Camilla Läckberg - The Hidden Child

‘That’s right, we picked him up at Landvetter airport,’ said Paula. ‘But he doesn’t seem to know very much. We asked him about the letters from Sweden’s Friends, but the only thing he was able to clarify was that Frans Ringholm was apparently one of Erik’s childhood friends. Axel didn’t know about any specific threats from that organization; it seems that threats were something of an occupational hazard, given the work that he and Erik did.’

‘Axel received threats?’ asked Mellberg, spraying more crumbs across the table.

‘Quite a few, from what he said,’ said Martin. ‘They’re all on file with the organization that he works for.’

‘Had he received any from Sweden’s Friends?’

Paula shook her head. ‘He couldn’t tell us whether he had or not. And I can understand that. He must get so much of that junk in the post, why would he pay any attention to it?’

‘What was your impression of him? I’ve heard that he was something of a hero in his youth.’ Annika gave Martin and Paula an inquisitive look.

‘Stylish, distinguished…’ said Paula, ‘but very subdued, which is only natural in the circumstances. He definitely seemed upset by his brother’s death. Did you have the same impression?’ She turned to Martin, who nodded.

‘Yes, I thought so too.’

‘I assume that you’re going to question him again,’ said Mellberg, looking at Martin. ‘And I understand you’ve been in touch with Pedersen, is that right?’ He cleared his throat. ‘A bit odd that he didn’t want to talk to me.’

Martin coughed. ‘I think you must have been out walking the dog when he called. I’m sure you were at the top of his list.’

‘Hmm, well, you’re probably right. Okay, go on. What did he say?’

Martin summarized Pedersen’s findings. Then he told them: ‘Apparently Pedersen rang Patrik first. Sounds as though he isn’t entirely happy about being a stay-at-home father: he got Pedersen to give him a full report. Considering how easy it was to entice him over to the crime scene, I bet we’ll be seeing him and Maja here at the station very soon.’

Annika laughed. ‘Yes, I talked to him yesterday. He was trying to be diplomatic, saying that it would probably take him some time to get adjusted.’

‘I believe it,’ snorted Mellberg. ‘What a stupid idea: grown men changing nappies and making baby food! My generation didn’t have to put up with that sort of rubbish. We could devote ourselves to things we were better suited for, while the women took care of the kids.’

‘I would have gladly changed nappies,’ said Gösta quietly, looking down at the table.

Patrik and Annika glanced at him; they’d only recently found out that Gösta and his late wife had had a son who died shortly after birth. There had been no other children. Everyone sat in silence for a moment and avoided looking at Gösta. Then Annika said:

‘Well, I happen to think it’s a good thing. You men get to find out how much work is involved. I don’t have any of my own’ – now it was Annika’s turn to look sad – ‘but all my women friends have children, and it’s not like they lie around eating bonbons all day long because they’re at home with the kids. So this will probably be good for Patrik.’

‘You’ll never convince me of that,’ said Mellberg. Then he frowned impatiently and peered down at the papers lying on the table in front of him. Brushing off all the crumbs, he read a few sentences before he spoke again.

‘Okay, here’s the report from Torbjörn and his boys…’

‘And girls,’ added Annika. Mellberg sighed loudly.

‘And girls. You’re certainly on some sort of feminist warpath today! Shall we get on with this investigation, or should we just sing “Kumbaya” and debate the feminist agenda?’ He shook his head before proceeding:

‘As I said, I have here the report from Torbjörn and his team . And I can sum it up in two words: “no surprises”. They found a number of shoe prints and fingerprints, and of course we’ll have to follow up on those. Gösta, make sure that we get the boys’ prints so we can eliminate them, and the brothers’ too. By the way’ – he hesitated as he read a few lines to himself again – ‘it seems they’ve established that the victim received a blow to the head, delivered by some kind of blunt instrument.’

‘So, no other injuries? Just the one blow to the head?’ said Paula.

‘Uh, yes, that’s right: one blow. I asked Torbjörn that very question, and apparently it’s possible to tell by analysing the blood spatter on the walls. At any rate, the conclusion is quite clear: a powerful blow to the head.’

‘That agrees with the post-mortem results,’ said Martin, nodding. ‘What about the weapon? Pedersen thought it was a heavy object made of stone.’

‘Exactly!’ said Mellberg triumphantly, jabbing his finger at the middle of the document. ‘Under the desk they found a heavy stone bust. It had traces of blood and hair and brain matter on it, and I’m convinced that the stone fragments embedded in the wound will match the stone that the bust is made of.’

‘So we have the murder weapon. At least that’s something,’ said Gösta gloomily, taking a gulp of his coffee, which had gone cold.

Mellberg glanced at his subordinates sitting around the table. ‘Any suggestions as to how we should proceed?’ He made it sound as if the question were merely a formality and that he had already devised a long list of suitable investigative measures. Which was not the case.

‘I think we should talk to Frans Ringholm. Find out more about those threats.’

‘And talk to the people who live in the neighbourhood, to see if anyone noticed anything around the time of the murder,’ Paula added.

Annika looked up from her notebook. ‘Somebody should also interview the cleaning woman who worked for the brothers. Find out when she was last there, whether she spoke to Erik, and why she hasn’t been over to clean all summer.’

‘Good.’ Mellberg nodded. ‘So, why are you all sitting here? Let’s get to work!’ He glared at the officers and continued to do so until they trooped out of the room. Then he reached for another bun.

Delegation. That was the mark of a good leader.

They had all agreed that it was a total waste of time to go to classes, so they only showed up sporadically, whenever the spirit happened to move them. Which wasn’t very often. Today they’d gathered around ten o’clock. There wasn’t much to do in Tanumshede. They mostly sat around, talking. And smoking.

‘Did you hear about that old fart in Fjällbacka?’ Nicke took a drag on his cigarette and laughed. ‘It was probably your grandfather and his pal who killed him.’

Vanessa giggled.

‘Hey,’ said Per crossly, though not without a certain pride. ‘Grandpa had nothing to do with that. He wouldn’t risk prison time just to kill some geriatric fossil. Sweden’s Friends has better things to do, and bigger goals in mind.’

‘Have you talked to the old guy yet? About letting us come to a meeting?’ Nicke had stopped laughing, an eager expression now on his face.

‘Not yet,’ said Per reluctantly. He enjoyed a special status in the group because he was the grandson of Frans Ringholm, and in a weak moment he’d promised the others that he’d get them into one of the Friends’ meetings in Uddevalla. But he hadn’t found the right occasion to bring it up with his grandfather. Besides, he knew what Frans would say. They were too young. They needed a couple more years to ‘develop their full potential’. What that meant, he had no idea. He and his friends understood the issues just as well as the older people did, the ones who had already been accepted. It was simple, after all. What was there to misunderstand?