The Lost Boy

8

Paula stretched out her arms in bed, and her hand happened to touch Johanna’s hair. She left her hand lying there, even though it made her uneasy. Over the past few months they had felt awkward about touching each other. It no longer came naturally, and they’d had to make conscious decisions to express themselves physically. They had made love to each other, but it had felt so strange.

In fact, it had been going on longer than a few months. If Paula were to be completely honest, it had started when Leo was born. They had both longed for him, and fought to have him. They thought that having a child would make their relationship stronger. And in one sense it had, but in other ways it had not. Paula didn’t think she had personally changed very much; Johanna on the other hand had immersed herself in the role of mother. And lately she’d started to act as if she were superior in some way. It seemed as if Paula didn’t count any more, or at least that Johanna counted more, since she was the one who had given birth to Leo. She was Leo’s biological mother, while the baby possessed none of Paula’s genes. All she could give him was the love that she’d felt for him ever since he was inside Johanna’s womb. A love that had grown a thousand fold after he was born and Paula held him in her arms. She felt that she was as much Leo’s mother as Johanna was. The problem was that Johanna didn’t share this feeling, even though she refused to admit it.

Paula could hear her mother bustling about in the kitchen as she talked to Leo. They were really very lucky. Rita was a morning person, and she was happy to get up early so that Paula and Johanna could have a lie-in. And now that the ongoing murder investigation was making it hard for Paula to work only part-time, Rita had willingly stepped in to help. To everyone’s amazement, Bertil had also shown himself ready to lend a hand. But lately Johanna had begun criticizing the way Rita took care of their son. In her opinion, she was the only one who knew how to care for Leo properly.

With a sigh, Paula swung her legs over the side of the bed. Johanna stirred but didn’t wake up. Paula leaned over and brushed a lock of hair out of Johanna’s face. She had always thought that their relationship was so strong and stable. That was no longer the case. And that thought frightened her. If she lost Johanna, she would also lose Leo. Johanna would never stay here in Tanumshede, while Paula couldn’t imagine moving away. She was thriving in this small town, with her job and her colleagues. The only thing that didn’t make her happy was the way things had changed between Johanna and herself.

In spite of everything, she was looking forward to driving to Göteborg with Patrik today. The Mats Sverin case had roused her curiosity. She wanted to find out all there was to know about him. Her instincts told her that they needed to examine his past and all the things that he’d kept quiet about if they wanted to find out who had put a bullet in the back of his head.

‘Good morning,’ said Rita when Paula came into the kitchen.

Leo was sitting in his high chair. He reached out his arms towards Paula, and she lifted him up, holding him close.

‘Good morning.’ She sat down at the table with Leo on her lap.

‘Breakfast?’

‘Yes, please. I’m super hungry.’

‘I can fix that.’ Rita placed a fried egg on a plate and set it in front of Paula.

‘You spoil us, Mamma.’ Impulsively Paula wrapped one arm around Rita’s waist and leaned her head against her mother’s warm body.

‘I enjoy spoiling you, sweetheart. You know that.’ Rita hugged her back and then kissed the top of Leo’s head.

Ernst came sauntering into the room and with a hopeful expression sat down on the floor next to Paula and Leo. Before anyone could react, Leo tossed the fried egg to Ernst, who happily swallowed it whole. Pleased at having fed his favourite dog, Leo clapped his hands with delight.

‘You little rascal,’ said Rita with a sigh. ‘That dog is getting so fat that it wouldn’t surprise me if he were to die an early death.’

She turned back to the stove and cracked another egg into the skillet.

‘So how are the two of you doing?’ Rita asked in a low voice without looking at her daughter.

‘What do you mean?’ said Paula, although she knew full well what her mother was getting at.

‘I mean you and Johanna. Is everything okay?’

‘We’re fine. We’ve both been really busy at work lately, that’s all.’ Paula looked down at Leo, so that her expression wouldn’t give her away if Rita happened to turn around.

‘I just wondered whether …’ Rita didn’t have time to finish her sentence.

‘Is there any breakfast?’ Mellberg strolled into the kitchen, clad only in his underwear. He leisurely scratched his belly and sat down at the table.

‘I was just telling Mamma that she spoils us,’ said Paula, relieved at the change of subject.

‘How true, how true,’ said Mellberg, greedily eyeing the egg frying in the pan.

Rita cast an enquiring glance at Paula, who nodded.

‘I’d rather have some bread and cheese.’

Rita slid the egg on to a plate. Ernst watched her every move and then sat down close to Mellberg’s feet. If he was lucky, he might get another helping.

‘I’ve got to go,’ said Paula after wolfing down a big piece of bread and cheese. ‘Patrik and I are off to Göteborg today.’

Mellberg nodded.

‘Good luck. Hand over the boy, and let me hold him for a while.’ He reached out for Leo, who willingly allowed himself to be transferred to Mellberg’s lap.

