The Preacher

A streak of light appeared on her hand, and she automatically raised her eyes towards its source. A little crack of light was visible against the velvet-dark blackness. She forced herself to her feet and screamed for help. No response. She stood on tiptoe and tried to reach the source of the light but wasn’t even close. Instead she could feel water dripping on her upturned face. The drops became a steady trickle and she realized at once how thirsty she was. Without thinking she opened her mouth to drink. At first most of it ran down her face, but soon she discovered the proper technique and drank greedily. Then a mist seemed to settle over everything, and the room began to spin. After that, only darkness.

Linda woke up early for a change but tried to go back to sleep. It had been a late night with Stefan, and she felt almost hung over from lack of sleep. But for the first time in months she heard rain on the roof. The room that Jacob and Marita had fixed up for her was just under the roof-ridge, and the sound of the rain on the roof tiles was so loud that it seemed to echo between her temples.

At the same time, it was the first morning in ages that she had woken up to a cool bedroom. The heat had been constant for almost two months, breaking records for the hottest summer in a hundred years. At first she had welcomed the blazing sunshine, but the pleasure of novelty had vanished several weeks ago. Instead she had begun to hate waking up each morning to sweat-drenched sheets. So the fresh, cool air that now swept in under the roof-beams was all the more enjoyable. Linda threw off the thin covers and let her body feel the pleasant temperature. Contrary to habit, she decided to get up before someone chased her out of bed. It might be nice not to eat breakfast by herself for a change. Downstairs in the kitchen she could hear the noise of breakfast being prepared, and she pulled on a short kimono and stuck her feet in a pair of slippers.

In the kitchen her early arrival was met with looks of surprise. The whole family was assembled: Jacob, Marita, William and Petra, and their muted conversation stopped short when Linda flung herself down on an empty chair and began buttering some bread.

‘It’s nice that you want to keep us company for a change, but I’d appreciate it if you put on some more clothes when you come downstairs. Think of the children.’

Jacob was so bloody sanctimonious that it made her sick. Just to irk him further, Linda let her thin kimono slip open a bit so that one breast could be seen through the opening. His face turned white with rage, but for some reason he didn’t take up the fight and let the matter drop. William and Petra looked at her in fascination. She made faces at them, causing them both to erupt in spasms of giggles. The children were actually quite sweet, she had to admit, but Jacob and Marita would ruin them soon enough. When the kids were done with their religious upbringing they wouldn’t have any joy left in life.

‘Now you children settle down. Sit up straight at the table when you’re eating. Take your feet off the chair, Petra, and sit like a big girl. And close your mouth when you eat, William. I don’t want to see what you’re chewing.’

The laughter vanished from the children’s faces and they sat up straight like two tin soldiers with empty, vacant eyes. Linda sighed to herself. Sometimes she couldn’t believe that she and Jacob were actually related. No siblings were more unlike than she and Jacob; she was convinced of that. It was so damned unfair that he was their parents’ favourite, always praised to the skies, while he did nothing but pick at her. Was it her fault that she had arrived unplanned, long after they had decided to leave their baby-rearing years behind? Or that Jacob’s illness so many years before she was born had made them unwilling to have another child? Naturally she understood the seriousness of the fact that he almost died, but why did she have to take the blame for it? She wasn’t the one who had made him sick.

All the coddling they had showered on Jacob had just continued on, even after he had completely recovered. It was as if their parents regarded each day of his life as a gift from God, while her life caused them only trouble and difficulty. And then there was the relationship between Grandfather and Jacob. She certainly understood that they had a special bond, after what Grandfather had done for Jacob, but that shouldn’t mean that there wasn’t any room for his other grandchildren. Of course, Grandfather had died before she was born, so she never had to face his indifference, but she knew from Stefan that he and Robert had landed in Grandfather’s disfavour and they saw all the attention focused on their cousin Jacob. Surely the same thing would have happened to her if Grandfather were still alive.

