Camilla Lackberg Crime Thrillers 4-6: The Stranger, The Hidden Child, The Drowning

Instead they drank their tea and talked about Marit. Laughed and cried. But above all they talked about the woman they had both loved, each in her own way.

‘Hello, girls, what’s it going to be today? A little Uffe baguette, perhaps?’

Charmed giggles from the girls who’d crammed into the bakery revealed that his comment had had the desired effect. This encouraged Uffe to go the whole hog, and he took one of the bakery’s baguettes and tried to show what he had to offer by swinging it in front of him at hip height. The giggling turned to shrieks of scandalized joy, which made Uffe start thrusting his hips in their direction.

Mehmet sighed. Uffe was so bloody tiresome. He’d got a raw deal when he was assigned to work with Uffe at the bakery. Otherwise there was nothing wrong with the job. He loved cooking and looked forward to learning more about baking, but he simply couldn’t imagine how he’d be able to stand five weeks with Uffe.

‘Hey, Mehmet, why don’t you show them your baguette? I think the girls would like to see a real greaseball baguette.’

‘Oh, fuck off,’ said Mehmet, who went on laying out battenberg cakes next to a tray of macaroons.

‘I thought you were a real ladies’ man. And I’m sure they’ve never seen a greaseball here. Have you, girls? Have you seen a greaseball before?’ Uffe held out his hands dramatically towards Mehmet as if presenting him onstage.

Mehmet was starting to get seriously pissed off. He could feel rather than see the cameras fastened to the ceiling zooming in on him, ready to capture his reaction. Every nuance would be whisked by cable straight into people’s living rooms. No reaction meant no viewers. Having made it all the way to the final on The Farm, he knew how the game was played. So why had he agreed to take part in this? For five weeks he would be allowed to live in a sort of protected environment. No responsibilities, no demands to do anything more than be himself, and to react. No slaving away at some shitty job, bored to death, just to make the rent on a dismal fucking flat. No daily obligations that stole his life day after day with nothing ever happening. No disappointment because he wasn’t living up to what was expected of him. That was the main thing he was running from. The disappointment he saw constantly in his parents’ eyes. They’d pinned so many of their hopes on him. Education, education, education. That was the mantra he’d heard his whole childhood. ‘Mehmet, you have to get yourself an education. You have to seize the opportunities in this excellent country. In Sweden anyone can go to university. You have to study.’ And Mehmet had tried, but he just wasn’t the studying type. The letters and numbers wouldn’t stick. He was supposed to become a teacher. Or an engineer. Or in the worst case get a degree in business administration. His parents had been utterly set on that. His four older sisters had entered all three of those professions. Two of them were doctors, one was an engineer, and one was in business. But he was the youngest child, and somehow he ended up being the black sheep of the family. And neither The Farm or Sodding Tanum had raised his stock in the family at all. Not that he’d thought it would. Getting drunk on TV was not something that had even been mentioned as an alternative to becoming a doctor.

‘Show us your greaseball baguette, show us your greaseball baguette,’ Uffe kept on nagging, trying to get his giggling pubescent public to join in. Mehmet felt his anger about to boil over. He stopped what he was doing and stepped over to Uffe.

‘I said cut it out, Uffe.’

Simon came out from the inner recesses of the bakery carrying a big tray of freshly baked buns. Uffe gave him an obstinate look and considered whether to obey or not. Simon held the tray out to him. ‘Here, give the girls some freshly baked buns instead.’

Uffe hesitated but finally took the tray. A twitch at the corner of his mouth showed that his hands weren’t as used to handling hot trays as Simon’s were, but he had no other choice but to grit his teeth and hold the tray out to the girls.

‘Well, you heard the man. Uffe is offering free buns. Maybe you could thank him with a little kiss?’

Simon rolled his eyes at Mehmet, who smiled back in gratitude. He liked Simon. He was the owner of the bakery, and they had clicked at once, from his first day on the job. There was something special about Simon. A rapport that made it possible for them just to look at each other to understand what the other meant. It was pretty amazing, actually.

Mehmet watched Simon as he went back to his dough and his cake-baking.

The green emerging on the branch outside the window aroused a painful longing in Gösta. Each bud bore with it a promise of eighteen holes and Big Bertha. Soon nothing would be able to come between a man and his golf clubs.