Out of the corner of her eye as she left the kitchen Paula saw Leo, quick as a flash, toss the second egg to Ernst. This really was the dog’s lucky day.

Having settled the twins on a soft blanket on the floor, Erica headed for the attic. She didn’t want to leave them alone for more than a few minutes, so she practically ran up the steep steps. Once she reached the top, she had to stop for a moment to catch her breath.

After rummaging about for a bit, she located the box she was looking for. Cautiously she backed down the attic stairs balancing the heavy box in her arms. The babies didn’t seem to have missed her, so she sat down on the sofa and placed the carton on the floor at her feet. Then she began pulling out items and putting them on the coffee table. She wondered when she’d last looked through the contents. School yearbooks, photo albums, postcards, and old letters quickly joined the pile on the table. They were covered with dust, and the original colours had faded. She suddenly felt ancient.

A few minutes later she found what she was looking for. A school yearbook and a photo album. She leaned back against the sofa cushions as she leafed through the pages. The pictures of students in the yearbook were all in black and white. Some of the faces had been crossed out, some were circled, depending on who had been the object of hatred, and who had been well liked. Remarks had also been scribbled here and there. ‘Cute’, ‘sweet’, and ‘idiotic’ were some of the labels that had been handed out without much finesse. Her teenage years were not something to be proud of, and when Erica came to the page with the picture of her own class, she blushed. Good Lord, is that really how she had looked? She couldn’t believe her hair style and the clothes she was wearing. Obviously there was a good reason why she hadn’t looked at these photos in a long time.

She drew in a deep breath and took a closer look. Judging by her hairdo, the picture must have been taken during her Farrah Fawcett period. Her hair was long and blond, and she had used a curling iron to flick up the ends. Her glasses were so big that they hid half her face, and she sent a silent thank you to whoever it was that had invented contact lenses.

Suddenly her stomach gave a lurch. There was so much anxiety attached to those years in secondary school. The feeling that she didn’t fit in, didn’t belong. The constant searching for something that would admit her to the circle of kids who were considered cool and hip. She had tried. She copied their hair styles and clothes, used the same slang as the girls in her class – the popular ones. Girls like Nathalie. But Erica had never succeeded. She hadn’t belonged at the very bottom either; she wasn’t one of the students who was constantly bullied, the type who knew that they were such outcasts that it wasn’t worth their trying to fit in. No, she had belonged to the invisible masses. Only the teachers had paid any attention to her, giving her encouragement and approval. But that hadn’t been much consolation. Who wanted to be a bookworm? Who wanted to be Erica if they could be Nathalie?

She looked at Nathalie in the class photo. She was sitting in front, with her legs casually crossed. Everyone else had carefully posed for the camera, but Nathalie looked as if she had simply dropped on to the chair and hadn’t bothered to change position. Yet she was clearly the centre of attention. She had long, blond hair that reached to her waist. Straight and shiny, no fringe. Sometimes she had worn her hair pulled back in a simple ponytail. Nathalie seemed to do everything without effort. She was the original, and everyone else was a mere copy.

In the photo Matte was standing behind Nathalie. The picture was taken before they started dating, although with hindsight it was obvious that they’d end up together. Because Matte wasn’t looking at the camera like his classmates. Instead, the photographer had caught him as he cast a glance at Nathalie, looking down at her beautiful long hair. Erica remembered thinking that Matte was in love with Nathalie, but back then all the boys were in love with her. There was no reason Matte should have been an exception.

‘How nice he was,’ murmured Erica as she studied the picture. She couldn’t recall having that thought at the time, but that was probably because she’d been so infatuated with Johan. He was in the same grade but in the other class, and she’d harboured an unrequited love for him throughout secondary school. She could see now that Matte was very cute. His blond hair was slightly tousled and shaggy; his serious expression was quite appealing. He was a bit lanky, but that was how all boys were at that age. She had no clear memories of Matte from those years in school. She hadn’t belonged to the same group. He was one of the popular kids, although he never boasted of the fact. Not like some of the other cool boys who were loud and arrogant and so full of themselves and their status in that little world where they were the kings. Matte just seemed to quietly drift along.

Erica put aside the yearbook and picked up the photo album. It was filled with pictures from school trips, various end-of-term celebrations, and a few parties that her parents had allowed her to attend. Nathalie was in a lot of the photos. Always in the very centre of the action, as if the camera lens sought her out. My God, she was pretty, thought Erica, and then found herself hoping rather mean-spiritedly that Nathalie was now overweight, with her hair cut in a plain, old-lady style. There was something about her that stirred both desire and jealousy. All the girls wanted to be like her; second best was to be included in her circle of friends. Erica had been neither. Nor was she in any of the photos. She was the one holding the camera, after all, but nobody had ever taken it from her and said that she ought to be in the picture. She was invisible, hiding behind the lens as she greedily took snapshots of all those scenes that she longed to be part of.