The injustice of it all made hot tears well up in her eyes, but Linda forced them back as she had so many times before. She did not intend to give Jacob the satisfaction of seeing her tears or allow him another opportunity to act as saviour of the world. She knew that his fingers itched to get her life onto the right path, but she would rather die than be a doormat like him. Nice girls might get to Heaven, but she intended to go much, much farther than that. She would rather come down to earth with a crash of thunder than live her life a milksop like her big brother, secure as he was that everyone loved him.

‘Do you have any plans today? I could use a little help around the house,’ said Marita.

She was buttering several slices of bread for the children as she directed her question to Linda. She was a motherly woman, slightly overweight and with a plain face. Linda had always thought that Jacob could have done better. An image of her brother and her sister-in-law in bed popped into her mind. She was sure that they did it dutifully once a month, with the lights off and her sister-in-law wearing some concealing, ankle-length nightgown. The image made her giggle, and the others gave her a quizzical look.

‘Hey, Marita asked you a question. Can you help her around the house today? This isn’t a boarding-house, you know.’

‘All right, all right, I heard her the first time. You don’t have to nag. And no, I can’t help out today. I have to …’ She searched for a good excuse. ‘I have to check on Scirocco. He was limping a little yesterday.’

Her excuse was received with sceptical looks, and Linda put on her most contentious expression, ready for a fight. But to her astonishment no one felt like challenging her today, despite the obvious lie. The victory – and yet another day of loafing – was hers.

The desire to go outside and stand in the rain, with his face turned up to the sky and the water streaming over him, was irresistible. But there were certain things that an adult could not permit himself, especially if he was at work, and Martin had to restrain his childish impulse. But it was wonderful. All the oppressive heat that had held them captive the past two months was flushed away in one good downpour. Through the open window he could smell the rain in his nostrils. Rain came splashing onto the part of his desk closest to the window, but he had moved all the papers so it didn’t matter. It was worth it to be able to smell the cool air.

Patrik had called in to say that he’d overslept, so Martin had been the first one in for a change. The mood at the station had been low after yesterday’s revelation of Ernst’s serious misjudgement, so it was nice to be able to sit here in peace and quiet and collect his thoughts surrounding the latest developments. He did not envy Patrik the task of notifying the woman’s relatives, but even he knew that learning the facts was the first step in the healing process of grief. They probably didn’t even know that she was missing, so the news would come as a shock. Now the most important thing was to locate the family, and that was one of Martin’s tasks for the day: to contact his German colleagues. He hoped he’d be able to talk to them in English, otherwise he’d have a problem. He remembered enough school German that he didn’t regard Patrik’s German as much of an asset, after hearing his colleague stammer through the conversation with Tanja’s friend.

He was just about to pick up the receiver and dial Germany when the phone rang. His pulse sped up when he heard that it was Forensics in Göteborg, and he reached for his notepad covered in scribbles. Actually the person on the line was supposed to report to Patrik, but since he hadn’t come in yet Martin would have to do.

‘Things certainly seem to be heating up out there in the sticks.’

Forensic doctor Tord Pedersen was referring to the autopsy he had done a year and a half ago on Alex Wijkner, which led to one of the very few homicide investigations that Tanumshede police station had ever conducted.

‘Yep, we’re starting to wonder whether it’s something in the water. Pretty soon we’ll be catching up with Stockholm in the murder statistics.’

The light, bantering tone was a way for them – and many other professionals who often came in contact with death and misfortune – to handle the pressures of their daily work. It was not meant to detract from the gravity of their profession.

‘Have you already finished with the autopsy? I thought people were killing each other faster than ever in this heat we’ve been having,’ Martin went on.

‘Well, you’re actually right about that. We can tell that people have a shorter fuse because of the heat, but things have actually slowed down the past few days. So we were able to get to your case sooner than we thought.’

‘Let’s hear it.’ Martin held his breath. Much of the progress of an investigation depended on how much Forensics had to offer.

