The Preacher. Camilla Lackberg
the investigation whether he wanted it or not!
When Ernst entered the police station he headed reluctantly towards Hedström’s office. As soon as Patrik rang him on his mobile and with granite in his voice ordered him to come to the station at once, Ernst knew that he was in trouble. He ransacked his memory to try and work out what he might have been caught doing, but he had to admit that there were too many possibilities to make an educated guess. He was the de facto master of short cuts, and he had made fiddling about an art form.
‘Sit.’
He docilely obeyed Patrik’s command, then put on a defiant expression to meet the approaching storm.
‘So what’s the big hurry? I was in the middle of something. Just because you happened to be put in charge of an investigation, you can’t just boss me about …’
A good offence was usually the best defence, but judging from Patrik’s ever-darkening expression it was absolutely the wrong way to go.
‘Did you take a report about a missing German tourist a week ago?’
Damn. He had totally forgotten about that. The little blonde girl had come in right before lunch, and he got rid of her in a hurry so he could be on his way and go eat. Most of those reports about missing friends never amounted to anything. Usually the person was dead drunk in some ditch, or else she’d gone home with some guy. Shit. He knew now that he was going to pay for this. He couldn’t imagine why he hadn’t connected it with the girl they found yesterday, but hindsight was 20-20. The important thing was to minimize the damage.
‘Yes, well, I suppose I did.’
‘You suppose you did?’ Patrik’s usually calm voice resounded like thunder in the little room. ‘Either you took the report or you didn’t. There’s nothing in between. And if you did take it, where in the … where is it?’ Patrik was so furious that he was stumbling over his words. ‘Do you realize how much time this has cost the investigation?’
‘Well, it’s obviously unfortunate, but how was I supposed to know –’
‘You aren’t supposed to know, you’re supposed to do what you’re assigned to do! I hope I never hear about something like this again. Right now we have precious hours to make up.’
‘Is there anything I can …’ Ernst made his voice as submissive as he could and tried to look contrite. Inside, he was cursing at being addressed like a whippersnapper, but since Hedström now seemed to have Mellberg’s ear it would be stupid to aggravate the situation any further.
‘You’ve done enough. Martin and I will continue with the investigation. You’ll take care of any other incoming reports. We received one about a burglary in Skeppstad. I talked to Mellberg and got the go-ahead for you to handle that on your own.’
As a sign that the conversation was over, Patrik turned his back on Ernst and began typing so frenetically that the keyboard jumped.
Ernst left the room grumbling. How serious could it be to forget to write up a single little report? At the proper time he would have a talk with Mellberg about the suitability of having someone with such an unstable personality in charge of a homicide investigation. Yes, damn it, that’s what he would do.
The pimply-faced youth sitting before him was a study in lethargy. Hopelessness was written all over his face; the meaninglessness of life had been pounded into him long ago. Jacob recognized all the signs, and he couldn’t help looking on it as a challenge. He knew that he had the power to turn the boy’s life in a completely different direction. How well he succeeded depended only on whether the boy had any desire to be steered onto the right path.
Within the religious community Jacob’s work with young people was well-known and respected. So many broken souls had entered the farm only to leave as productive members of society. The religious aspect was toned down for the rest of the town, since the state subsidies were rather precarious. There were always people with no faith in God who cried ‘sect’ as soon as anything diverged from their conventional view of what religion involved.
It was on his own merits that he had won the greater part of the respect he enjoyed, but he could not deny that some of it could also be attributed to the fact that his grandfather was Ephraim Hult, ‘the Preacher’. Of course his grandfather had not belonged to this same congregation, but his reputation was so widespread along the coast of Bohuslän that it resonated within all the free-church groups. The Lutheran state church in Sweden naturally viewed the Preacher as a charlatan. On the other hand, all the pastors who chose to settle for preaching to empty pews on Sundays did the same, so the freer Christian groups took little notice.
The work with the outsiders and addicts had filled Jacob’s life for almost a decade, but it no longer satisfied him the same way it had done before. He had been involved in planning programmes at the rehabilitation centre in Bullaren, but the work no longer filled the vacuum he had lived with all his life. Something was missing inside him, and the search for this unknown something frightened him. For so long, he had believed that he stood on solid ground but now he felt it trembling precariously beneath his feet. He dreaded the abyss that might open and swallow him whole, both body and soul. So many times, secure in his faith, he had sententiously observed that doubt is the primary tool of the Devil, not knowing that one day he would find himself in that same predicament.
Jacob got up and stood with his back to the boy. He looked out of the window facing the lake, but saw only his own reflection in the glass. A strong, healthy man, he reflected sardonically. His dark hair was cut short, and Marita, who cut his hair at home, actually did a very good job. His face was finely chiselled, with sensitive features without being unmasculine. He was neither delicate nor particularly powerfully built; he was the very definition of a man with a normal physique. Jacob’s biggest asset were his eyes. They were a piercing blue and had the unique ability to seem both gentle and penetrating at the same time. Those eyes had helped him convince many people to take the right path. He knew it, and he exploited it.
But not today. His own demons were making it hard for him to concentrate on anyone else’s problems. It was easier to take in what the boy was saying if he didn’t have to look at him. Jacob looked away from his reflection and instead peered out across Bullar Lake and the forest that spread out for miles and miles before him. It was so hot that he could see the air shimmering above the water. They had purchased the big farm cheaply because it had been so dilapidated after years of mismanagement. After countless hours of toil they had renovated it to the condition it was in now. The place was not luxurious, but it was neat, clean and comfortable. The district’s representatives were always impressed by the house and the lovely surroundings. They enthused about what a positive influence this would have on the poor maladjusted boys and girls. Previously the farm had never had any problems in getting subsidies, and their work had progressed well during the ten years they had been in operation. So the problem was all in his head … or was it in his soul?
Perhaps the temptation of daily life was what had pushed him in the wrong direction at a decisive fork in the road. He had not hesitated to take his sister into his home. Who else would be able to soothe her inner turmoil and calm her rebellious temperament? But she had proven to be his superior in the psychological battle, and as her ego grew stronger day after day, he felt the constant irritation undermining his whole foundation. Sometimes he would catch himself clenching his fists and thinking that she was a stupid, simple girl who deserved it if her family washed their hands of her. But that was not the Christian way of thinking, and such thoughts always led to hours of soul-searching and devout Bible study in the hope of finding renewed strength.
Outwardly Jacob was still a rock of security and confidence. He knew that the people around him needed him; he was the one they could always lean on. And he was still not prepared to give up that image of himself. Ever since he vanquished the illness that for a time had ravaged him so fiercely, he struggled not to lose control over his life. But the mere exertion of maintaining the façade taxed his last resources, and the abyss was inexorably drawing nearer. Once again he reflected over how ironic it was that after so many years things had come full circle. The news had made him for a second do the impossible – he had succumbed to doubt. The doubt