It annoyed Erica that she was still overwhelmed by bitterness. She couldn’t understand why her memories of that period had the power to diminish her and make her feel like the girl she once was instead of the woman she had become. She was a successful author, happily married, with three amazing children, a beautiful home, and great friends. Yet old jealousies rose to the fore, and she felt again the longing to fit in, accompanied by the terrible pain of knowing that she never would, that she would never be good enough, no matter how hard she tried.

The twins began whimpering as they lay on the blanket. Relieved to be forced back to the present, Erica got up and went over to her sons, leaving the yearbook and photo album on the table. Patrik would no doubt want to have a look at them too.

‘Where should we begin?’ Paula was struggling with motion sickness. She had started feeling ill by the time they reached Uddevalla, and it was only getting worse.

‘Do you want to stop for a while?’ Patrik cast a glance at her face, which had taken on a disturbing greenish hue.

‘No, we’re almost there anyway,’ she said, swallowing hard.

‘I was thinking we should start at the Sahlgrenska Hospital,’ said Patrik, negotiating Göteborg’s dense traffic with a determined expression on his face. ‘We’ve been given permission to look at Mats’s medical records, and I’ve phoned the doctor who was in charge of his care, telling him that we’re on our way.’

‘Good,’ said Paula, fighting off the nausea.

Ten minutes later they turned into the car park at the hospital, and she jumped out of the vehicle the minute it stopped. She leaned against the door, taking in deep breaths until the nausea eased. A vague sense of discomfort remained, however, and she knew it would stay with her until she got some food in her stomach.

‘Are you ready? Or do you need a few more minutes?’ asked Patrik. But she could see that he was so impatient to get going that he was shifting from one foot to the other.

‘I’m okay now. Let’s go. Do you know the way?’ She motioned with her head towards the vast hospital complex.

‘I think so,’ he said and started for the main entrance.

After taking a couple of wrong turns, they were finally able to knock on the door of Nils-Erik Lund’s office. He was the doctor who had been responsible for Mats’s care during the weeks he’d spent in hospital.

‘Come in,’ said a voice, and they stepped inside.

The doctor stood up and came around his desk to shake hands.

‘You’re from the police, I assume?’

‘Yes. We spoke on the phone earlier. I’m Patrik Hedström, and this is my colleague Paula Morales.’

They exchanged the usual pleasantries before they all sat down.

‘I’ve pulled out the information that I think you need,’ said Dr Lund, shoving a file across his desk.

‘Thanks. Could you tell us what you remember of Mats Sverin?’

‘I have thousands of patients every year, so it’s impossible to remember them all. But after reviewing his records, I’ve managed to recall a few things.’ He tugged at his shaggy white beard. ‘The patient came to us with extensive injuries. He had been severely beaten, probably by more than one individual. You’ll have to ask the police for more details.’

‘We’ll do that,’ said Patrik. ‘But feel free to tell us your own thoughts. Any information you can provide may prove valuable.’

‘Very well,’ said Dr Lund. ‘I won’t bother you with the medical terminology – you can read that in the file later on – but the patient had received blows and kicks to the head, resulting in bleeding in the brain as well as a number of broken facial bones, swelling, damage to the underlying tissues, and extensive discoloration of the skin. He had also suffered injuries to his abdomen, with two broken ribs and a ruptured spleen. His injuries were extremely serious, and we found it necessary to operate at once. We also took X-rays to determine the severity of the bleeding in his brain.’

‘Did you judge his injuries to be life-threatening?’ asked Paula.

‘The patient was in critical condition, and he was unconscious when admitted to the hospital. Having established that the bleeding in his brain was minor and did not warrant surgery, we focused our attention on his abdominal injuries. There was a risk that the broken ribs might puncture his lungs, which is a major concern.’

‘You were able to stabilize his condition?’

‘I would venture to say that we did a superb job. Quick and effective. Thanks to excellent teamwork.’

‘Did Mats Sverin tell you what had happened to him? Did he talk about the assault?’ asked Patrik.

Dr Lund tugged at his beard as he tried to recall. It’s a wonder he has any beard left, thought Patrik, considering the way he keeps pulling on it.

‘No, I can’t remember that he did.’

‘Did he seem scared? Did you get the sense he felt threatened or was trying to hide something?’

‘Not that I recall. But as I said, it was several months ago, and a lot of patients have come and gone in the meantime. You’ll have to ask the officers who were in charge of the police investigation.’

‘Do you know whether he had any visitors while he was here?’

‘It’s possible that he did, but I’m afraid I have no idea.’

‘Then we’ll thank you for your time,’ said Patrik, standing up. ‘Are these copies?’ He pointed at the file lying on the desk.

‘Yes, you can take them with you,’ said Dr Lund, getting up as well.

On their way out, Patrik suddenly had an idea.

‘Shall we stop by and see Pedersen? Find out if he has anything for us?’

