The Lost Boy

5

An elderly man and woman stood outside the front entrance, holding on to each other. Patrik assumed that they were the parents of the deceased. They were the ones who had found the body. He and Paula got out of the car and went over to them.

‘Patrik Hedström, Tanum police. Are you the ones who called us?’ he asked, even though he already knew the answer.

‘Yes, we did.’ The man’s cheeks were wet with tears.

His wife kept her face pressed against her husband’s chest.

‘It’s our son,’ she said without looking at them. ‘He’s … up there …’

‘I’ll go up and take a look.’

The man made a move as if to follow, but Patrik stopped him.

‘I think it’s best if you both wait here. The medics will be arriving any minute, and they’ll take care of you. My colleague Paula will stay with you until they get here.’

Patrik gestured to Paula, who gently led the couple aside. Then he entered the building and went up to the third floor, where he found a door standing wide open. He didn’t need to go inside the flat to know that the man lying on his stomach on the hall floor was dead. A big hole was visible in the back of the victim’s head. Blood and brain matter had sprayed out over the floor and walls and then congealed. This was obviously the scene of the crime, and there was no use doing anything until Torbjörn Ruud and his team of technicians examined the flat. Patrik decided that he might as well go back downstairs and have a talk with the victim’s parents.

When he came outside, Patrik hurried over to the couple. They were standing next to Paula and talking to the ambulance medics, who had just arrived. A blanket had been draped over the woman’s shoulders, and she was crying so hard that she shook. Patrik chose to start with the husband, who looked more composed even though he too was crying.

‘Are we needed up there?’ asked one of the medics, nodding towards the building.

Patrik shook his head.

‘No, not for a while, at least. The techs are on their way.’

For a moment no one spoke. The only sound was the heart-wrenching sobs of the elderly woman. Patrik went over to her husband.

‘Could I have a few words with you?’

‘We want to help as much as we can. We just don’t understand who would …’ The man’s voice broke, but after casting a glance at his wife, he followed Patrik over to the police vehicle. The woman didn’t seem aware of what was happening around her.

They sat in the back seat of the car.

‘It says “Mats Sverin” on the door of the flat. Is that your son?’

‘Yes. Although we’ve always called him Matte.’

‘And your name is …?’ Patrik took notes as they talked.

‘Gunnar Sverin. My wife’s name is Signe. But why—’

Patrik placed his hand on the man’s arm to calm him.

‘We’re going to do everything in our power to catch whoever did this. Do you think you could answer a few questions?’

Gunnar nodded.

‘When did you last see your son?’

‘Thursday night. He came over to have dinner with us. He’s been doing that a lot since he moved back to Fjällbacka.’

‘What time did he leave your place on Thursday?’

‘He drove home shortly after nine, I think.’

‘Have you heard from him since then? Have you talked to him on the phone, or had any other sort of contact?’

‘No, nothing. Signe is the worrying kind, and she tried to call Matte all weekend without reaching him, but I … I told her she was being an old worryguts and she should stop bothering the boy.’ Tears welled up in his eyes again. Embarrassed, he wiped them away on the sleeve of his jacket.

‘So no one answered the phone at your son’s flat? And he didn’t answer his mobile either?’

‘No, we just got his voicemail.’

‘Was that unusual?’

‘Yes, I think so. Signe calls him up a little too often, in my opinion, but Matte has the patience of an angel.’ Gunnar again wiped his eyes on his sleeve.

‘Is that why you came over here today?’

‘Yes and no. Signe was getting really upset. I was too, even though I pretended not to be worried. But then I got a call from the council saying that Matte hadn’t turned up for work … And that’s not like him, not at all. He has always been very conscientious about being on time and so on. He gets that from me.’

‘What sort of work did he do for the town?’

‘He’s been the finance officer for the past couple of months. That was after he moved back here. He was lucky to get the job. There aren’t many positions available for economists.’

‘How did he happen to move to Fjällbacka? Where did he live before?’

‘In Göteborg,’ said Gunnar, answering the second question first. ‘We don’t really know why he decided to make the move. But he was involved in a terrible incident not long before he came here. He was assaulted by a gang in the city, and he spent several weeks in hospital. That sort of thing can make a person re-evaluate his life. At any rate, he moved back here, and that made us very happy. Especially Signe, of course. She was overjoyed.’

