The Drowning (14 page)

And he’d allowed himself to be seduced by the idea. He’d asked for time off from his job at the library, and Gaby had bought his train ticket and made his hotel reservation in Stockholm. At first he’d felt quite excited about being on TV to promote
The Mermaid
. But the newspaper placards over the weekend had ruined everything. How could he have allowed Gaby to talk him into this? He’d lived such a reclusive life for so many years, and he’d convinced himself that by now it would be okay to step forward. Even when the letters started arriving, he had continued to live under the misconception that everything was over, that he was safe.

The newspaper headlines had jolted him out of his delusion. Someone would notice, someone would remember. Everything would be made public again. He shuddered, and the make-up woman looked at him.

‘Don’t tell me you’re freezing when it’s so warm in here. Are you coming down with a cold?’

Christian nodded and smiled. That was the easiest way to respond, so he wouldn’t have to explain.

The make-up on his face looked thick and unnatural. Some of the flesh-coloured cream had even been applied to his ears and hands. Apparently the normal skin tone looked pale and slightly greenish on TV without make-up. In some ways he didn’t really mind. It was like putting on a mask that he could hide behind.

‘All right. We’re done here. The stage manager will come to get you in a minute.’ The make-up artist inspected her work as Christian stared at himself in the mirror. The mask stared back.

A few minutes later he was escorted to the green room just outside the door to the TV studio. An impressive breakfast buffet had been set up, but he made do with a small glass of orange juice. Adrenalin was surging through his body, and his hand shook slightly as he raised the glass.

‘It’s time,’ said the stage manager. ‘Come with me.’ And she motioned for him to follow. Christian put down his glass, still half-filled with juice. His legs wobbling, he walked behind her to the studio, which was down one flight of stairs.

‘You can sit here,’ she whispered, ushering him to his seat. Christian sat down and then gave a start when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

‘Sorry. I just need to attach the microphone,’ whispered a man wearing a headset. Christian nodded. His mouth was now even drier, if that was possible, and he drank the whole glass of water that was put in front of him.

‘Hi, Christian. Great to see you. I read your book, and I have to tell you that I think it’s amazing.’ Kristin Kaspersen held out her hand, and after a moment’s hesitation, Christian politely responded. Considering how sweaty his palm was, it must have felt like shaking hands with a wet sponge. Then Anders Kraft, the other talk-show host, came over and sat down as well. He said hello to Christian and introduced himself.

A copy of the book was lying on the table. Behind them the weather forecaster was delivering his report, so they had to carry on their conversation in a whisper.

‘You’re not nervous, are you?’ asked Kristin with a smile. ‘You don’t need to be. Just stay focused on us, and everything will be fine.’

Christian nodded mutely. His water glass had been refilled, and again he drank it down in one gulp.

‘We’re on in twenty seconds,’ said Anders Kraft, giving
him a wink. Christian felt himself calmed by the confidence exuded by the man and woman seated across from him. He did everything he could not to think about the cameras surrounding them that were about to broadcast the programme live to a large segment of the Swedish population.

Kristin began talking as she looked at a spot behind him, and he realized that the programme had started. His heart was pounding, there was a rushing in his ears, and he had to force himself to listen to what Kristin was saying. After a brief introduction she asked her first question.

‘Christian, the critics are raving about your first novel,
The Mermaid
. And there has also been an unusual amount of advance interest from readers. How does it feel?’

His voice quavered a bit as he started talking, but Kristin kept her eyes steadily fixed on his, and he concentrated on looking at her instead of at the camera, which he glimpsed out of the corner of his eye. After stumbling over a few words, he could hear that his voice got stronger.

‘It’s been incredible. I’ve always dreamed of being a writer, and to see that dream realized and to get this kind of reception is way beyond my wildest imagination.’

‘The publisher is putting a lot of PR behind your book. We’ve been seeing signs in all the bookshop windows, and it’s rumoured that the first printing was much bigger than usual. The book pages of all the newspapers seem to be competing with each other to compare you with some of the literary greats. Has it been a little overwhelming for you?’ Anders Kraft gave him a friendly look.

Christian was feeling more confident, and his heart had returned to its normal rhythm.

‘It means a lot that my publisher believes in me and is doing so much promotion for the book. But it does feel
a little strange to be compared to other authors. We all have our own unique style of writing.’ Now he was on solid ground. He began to relax, and after a couple more questions, he felt as if he could have sat there and talked all day.

