The Lost Boy

‘Signe will be right down.’

Patrik was so immersed in his own thoughts that Gunnar’s voice almost made him drop the framed picture he was holding.

‘You certainly have a lot of nice photos.’ Carefully he set the photograph back on the bureau and followed Gunnar out to the kitchen.

‘I’ve always enjoyed taking pictures, so we’ve accumulated a lot of them over the years. And we’re glad to have them now. As a reminder of him, I mean.’ Embarrassed, Gunnar began fussing with the plates and filling the coffee cups.

‘Do you take sugar or milk? Or both?’

‘Black is fine. Thanks.’ Patrik sat down on one of the white kitchen chairs.

Gunnar set a cup in front of him and then sat down on the other side of the table.

‘We might as well start. I’m sure Signe will be here soon,’ he said, casting a worried glance at the stairs. Not a sound could be heard from overhead.

‘How’s she doing?’

‘She hasn’t said a word since yesterday. The doctor said he’d look in on her later. All she does is lie in bed, but I don’t think she slept a wink all night.’

‘Looks like you’ve received a lot of flowers,’ said Patrik, nodding at the counter where big bouquets had been placed in all sorts of containers serving as vases.

‘Everyone has been so nice. They’ve offered to come over, but I can’t stand the thought of having a bunch of people sitting around the house.’ He dropped a sugar cube in his cup and began stirring. Then he reached for a biscuit and dipped it in his coffee before putting it in his mouth. He seemed to have a hard time swallowing the mouthful and had to wash it down with some coffee.

‘There you are.’ Gunnar turned around to look at Signe as she entered the hall.

They hadn’t heard her come down the stairs. Gunnar stood up and went over to his wife. Gently he put his arm around her and led her to the table, as if she were a very old woman. She seemed to have aged several years just since yesterday.

‘The doctor will be here in a while. Have some coffee and a biscuit. You need to get something in your stomach. Should I make you a sandwich?’

She shook her head. It was the first time she’d reacted, acknowledging that she had heard what he said.

‘I’m terribly sorry,’ said Patrik, and he couldn’t resist placing his hand over hers. She didn’t pull it away, but neither did she respond to the gesture. Her hand felt limp and dead. ‘I wish that I didn’t have to disturb you at a time like this. At least, not so soon after what happened.’

As usual, he was having a hard time finding the words. Since becoming a parent, he found it harder than ever to deal with people who had lost a child, even if that child was grown up. What was he supposed to say to someone whose heart had been ripped out? Because that was how he imagined it must feel.

‘We realize that you have a job to do,’ said Gunnar. ‘And of course we want you to find the person who … did this. If there’s any way that we can help, we want to do that.’

He was sitting next to his wife, and now he protectively drew his chair closer to hers. She hadn’t touched her coffee.

‘Have some,’ he said, lifting the cup to her lips. Reluctantly she took a few sips.

‘We talked about this yesterday, but could you tell me a little more about Mats? Any details you’d like to share with me, no matter how big or small.’

‘He was always so nice, even as a baby,’ said Signe. Her voice sounded dry and raspy, as if she hadn’t spoken in a long time. ‘He slept the whole night through, right from the start, and he was never any trouble. But I worried about him; I always have. I kept thinking that something terrible was going to happen.’

‘And you were right. I should have listened to you,’ said Gunnar, fixing his eyes on the table.

‘No, you were the one who was right,’ said Signe, looking at him. She seemed to have suddenly woken up from her stupor. ‘I wasted so much time and happiness by worrying, while you were always glad and grateful for what we had, and for Matte. It’s impossible to prepare for something like this happening. I’ve spent my whole life worrying about everything between heaven and earth, but I was never able to prepare myself for this. I should have been happier.’ She fell silent. Then she said, ‘What do you want to know?’ And she picked up her cup to drink her coffee without waiting to be coaxed.

‘Did he go to Göteborg when he moved away from home?’

‘Yes, after secondary school he enrolled in the Business College. He received excellent marks,’ said Gunnar, obviously proud of his son.

‘But he often came home on the weekends,’ added Signe. Talking about her son seemed to be having a positive effect on her. She now had a little more colour in her cheeks, and her eyes were clearer.