‘Did they find the gang who assaulted him?’

‘No. The police never caught them. Matte had no idea who they were, and he wouldn’t have been able to identify them afterwards either. He was really badly beaten. When Signe and I went to Sahlgrenska Hospital to see him, we could hardly recognize our son.’

Patrik drew an exclamation mark on the page next to his note on the assault. He needed to find out more about that ASAP. He’d have to contact his colleagues in Göteborg.

‘And you and your wife don’t know of anyone who might want to harm Matte? Any individual or individuals who might have had a score to settle with him?’

Gunnar shook his head emphatically.

‘Matte never quarrelled with anyone. Everybody liked him. And he liked everybody.’

‘So how was his new job going?’

‘I think he enjoyed it. He did seem a bit worried when we saw him on Thursday, but that was just a vague impression I got. Maybe he was feeling overworked. In any case, he never mentioned having fallen out with anyone. His boss Erling can be rather difficult, from what I understand, but Matte said that he was basically harmless, and he knew how to deal with him.’

‘And when he was living in Göteborg? Can you give me any details of his life there? Friends, girlfriends, work colleagues …?’

‘No, I can’t say that we really know anything. He didn’t discuss personal matters much. Signe tried prodding him to tell her what was going on in his life, regarding girls, and that sort of thing, but he never went into details. A few years ago he’d occasionally tell us about some of his friends, but from the time he started at that last job he had in Göteborg he seemed to retreat from socializing and all his time was devoted to his work. Matte could get very immersed in his job.’

‘So what happened when he came back to Fjällbacka? Didn’t he contact any of his old friends?’

Again Gunnar shook his head.

‘No, he didn’t seem at all interested in doing that. Besides, not many of his old friends still live here. Most have moved away. But he seemed to want to keep to himself. And that worried Signe.’

‘He doesn’t have a girlfriend?’

‘I don’t think so. But of course, we wouldn’t always know about such things.’

‘Didn’t he ever bring anyone home to meet you?’ asked Patrik with surprise. He wondered how old Matte was. When Gunnar told him, he realized that Matte was the same age as Erica.

‘No, he never brought anyone home, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything,’ the old man added, as if he’d read Patrik’s thoughts.

‘Okay. But if you happen to think of any other details that might help us, you can call me at this number.’ Patrik handed Gunnar his card. ‘Anything at all. We’re going to want to talk to your wife too. And we’ll need to talk to you again. I hope you understand.’

‘Of course,’ said Gunnar, taking Patrik’s card.

He peered out of the window to look at Signe, who seemed to have stopped crying. Presumably the medics had given her a sedative.

‘I’m very sorry for your loss,’ said Patrik. Then silence settled between them. There really wasn’t much more to say.

As they got out of the car, Torbjörn Ruud and his team of crime techs pulled into the car park. Now the meticulous process of collecting evidence would begin.

With hindsight, it was hard to understand why Nathalie hadn’t seen through Fredrik. But maybe that wouldn’t have been so easy. Outwardly, he seemed very polished, and he had courted her so ardently that at first she had laughed at him. That had merely goaded him on, and he increased his efforts until she eventually gave in. He had pampered her, taken her on trips abroad where they had stayed in five-star hotels, offered her champagne, and sent her so many bouquets of flowers that they practically filled her whole flat. She deserved luxury, he said. And she believed him. It was as if he spoke to something that had always been inside of her. An insecurity and a desire to hear that she was special, that she deserved more than other people. Where had all the money come from? Nathalie couldn’t remember ever asking that question.

The wind had picked up, but she stayed where she was, sitting on the bench on the south side of the house. Though her coffee had grown cold, she carried on sipping at it. Her hands, wrapped around the cup, were shaking. Her legs still felt unsteady, and her stomach was churning. She knew this would go on for a while. It was nothing new.

Slowly she’d been drawn into Fredrik’s world, which was filled with parties, travelling, and beautiful people and things. A lovely home. She had almost immediately moved in with him, all too willing to leave behind her cramped one-room flat in Farsta. How could she possibly go on living there after spending so many nights and days in Fredrik’s enormous house in the wealthy Stockholm suburb of Djursholm, where everything was new and white and expensive?