‘Okay,’ said Paula, nodding. She followed Patrik, who now seemed to know which corridors to take. She was still feeling slightly ill, and she wasn’t sure that a visit to the morgue was going to help matters.

What was the point of living any more? Signe had hauled herself out of bed to make breakfast, and later on she fixed lunch. Neither of them had any appetite. She had vacuumed the entire ground floor, washed the bed linens, and made coffee, which they didn’t drink. She had done everything she usually did, but she felt as if she were as dead as Mats. She was merely moving her body about the house, a body without purpose, without life.

She sank down on to the bench in the kitchen. The hose to the vacuum cleaner fell to the floor, but neither of them reacted. Gunnar was sitting at the kitchen table. He’d been sitting there all day. They seemed to have switched roles. Yesterday he had been the one moving around, while it had taken her an enormous effort merely to get her muscles to cooperate with her benumbed brain. Today he sat there while she tried to fill the hole in her heart with feverish activity.

She stared at the back of Gunnar’s neck, noticing as she had so many times in the past that Matte had inherited the same whorl of hair at the edge of his shirt collar. Now it would never be passed on to the little blond boy that she had pictured so often in her daydreams. Or it could have been passed on to a girl, for that matter. It didn’t matter whether it was a boy or a girl; either would have been welcome. If only she’d been given a grandchild to pamper, offering sweets before dinner and far too many gifts at Christmas time. A child with Matte’s eyes and somebody else’s mouth. Because that was something she had always looked forward to, wondering what sort of girlfriend he would bring home. What would she be like? Would he find someone like his mother, or somebody who was the exact opposite? She couldn’t deny that she’d been curious, but she had vowed to be nice. She didn’t want to be one of those dreadful mothers-in-law who meddled. And she would have been ready to babysit whenever needed.

But as the years passed, she had begun to give up hope. Occasionally it occurred to her that Matte might not be interested in women. That would have required some getting used to, and she would have regretted not having any grandchildren, but she could have accepted the situation. All she wanted was for him to be happy. But he had never brought anyone home, and now all hope was gone for ever. There would be no towheaded child with a whorl of hair at the nape of his neck; no grandchild to whom she could slip a sweet before dinner. No heap of Christmas presents that cost too much and fell apart in a matter of weeks. Nothing except emptiness. The years stretched ahead of them like a desolate country road. She glanced at Gunnar as he sat motionless at the kitchen table. Why should they keep on living? Why should she keep on living?

‘You really wanted to go to Göteborg, didn’t you?’ Annika glanced up from her computer screen and gave Martin a long look. He was her protégé at the station, and they had established a special bond.

‘Yes,’ he admitted. ‘But this is important work too.’

‘Do you want to know why Patrik took Paula with him?’ asked Annika.

‘It doesn’t matter. Patrik can take whoever he wants,’ he replied rather sullenly. Before Paula joined the force, he had almost always been Patrik’s first choice. To be honest, that was because at the time the station didn’t have anyone else worth considering, but Martin couldn’t deny that it hurt.

‘Patrik thinks that Paula has seemed a bit depressed lately, so he wants to give her something else to think about.’

‘Is that so? I hadn’t noticed,’ said Martin, feeling a pang of guilt. ‘What’s going on with her?’

‘No idea. Paula isn’t exactly a talkative person. But I think Patrik is doing the right thing. She hasn’t been herself lately.’

‘Well, just the thought of having to live in the same flat with Mellberg would be enough to break me.’

‘You can say that again,’ said Annika with a laugh, and then turned serious. ‘But I don’t think that’s the problem. We’ll just have to let her be until she feels like talking. At least you know now why Patrik wanted her to go with him.’

‘Thanks for telling me.’ Yet Martin felt ashamed that he had reacted so immaturely. The important thing was that the job got done, not who was assigned to do it.

‘Shall we get started on this?’ he asked, stretching his spine. ‘It’d be great if we could find out more about Sverin by the time they get back.’

‘Good idea,’ said Annika, and she began tapping on the keyboard.

‘Do you ever think of him?’ Anders took a sip of his coffee. He and Vivianne were having lunch together at the Lilla Berith restaurant, which they did almost daily in order to get away from all the construction noise at Badis.

‘Who?’ asked Vivianne, even though she knew exactly who he meant. Anders noticed how her knuckles turned white as she gripped her coffee cup.

‘Olof.’

They had always called him by that name. He had insisted on it, and nothing else had seemed natural. He deserved no other name.

‘Of course. Once in a while.’ She looked at the patch of lawn at the top of Galärbacken. The town had started coming to life. More people were out and about, and it felt as if Fjällbacka was slowly thawing out, stretching its limbs, and getting ready for the onslaught. It was a dramatic transformation from the torpor that gripped the small town the rest of the year.

‘So what do you think?’

Vivianne turned to face Anders, giving him a sharp look.