‘Naturally, in recent years he didn’t come as often. But in those early years he was home almost every weekend,’ said Gunnar, nodding.

‘And things went well with his studies?’ Patrik had decided to stick to subjects that would make Signe and Gunnar feel calm and relaxed.

‘Yes, he got good marks in college too,’ said Gunnar. ‘I never understood how he came to be so good at book learning. He didn’t get it from me, at any rate.’ He smiled and for a moment seemed to forget why they were on this subject. But then it all came back to him, and his smile faded.

‘So what did he do after he finished his degree?’

‘His first job was for that auditing company, wasn’t it?’ Frowning, Signe turned to Gunnar.

‘Yes, I think so, but for the life of me I can’t recall the name of the firm. Something American. He was there only for a few years. It didn’t really suit him. He said the job involved working too much with numbers and not enough with people.’

‘And where did he work after that?’ Patrik’s coffee had grown cold, but he kept on taking small sips.

‘He worked at several different places. I’m sure I can find you the names if you like, but for the last four years he was responsible for the finances of a non-profit organization called the Refuge.’

‘What do they do?’

‘It’s a group that helps women who have fled from domestic violence situations, seeing to it that they can rebuild their lives. Matte loved that job. He hardly talked about anything else.’

‘Why did he quit?’

Gunnar and Signe glanced at each other, and Patrik realized that they had wondered the same thing.

‘Well, we think it had something to do with the assault. He didn’t feel safe living in Göteborg any longer,’ said Gunnar.

‘And he wasn’t safe here, either,’ said Signe.

No, thought Patrik, he certainly wasn’t. No matter what had prompted Mats Sverin to leave Göteborg, the violence had caught up with him.

‘How long was he in hospital after the assault?’

‘Three weeks, I think,’ replied Gunnar. ‘It was a shock when we saw him there.’

‘Show him the pictures,’ said Signe quietly.

Gunnar got up and went into the living room. He came back carrying a small box.

‘I don’t really know why we saved these photographs. They’re not exactly the kind that you’d want to show anyone.’ His calloused fingers reached into the box and gently removed the photos.

‘May I see?’ Patrik held out his hand, and Gunnar gave him the small stack. ‘My God!’ He couldn’t hold back his reaction when he saw the pictures of Mats Sverin lying in the hospital bed. What he saw bore no resemblance to the young man in all the photos in the living room. His face, his entire head was swollen. And his skin was various shades of red, with tinges of blue.

‘I know,’ said Gunnar, looking away.

‘They said he could have died. But he was lucky, in spite of it all.’ Signe blinked away her tears.

‘From what I understand, they never caught the perpetrators. Is that right?’

‘Yes,’ said Signe. ‘Do you think this might have something to do with what happened to Matte? The young thugs who attacked him were complete strangers. It was because he told one of them not to urinate outside the door to his building. He’d never seen them before. Why would they …?’ Her voice now sounded shrill.

Gunnar stroked her arm to calm her down.

‘They don’t know anything yet. The police just want to find out as much as possible,’ he told her.

‘That’s right,’ said Patrik. ‘We don’t have any answers yet. We need to build up as complete a picture of Mats and his life as we can.’ He turned to look at Signe. ‘Your husband said that as far as you’re aware, Mats didn’t have a girlfriend at the moment. Did he?’

‘No, or if he did, he kept that information to himself. To be honest, I’d almost given up hope of ever having a grandchild,’ said Signe. But when she realized what she’d said, and that now there was no hope of such a thing, the tears began to fall again.

Gunnar squeezed her hand.

‘I think there was someone in Göteborg,’ Signe went on, her voice thick with sobs. ‘He never said so, but I had a sense there was a woman. And sometimes I could smell perfume on his clothes when he came home to visit. The same perfume each time.’

‘But he never mentioned a name?’ asked Patrik.

‘No, never, even though Signe couldn’t resist asking him a few times,’ said Gunnar, smiling.

‘Well, I didn’t see why it had to be such a big secret. Why couldn’t he have brought her home one weekend so we could meet her? We can behave ourselves if we make an effort.’

Gunnar shook his head. ‘As you can tell, this was a rather sensitive subject.’