‘Have you managed to get past the fifth hole yet?’ A female voice came from the doorway, and Gösta quickly and guiltily shut down the computer game. Damn, he could usually hear when somebody was approaching. He always had his ears pricked up when he played, which unfortunately was somewhat detrimental to his concentration.

‘I … I was just taking a break,’ Gösta stammered in embarrassment. He knew that his co-workers no longer put much faith in his capacity to work, but he liked Hanna and had hoped to enjoy her confidence for at least a short while yet.

‘Hey, don’t worry about it,’ Hanna laughed, sitting down next to him. ‘I love that golf game. My husband Lars does too, and sometimes we have to fight over the computer. But that fifth hole is a bitch – have you got past it yet? If not, I can show you the trick. It took me hours to work it out.’ Without waiting for an answer she moved her chair closer to his.

Gösta hardly dared believe his ears. ‘I’ve been struggling with the fifth hole since last week. No matter what I do, I either hook or slice the ball. I can’t see what I’m doing wrong.’

‘Here, I’ll show you,’ said Hanna, taking the mouse from him. She clicked expertly forward to the right place, did some manoeuvres on the computer, and the ball moved forward and landed on the green in perfect position for him to sink the ball with his next stroke.

‘Wow, so that’s how it’s done! Thanks!’ Gösta was deeply impressed.

‘Yep, it’s no kid stuff, this game,’ Hanna laughed, pushing back the chair so that she ended up a bit further from him.

‘Do you and your husband play real golf too?’ Gösta asked with newfound enthusiasm. ‘Maybe we should play a round together.’

‘No, I’m afraid not,’ said Hanna with a regretful expression. ‘But we’ve thought about starting. We just never seem to find the time.’

Gösta liked her more with each minute that passed. Like Mellberg, he had been sceptical when he heard that their new colleague would be of the opposite sex. There was something about the combination of breasts and a police uniform that felt, well, a bit odd, to say the least. But Hanna Kruse had wiped out all his prejudices. She seemed to be a good down-to-earth woman, and he hoped that Mellberg would realize that and not make her life here too difficult.

‘What does your husband do?’ Gösta asked. ‘Has he managed to find a job locally?’

‘Yes and no,’ said Hanna, picking some invisible lint from her uniform blouse. ‘He was lucky enough to get a temporary job here at least, so we’ll have to see how it goes.’

Gösta raised his eyebrows quizzically. Hanna laughed. ‘He’s a psychologist. And yes, you guessed it. He’s going to work with the participants for the duration of the shoot. Of Sodding Tanum, that is.’

Gösta shook his head. ‘Some of us are probably too old to see the appeal of all that jumping into bed with each other, staggering around drunk and making asses of themselves in front of the whole country. And of their own free will. No, I don’t get the point of that sort of thing. In my day we watched good shows like Hyland’s Corner and Nils Poppe’s theatre productions.’

‘Nils who?’ said Hanna, which made Gösta look gloomy. He sighed.

‘Nils Poppe,’ he said. ‘He did theatrical pieces that –’ He stopped when he saw that Hanna was laughing.

‘Gösta, I know who Nils Poppe is. And Lennart Hyland too. You don’t have to look so distressed.’

‘Thanks for that,’ said Gösta. ‘For a minute there I felt a hundred years old. A regular relic.’

‘Gösta, you’re as far from a relic as anybody could be,’ Hanna laughed, getting up. ‘Just keep playing now that I’ve shown you how to get past the fifth hole. You deserve to take it easy for a while.’

He gave her a warm and grateful smile. What a woman.

Then he went back to trying to master the sixth hole. A par 3. Nothing to it.

‘Erica, did you talk to the hotel about the menu? When are we going to have a tasting?’ Anna was holding Maja on her knee, bouncing her up and down. She gave Erica an urgent look.

‘Shit, I forgot.’ Erica slapped her forehead.

‘What about the dress? Do you intend to get married in your jogging outfit, or what? And maybe Patrik could wear his graduation suit to the wedding. If so, he’d probably need to put some extra material in the sides, and elastic between the buttons of his suit coat.’ Anna laughed heartily.

‘Ha ha, very funny,’ said Erica, but she couldn’t help feeling pleased when she looked at her sister. Anna was like a new woman. She talked, she laughed, she had a good appetite, and yes, she even teased her big sister. ‘When am I going to find time to deal with everything?’

‘Hello you happen to be at Fjällbacka’s babysitter número uno! Emma and Adrian are at kindergarten all day, so it’s no problem for me to babysit this little lady.’