‘Why are you suddenly talking about him? He no longer exists. He’s of no importance.’

‘I’m not sure,’ he replied. ‘It’s something to do with Fjällbacka. I don’t know why, but I feel safe here. Safe enough to think about him.’

‘Don’t get too comfortable. We’re not going to be here long,’ she snapped, immediately regretting her tone of voice. She was angry at Olof, not Anders. But she was cross that he’d started talking about him. What good would it do? She took a deep breath and decided to answer Anders’s question. He had always supported her, gone with her everywhere. She depended on him, and the least she could do was to give him an answer.

‘I think about how much I hate him.’ She felt her jaw tighten. ‘I think about how much he destroyed, how much he took from me and from us. Isn’t that what you think about too?’

She suddenly felt scared. They had always shared a hatred for Olof. That had been the glue that held them together, the reason why they hadn’t gone separate ways but had always stayed together, through good times and bad. Mostly bad.

‘I don’t know,’ said Anders, turning to look at the sea. ‘Maybe it’s time to …’

‘Time to what?’

‘To forgive.’

There they were. The words she didn’t want to hear, the thought she refused to entertain. Forgive Olof? When he had robbed them of their childhood, turned them into adults who clung to each other like victims of a shipwreck? He was the driving force behind everything they had done, everything they still were doing.

‘I’ve given it a lot of thought lately,’ Anders went on. ‘We can’t keep going like this. We’re running away, Vivianne. But we’re running away from something we can never escape, because it’s inside here.’ He pointed to his temple as he fixed her with a penetrating, resolute stare.

‘What exactly are you trying to say? Are you starting to get cold feet?’ She could feel tears welling up in her eyes. Was he planning to desert her? Betray her, the way Olof had done?

‘It feels like we’re always searching for the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, and if only we could find it, then Olof would disappear. But we’re never going to find it. Because it doesn’t exist.’

Vivianne closed her eyes. She remembered all too clearly the filth, the smells, the people who came and went, and Olof wasn’t there to protect them. Olof, who hated them. He’d told them that quite bluntly, that they should never have been born, that he’d ended up with them because of his sins. They were disgusting, ugly, and stupid. And they were the ones who had driven their mother to her death.

She abruptly opened her eyes. How could Anders talk about forgiveness? He had thrown himself in between so many times, protecting her body with his own and suffering the brunt of the blows.

‘I don’t want to discuss Olof.’ Her voice sounded strained because of everything she was holding back. Terror overwhelmed her. What did it matter that Anders talked of forgiveness when that was something that could never happen?

‘I love you, sister.’ Anders gently stroked her cheek. But Vivianne didn’t hear him. The dark memories were roaring too loudly in her ears.

‘Well, look at that. I’ve got visitors.’ Tord Pedersen, the medical examiner, peered at them over the top of his glasses.

‘Yes. We thought it would be good if the mountain came to Muhammad for a change,’ said Patrik with a smile as he stepped forward to shake hands. ‘This is my colleague Paula Morales. We were over at the Sahlgrenska Hospital to make a few enquiries about Mats Sverin. So we thought we might as well drop in to see you and find out how things are going.’

‘Your visit is a bit premature, I’m afraid.’ Pedersen shook his head.

‘Does that mean you don’t have anything for us?’

‘I’ve only had time to make a preliminary examination.’

‘And what do you think?’ asked Paula.

Pedersen laughed.

‘I thought it couldn’t get any worse than having Patrik breathing down my neck.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Paula apologized, but her expression told Pedersen that she was still waiting for an answer.

‘Come with me. Let’s go to my office.’ The medical examiner opened a door on their left.

They followed him inside and took seats in front of his desk while Pedersen sat down across from them. He folded his hands.

‘Based on an external examination, I can tell you that the only obvious injury is the gunshot wound in the back of his head. However, he does have other healed wounds that look relatively recent and probably stem from an assault that occurred a few months ago.’

Patrik nodded. ‘That’s why we called in at the hospital to talk to the doctor. How long had he been dead?’

‘Not more than a week, I would say. The post-mortem will tell us more.’

‘Do you have any idea what type of gun was used?’ Paula asked, leaning forward.

‘The bullet is still lodged in his head, but we should have an answer to your question as soon as I remove it. Provided it’s in reasonable condition, that is.’

‘But you must have seen countless gunshot wounds,’ said Paula. ‘Can’t you take a guess?’ She deliberately didn’t mention the empty casing and what it signified. She wanted to hear Pedersen’s own opinion.

‘Yet another officer who refuses to give up,’ said Pedersen with a laugh, looking almost delighted. ‘If you promise to take this as the educated guess that it is, I’d say we’re dealing with a nine-millimetre gun.’ Pedersen held up an admonitory finger. ‘But it’s only a guess and I could be wrong.’

‘We understand,’ said Patrik. ‘When will you do the post-mortem so we can get a look at the bullet?’