‘Did you have the impression that this woman, whoever she might have been, continued to be part of Mats’s life after he moved back to Fjällbacka?’

‘Hmmm …’ Gunnar looked at Signe.

‘No, she wasn’t,’ she said emphatically. ‘A mother knows such things. And I would almost swear that he no longer had a girlfriend.’

‘I don’t think he could ever forget Nathalie,’ Gunnar interjected.

‘What do you mean? That was ages ago. They were just children.’

‘That doesn’t matter. There was something special about Nathalie. I’ve always thought so, and I think Matte … You saw how he reacted when we told him that she was back, didn’t you?’

‘Yes, but how old were they at the time? Seventeen? Eighteen?’

‘I still think I’m right,’ Gunnar stubbornly insisted. ‘And he was going to go out there to see her.’

‘Excuse me.’ Patrick broke into the conversation. ‘But who is Nathalie?’

‘Nathalie Wester. She and Matte grew up together. As a matter of fact, they were in the same class as your wife. Both Matte and Nathalie.’

Gunnar seemed a bit embarrassed to admit that he knew Erica, but Patrik wasn’t surprised. Almost everybody in Fjällbacka knew everyone else, but they also took a special interest in Erica because her books were so popular.

‘Does Nathalie still live here?’

‘No, she moved away years ago. She went to Stockholm, and she and Matte haven’t been in contact since then. But she owns an island near here. It’s called Gråskär.’

‘And you think that Mats went out there to see her?’

‘He might not have had time to do that,’ said Gunnar. ‘But you can phone Nathalie and ask her.’ He got up to get a note that was stuck on the refrigerator door. ‘Here’s her mobile number. I don’t know how long she’s planning to stay. She’s out there with her little boy.’

‘Does she come here often?’

‘No, in fact we were a bit surprised. She’s hardly been here since she moved to Stockholm. Her last visit was years ago. But the island belongs to her. Her paternal grandfather bought it, and Nathalie is the only descendent left, since she doesn’t have any siblings. We’ve looked after the house for her, but if nothing is done with the lighthouse very soon, it’ll end up beyond saving.’

‘The lighthouse?’

‘Yes, there’s an old lighthouse from the nineteenth century out there on the island. And a cottage. In the past, that’s where the lighthouse keeper used to live with his family.’

‘It sounds like a lonely life.’ Patrik downed the last of his cold coffee, unable to stop himself from grimacing.

‘Lonely, or beautiful and peaceful. It all depends how you look at it,’ said Signe. ‘But I could never spend a single night out there alone.’

‘Weren’t you always the one who said that was just a load of rubbish and old wives’ tales?’ said Gunnar.

‘What do you mean?’ Patrik’s curiosity was instantly sparked.

‘The island is usually called Ghost Isle. According to legend, it was given the name because those who die out there never leave the island,’ said Gunnar.

‘So there are ghosts?’

‘It’s nothing but gossip,’ snorted Signe.

‘Well, it doesn’t matter. I’m going to give Nathalie a call. Thank you so much for the coffee and biscuits, and for taking the time to answer my questions.’ Patrik got up and pushed his chair under the table.

‘It was nice to talk about him,’ said Signe softly.

‘Would you mind if I borrowed these for a while?’ Patrik pointed at the photographs from the hospital. ‘I promise to take good care of them.’

‘Go ahead and take them.’ Gunnar handed him the pictures. ‘We have a digital camera, so I have the pictures on my computer.’

‘Thank you,’ said Patrik, carefully sliding the photos into his briefcase.

Signe and Gunnar both went with him to the door. As he got in the car, he replayed in his mind all those images of Mats Sverin as a boy, a teenager, and an adult. He decided to drive home for lunch. He felt an overwhelming urge to give the twins a kiss.

‘How’s Grandpa’s little sweetie-pie today?’

Mellberg had also gone home for lunch, and as soon as he set foot inside the door, he grabbed Leo from Rita and began lifting him high in the air, making the boy shriek with delight.

‘Typical! When Grandpa comes home, Grandma might as well disappear.’ Rita frowned but then a smile took over, and she gave them each a kiss on the cheek.

