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‘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.
FJÄLLBACKA 1870
Karl still hadn’t touched her in that way, and Emelie was feeling confused. She didn’t know much about such matters, but she was aware that certain things went on between a man and a woman that hadn’t yet taken place.
She wished that Edith were here and that they hadn’t parted under strained circumstances when she left the farm. Then she would have been able to talk to Edith about all this, or at least she could have written to her and asked for advice. Because a wife couldn’t very well venture to discuss this type of thing with her husband. It simply wasn’t done. Nevertheless, she did think it was all a bit strange.
Her initial delight with Gråskär had also diminished. The autumn sunshine had been replaced by strong winds that brought the sea crashing against the cliffs. The flowers had withered so that now only bare, sorry-looking stalks filled the flowerbeds. And the sky seemed to be forever hidden behind a thick layer of grey. She spent most of her time indoors. Outdoors she shivered with the cold, no matter how warmly she tried to dress. Indoors, the house was so small that it felt as if the walls were slowly closing in on her.
Sometimes she caught Julian glaring at her, but whenever she met his eye, he would look away. He hadn’t yet spoken a word to her, and she couldn’t understand why he was so antagonistic. Maybe she reminded him of some woman who had treated him badly. But at least he seemed to like the food she cooked. Both he and Karl ate their meals with good appetites, and she had to give herself credit for her ability to put together delicious dishes from limited ingredients, which at the moment was mostly mackerel. Every day Karl and Julian went out in the boat and usually came back with a large number of the silvery fish. She fried up some of them for dinner and served them with potatoes. The rest she salted so that they’d last all winter, since she’d heard that there would be even colder days ahead.
If only Karl would give her a friendly word once in a while – that would make her life on the island seem so much easier. But he never looked her in the eye, never gave her an endearing pat as he passed. It was as if she didn’t exist, as if he hardly realized that he had a wife at all. Nothing had turned out as she’d imagined, and occasionally she would hear Edith’s words of warning echoing in her mind. That she needed to take heed.
Emelie always shook off such thoughts as soon as they came. Life was hard out here, but she had no intention of complaining. This was the lot that she had been dealt, and she had to make the best of it. That was what her mother had taught her before she died, and that was the advice she planned to follow. Nothing ever turned out the way people thought it would.
6
Martin hated knocking on doors. It reminded him too much of when he was a kid and had been forced to go around selling lottery tickets, socks, and other idiotic rubbish in order to make money for school expeditions. Still, it was a necessary part of the job, all this trudging in and out of blocks of flats, going up and down stairs, and knocking on every single door. Thankfully, he’d dealt with most of them the day before. He glanced at the list he’d pulled out of his pocket to see who was left and decided to start with the most promising candidate: the third tenant who lived on the same floor as Mats Sverin.
The nameplate on the door said Grip. Martin checked his watch before he rang the bell. It was only eight o’clock; he was hoping to catch the tenant at home before he or she left for work. When no one opened the door, he sighed and then pressed the bell again. The shrill sound hurt his ears, but there was still no response. He was just about to head downstairs when he heard the sound of a lock turning behind him.
‘Yes?’ The voice was surly.
Martin hurried back to the door of the flat.
‘I’m from the police. Martin Molin.’
The safety chain was on, but he caught a glimpse of a bushy beard in the door opening. And a bright red nose.
‘What do you want?’
Hearing that Martin was from the police didn’t seem to have made Mr Grip any more amenable.
‘A man died in that flat over there.’ Martin pointed towards Mats Sverin’s door, which was now sealed with police tape.
‘Yes, I heard about that.’ The beard bobbed up and down in the doorway. ‘What’s it got to do with me?’
‘Could I come in for a few minutes?’ Martin asked in the pleasantest tone of voice he could muster.
‘Why?’
‘So I can ask you some questions.’
‘I don’t know anything.’
The man started to close the door, but Martin instinctively stuck his foot in the opening.
‘Either we have a brief chat here and now, or both of us will have to waste the whole morning while I take you down to the station and interview you there.’ Martin knew full well that he had no authority to haul Grip off to the station, but he took a chance that the old boy wouldn’t realize that.
‘All right. Come in,’ said Grip, unfastening the safety chain and pulling open the door.
Martin stepped forward to enter, a decision he regretted the moment he smelled the stench.
‘Come back here, you little rascal. You’re not getting out.’
Martin caught a glimpse of something furry and then the man threw himself forward and grabbed the cat by its tail. The creature meowed in protest but then allowed the man to pick it up and carry it into the flat.