By the time she fully understood what Fredrik did for a living and how he earned his money, it was too late. Her life was intertwined with his. They had the same friends, she wore his ring on her finger, and she no longer had a job because Fredrik had wanted her to stay home and make sure everything ran smoothly on the domestic front. But the sad truth was that she hadn’t really been very upset when she found out. She had merely shrugged, firmly convinced that he belonged to the upper echelons of a sleazy industry, that he was so high up that he wasn’t touched by the muck far below. There was also a certain excitement about the whole thing. She got a little adrenalin kick from knowing what was going on all around her.

Outwardly, none of this was evident, of course. On paper Fredrik was a wine importer, and that was partially true. His company made a small profit every year, and he loved visiting the vineyard that he’d bought in Tuscany. He planned to launch his own wine label some day. That was the facade he presented to the world, and no one ever questioned it. Sometimes Nathalie would sit at the table, dining with upper-crust guests and important business associates, and she’d muse upon how simple it was to fool them, how readily they swallowed everything Fredrik said. They accepted that the enormous sums of money whirling around them came from his import business. But maybe that was merely what they chose to believe. The same way she had done.

Everything changed when Sam was born. It was Fredrik who insisted they should have a child. He wanted a son. She’d had her doubts. Nathalie was still ashamed to recall her fear that being pregnant would ruin her figure, and that having a child might keep her from having three-hour lunches with her women friends and devoting her days to shopping. Nonetheless, when Fredrik had insisted, she’d reluctantly agreed.

The instant that the midwife placed Sam in her arms, her whole life changed. Nothing else mattered any more. Fredrik finally had his longed-for son, but he found himself pushed to the periphery as she devoted herself to the baby. He wasn’t the sort of man who tolerated being knocked out of first place, and his jealousy of Sam manifested itself in a strange way. Forbidding his wife to breastfeed the baby, against her wishes he brought in a nanny to take care of Sam. Nathalie, adamant that she would not be dismissed in that way, had put Elena in charge of ironing and vacuuming, leaving her to spend more hours in the nursery with Sam. Nothing was allowed to come between them. Previously she had behaved like a pampered and spoiled woman, but now she displayed a new confidence in her role as Sam’s mother.

But the moment she held Sam in her arms, her life also began falling apart. There had been incidents of violence before when Fredrik was drunk or high on drugs. She’d ended up with bruises that had hurt for a few days, or a bloodied nose. Nothing worse than that.

After Sam was born, her life became hell. Now the strong wind, combined with the memories, brought tears to her eyes. Her hands shook so badly that some of the coffee spilled over the side and on to her trousers. She blinked to get rid of both the tears and the images. The blood. There had been so much blood. One remembered image overlapped another, like two negatives merging into one. She felt confused. And scared.

Abruptly Nathalie stood up. She needed to be close to Sam. She needed her son.

‘Yes, this is truly a sad day.’ Erling was standing at the head of the conference table, looking at his colleagues with a sombre expression.

‘How could something like that happen?’ His secretary Gunilla Kjellin blew her nose on a handkerchief. Tears were pouring down her cheeks.

‘The officer who called didn’t tell me much, but I gather Mats was the victim of some sort of crime.’

‘You mean somebody murdered him?’ asked Uno Brorsson, leaning back in his chair. As usual he had rolled up the sleeves of his checked flannel shirt.

‘As I said, I don’t really know any of the details yet, but I trust that the police will keep us informed.’

‘Is this going to affect the project?’ Uno tugged on his moustache, as he always did whenever he was upset.

‘It won’t change a thing. I want to assure you all of that. Matte put so many hours into Project Badis, and he would have been the first to say that we must press on. Everything will proceed exactly according to plan, and I will personally be taking charge of the finances until we can find a replacement for Mats.’

‘How can you already be talking about a replacement?’ said Gunilla, sobbing loudly.