A special bond had existed between Bertil and Leo ever since Bertil had been present at the baby’s birth, and no one was more pleased about this than Rita. Nevertheless she was relieved when Bertil had been convinced to return to work full-time. It had seemed like a good idea to have him fill in for Paula at home, but no matter how much she adored this unlikely hero of hers, she had no illusions when it came to his judgement, which at times was questionable, to say the least.

‘What’s for lunch?’ Mellberg carefully set the boy in his highchair and tied a bib around his neck.

‘Chicken and my homemade salsa that you like so much.’

Mellberg hummed with pleasure. All his life he had never eaten anything more exotic than boiled lamb with dill sauce, potatoes and carrots, but Rita had managed to change all that. Her salsa was so strong that it practically burned the enamel off his teeth, but he loved it.

‘You got home late last night.’ She placed a dish on the table with some less spicy food that she’d made for Leo, and Bertil began feeding the boy.

‘Yes, we’re all going at full throttle again. Paula and the boys are out doing the footwork, but Hedström pointed out, quite rightly, that someone needed to be at the station to deal with the media. And no one is better suited than me to take on such a big responsibility.’ He shovelled a little too much food into Leo’s mouth, who fortunately just let half of it slide right out again.

Rita suppressed a smile. Clearly Patrik had once more succeeded in out-manoeuvring his boss. She liked Hedström. He knew how to handle Mellberg: with patience, diplomacy, and a certain degree of flattery that could get Bertil to do exactly what he wanted. She did the same in order to ensure that their life together ran smoothly.

‘You poor thing. It sounds as if you’re really busy.’ She put some chicken on his plate along with a generous serving of salsa.

Leo had finished eating, so Mellberg dug into his own food. A couple of servings later, he leaned back and patted his stomach.

‘Delicious. And I know exactly what would be perfect to follow that. What do you think, Leo my boy?’ He got up and went over to the freezer.

Rita knew that she ought to stop him, but she didn’t have the heart. She let him take out three big Magnum ice-cream bars, which he happily handed out. Leo almost disappeared behind the huge bar. If Bertil kept on like this, the boy would soon be as wide as he was tall. For today, however, she decided not to worry about it.

FJÄLLBACKA 1870

She moved a little closer to Karl. He was lying on the side of the bed next to the wall, wearing long underwear and a shirt. In a couple of hours he would have to get up to relieve Julian in the lighthouse. Cautiously she placed her hand on his leg, stroking his thigh with trembling fingers. She wasn’t the one who was supposed to take the lead like this, but something was wrong. Why didn’t he ever touch her? He hardly even spoke to her. Merely mumbled his thanks for the food before leaving the table. And he seemed to be always looking past her, as if she were made of glass and barely noticeable, in fact almost invisible.

For that matter, he spent very little time at home. During most of his waking hours he was in the lighthouse or doing work on the boat. Or he was out at sea. She spent all day utterly alone in the cottage, and her housework was soon finished. After that, she had many hours to fill, and she began to think that she might go mad. If she had a baby, she would have someone to keep her company, and other tasks to occupy her time. Then she wouldn’t mind that Karl worked from early morning until late at night, and it wouldn’t matter that he never talked to her. If only they would have a child.

But after living on the farm, she knew that certain things had to happen between a man and a woman before she could end up in the family way. Things that hadn’t yet occurred. That was why she put her hand on Karl’s leg and ran it along the inside of his thigh. Her heart was pounding with nervousness and excitement as she gently slipped her hand inside the fly of his underwear.

Karl sat up with a jolt.

‘What are you doing?’ His expression was darker than she’d ever seen it before, and she yanked her hand away.

‘I … I just thought that …’ She couldn’t find the right words. How was she supposed to explain the obvious? Even he must realize how strange it was that they’d been married for nearly three months, and yet he’d never come near her. She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes.

‘I might as well sleep in the lighthouse. I’m not going to get any peace here.’ Karl pushed past her, threw on his clothes, and stomped down the stairs.

Emelie felt as if he’d slapped her face. Up until now he had simply ignored her; this was the first time he’d spoken to her with that tone of voice. Harsh, cold, and contemptuous. And he’d looked at her as if she were some disgusting creature that had crawled out from under a rock.