‘Let me see now …’ He turned to his computer and clicked the mouse. ‘The post-mortem is scheduled for next Monday. So you’ll have my report by Wednesday.’

‘Couldn’t you get to it any sooner?’

‘Afraid not. We’ve been damned busy the past month. People are dropping like flies for some reason, and besides, two of our staff suddenly had to go on sick leave for an unspecified length of time. Burned out, apparently. This job can have that effect on certain people.’ It was clear that Pedersen didn’t see himself in that category.

‘Okay, I suppose it can’t be helped. Please give me a ring as soon as you know more. And I assume that the bullet will be sent ASAP over to the forensics lab?’

‘Of course,’ said Pedersen, looking slightly offended. ‘We may be a bit understaffed at the moment, but we still carry out our work in a professional manner.’

‘I didn’t mean to imply otherwise.’ Patrik held up his hands. ‘I’m just impatient, as usual. Give me a call when your report is ready, and I promise not to hassle you any more.’

‘No problem.’ Pedersen got up to say goodbye.

It felt as if Wednesday was a long way away.

‘So you’re saying that we can go inside the flat now?’ Gösta sounded uncharacteristically eager. ‘And we’ll have your report tomorrow? That’s great. Hedström will be glad to hear it.’

He smiled as he put down the phone. Torbjörn Ruud had just told him that they’d finished the technical inspection so the police were now free to take a look at Mats Sverin’s flat. Gösta suddenly had a brainwave. It would be silly to sit here, twiddling his thumbs and waiting until Patrik and Paula came back. For all that twiddling his thumbs was one of Gösta’s favourite pastimes, it got on his nerves that Patrik was the one who always made all the decisions. Especially since he himself and Bertil were the station’s most experienced officers. He had to admit to a certain desire to get back at Patrik. Though it went against the grain to put too much effort into his job, it would be nice to show those young whippersnappers how the job ought to be done. Gösta made a quick decision and hurried over to Mellberg’s office. In his eagerness, he forgot to knock, and as he pulled open the door, he caught Bertil waking up from what looked like a very pleasant nap.

‘What the devil?’ Mellberg glanced around in bewilderment while Ernst sat up in his basket, ears pricked.

‘Excuse me. I thought …’

‘Thought what?’ bellowed Mellberg, straightening his comb-over, which had slipped down as he slept.

‘Well, you see, I was just talking to Torbjörn Ruud on the phone …’

‘And?’ Mellberg was still looking cross, but Ernst had curled up in his basket again.

‘He said that we could go into the flat now.’

‘Whose flat?’

‘Mats Sverin’s. They’re done there. The tech team, I mean. And I thought …’ Gösta was beginning to regret his decision. Maybe it wasn’t such a stroke of genius after all. ‘I thought …’

‘Get to the point, why don’t you!’

‘Well, Hedström is always so bloody keen on getting everything done immediately, and preferably yesterday. So I was thinking that you and I could get going and do our own inspection of the place. Instead of waiting for him to get back.’

Mellberg’s face lit up. He was starting to understand what Gösta had in mind, and he liked the idea.

‘Absolutely! It would be a shame to postpone things until tomorrow. And who has more expertise than we do to get this case moving forward?’ He smiled broadly.

‘Exactly what I was thinking,’ said Gösta, smiling as well. ‘It’s time to show the young folk what us old guys can do.’

‘Brilliant, my friend.’

Mellberg got up and they headed for the garage. The two veterans were about to take to the field.

Nathalie was bathing him again. She poured the warm, salty water over his body, wet his hair, and tried to avoid getting water in his eyes. Sam didn’t seem to be enjoying it, but he didn’t appear to hate it either. He lay quietly in her arms and allowed her to wash him.

She knew that sooner or later he would wake from his torpor. His brain was trying to process what had happened – an experience that no one should ever have to go through, especially someone so young. A five-year-old child should not be separated from his father, but she’d had no choice. It had been essential to flee; it was the only way out. She and Sam had paid a high price though.

Sam had loved Fredrik. He hadn’t seen the side of him that she had seen, or experienced what she had gone through. For Sam, Fredrik was a hero who could do no wrong. He had idolized his father, and that was the main reason why it had been so hard to make the decision. To the extent that she’d had any choice in the matter.

In spite of everything, it pained her that Sam had lost his father. No matter what Fredrik had done to her, he had always meant a great deal to Sam. Not as much as she did, but nevertheless he was important to the boy. And now Sam was never going to see him again.

Nathalie lifted her son out of the water and placed him on the towel that she had spread out on the dock. Her father had always said that the sun was good for both body and soul, and the warm rays truly did feel as if they were having a restorative effect. Overhead the seagulls circled, and she thought that Sam might enjoy watching them when he was feeling better.

