

‘All right, come on now.’ Gösta came into the kitchen dragging a wisp of a woman. Only a dazed murmur issued from Hedda’s lips but she did manage passably to put one foot in front of the other and make it to the kitchen chair that Gösta was aiming for. She tumbled onto the chair, put her head on her arms on the table and began to snore.

‘Hedda, don’t go to sleep again, you have to stay awake.’ Gösta shook her shoulder gently but got no response. He motioned with his head towards the pot on the stove where the water was now boiling. ‘Coffee,’ he said, and Patrik hurried to pour some in the cup that looked the least filthy. He had no desire for any coffee himself.

‘Hedda, we need to talk with you a bit.’ Only a mumbled reply. But then she slowly sat up, weaving a little on the chair, and tried to focus her eyes.

‘We’re from the police in Tanumshede. Patrik Hedström and Gösta Flygare. You and I have met several times before.’ Gösta was speaking extremely clearly, hoping that at least some of his words would sink in. He motioned Patrik to take a seat, and they both sat down at the kitchen table facing Hedda. The oilcloth on the table had once been white with tiny roses, but now it was so covered with food scraps, crumbs, and grease that the pattern was barely visible. It was equally hard to guess how Hedda might have looked before alcohol had destroyed her appearance. Her skin was leathery and wrinkled, and there was a thick layer of grease all over her body. Her hair had probably been blonde, but now it was grey and pulled sloppily into a ponytail. It didn’t look as though it had been washed in a long time. The cardigan she was wearing was full of holes and had obviously been bought long ago when her body was much smaller. It was tight across her shoulders and breasts.

‘What the…’ The words died out and were replaced by a slurred mumble, as she weaved back and forth on the chair.

‘Drink some coffee,’ said Gösta, sounding surprisingly gentle. He pushed the cup over to her so that it landed within her field of vision.

Hedda obeyed docilely, taking the cup in trembling hands. She drank every drop of the coffee. Then she abruptly swept the cup aside, and Patrik caught it just as it was tipping over the edge of the table.

‘We want to talk about the accident,’ said Gösta.

Hedda raised her head with an effort and squinted in his direction. Patrik decided to keep quiet and let Gösta steer the conversation.

‘The accident?’ said Hedda. Her body seemed a bit more stable on the chair.

‘When the children died.’ Gösta kept his gaze fixed on her.

‘I don’ wanna talk about it,’ slurred Hedda, waving her hand.

‘We have to talk about it,’ Gösta insisted, but in the same kindly tone.

‘They drowned. Everybody drowns. You know,’ Hedda waved her finger in the air, ‘you know, first Gottfrid drowned. He was going out to catch some mackerel on the hand line, and they didn’t find him for over a week. I went out and waited for him for a week, but I knew by sundown of the same day he left that Gottfrid would never come back to me and the kids.’ She sobbed and seemed to be many years back in time.

‘How old were the children then?’ Patrik asked.

Hedda turned her gaze on him for the first time. ‘Children, what children?’ She looked confused.

‘The twins,’ said Gösta and got her to turn back towards him. ‘How old were the twins then?’

‘They were two, almost three. Two really wild kids. I could only handle them with Gottfrid’s help. When he…’ Her voice died out again and Hedda looked round the kitchen, as if searching for something. Her gaze stopped at one of the cupboards. She got up with an effort and shuffled over to the cupboard, opened the door, and took out a bottle of Explorer.

‘Would you like a snort?’ She held out the bottle to them, and when they both shook their heads she laughed. ‘That’s good, because I wasn’t offering.’ Her laugh sounded more like a cackle, and she brought the bottle over to the table and sat down again. She didn’t bother with a glass, she just put the bottle to her lips and guzzled. Patrik could feel his throat burning just looking at her.

‘How old were the twins when they drowned?’ Gösta asked.

Hedda didn’t seem to hear him. She stared unseeing into space. ‘She was so elegant,’ she muttered. ‘A pearl necklace and coat and ever’thing. She was a fine lady.’

‘Who’s that?’ said Patrik, feeling a stab of interest. ‘What lady?’ But Hedda had already lost her train of thought.

‘How old were the twins when they drowned?’ Gösta repeated, even more clearly.

Hedda turned to him with the bottle raised and halfway to her lips. ‘The twins didn’ drown, did they?’ She took another gulp from the bottle.

Gösta glanced significantly at Patrik and leaned forward. ‘Didn’t the twins drown? Where did they go?’

‘Whaddaya mean they didn’ drown?’ Hedda suddenly had a scared look in her eye. ‘Of course the twins drowned, sure, they did…’ She took another drink and her eyes got even more glazed.

‘Which was it, Hedda? Did they drown or not?’ Gösta could hear the desperation in his own voice, but it simply seemed to drive Hedda even further into the fog. Now she didn’t answer but just shook her head.

‘I don’t think we can get much more out of her,’ Gösta said apologetically to Patrik.

‘No, I don’t think so either, we’ll have to try some other way. Maybe we should look round a bit.’