‘Hmm, you’ve got a point,’ said Erica, feeling awkward. ‘I just didn’t think that –’ She cut herself off.

‘Don’t worry. I understand. You haven’t been able to count on me for a while, but now I’m back in the game. The puck has been dropped. I’ve come in from the penalty box.’

‘I can hear that somebody’s been spending way too much time with Dan.’ Erica laughed heartily and realized that this was just what Anna had intended. No doubt the events of these past few months had affected Erica as well. The stress had made her go about with her shoulders up around her ears, and only now did she feel as if she could begin to relax. The only problem was that she was feeling a growing sense of dread because the wedding was less than six weeks away. And she and Patrik were hopelessly behind in the planning.

‘Okay, this is what we’re going to do,’ said Anna firmly, setting Maja down on the floor. ‘We’ll make a list of what has to be done. Then we’ll divide up the tasks between you and me and Patrik. Maybe Kristina could help out with something too.’ Anna gave Erica a questioning glance, but when she saw her appalled expression she added, ‘Or maybe not.’

‘No, for God’s sake, keep Mother-in-law out of it as much as possible. If it was left up to her, she’d treat this wedding like it was her own private party. If you only knew all the ideas she’s already put forward, “with the best of intentions”, as she puts it. You know what she said when we first told her about the wedding?’

‘No, what?’ asked Anna.

‘She didn’t even start by saying “how lovely, congratulations” or anything like that. She reeled off five things that she thought were wrong with the wedding.’

Anna laughed. ‘That sounds just like Kristina. So, what were her complaints?’

Erica went over and picked up Maja, who had resolutely begun to climb the stairs. They still hadn’t got around to buying a gate. ‘Well,’ said Erica, ‘first of all it was much too soon; we were going to need at least a year to plan it. Then she didn’t like the fact that we wanted a very small wedding, because then Aunt Agda and Aunt Berta and Aunt Ruth, or whatever all their names are, wouldn’t be able to come. And bear in mind that these aren’t Patrik’s aunts but Kristina’s! Patrik has probably met them once when he was about five years old. Then she got upset because I didn’t want to wear her bridal gown. As if! I’ve seen Lars and Kristina’s wedding photos: it’s one of those typical sixties dresses, a crotcheted thing that stops just below her backside. I wouldn’t dream of wearing it, any more than Patrik would want to turn up sporting his father’s bushy sideburns and moustache from the same photo.’

‘She’s absolutely nuts,’ Anna gasped between fits of laughter.

‘And that’s not all,’ said Erica. ‘She demanded that her nephew be in charge of the entertainment.’

‘And? What’s wrong with that?’

Erica paused for effect. ‘He plays the hurdy-gurdy.’

‘No-o-o, you’ve got to be kidding. Oh, I can just picture it. A gigantic wedding with all of Kristina’s aunts with their rolling walkers, you in a crocheted miniskirt, Patrik in his graduation suit with sideburns, and all to the tune of the hurdy-gurdy. God, how fantastic. I’d pay any price just to see it.’

‘Go ahead and laugh,’ said Erica. ‘But the way things look now, there’s not going to be a wedding. We’re so far behind with the arrangements it’s not true.’

‘Okay, listen,’ Anna said resolutely, sitting down at the kitchen table with pen and paper poised. ‘We’re going to make a list, and then we’ll get moving. And don’t let Patrik even think about getting out of doing his part. Are you the only one getting married, or is it the two of you?’

‘Yeah, well, it’s probably the latter,’ said Erica, sceptical of freeing Patrik of his delusion that she was both the project leader and foot soldier when it came to pulling off this wedding. He seemed to think that after proposing, all his practical duties were done; the only thing he had left to do was show up on time at the church.

‘Hire a band for the reception, hmm, let’s see … Patrik,’ Anna decided with glee. She wrote his name down with great resolve, and Erica was enjoying not being in the driver’s seat for once.

‘Book time to taste the wedding menu … Patrik.’

‘Look, this isn’t going to …’ Erica began, but Anna pretended not to hear her.

‘Bridal gown – well, that’s probably going to be you, Erica. You’ve got to start making an effort. What do you say we three girls drive down to Uddevalla tomorrow and see what they’ve got?’