‘Now, now, Gunilla.’ Erling was at a loss faced with such an emotional outburst, which even under the circumstances seemed to him highly inappropriate. ‘We have a responsibility to the town, to the citizens, and to everyone who has put their heart and soul not only into this project but into all that we’re doing to make sure the community thrives.’ He paused, both surprised and satisfied with the way he had managed to formulate his thoughts. Then he continued: ‘As tragic as it is that a young man’s life should be prematurely ended, we cannot simply stop everything. The show must go on, as they say in Hollywood.’

Silence had descended over the others in the conference room, and the last phrase had sounded so good to Erling that he couldn’t help repeating it. He straightened his shoulders, thrust out his chest, and with a strong western Swedish accent, he said in English:

‘The show must go on, people. The show must go on.’

In utter bewilderment they sat at the table across from one another. They had been sitting that way since one of the kindly police officers had given them a ride home. Gunnar would have preferred to drive himself, but they had insisted. So his vehicle was still in the car park, and he’d have to walk over there to retrieve it. But of course then he might have a chance to go up and visit …

Gunnar gasped for breath. How could he have forgotten so quickly? How could he forget even for a second that Matte was dead? They had seen him lying there on his stomach on the striped rag-rug that Signe had woven for him. Lying on his stomach with a hole in the back of his head. How could he forget the sight of all that blood?

‘Shall I put on some coffee?’ Gunnar forced himself to break the silence. The only sound he heard was his own heart, and he’d give anything to stop listening to those steady beats, which made him realize that he was alive and taking one breath after another while his son was dead.

‘I’ll get you a cup.’ He stood up even though Signe hadn’t answered. She was still under the effects of the sedative as she sat there, motionless, with a blank look on her face and her hands clasped on the oilcloth covering the table.

Gunnar moved mechanically, putting in the filter, pouring in the water, opening the coffee container, measuring out the grounds, and then pressing the button. A hissing and bubbling started up at once.

‘Would you like something with your coffee? A piece of sponge-cake, maybe?’ His voice sounded oddly normal. He went over to the refrigerator and took out the sponge-cake that Signe had baked the day before. Carefully he removed the plastic, set the cake on the cutting board, and cut two thick slices. He put them on plates and set one in front of Signe, the other at his own place at the table. She didn’t react, but he didn’t allow himself to worry about that now. He heard only the thudding inside his chest, drowned out briefly by the clattering of the plates and the sputtering of the coffee maker.

When the coffee was ready, he reached up to take down two cups. Their daily habits seemed to have become more entrenched with every passing year, and they each had a favourite cup. Signe always drank her coffee from a delicate white cup with roses adorning the edge, while he preferred a sturdy ceramic cup that they had bought on a coach trip to Gränna. Black coffee with one sugar cube for him; coffee with milk and two sugar cubes for Signe.

‘Here you are,’ he said, setting her cup next to the plate with the piece of cake.

She didn’t move. The coffee burned his throat when he took too big a sip, and he coughed until the stinging sensation subsided. He took a bite of the sponge-cake, but it seemed to swell inside his mouth, forming a big lump of sugar and egg and flour. Then he felt bile rising up in his throat, and he knew that he had to get rid of that lump, which was getting bigger and bigger.

Gunnar dashed past Signe out to the bathroom down the hall, and dropped to his knees to lean over the toilet. He watched as coffee, cake crumbs, and bile poured into the water that was always green from the cleaning fluid that Signe insisted on fastening to the side of the porcelain toilet bowl.

When his stomach was virtually empty, he again heard the sound of his own heart. Thump, thump, thump. Once more he leaned forward and threw up. Out in the kitchen, Signe’s coffee was growing cold in the white cup decorated with roses.

It was evening by the time they finished their work at Mats Sverin’s flat. Though it was still light outside, the hustle and bustle of the day had begun to taper off, and the number of people passing by had diminished.

‘His body just arrived at the forensics lab,’ reported Torbjörn Ruud.

The head of the crime tech team looked tired as he came over to Patrik, holding his mobile in his hand. Patrik had worked with Torbjörn and his team on several homicide investigations, and he had tremendous respect for the grey-bearded man.

‘How soon do you think they’ll get to the post-mortem?’ asked Patrik, massaging the bridge of his nose. He was beginning to feel the effects of what was turning out to be a very long day.

‘I don’t know. You’ll have to ask Pedersen about that.’