With tears running down her cheeks, Emelie crept over to the window and looked out. The wind was blowing hard across the island, and Karl had to fight the gusts as he headed for the lighthouse. He tore open the door and went inside. Then she saw him appear in the window of the tower, where the beam of light transformed him into a shadow.

She went back to bed and wept. The house creaked and groaned, almost as if it might rise up and fly over the islands, out into the grey sky. But that didn’t frighten her. She’d rather fly away, to anywhere at all, than stay here.

She felt something caress her cheek, at the very spot where Karl’s words had left a sting, as if he’d slapped her. Emelie sat up with a start. No one was there. She pulled the covers up to her chin and stared into the dark corners of the room. She saw nothing. She lay down again. It was probably just her imagination. Same as all the other sounds that she’d heard since coming to the island. Not to mention the cupboard doors she sometimes found open, although she was certain that she’d closed them. And the sugar bowl that had somehow moved from the kitchen table to the counter. She must have made up all those things. It had to be her imagination, combined with the island’s isolation, playing tricks on her.

She heard a chair scrape downstairs. Emelie sat up, holding her breath. The old woman’s words rang in her ears, the words that she’d managed to push aside during the past months. She didn’t want to go downstairs, didn’t want to know what she might find there, and what had been here in the room, stroking her cheek.

Shaking, she pulled the covers over her head, hiding like a child from unknown terrors. There she lay, wide awake, until dawn came. But she heard no more sounds.

7

‘What do you make of all this?’ asked Paula. Having bought themselves lunch at the Konsum supermarket, she and Gösta had now sat down to eat in the station’s kitchen.

‘It’s certainly a bit odd,’ said Gösta, taking another bite of his fish gratin. ‘Nobody seems to know anything about Sverin’s personal life. And yet everyone has a high opinion of him, telling us that he was a very open and sociable person. It doesn’t make sense to me.’

‘I feel the same way. How can anyone keep everything except his work so secret? Something was bound to come out over coffee or lunch, don’t you think?’

‘Well, you weren’t exactly forthcoming about your own life in the beginning.’

Paula blushed. ‘I see your point. And I suppose that’s exactly what I’m getting at. I kept silent because there was something I didn’t want people to know. I had no idea how all of you would react if you heard that I was living with a woman. So the question is: What was Mats Sverin trying to hide?’

‘That’s what we have to find out.’

Paula felt something brush against her leg. Ernst had smelled the food and was now sitting at her feet, hoping for a handout.

‘I’m sorry, fella. I’m the wrong person to beg from. All I’ve got here is salad.’

Ernst didn’t budge but sat gazing up at her with a pleading look. Paula realized that she’d have to show him what she was eating. She removed a piece of lettuce from the plastic bowl and held it out to him. His tail thumped eagerly against the floor, but after sniffing at the lettuce he looked up at her with disappointment and turned away. Then he went over to Gösta, who reached for a biscuit and discreetly slipped it to the dog.

‘You’re not doing him any favours, you know,’ said Paula. ‘He’ll get fat, and it might even make him ill if you and Bertil don’t stop feeding him treats like that. If it weren’t for Mamma taking him out for long walks, that dog would have died long ago.’

‘I know. But when he gives me that look, I can’t …’

Paula stared at Gösta with a stern expression.

‘We’ll have to hope that Martin or Patrik have come up with a lead or two,’ said Gösta, quickly changing the subject. ‘Because right now we’re not really any wiser than we were yesterday.’

‘You can say that again.’ Paula paused and then went on, ‘It’s so awful thinking about that scene. To be shot in your own flat. The one place where you’re supposed to feel safe.’

‘My guess is that it must have been someone he knew. The door hadn’t been forced, so he must have let the person in of his own accord.’

‘That makes it worse,’ said Paula. ‘To be shot at home by somebody you know.’

‘It doesn’t necessarily have to be a friend or acquaintance. There’s been a lot in the papers lately about people who ring the bell and ask to use the phone and then steal everything in the place.’ Gösta stuck his fork in the last bite of fish gratin.

‘Yes, but they usually target elderly people. Not someone who’s young and strong like Mats Sverin.’

‘True, but that doesn’t mean we should rule it out.’

‘We’ll have to wait and see what Martin and Patrik come up with.’ Paula put down her knife and fork and got to her feet. ‘Want some coffee?’