With the door closed behind him, Martin tried to breathe through his mouth so as not to throw up. The place was stuffy and reeked of rubbish, but the overpowering smell was cat pee. It didn’t take long to see why. Martin stood in the doorway to the living room and stared. There were cats everywhere – lying down, sitting up, and moving about. He did a quick count and realized there were at least fifteen. In a flat that couldn’t be much more than 400 square feet.
‘Have a seat,’ grunted Grip. He chased a few cats off the sofa.
Martin cautiously sat down on the very edge of the cushion.
‘Okay, what do you want to know? I haven’t got all day. This lot keeps me plenty busy.’
A fat, ginger cat hopped on to the old man’s lap, curled up, and started purring. The cat’s fur was matted, and it had sores on its back legs.
Martin cleared his throat. ‘Your neighbour, Mats Sverin, was found dead in his flat yesterday. So we want to find out whether anyone who lives in the building saw or heard anything unusual over the past few days.’
‘It’s not my job to hear or see anything. I mind my own business and I expect everybody else to do the same.’
‘So you didn’t hear any noises from your neighbour’s flat? Or notice any strangers in the stairwell?’ Martin persisted.
‘As I said: I mind my own business.’ The old man petted the cat’s matted fur.
Martin closed his notebook, deciding to give up. ‘What’s your full name, by the way?’
‘My name is Gottfrid Grip. And I suppose you’d like to know what everyone else is named too, right?’
‘Everyone else?’ said Martin, glancing around. Were there other people living in this flat?
‘This is Marilyn.’ Gottfrid pointed at the cat on his lap. ‘She doesn’t like women. She always hisses at them.’
Martin dutifully opened his notebook again and jotted down word for word what the old man was saying. If nothing else, his report was bound to give his colleagues a good laugh.
‘The grey one over there is named Errol, the white one with the brown paws is Humphrey, and then there’s Cary, Audrey, Bette, Ingrid, Lauren, and James.’ Grip continued rattling off the cats’ names as he pointed to one after the other, and Martin wrote all of them down. He was going to have quite a story to tell when he got back to the station.
On his way out the door, Martin paused for a moment.
‘So neither you nor your cats heard or saw anything?’
‘I never said that the cats didn’t see anything. I just said that I didn’t. But Marilyn here, she saw a car very early on Saturday morning, when she was sitting in the kitchen window. She sat there hissing like crazy.’
‘Marilyn saw a car? What kind of car did she see?’ asked Martin even though it sounded like a strange question.
Grip gave him a scornful look. ‘Do you seriously think cats know about different kinds of cars? Are you out of your mind?’ He tapped his temple and shook his head, laughing. As Martin stepped out into the hall, Grip closed the door behind him and fastened the safety chain.
‘Is Erling in?’ asked Gösta, knocking lightly on the door jamb of the first room in the corridor. He and Paula had arrived at the council offices in Tanumshede.
Gunilla gave a start. She was sitting with her back to the door.
‘Oh, you really scared me,’ she said, fluttering her hands nervously.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that,’ said Gösta. ‘We’re looking for Erling.’
‘Does it have to do with Mats?’ Her lower lip began quivering. ‘It’s just so awful.’ She reached for a packet of tissues and used one to wipe away the tears that had welled up in her eyes.
‘Yes, it does,’ replied Gösta. ‘We want to talk to all of you, but we’d like to start with Erling, if he’s here.’
‘He’s in his office. I’ll show you where it is.’
She got up and, after blowing her nose quite loudly, escorted them to an office further along the corridor.
‘Erling, you have visitors,’ she said, stepping aside.
‘Well, hello. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?’ said Erling heartily as he stood up and shook Gösta’s hand.
Then he looked at Paula and seemed to be feverishly searching his memory.
‘Petronella, right? This brain of mine is like a well-oiled machine. I never forget a thing.’
‘It’s Paula, actually,’ she told him, reaching out to shake his hand.
For a moment Erling looked a bit embarrassed, then he merely shrugged.
‘We’re here to ask you a few questions about Mats Sverin,’ Gösta told him. He sat down in one of the visitor’s chairs in front of Erling’s desk, which prompted Paula and Erling to sit down as well.
‘Yes, it’s awful,’ Erling said with a strange grimace. ‘Everyone in the office is very upset, and naturally we’re all wondering what happened. Is there anything you can tell us?’
‘Not much at this time.’ Gösta shook his head. ‘I can only confirm what you were told yesterday when we rang your office. Sverin was found dead in his flat, and we’re investigating his death.’
‘Was he murdered?’
‘That’s not something we can either confirm or deny.’
Gösta could heard how formal his words sounded, but he knew that he’d catch hell from Hedström if he gave away too much information, which might damage the case.