‘My sweet, sweet little boy.’ She stroked his hair. He was still so small, so defenceless. It felt as if it were only yesterday that he was an infant and could fit so easily in her arms. Maybe she ought to take him to a doctor after all, but her maternal instincts told her no. He was safe here. He didn’t need hospitals and medicines; he needed peace and quiet and her loving care. That was what would make him well again.

She shivered. A chill wind had started sweeping over the dock, and she worried that Sam might catch cold. With an effort she stood up, holding him in her arms, and walked towards the house. She pushed the door open with her foot and carried him inside.

‘Are you hungry?’ she asked as she got him dressed.

He didn’t say a word, but she sat down on a chair and began feeding him cornflakes. In good time he’d come back to her. The sea, the sun, and her love would heal his damaged soul.

Erica tried to take a walk every afternoon before collecting Maja from the daycare centre. The babies needed fresh air, and she needed to get some exercise. Manoeuvring the twins’ pram gave her quite a workout, and on the return journey, with Maja standing on the running board, it was a real challenge to push the pram all the way home.

Today, instead of taking the direct route up Galärbacken, she decided to take the long route past Badis and the Lorentz jam factory. At the wharf below Badis she paused and shaded her eyes with her hand so she could look up at the old building. The newly painted facade was a gleaming white in the sunshine. It made her happy to see the place restored. Aside from the church, the spa hotel was the dominant feature of the town’s skyline and the first thing people noticed when they approached the town by boat. For years the building had fallen more and more into disrepair until finally it looked as if it might collapse altogether. Now it was once again the pride of Fjällbacka.

She sighed with pleasure and then chuckled at herself, embarrassed that she could be so moved by the boards and paint of an old building. But it was more than that. She had so many fond memories of Badis. For Erica, as for most people who lived in Fjällbacka, the building held a special place in her heart. Badis was part of their history, and it had now been restored to the present and the future. No wonder she’d come over all sentimental.

Erica began pushing the pram again, steeling herself for the long, steep path up the hill past the sewage-treatment plant and the mini-golf course. Suddenly a car pulled up and stopped next to her. She paused, peering at the driver to see who it was. A woman got out of the car, and Erica recognized her at once, even though she’d never actually met her. The local grapevine had been rife with gossip about this woman since she moved to the area a number of months ago. It had to be Vivianne Berkelin.

‘Hi!’ said the woman cheerfully, coming forward with her hand held out. ‘You must be Erica Falck.’

‘Yes, that’s right,’ said Erica with a smile as they shook hands.

‘I’ve been meaning to say hello to you. I’ve read all your books, and I like them a lot.’

Erica felt herself blushing, which always happened whenever she received praise for her books. She still hadn’t grown used to the fact that so many people had read something she’d written. And after being on maternity leave for several months, it was refreshing to meet someone who viewed her primarily as an author and not as the mother of Noel, Anton, and Maja.

‘I really admire anyone who has the patience to sit down and write a whole book.’

‘All it requires is a tough backside,’ said Erica, laughing.

Vivianne radiated an infectious enthusiasm, and Erica was filled with an emotion that she at first couldn’t quite identify. Then she realized what it was. She wanted Vivianne to like her.

‘It’s looking amazing.’ She turned towards Badis.

‘Yes, we’re incredibly proud of it.’ Vivianne looked in the same direction. ‘Would you like a tour?’

Erica glanced at her watch. She had planned to pick up Maja a bit early, but her daughter loved being at day-care, so there would be no harm in picking her up at the normal time. Besides, she was dying to find out whether the interior of the building was as lovely as the facade.

‘That would be great. But I’m not sure how I’ll manage to get the pram up there,’ she said, looking at the steep stairs.

‘Don’t worry, I’ll give you a hand.’ Vivianne headed for the steps without waiting for a reply.

Five minutes later they had manoeuvred the twin pram up to the entrance, and Erica was able to push it inside. She paused in the doorway, her eyes wide as she glanced around. Gone were all the old, worn furnishings, yet the original character of the place remained. As she surveyed her surroundings, memories of the summer disco when she was a teenager came flooding back, yet everything now looked so new and fresh. She parked the pram next to the wall and lifted Noel out. She was about to lift out Anton’s carrycot when she heard Vivianne say quietly:

‘May I hold him?’

Erica nodded, and Vivianne leaned over and gently picked up Anton in her arms. The twins were used to being held by so many different people that they were never bothered by strangers picking them up. The baby gazed up at her, giving her a smile.

‘What a little charmer you are,’ prattled Vivianne as she carefully removed his jacket and hat.

‘Do you have children?’ asked Erica.

‘No, I’ve never been so lucky,’ replied Vivianne, looking away. ‘Would you like some tea?’ she asked as she carried Anton towards the dining room.

‘I’d prefer coffee, if you have it. I’m not much of a tea drinker.’

‘Normally we don’t recommend poisoning the body with caffeine, but I’ll make an exception and see if I can find some real coffee.’