Gösta nodded and turned towards Hedda, whose head was on its way down towards the table again.

‘Hedda, can we look around a bit at your things?’

‘Mmm,’ she replied and drifted off to sleep.

Gösta moved his chair next to hers so that she wouldn’t tumble to the floor, and then began looking through the house with Patrik.

An hour later they hadn’t found anything. There was nothing but junk, junk, junk. Patrik wished he’d brought some gloves along, and he thought he felt his whole body itching. But there were no signs that children had ever lived in the house. Hedda must have thrown out everything that had belonged to them.

Her words about a ‘fine lady’ rang in his head. He couldn’t let it go, but sat down next to Hedda and tried gently shaking some life into her again. Reluctantly she sat up, but her head fell backwards before she managed to stabilize it in an upright position.

‘Hedda, you have to answer me. The fine lady, does she have your children?’

‘They were so much trouble. And I just had to run a little errand in Uddevalla. I had to buy some more booze too, was all out,’ she slurred and looked out of the window at the water glinting in the spring sunshine. ‘But they just kept making such a fuss. And I was so tired. And she was such a fine lady. She was so nice. She could take them, she said. So she did.’

Hedda turned her gaze towards Patrik, and he saw for the first time genuine emotion in her eyes. Deep inside there was a pain and a guilt so incomprehensible that only alcohol could drown it.

‘But I regretted it,’ she said with tears clouding her eyes. ‘But then I couldn’t find them. I searched and I searched. But they were gone. And the fine lady too. The one with the pearl necklace.’ Hedda scratched her throat to show where she’d seen the necklace and said, ‘She was gone.’

‘But why did you say they had drowned?’ Out of the corner of his eye Patrik saw Gösta listening from the doorway.

‘I was ashamed… and maybe they’d have a better life with her. But I was ashamed…’

She looked out over the water again, and they sat like that for a while. Patrik’s brain was working in high gear to take in what he had just been told. It wasn’t hard to work out that the ‘fine lady’ had been Sigrid Jansson, and for some reason she had taken Hedda’s children. Why, they would probably never know.

When he slowly got up and turned to Gösta, with legs that felt shaky from all the misery, he saw that Gösta was holding something in his hand.

‘I found a photograph,’ he said. ‘Under the mattress. A snapshot of the twins.’

Patrik took the photo and looked at it. Two small children about two years old, sitting on the laps of their parents, Gottfrid and Hedda. They looked happy. The picture must have been taken just before Gottfrid drowned. Before everything came crashing down. Patrik studied the children’s faces. Where were they now? And was one of them a murderer? Neither of the round faces of the children revealed a thing. At the kitchen table Hedda had fallen asleep again, and Patrik and Gösta went out and breathed the fresh sea air deep into their lungs. Patrik carefully slid the well-thumbed photo into his wallet. He would see to it that Hedda got it back soon. In the meantime they needed it to help find a murderer.

During the boat ride back they were as silent as on the way out. But this time the silence was marked by shock and sorrow. Sorrow about how frail and small human beings sometimes were. Shock at the scope of the mistakes that people were capable of making. In his mind’s eye Patrik could see Hedda wandering about in Uddevalla. How she searched for the children whom, in an attack of despair, exhaustion and need for booze, she had given away to a total stranger. He felt the panic that she must have experienced when she understood that she couldn’t find the twins. And the desperation that drove her to say that they had drowned, instead of admitting that she had handed them over to a stranger.

They didn’t speak until Patrik had tied up the old boat to one of the pontoon wharves at Badholmen.

‘Well, now we know at least,’ Gösta said, and his face revealed the guilt that he still felt.

Patrik patted him on the shoulder as they walked towards the car. ‘You couldn’t have known,’ he said. Gösta didn’t answer, and Patrik didn’t think that anything he said was going to help. This was something that Gösta would have to work out for himself.

‘We have to find out soon where the children ended up,’ Patrik said as he drove back to Tanumshede.

‘Still nothing from social services in Uddevalla?’

‘No, and it’s probably not easy to find information from so long ago. But they must be somewhere. Two five-year-olds can’t just disappear.’

‘What a miserable life she has led.’

‘Hedda?’ Patrik said, although he understood that’s who Gösta meant.

‘Yes. Imagine living with that guilt. Your whole life.’

‘No wonder that she’s tried to numb herself as best she can,’ said Patrik.

Gösta didn’t reply. He just looked out of the window. Finally he said, ‘What are we going to do now?’

‘Until we find out where the children went, we’ll have to keep working on what we’ve got. Sigrid Jansson, the dog hairs from Lillemor, trying to find a connection between the murder locations.’

They turned into the car park at the police station and walked towards the entrance, their expressions grim. Patrik stopped at reception for a moment to tell Annika what had happened, and then went to his office. He couldn’t bear to repeat the whole story to the others yet.

Carefully he took the photo out of his wallet and studied it. The eyes of the twins stared back at him, revealing nothing.