‘What’s your preliminary assessment?’ Patrik shivered in the cold wind blowing across the small patch of lawn in front of the building. He pulled his jacket tighter around him.

‘It’s not all that complicated, from what I can see. A gunshot wound in the back of the head. One shot, killing him instantly. The bullet is still inside the skull. The casing we found indicates a nine-millimetre pistol.’

‘Did you find any evidence in the flat?’

‘We’ve taken fingerprints from all the rooms, and also a few fibre samples. That will give us something to go on, once we have a suspect.’

‘Provided that the suspect actually left any prints or fibres,’ said Patrik. Technical evidence was all fine and good, but from experience he knew that a large helping of luck was needed to solve a murder case. People came and went, and it could just as well have been friends or family members who left traces behind in the flat. If the killer was among them, the police would be faced with a whole different set of problems in terms of trying to link the perpetrator to the crime scene.

‘Isn’t it a bit too early to be taking such a pessimistic view?’ said Torbjörn, giving Patrik a poke in the side.

‘Sorry.’ Patrik laughed. ‘I must be getting tired.’

‘You’re taking it easy, aren’t you? I heard that you hit the wall hard, so to speak. It can take a while to recover from something like that.’

‘I don’t really like that phrase “hit the wall”,’ muttered Patrik. ‘But you’re right. It was definitely a warning signal.’

‘Well, I’m glad you’re paying attention. You’re not exactly old and decrepit yet, and we’re hoping you’ll be working with the police for many years to come.’

‘What do you make of the evidence you’ve collected so far?’ asked Patrik, attempting to steer the conversation away from his health.

‘As I said, we’ve collected a few things. Everything will be sent over to the lab now. It’s going to take a while to get the results, but I’m owed a few favours, so with a bit of luck, I’ll be able to speed things along.’

‘We’d be grateful to get the results as fast as possible.’ Patrik was freezing. It was much too cold for June, and the weather continued to be unpredictable. At the moment it felt like early spring, yet during the day it had been so warm that he and Erica had been able to sit in the garden without putting on a sweater or jacket.

‘So what about you? Have you and your colleagues made any progress? Did anyone hear or see anything?’ Torbjörn nodded towards the block of flats.

‘We’ve knocked on every single door, but so far with only limited results. One of the neighbours thinks that he heard a sound in the early hours on Saturday, only he was asleep in bed when it woke him, so he’s not sure what it was. Other than that, nothing. Mats Sverin appears to have kept to himself, at least when he was at home. Because he grew up in Fjällbacka and his parents still live here, most people knew who he was and were aware that he worked for the town, and so on, but no one seems to have really known him. His neighbours were nodding acquaintances, nothing more.’

‘At least the gossip mill is alive and well in Fjällbacka,’ said Torbjörn. ‘With luck, that should give you a few leads.’

‘Perhaps. At this point it seems he lived a hermit’s existence, but we’ll try to drum up some new leads tomorrow.’

‘Go home and get some rest.’ Torbjörn gave Patrik a friendly slap on the back.

‘Thanks, I will,’ Patrik lied. He had already phoned Erica to say that he would be home late. The investigative team needed to devise a strategy tonight. And after a couple of hours’ sleep, he’d be back at the station early in the morning. He knew that he ought to have learned his lesson after what he’d just been through. But his job came first. He couldn’t help it.

Erica stared at the wood burning in the fireplace. She had tried not to sound concerned when Patrik called. Although she kept telling herself he was looking much better, with some colour in his face again, and even though she knew this was one of those times when he needed to stay late at work, it worried her that he seemed to have forgotten his promise to take it easy.

She wondered who the dead man was. Patrik hadn’t wanted to say much on the phone. All he told her was that a man had been found dead in Fjällbacka. She was eager to hear more. As a writer, a keen sense of curiosity was essential. She always wanted to find out the inside story of people and events. In time, she was sure that she’d hear all about it. Even if Patrik declined to tell her, the news would soon spread. That was both the advantage and disadvantage of living in a small town like Fjällbacka.

The thought of all the support they’d received after the car accident still moved her to tears. Everyone had offered help, be they close friends or people they hardly knew. Some had babysat for Maja and kept an eye on the house; others had left food on the doorstep when she and Patrik had finally come home from the hospital. And at the hospital they had practically drowned in all the flowers, boxes of chocolates, and toys for the children. All gifts from people in town. That was the way it was. In Fjällbacka, everyone stuck together.