‘Well, it’s clear that you’re not dealing with a pleasant fellow. The cause of death was easy to determine: she was strangled. But it’s what was done to her before she died that’s really remarkable.’

Pedersen paused, and Martin pictured him putting on a pair of glasses.

‘Yes?’ Martin couldn’t hide his impatience.

‘Now let’s see … You’ll be getting this by fax as well … Hmm,’ said Pedersen, apparently skimming the report. Martin’s hand began to sweat from his tight grip on the receiver.

‘Yes, here it is. Fourteen fractures to various parts of the skeleton. All inflicted before death, judging from the varying degrees of healing that had taken place.’

‘You mean –’

‘I mean that somebody broke her arms, legs, fingers, and toes over the course of about a week, I would reckon.’

‘Were they broken on a single occasion or on several? Can you tell that?’

‘As I said, we can see that the fractures show a varying degree of healing, so my professional opinion is that they occurred sporadically over the entire period. I’ve made a sketch of the order in which I think the fractures occurred. It’s included in the report I faxed to you. The victim also had a good number of superficial incisions on her body. Also in varying stages of healing.’

‘Good God!’ Martin couldn’t help blurting out.

‘I’m inclined to agree with that opinion.’ Pedersen’s voice sounded dry over the telephone. ‘The pain she experienced must have been unbearable.’

For a moment they contemplated in silence how cruel people could be. Then Martin pulled himself together and continued, ‘Did you find any evidence on the body that might help us?’

‘Yes, we found semen. If you find a suspect, he could be tied to the murder with DNA. Naturally we’re searching our database as well, but it’s rare that we get any hits that way. So far, the register is just too small. We can only dream of the day when we’ll have the DNA of every citizen in a searchable database. Then we’ll be in a totally different position.’

‘Dream is probably the right word. Complaints about infringing on the freedom of the individual and all that will probably stop that plan cold.’

‘If what this woman went through can’t be called restricting an individual’s freedom, then I don’t know what can …’

This was uncharacteristically philosophical for the normally prosaic Tord Pedersen. Martin realized that for once he had actually been moved by the victim’s fate. This was usually not something a pathologist could allow if he wanted to sleep well at night.

‘Can you give me an estimated time of death?’

‘Yes, I got the results from the samples that the techs took on-site, and then I supplemented them with my own observations, so I can give you quite a reliable time interval.’

‘Let’s hear it.’

‘In my estimation she died sometime between six and eleven o’clock, the evening before she was discovered in the King’s Cleft.’

‘You can’t give me a more exact time than that?’ Martin sounded disappointed.

‘It’s standard practice here in Sweden never to give a narrower interval than five hours in such cases, so that’s the best I can do. But the interval’s probability is 95 per cent, so at least it’s very reliable. However, I can confirm what you must have suspected: that the King’s Cleft is the secondary crime scene. She was murdered somewhere else and lay there for a couple of hours after death, which is evident from the livor mortis.’

‘Well, that’s something, anyway.’ Martin sighed. ‘What about the skeletons? Did they give you anything? You got the message from Patrik, I suppose, about who we think they might be.’

‘Yes, I did. And on that we aren’t really clear yet. It isn’t quite as simple as you might think to obtain dental records from the Seventies, but we’re working on it as fast as we can. As soon as we know more we’ll let you know. But I can say that they are two female skeletons, and the age seems to be about right. The pelvis of one women also indicates that she had borne a child, and that agrees with the information we have. The most interesting thing of all is that both skeletons have fractures similar to the recent victim’s. Between us I would even venture to say that the fractures are almost identical on the three bodies.’

Martin dropped a pen on the floor from pure shock. What had actually landed in their laps? A sadistic murderer who let twenty-four years pass between his evil deeds? Martin didn’t even want to think about the alternative: that the murderer might not have waited twenty-four years, and they simply hadn’t found the other victims yet.

‘Were they also stabbed with a knife?’