‘Well,’ Erica said hesitantly. Trying on clothes was the last thing she was up for at the moment. The extra weight she’d put on during her pregnancy with Maja simply wouldn’t budge, and she’d even added a few more pounds since then. The stress in recent months had made it impossible for her to think about what she was stuffing into her mouth. She stopped her hand with the bun that she was just about to wolf down and put it back on the tray. Anna looked up from her list.

‘You know, if you stop eating carbs until the wedding, all that weight will just melt away.’

‘Anna, the pounds have never dropped off me with any great speed before,’ Erica said morosely. It was one thing to have this thought herself, but something else entirely when somebody else pointed out that she needed to lose some weight. But she had to do something if she wanted to feel beautiful on her wedding day. ‘Okay, I’ll try. No buns and cakes, no sweets, no bread, no pasta made with white flour, none of that.’

‘You’ll still have to get started on finding a dress now. If necessary, we can get it altered just before the wedding.’

‘I’ll believe it when I see it,’ Erica said dully. ‘But let’s go to Uddevalla tomorrow morning as soon as we’ve dropped off Emma and Adrian. Then we’ll see. Otherwise I really will have to get married in my jogging suit,’ she said, imagining herself with a gloomy expression. ‘Anything else?’ She nodded at Anna’s list. Her sister kept writing down tasks and dividing them up. Erica all of a sudden felt very, very tired. This was never going to work.

They were in no hurry as they crossed the street. It was only four days ago that Patrik and Martin had taken the same route, and they were unsure of what they would now find. For four days Kerstin had lived with the news that her partner was gone. Four days that surely must have seemed like an eternity.

Patrik glanced at Martin and rang the doorbell. As if they’d coordinated it, they both took a deep breath and then exhaled some of the tension that had built up inside them. In a way it felt selfish to be so distressed about seeing people in the depths of grief. Selfish to feel the slightest discomfort, when things were immeasurably easier for them than for the person who was mourning the loss of a loved one. But the discomfort was based on a fear of saying something wrong, taking a false step and possibly making matters worse. But common sense told them that nothing they could say or do would worsen the pain that was already almost beyond endurance.

They heard steps approaching, and the door opened. Inside stood not Kerstin, as they had expected, but Sofie.

‘Hello,’ she said softly, and they could see definite traces of several days of tears. She didn’t move, and Patrik cleared his throat.

‘Hello, Sofie. You remember us, don’t you? Patrik Hedström and Martin Molin.’ He looked at Martin but then turned back to Sofie. ‘Is … is Kerstin at home? We’d like to talk with her a bit.’

Sofie stepped aside. She went into the flat to call Kerstin, while Patrik and Martin waited in the hall. ‘Kerstin, the police are here. They want to talk to you.’

Kerstin appeared, and her face was red from crying as well. She stopped a short distance from them without saying a word, and neither Patrik nor Martin knew how to broach the subject they had come to discuss with her. Finally she said, ‘Won’t you come in?’

They nodded, took off their shoes, and followed her into the kitchen. Sofie seemed to want to follow, but Kerstin seemed instinctively to sense that what they were going to discuss wasn’t suitable for her ears, because she shook her head almost imperceptibly. For a second Sofie looked as though she were going to ignore the dismissal, but then she shrugged and went to her room and closed the door. In time she would be told all about it, but for now Patrik and Martin wanted to speak with Kerstin in private.

Patrik got straight to the point as soon as they had all sat down.

‘We’ve found a number of … irregularities surrounding Marit’s accident.’

‘Irregularities?’ said Kerstin, looking from one officer to the other.

‘Yes,’ said Martin. ‘There are certain … injuries that may not be attributable to the accident.’

‘May not?’ Kerstin said. ‘Don’t you know?’

‘No, we’re not positive yet,’ Patrik admitted. ‘We’ll know more when the medical examiner’s final report comes in. But there are enough questions to make us want to have another talk with you. To hear whether there’s any reason to believe that someone might have wanted to harm Marit.’ Patrik saw Kerstin flinch. He sensed a thought fly through her mind, a thought that she rejected at once. But he had to find out what it was, he couldn’t ignore it.

‘If you know of anyone who might have wanted to harm Marit, you have to tell us. If nothing else so that we can exclude that person from suspicion.’ Patrik and Martin watched her tensely. She seemed to be wrestling with something, so they sat quietly, giving her time to formulate what she wanted to say.

‘We’ve received some letters.’ The words came slowly and reluctantly.