‘We need your help,’ he went on. ‘From what I understand, Sverin didn’t come to work on Monday, or on Tuesday either. That was when you contacted his parents. Was it usual for him to miss work?’
‘On the contrary. I don’t think he’d taken a single sick day since he started here. As far as I recall, he was never absent for any reason. Not even for a dentist’s appointment. He was punctual, dedicated, and very conscientious. That’s why we got worried when he didn’t turn up or contact us.’
‘How long had he worked here?’ asked Paula.
‘Two months. We were really lucky to find someone like Mats. The job had been advertised for five weeks, and we’d brought in a few candidates for interviews, but none of them had the qualifications we were looking for. When Mats applied, we were concerned that he was over-qualified, but he assured us that the job was exactly what he wanted. He seemed especially keen to move back to Fjällbacka again. And who can blame him? It’s the pearl of the coast.’ Erling threw out his hands.
‘He didn’t give any particular reason for wanting to move back?’ asked Paula, leaning forward.
‘No, except that he wanted to get out of the big-city rat race and have a better quality of life. And that’s precisely what our town has to offer. Peace and quiet and a great quality of life.’ Erling carefully enunciated every syllable as if giving a PR presentation.
‘So he didn’t mention anything about his personal circumstances?’ Gösta was beginning to get impatient.
‘He didn’t talk about his private life. I knew that he was originally from Fjällbacka and that his parents still live there, but other than that I can’t remember him ever saying much about his life outside the office.’
‘Sverin was involved in a very unpleasant incident shortly before he moved here from Göteborg. He was assaulted and beaten so badly that he ended up in hospital. Did he mention that?’ asked Paula.
‘No, never,’ said Erling in surprise. ‘He did have several scars on his face, but he said that he’d got his trouser leg caught in his bicycle wheel and taken a fall.’
Gösta and Paula exchanged looks of astonishment.
‘Who attacked him? Was it the same person who …?’ Erling almost whispered the questions.
‘According to his parents, it was an act of unprovoked violence. We don’t think it has any connection to Sverin’s death, but we can’t rule it out,’ said Gösta.
‘So he never mentioned his years in Göteborg?’ Paula insisted.
Erling shook his head. ‘I can only repeat what I already told you. Mats never talked about himself. It was as if his life started when he took the job here.’
‘Didn’t you find that rather odd?’
‘Not really. I don’t think anyone gave it much thought. He wasn’t anti-social by any means. He laughed and joked and joined in the chat about TV shows and the sorts of topics that come up during a coffee break. I don’t think anyone really noticed that he never discussed anything personal. It’s only now, after the fact, that it’s occurred to me.’
‘Was he doing a good job?’ asked Gösta.
‘Mats was an excellent financial officer. As I said, he was conscientious, methodical, and painstaking with his work. Those are all desirable qualities in someone who’s in charge of financial matters, especially in such a politically sensitive office as ours.’
‘You have no complaints about him?’ asked Paula.
‘None. Mats was extremely talented in his field. And he has been an invaluable resource for Project Badis. He came on the scene late in the game, but he quickly got up to speed and really helped us to move forward.’
Gösta glanced at Paula, who shook her head. They didn’t have any other questions at the moment, but Gösta couldn’t help thinking that Mats Sverin seemed as anonymous and faceless as he had before they began this interview with his boss. And he couldn’t help wondering what they might find when they finally started scratching the surface.
The Sverins’ small house was located down by the water’s edge in Mörhult. It was warmer today – a lovely early summer day, and Patrik left his jacket in the car. He had phoned ahead to say that he would be coming, and when Gunnar opened the door, he looked down the hall to the kitchen and saw that the table had been set for coffee. That was how things were done here on the coast. Coffee and biscuits were always served, no matter whether the occasion was joyous or sorrowful. Over the many years that he’d spent on the police force, Patrik had downed countless gallons of coffee as he visited local citizens.
‘Come in. I’ll just go and see if I can get Signe to …’ Without finishing his sentence, Gunnar turned to go upstairs.
Patrik remained where he was, thinking that he would wait in the front hall. But Gunnar was gone a long time, and finally Patrik moved towards the kitchen. The whole house seemed cloaked in silence, so he took the liberty of stepping inside the living room. It was a pleasant room, nice and tidy with elegant old furniture and doilies everywhere, as was customary in the homes of elderly people. Scattered about were framed photographs of their son. As he looked at them, Patrik was able to follow Mats’s life from infancy to adulthood. He had an agreeable appearance, a likeable face. He looked happy. Judging by the photos, he’d had a good childhood.