‘Since there is no soft-tissue material left, that’s more difficult to say, but there are some scrape marks on the bones that might indicate they were subjected to the same treatment, yes.’

‘And the cause of death for them?’

‘The same as for the German woman. Bones that were compressed at the throat correspond to injuries resulting from strangulation.’

Martin was rapidly taking notes during the conversation. ‘Anything else of interest you can give me?’

‘Just that the skeletons were probably buried. There are traces of dirt on them, and we might be able to get something out of them in the analysis. But it isn’t clear yet, so you’ll have to be patient. There was dirt on Tanja Schmidt and the blanket she was lying on also, so we’ll be comparing that to the samples from the skeletons.’ Pedersen paused. ‘Is Mellberg leading the investigation?’

There was some apprehension in his voice. Martin smiled to himself, but he could set the pathologist’s mind at rest on that point.

‘No, Patrik has been given the case. But who will get the credit once we solve it is quite another matter …’

They both laughed at the remark, but it was a laugh that at least on Martin’s part stuck a bit in his craw.

After saying goodbye to Tord Pedersen, he went to collect the pages that had arrived in the station’s fax machine. When Patrik came to work a while later, Martin had done his homework well. After Patrik heard a summary of the forensic report he was just as depressed as Martin. This was developing into a hell of a case.

Erica’s sister Anna let the sunshine bake into her skin as she lay stretched out in a bikini in the bow of the sailboat. The children were taking their afternoon nap in the cabin below, and Gustav was at the tiller. Tiny drops of salt water splashed over her each time the bow hit the water’s surface, and it was wonderfully refreshing. If she closed her eyes she could forget for a moment that she had any cares in the world and convince herself that this was her real life.

‘Anna, phone for you.’ Gustav’s voice woke her from her meditative state.

‘Who is it?’ She shaded her eyes with her hand and saw that he was waving her mobile.

‘He wouldn’t say.’

Damn it all. She knew right away who it was, and feeling hard little knots of anxiety in her stomach she cautiously made her way over to Gustav.

‘Anna.’

‘Who the hell was that?’ Lucas hissed.

Anna hesitated. ‘I told you I was going out sailing with a friend.’

‘So now you’re trying to fool me into thinking that the guy is just a friend,’ he snapped. ‘What’s his name?’

‘That’s none of your –’

Lucas cut her off. ‘What’s his name, Anna?’

The resistance inside her was breaking down more with each second she heard his voice on the phone. Quietly she replied, ‘Gustav af Klint.’

‘Oh, right. How posh can you get?’ His voice switched from scornful to low and threatening. ‘How dare you take my children on holiday with another man.’

‘We’re divorced, Lucas,’ Anna said. She put her hand over her eyes.

‘You know as well as I do, that doesn’t change a thing, Anna. You’re the mother of my children, and that means you and I will always belong together. You are mine and the children are mine.’

‘So why are you trying to take them away from me?’

‘Because you’re unstable, Anna. You’ve always suffered from weak nerves, and to be honest, I don’t trust you to take care of my children in the manner they deserve. Just look at how you live. You work all day and they’re at day care. Do you think that’s a good life for the children, Anna?’

‘But I have to work, Lucas. And how were you planning to solve the problem if you took care of the children? You have to work too. Who would take care of them then?’

‘There is a solution, Anna, and you know what it is.’

‘Are you mad? Do you think I’d go back to you after you broke Emma’s arm? Not to mention everything you did to me?’ Her voice rose to a falsetto. Instinctively, she knew at once that she had gone too far.

‘It wasn’t my fault! It was an accident! Besides, if you hadn’t been so stubborn and kept fighting me, I wouldn’t have needed to lose my temper so often!’

It was like talking to thin air. There was no use. After all her years with Lucas, she knew that he believed what he said. It was never his fault. Everything that happened was someone else’s fault. Every time he hit her he had made her feel guilty because she couldn’t be understanding enough, loving enough, submissive enough.