‘Thank you.’ Erica followed Vivianne. Coffee was what kept her going. She drank so much of it that she probably had coffee rather than blood flowing through her veins. ‘Everybody has their vices, and I can think of worse things than caffeine.’

‘I’m not so sure about that,’ said Vivianne, but she chose to say no more on the subject. She probably sensed that her words would fall on deaf ears.

‘I’ll be right back. Why don’t you sit down here. We’ll take a tour afterwards.’ Vivianne disappeared through a swinging door which Erica assumed led to the kitchen.

For a moment she wondered how Vivianne was going to manage to make coffee while holding the baby. By now Erica had learned to do nearly everything using only one hand, but it definitely took practice. She pushed away the thought. Vivianne would probably let her know if she needed help.

After serving the coffee, Vivianne sat down across from her. Erica noticed that the tables and chairs were also new. Although they were stylish and modern, they fit in perfectly with the traditional setting. Someone with good taste had chosen all the furnishings. The view from the windows that lined the outer wall was spectacular. The entire Fjällbacka archipelago was spread out before them.

‘When does it open?’ Erica picked up a rather strange-looking biscuit, and instantly regretted her choice. Whatever it was made of, there wasn’t enough sugar; it was much too wholesome to qualify as a biscuit.

‘In about a week. Provided we get everything done on time,’ said Vivianne with a sigh as she dunked her biscuit in a mug of tea. Probably green tea, thought Erica, looking with pleasure at her own pitch-black beverage.

‘You’re coming to the party, aren’t you?’ said Vivianne.

‘I’d really love to. I got the invitation, but we haven’t actually decided yet. It’s not easy to find a babysitter for three kids.’

‘Try to come. That would be so nice. By the way, on Saturday your husband and his colleagues are coming here for a first-hand look at the place. We’re going to let them try out all the services we offer.’

‘Really?’ said Erica with a laugh. ‘Patrik didn’t tell me that. I don’t think he’s ever set foot in a spa before, so it should be an interesting experience for him.’

‘Let’s hope so.’ Vivianne stroked Anton’s head. ‘How’s your sister doing? I hope you don’t mind my asking, but I heard about the accident.’

‘That’s okay.’ To her annoyance, Erica felt tears well up in her eyes. She swallowed hard and managed to get her voice under control. ‘To be honest, she’s not doing very well. She’s been through so much in her life.’

The image of Anna’s first husband flashed through Erica’s mind. There were so many things she couldn’t explain, even though there was something about this woman that made her want to do so. And she suddenly found herself telling Vivianne the whole story. She usually never discussed Anna’s life, but she instinctively felt that Vivianne would understand. When she was done, tears were spilling down her cheeks.

‘She certainly hasn’t had an easy time of it. She needed that child,’ said Vivianne quietly, putting into words exactly what Erica had thought so many times. Anna deserved that baby. She deserved to be happy.

‘I don’t know what to do. She doesn’t seem to notice when I’m with her. It’s as if she has gone away somewhere. And I’m afraid that she might not come back.’

‘She hasn’t gone away.’ Vivianne bounced Anton on her knee. ‘She has sought shelter in a place where it doesn’t hurt. She knows that you’re there. The best thing you can do is to visit her and touch her. We’ve forgotten how important it is to be touched, yet we all need it in order to survive. So touch her, and tell her husband to do that too. We often make the mistake of not wanting to bother someone who is grieving. We think they need peace and quiet and to be left alone. Nothing could be further from the truth. Human beings are herd animals, and we need to feel the herd around us, we need the closeness, warmth, and touch of other people. So make sure that Anna is surrounded by her herd. Don’t let her stay in her room all alone. Don’t allow her to slip away to that place where there may not be any grief but there aren’t any other emotions either. Force her to come out of there.’

Erica sat in silence for a moment. She was thinking about what Vivianne had said and realized that she was right. They shouldn’t have let Anna withdraw from them. They should have made a greater effort.

‘And don’t feel guilty,’ said Vivianne. ‘Her grief has nothing to do with your joy.’

‘But she must feel that …’ said Erica, and now the tears were flowing harder than ever. ‘She must feel that I got everything while she got nothing.’

‘She knows that what happened to the two of you isn’t connected. If anything is going to stand between you, it’s your feeling of guilt rather than any envy or anger that Anna might feel because your babies survived. That’s all in your own mind.’

‘How can you be so sure?’ Erica wanted to believe Vivianne, but she didn’t dare. This woman had never met her sister, so how could she tell what Anna was thinking or feeling? All the same, there was a ring of truth to what she’d said.

‘I can’t explain how I know. I just do. I understand people. You’ll simply have to trust me,’ said Vivianne firmly. And to her surprise, Erica realized that she did. She trusted her.

A short time later, as she was headed towards the day-care centre, she felt more at ease than she had in a long time. She had let go of what had been stopping her from drawing close to Anna again. She had rid herself of that feeling of helplessness.