‘Letters?’ said Martin, wanting to hear more.

‘Ye-e-es.’ Kerstin fidgeted with the gold ring she wore on her left ring finger. ‘We’ve been getting letters for four years.’

‘What were the letters about?’

‘Threats, filth, things about my relationship with Marit.’

‘Someone who wrote because of …’ Patrik paused, not knowing how to phrase it, ‘because of the nature of your relationship?’

‘Yes,’ Kerstin admitted. ‘Somebody who understood or suspected that we were more than just friends and who was …’ Now it was her turn to search for words. She decided on ‘offended’.

‘What sort of threats were they? How blatant?’ Martin was now writing everything down.

‘They were quite blatant. Saying that people like us were disgusting, that we went against nature. That people like us should die.’

‘How often did you get these letters?’

Kerstin thought about it. She kept twisting her ring nervously round and round. ‘We got maybe three or four a year. Sometimes more, sometimes less. There didn’t seem to be any real pattern. It was more as if somebody sent one when the mood came over them, if you know what I mean.’

‘Why didn’t you ever file a police report?’ Martin looked up from his notebook.

Kerstin gave him a crooked smile. ‘Marit didn’t want to. She was afraid that it would make matters worse. That it would turn into a big deal and our … relationship would become public knowledge.’

‘And she didn’t want that to happen?’ asked Patrik, then remembered that was precisely what Kerstin and Marit had argued about before Marit drove off that evening. The evening when she didn’t come back.

‘No, she didn’t,’ Kerstin said tonelessly. ‘But we saved the letters. Just in case.’ She got up.

Patrik and Martin stared at each other in astonishment. They hadn’t even thought to ask about something like this. It was more than they’d dared hope. Now maybe they would find some physical evidence that might lead them to the person who wrote the letters.

Kerstin came back with a thick bundle of letters in a plastic bag. She dumped them out on the table. Patrik was afraid to destroy any more evidence. Enough damage had already been done through handling in the post and by Kerstin and Marit. So he poked cautiously through the letters with his pen. They were still in their envelopes, and he felt his heart quicken at the thought that there might be additional DNA evidence under the licked stamps.

‘May we take these with us?’ Martin asked, also regarding the pile of letters with anticipation.

‘Yes, take them,’ Kerstin said wearily. ‘Take them and burn them when you’re done.’

‘But you never received any threats besides the letters?’

Kerstin sat back down and thought for a moment. ‘I’m not sure,’ she said. ‘Sometimes the phone would ring, but when we picked up the receiver the person wouldn’t say anything, just sat there in silence until we hung up. We actually tried to have the call traced once, but it turned out to be a pay-as-you-go mobile phone. So it was impossible to find out who it was.’

‘And when did you last get such a call?’ Martin waited tensely with his pen poised over his notebook.

‘Well, let me see,’ said Kerstin. ‘Two weeks ago, maybe?’ She was fiddling with her ring again.

‘But there was nothing besides this? Nobody who may have wanted to harm Marit? How was her relationship with her ex-husband, for example?’

Kerstin took her time answering. After first glancing into the hall to make sure that Sofie’s door was closed, she said at last, ‘He used to bother us in the beginning, for quite a while, actually. But the past year it’s been calmer.’

‘What exactly do you mean by bother you?’ asked Patrik as Martin took notes.

‘He couldn’t accept that Marit had left him. They’d been together ever since they were very young. But according to Marit it hadn’t been a good relationship for many years, if ever. To tell the truth, she was rather surprised at how strongly Ola reacted when she said she was moving out. But Ola …’ she hesitated, ‘Ola is a real control freak. Everything has to be neat and in order, and when Marit left him that order was disrupted. That was probably the thing that bothered him most, not the fact that he’d lost her.’

‘Did it ever turn physical?’

‘Not as such,’ Kerstin said hesitantly. Once again she cast a nervous glance at Sofie’s door. ‘I suppose it depends how you define physical. I don’t think he ever hit her, but I know that he dragged her by the arm and shoved her a few times, stuff like that.’

‘And what was their arrangement regarding Sofie?’

‘Well, that was one of the things there was a lot of trouble about at first. Marit moved in with me straight away, and even though the sort of relationship we had was not explicit, he probably had his suspicions. He was staunchly opposed to Sofie being here. He tried to sabotage things when she stayed with us, coming to fetch her much earlier than agreed on and things like that.’