Camilla Lackberg Crime Thrillers 4-6: The Stranger, The Hidden Child, The Drowning. Camilla Lackberg
He was pushing sixty, Patrik guessed, tall and athletic and with a thick mane of hair that was now grey, but probably used to be blond. Patrik couldn’t help feeling jealous when he compared his receding hairline with Gradenius’s abundant growth. He realized that the way things were going he would probably look more like Mellberg than Gradenius when he reached that age. Patrik sighed to himself, took another gulp of coffee and then answered the inspector’s question.
‘No. The first sign that something didn’t add up was that everyone who knew the victim swore that she never touched even a drop of alcohol.’ He saw Gradenius’s eyebrows shoot up but continued his account. In time the inspector would draw his own conclusion.
‘That was undeniably a warning flag, and when the autopsy later indicated some odd circumstances, then … well, we finally concluded that the victim had been murdered.’ Patrik could hear how dry and impersonal police language sounded when he had to describe what was actually a tragedy. But it was the language they both knew and whose nuances they understood.
‘And what did the autopsy show?’ said Gradenius, his eyes fixed on Patrik. He looked as though he already knew the answer.
‘That the victim had a blood alcohol level of point six-one, but a large part of the alcohol was found in her lungs. There were also signs of trauma and bruises around her mouth and inside her throat, and tape residue on the lips. There were also marks around her ankles and wrists, which indicated that the victim had been bound in some manner.’
‘I recognize everything you’re telling me,’ said Gradenius, picking up a folder lying on his desk. ‘But how did you find out about me?’
Patrik laughed. ‘Overzealous documentation, according to one of my colleagues. We were both at the conference in Halmstad a couple of years ago. One of the assignments was to agree on an unsolved case to present in each group. Something that we were puzzled about but didn’t know how to proceed. You presented a case that made me think about our current one. I had saved my notes, so I was able to check that my memory jibed before I rang you.’
‘Not bad, I must say. I’m impressed that you would remember. It’s lucky for both of us. That case has bothered me for years, but the investigation came to a dead end. I’ll be happy to give you all the information we have, and maybe we can get yours in return?’
Patrik nodded his assent and took the stack of papers that Gradenius handed him.
‘Can I take these with me?’
‘Certainly, they’re just copies. Would you like to go through the information together?’
‘I’d like to look through it on my own first. Then I can phone you; I’m sure I’ll have plenty of questions. And I’ll see to it that you get a copy of our material tomorrow.’
‘Excellent,’ said Gradenius, standing up. ‘It would be good to resolve this matter. The victim’s mother was completely shattered, and is still suffering. She rings me occasionally. I’d like to have something to tell her.’
‘We’ll do our best,’ said Patrik. He couldn’t wait to get back and read through the file. He had a feeling that this would mark a turning point. It had to.
Lars flung himself on the sofa and put his legs up on the coffee table. He’d been so tired lately. That constant, paralysing weariness that overwhelmed him and refused to let go. His headaches had also been more frequent; it was as if one gave birth to the next. The exhaustion and the headaches formed an endless spiral that dragged him down deeper and deeper. He cautiously massaged his temples, relieving the pain a bit. When he felt the pressure of Hanna’s fingers on his, he put his hands in his lap, leaned back, and closed his eyes. Her fingers continued to massage and knead. She knew precisely the place to rub. She’d had a lot of practice lately.
‘How are you feeling?’ she said softly as she gently moved her fingers back and forth.
‘Fine,’ said Lars, noticing how the concern in her voice seeped inside him and settled like an unwelcome irritant. He didn’t want her to worry. He hated it when she worried.
‘You don’t look it,’ she said, stroking his forehead. The caress was wonderful, but he couldn’t relax because of all her unspoken questions. Annoyed, he swept away her hands and sat up.
‘I feel fine, I said. Just a little tired. It’s probably spring fever.’
‘Spring fever,’ said Hanna with a laugh that was both bitter and ironic. ‘Are you blaming springtime now?’ She was still standing behind the sofa.
‘Yeah, what the hell else is there to blame it on? Maybe the fact that I’ve been working non-stop lately. Both on the book and trying to keep those fucking idiots over at the community centre on the straight and narrow.’
‘Such a respectful way to talk about your clients, or patients rather. Do you actually tell them that you think they’re idiots? A good way to facilitate the therapy, I should think.’
Her voice was sharp, and she clearly intended for him to feel its sting. He didn’t understand why she did that. Why couldn’t she simply leave him alone? Lars reached for the remote and sat back down on the sofa, with his back to Hanna. After surfing through the channels for a while, he stopped on Jeopardy and tested his knowledge against the contestants. He knew all the right responses.
‘Do you have to work so much? And with that show?’ she added. Everything she left unsaid charged the air between them.
‘I have to do some sort of work,’ Lars replied, wishing that she would shut up. Sometimes he wondered if she understood him at all. Understood all the things he did for her sake. He turned to look at her.
‘I’m doing what I have to do, Hanna. Just like always. You know that.’
Their eyes locked for a second. Then Hanna turned and left. He watched her go. A while later he heard the front door shut.
On the TV Jeopardy was still spitting out challenges.
They were all much too easy.
‘Well, what do you think of the show so far?’ Uffe cracked open a beer for each of the girls, who giggled as they took them.
‘Great,’ said the blonde.
‘Yeah, great,’ said the brunette.
Calle knew he wasn’t in the mood to do this tonight. Uffe had dragged in two of the groupies that hung about outside the community centre, and now he was in the midst of a big charm offensive. As well as he could manage, anyway. Charm wasn’t exactly his strong suit.
‘Who do you like best then?’ Uffe put his arm round the blonde girl and moved closer. ‘Me, right?’ He poked her in the side and laughed, receiving a delighted giggle in reply. Encouraged, he continued, ‘Well, it’s not much of a competition. I’m the only real man here.’ He took a swig of beer straight from the bottle and then pointed his beer bottle at Calle.
‘Take this guy, for example. One of those typical slick Stureplan dudes, not the sort for a pair of lovelies like you. All they know how to do is whip out their pappa’s credit card.’ The girls giggled again and he went on. ‘Mehmet, on the other hand.’ He pointed to Mehmet who was lying on his bed reading a book. ‘He’s about as far from a slick dude as you can get. A real, genuine working-class greaseball. He’s the guy who knows how to get ahead. But he can’t escape the fact that Swedish flesh is the best.’ He stretched out his arms and then tried to slip his hand under the blonde’s jumper. She instantly caught on to what he was up to, and after an anxious glance at the camera, she shoved his hand away discreetly. Uffe looked displeased for a moment, but quickly recovered. It would take a while for the girls to forget the presence of the camera. But after that it would be clear sailing. His goal with these few weeks on the show was to do a bit of bumping and humping under the covers. Shit, he could become a legend by doing that. He’d got pretty close on the island, if only that lame chick from Jokkmokk had been a little drunker.
‘Cool it, Uffe, let’s just take it easy, okay?’ Calle