Drawing on previously hidden reserves of strength, she had finally managed to divorce him. That had made her feel strong, invincible, for the first time in years. Finally she would be able to regain control of her own life. She and the children would be able to start over from scratch. But everything had gone a little too smoothly. Lucas had actually been shocked that he had broken his daughter’s arm in a fit of rage, and he had been uncharacteristically amenable. His busy bachelor life after the divorce had also meant that he had let Anna and the children live in peace, while he was making one conquest after another. But just when Anna had felt that she had managed to escape, Lucas had begun to tire of his new life, and once again he turned his gaze to his family. When he had no luck with flowers, gifts and entreaties for forgiveness, the silk gloves had come off. He demanded sole custody of the children. To support his claims he had a multitude of baseless accusations concerning Anna’s unsuitability as a mother. None of it was true, but Lucas could be so convincing when he turned on the charm that she still trembled at the possibility that he might succeed in his attempt. She also knew that it really wasn’t the children he wanted. His business life would not function if he had custody of two small children, but his hope was to frighten Anna enough to make her come back. In weaker moments she was prepared to do just that. At the same time she knew that it was impossible. It would destroy her. So she steeled herself.

‘Lucas, it does no good to have this discussion. I’ve moved on since the divorce, and you should too. It’s true that I’ve met a new man, and that’s something that you’ll just have to learn to accept. The children are doing fine and I’m doing fine. Can’t we try to deal with this like adults?’

Her tone was entreating, but the silence on the other end was impenetrable. She knew that she’d crossed the line. When she heard the dial tone and realized that Lucas had simply hung up, she knew that he was going to make her pay in some way. And dearly.

4

SUMMER 1979

The hellish ache in her head made her dig her fingers into her face. The pain of her nails tearing long gashes in her skin was almost satisfying compared with the splitting headache, and it helped her to focus.

Everything was still black, but something had made her wake from her deep, dreamless torpor. A tiny crack of light appeared above her head, and while she was squinting upwards it slowly widened. Unused to light as she was, she did not see but rather heard someone come through the crack that had widened to an opening and climb down the stairs. Someone who came closer and closer in the dark. The confusion made it hard for her to decide whether to feel fear or relief. Both feelings were there, mixed together. First one prevailed, then the other.

The last footsteps coming towards her, where she lay curled up in a foetal position, were as good as soundless. Without a word being spoken, she felt a hand stroke her over the forehead. Perhaps that gesture ought to have been soothing, but the simplicity of the movement made terror take a tight grip on her heart.

The hand continued its way along her body, and she trembled in the darkness. For a second, it occurred to her that she ought to put up some resistance against the faceless stranger. The thought vanished as rapidly as it appeared. The darkness was too overwhelming, and the strength in the hand that caressed her penetrated her skin, her nerves, her soul. Submission was her only option, she knew that with a terrifying insight.

When the hand changed from caressing to prising and twisting, pulling and tearing, she was not at all surprised. In a way she welcomed the pain. It was easier to handle the certainty of pain rather than the terror of waiting for the unknown.

The second call from Tord Pedersen had come just a couple of hours after Patrik spoke with Martin. They had a positive ID on one skeleton. Mona Thernblad, the second girl who disappeared in 1979, was one of the bodies found in the King’s Cleft.

Patrik and Martin sat together and went over the information they had gathered during the investigation. Mellberg was conspicuous by his absence, but Gösta Flygare was back on the job after an excellent performance in the golf tournament. He hadn’t won the competition, of course, but to his great surprise and joy had made a hole-in-one and was invited for champagne at the clubhouse. So far Martin and Patrik had heard in great detail about how the ball went straight into the hole with one stroke on the 16th hole. They had no doubt they would hear the story several more times before the day was over. But that didn’t matter. They didn’t begrudge Gösta his joy, and Patrik let him have an hour before they involved him in the investigative work. So for the moment Gösta was ringing round to all his golf buddies to tell them about the Big Event.