Camilla Lackberg - The Preacher

Patrik had already driven off to work when Erica awoke from a sleep that for a change had been deep and dreamless. She looked at the clock. It was nine, and there was not a sound from downstairs.

Soon she had the coffee on, and she started setting the breakfast table for herself and her guests. They trickled into the kitchen one by one, each more bleary than the last, but they came round quickly when they began helping themselves to the breakfast she had prepared.

‘Weren’t you all heading for Koster next?’ Erica’s question was polite, but she was anticipating getting rid of them.

Conny exchanged a swift glance with his wife and said, ‘Well, Britta and I talked it over a bit last night, and we thought that since we’re here, and the weather’s so fine, we might run out to one of the islands here today. You do have a boat, don’t you?’

‘Well, yes, we do,’ Erica admitted reluctantly. ‘Although I’m not sure Patrik is terribly anxious to lend it out. Considering the insurance and all that …’ The thought that they would stay even a few more hours than planned made her bones tingle with frustration.

‘We thought that you might be able to give us a lift to some nice spot, then we can ring you when we want to come back.’

Conny took the fact that Erica was speechless at this suggestion as tacit agreement on her part. She called on higher powers for patience and persuaded herself that it wasn’t worth a confrontation with the family just to spare herself a few more hours of their company. Besides, she would get out of being with them during the day, and maybe they would decide to drive on before Patrik came home from work. She had already decided to fix something special for dinner and have a cosy evening at home. After all, Patrik was supposed to be on holiday. And who knew how much time they would have for each other once the baby arrived – it was best to take advantage of their time together.

After much shilly-shallying the whole Flood family finally packed up their sun gear, and they set off for the boat dock. The little blue wooden boat was low and hard to step into from the dock at Badholmen. It took a good deal of effort to squeeze her pregnant body down into the boat. After cruising about for an hour searching for a ‘deserted rock, or preferably a beach’ for the guests, she finally found a tiny cove that other tourists miraculously had seemed to miss. Then she headed for home. Getting up onto the dock without help proved impossible. Feeling humiliated, she had to ask some passing beachgoers for assistance.

Sweaty, hot, exhausted, and furious she drove home but changed her mind just as she was passing the sailing society’s clubhouse. She made a sharp left turn instead of driving straight ahead towards Sälvik. She took the right-hand curve around the hill, past the sports field and the Kullen apartment complex, and parked outside the library. She would go completely insane if she had to sit at home all day with nothing to do. Patrik could protest all he wanted later, but he was going to get help with 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.