Tonight, however, Erica was feeling lonely. Her first impulse after talking to Patrik had been to ring Anna. She felt a pang in her heart, as usual, when she realized that she couldn’t do that, and slowly she set the cordless phone back down on the table.

The children were asleep upstairs. The fire was crackling in the fireplace, and outside dusk was gathering. During the past few months she had felt frightened many times, yet never lonely. On the contrary, for she’d been constantly surrounded by other people. But not tonight.

When she heard the babies crying upstairs, she quickly got to her feet. It was going to take a while to feed the twins and get them to fall asleep again, but at least that would keep her from worrying about Patrik.

‘It’s been a long day, but I thought we should spend some time comparing notes and coming up with a plan before we all go home to rest.’

Patrik glanced at the others. Everyone looked tired but focused. They had long ago given up any thought of meeting in any room other than the station’s kitchen. And Gösta had proven to be unusually considerate tonight by making sure that everybody had a cup of hot coffee.

‘Martin, could you summarize what we’ve learned by knocking on doors today?’

‘We went round to all the other flats and actually managed to find most of the tenants at home. There are only a few that we still need to talk to. Obviously our first objective has been to find out whether anyone heard noises coming from Mats Sverin’s flat. Loud voices, shots, or any other sort of commotion. But on that point we pretty much came up empty-handed. The one person who might have heard something was the man in the next-door flat. His name is Leandersson. He was awakened early on Saturday by a sound that could have been a gunshot, but his memory of the sound is very vague. All he can say for sure is that he remembers being awakened by something.’

‘And no one saw anybody arriving or leaving?’ asked Mellberg.

Annika was furiously taking notes as the others talked.

‘Nobody recalls seeing any visitors at Sverin’s flat during the whole time he lived there.’

‘How long is that?’

‘His father said that he had only recently moved here from Göteborg. I’m planning to have another talk with the parents tomorrow, when they’ve calmed down a bit. I’ll ask them for a more precise date then,’ said Patrik.

‘So we didn’t get any useful information from knocking on doors,’ Mellberg concluded, staring at Martin as if holding him responsible.

‘No, not much, at any rate,’ said Martin, staring back at his boss. Although still the youngest person at the station, he had lost the timid respect he’d had for Mellberg when he first joined the force.

‘Let’s move on.’ Patrik once again took charge of the meeting. ‘I talked to the father, but the mother was in such a state of shock that I wasn’t able to interview her. As I mentioned, I plan to drive over to see them tomorrow and conduct a longer interview. I hope to find out a lot more, but according to the father, Gunnar Sverin, he and his wife have no idea who might want to harm their son. Apparently Mats hadn’t acquired many friends since moving back to Fjällbacka, even though he was originally from here. I’d like someone to talk to his work colleagues tomorrow. Paula and Gösta, could you take care of that?’

They glanced at each other and nodded.

‘Martin, you’ll keep chasing down the neighbours that we haven’t yet talked to. Oh, and I forgot to say that Gunnar mentioned his son had been the victim of a serious assault in Göteborg shortly before he moved here. I’ll check up on that myself.’

Then Patrik turned to his boss. It had become routine to make sure that Mellberg’s often damaging interference in an investigation was kept to a minimum.

‘Bertil,’ he now said solemnly. ‘We need you here at the station in your capacity as chief of police. You’re the best person to deal with the media, and there’s no way of knowing when an important lead will turn up.’

Mellberg immediately cheered up.

‘Of course. Absolutely. I have an excellent relationship with the media and a lot of experience in dealing with them.’

‘Great,’ said Patrik, without a trace of sarcasm. ‘So we all have assignments to get started on tomorrow. Annika, we’ll submit our reports to you, since we need someone to collate all the information.’

‘I’ll be here,’ said Annika, closing her notebook.

‘Good. Now let’s all go home to our loved ones and grab a few hours’ sleep.’

As he spoke those words, Patrik felt an intense longing to be home with Erica and the children. It was late, and he felt exhausted. Ten minutes later he was on his way to Fjällbacka.