Camilla Lackberg Crime Thrillers 4-6: The Stranger, The Hidden Child, The Drowning. Camilla Lackberg
said Calle, puffing out a ring to chase hers.
‘What are you going to do tonight?’ She looked at him.
‘The disco, or whatever the fuck they call it. You?’
‘Sure, sounds good.’ She laughed. ‘I don’t think I’ve been to a “disco” since I was a kid.’ She wiggled her toes, which were sore from being stuffed into a pair of high heels for a couple of hours.
‘It’ll be cool, no sweat. We own this town. People will come just to see us. How cool is that?’
‘Well, I thought I’d ask Fredrik if he could fix it so I get to sing.’
Calle laughed. ‘Are you serious?’
Tina gave him a hurt look. ‘You think I’m doing this just because it’s so fucking cool? I’ve got to make the most of this opportunity. I’ve been taking voice lessons for months, and there was a shitload of interest from the record companies after The Bar.’
‘So you already have a record deal?’ Calle teased her, taking a deep drag on his cigarette.
‘No … It all fell apart somehow. But it was only the timing that was wrong, my manager says. And we have to find a song that fits my image. He’s going to try and fix it so that Bingo Rimér does my publicity shoot too.’
‘You?’ Calle gave a raw laugh. ‘Barbie’s got a better chance. You just don’t have the …’ he let his eyes wander over her body, ‘assets.’
‘What do you mean? My bod is at least as sexy as that fucking bimbo. A bit smaller boobs, that’s all.’ Tina dropped the cigarette on the floor and ground it out with her heel. ‘And I’m saving up for some new ones,’ she added, giving Calle a defiant look. ‘Ten thousand kronor more and I can get me some fine fucking D-cups.’
‘Right. Lots of luck,’ said Calle crushing his cigarette on the floor.
Just then Günther came back. His face took on an even deeper shade of red than he had from the steam coming off the frying pans. ‘Are you smoking in here? It’s forbidden, totally forbidden, absolutely forbidden!’ He waved his arms excitedly, and Tina and Calle looked at each other and hooted. He was just a joke. Reluctantly they went back to their jobs. The cameras had caught it all.
The best times were when they sat close, very close to each other. The times when she took out the book. The rustle of the pages as she carefully turned them, the scent of her perfume, the touch of the soft fabric of her blouse against his cheek. That was when the shadows kept their distance. Everything outside, both frightening and tempting, became unimportant. Her voice rose and fell in gentle waves. Sometimes, if they were tired, one of them, or sometimes both, would fall asleep with their heads in her lap. The last thing they remembered before sleep took them was the story, the voice, the rustle of paper, and her fingers caressing their hair.
They had heard the story so many times. They knew it by heart. And yet it felt new each time. Sometimes he watched his sister as she listened. Her mouth half open, her eyes fixed on the book pages, her hair cascading down the back of her nightgown. He used to brush her hair every night. That was his job.
When she read to them, all desire to go out of the locked door vanished. Then there was only a colourful world of adventure, full of dragons, princes and princesses. Not a locked door. Not two locked doors.
He vaguely recalled that he’d been scared at first. But not anymore. Not when she smelled so good and felt so soft and when her voice rose and fell so rhythmically. Not when he knew that she was protecting him. Not when he knew that he was a jinx.
Patrik and Martin had been busy with other tasks at the station for a couple of hours, waiting for Ola to come home from work. They had considered driving over and having the conversation with him there, but decided to wait until five o’clock when his workday at Inventing ended. There was no reason to subject him to a lot of questions from his co-workers. Not yet, anyway. Kerstin hadn’t believed that Ola had anything to do with the anonymous letters and phone calls. Patrik wasn’t so sure. The stack of letters had been sent off to the National Crime Lab that afternoon, and he had also included a request for access to the telephone records of callers to Kerstin and Marit during the period they had received the anonymous calls.
Ola looked like he’d just stepped out of the shower when he opened the door. He’d thrown on some clothes, but his hair was still wet. ‘Yes?’ he said impatiently, and now they saw no trace of the grief from Monday when they’d told him of his ex-wife’s death. At least the effect was not as obvious as it had been with Kerstin.
‘We have a few more questions we’d like to ask you.’
‘Oh, yeah?’ said Ola, still impatient.
‘Yes, there are a few things that have come to our attention with regard to Marit’s death,’ said Patrik, giving him an insistent look.
Ola obviously read the signals, for he stepped aside and motioned for them to come in.
‘Well, it’s just as well that you came, because I’ve been thinking of ringing you.’
‘Is that so?’ said Patrik, sitting down on the sofa. This time Ola had not shown them into the kitchen, but instead led the way to the sofa group in the living room.
‘Yes, I’d like to hear whether it’s possible to get a restraining order issued.’ Ola sat down in a big leather easy chair and crossed his legs.
‘A restraining order against whom?’ said Martin with a searching look at Patrik.
Ola’s eyes flashed. ‘Against Kerstin. For Sofie.’
Neither of the officers showed any surprise. ‘And why is that?’ Patrik’s tone was deceptively calm.
‘There’s no reason for Sofie to have to visit that … that … person now!’ he said so fiercely that he sprayed saliva. Ola leaned forward and went on, with his elbows on his thighs: ‘She went over there today. Her knapsack was gone when I got home for lunch, and I’ve phoned around her friends. She must have gone to see that … lesbo. Can’t you do something to stop it? I mean, naturally I’m going to have a serious talk with Sofie when she comes home, but there must be some way to prevent such things legally, isn’t there?’
‘Well, that might be difficult,’ said Patrik, whose suspicions were now being confirmed. What they wanted to talk to Ola about now seemed highly appropriate. ‘A restraining order is rather an extreme measure, and I don’t think it’s applicable in this case.’ He looked at Ola, who was clearly getting agitated.
‘But, but …’ he stammered. ‘What the hell am I supposed to do? Sofie’s fifteen, and I can’t lock her in the house if she refuses to obey, and that damned …’ he swallowed the words with difficulty, ‘she’s surely not going to cooperate. When Marit was alive I was forced to go along with … all that, but to continue to put up with this crap now, no, damn it!’ He pounded his fist on the glass coffee table so that both Patrik and Martin jumped.
‘So you don’t approve of your ex-wife’s choice of lifestyle?’
‘Choice? Lifestyle?’ Ola snorted. ‘If it hadn’t been for that slut putting all those ideas into Marit’s head, none of this would have happened. Then Marit and Sofie and I could have been together. But instead Marit not only destroyed her family, and betrayed both Sofie and me, but she made all of us laughing stocks!’ He shook his head as if he still couldn’t believe it.
‘Did you show your disapproval in any way?’ Patrik