Kristin Kaspersen picked up something from the table and held it up to the camera. When he saw what it was, Christian again broke out in a sweat. Saturday’s issue of
GT
with his own name in large letters. The words ‘DEATH THREATS’ screamed at him. There was no more water in his glass, so he swallowed over and over, trying to wet his dry mouth.

‘It’s becoming a rather common phenomenon in Sweden for celebrities to be subjected to threats. But this started up even before your name became known to the general public. Who do you think has been sending you these threatening letters?’

At first he uttered only a croaking sound, but then he managed to say:

‘This is something that has been taken out of context and blown all out of proportion. There are always people who are jealous or who have psychological problems, and … well, I don’t really have anything more to say about it.’ His whole body felt tense, and under the table he wiped his hands on his trousers.

‘I’d like to thank you for coming to talk to us about your critically acclaimed novel,
The Mermaid
.’ Anders Kraft held up the book to the camera and smiled. Relief flooded over Christian when he realized that the interview was over.

‘That went very well,’ said Kristin Kaspersen, gathering up her papers.

‘Yes, it did,’ said Anders Kraft, standing up. ‘Excuse me, but I have to go MC the game show now.’

The man wearing the headset freed Christian from the
microphone cord so he could get up. He thanked Kristin and followed the stage manager out of the studio. His hands were still shaking. They went upstairs, past the catered food area and then out into the chill air. He felt dazed and confused, not sure that he was ready to meet Gaby at the publishing company, which was what they had agreed on.

As the taxi drove towards town, he stared out the window. And he knew that he had now lost all control.

‘Okay, how are we going to do this?’ Patrik was gazing out across the ice.

As usual, Torbjörn Ruud didn’t look the least bit worried. He always maintained a calm demeanour, no matter how difficult the task at hand. As one of the crime-scene technicians in Uddevalla, he was used to solving all sorts of problems.

‘We need to make a hole in the ice and pull him out with a rope.’

‘Will the ice hold up under your weight?’

‘With the proper equipment, there shouldn’t be any problem for the team. As I see it, the biggest risk is that we make a hole and then the body gets loose and slips away on the current under the ice.’

‘How are you going to prevent that from happening?’ asked Patrik.

‘We’ll start by making a small hole and getting a firm grip on the body before we break up any more ice.’

‘Have you ever done this sort of thing before?’ Patrik still wasn’t totally convinced.

‘Hmm …’ Torbjörn hesitated, seeming to ponder the question. ‘No, I don’t think we’ve ever had a body frozen in the ice before. I’d probably remember if we had.’

‘Right,’ said Patrik, again fixing his gaze on the spot where the body supposedly lay. ‘Go ahead and do what
you have to do. I need to talk to the witness.’ Patrik had noticed that Mellberg was having an intense conversation with the man who had found the body. It was never a good idea to allow Bertil to spend too much time with anyone, whether a witness or anyone else.

‘Hello. My name is Patrik Hedström,’ he said as he went over to join Mellberg and the man he was talking to.

‘Göte Persson,’ replied the man, shaking hands. At the same time, he tried to rein in a lively golden retriever.

‘Rocky wants to go back out there. I had a lot of trouble getting him to return to dry land,’ said Göte, giving a sharp jerk on the dog’s lead to show him who was in charge.

‘Was it your dog who found him?’

Göte nodded. ‘Yes, he went out on the ice and refused to come in. He just stood there, barking. I was afraid he was going to fall through the ice, so I went after him. And then I saw …’ The man turned pale as he recalled the image of the dead face under the icy surface. Then he gave himself a shake and the colour returned to his cheeks. ‘Do you need me much longer? My daughter is on her way to the maternity clinic. It’s my first grandchild.’

Patrik smiled. ‘Then I can understand why you’d like to be off. Just hang on a little bit longer, and then we can let you go so you won’t miss anything.’

Göte seemed satisfied with that, so Patrik asked him a few more questions. But it was soon evident that the man had nothing more to contribute. He had simply had the bad luck to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, or maybe it was the right place at the right time, depending on the person’s point of view. After writing down his contact information, Patrik let Göte, the soon-to-be-grandfather, leave the scene. Limping slightly, but in a big hurry, he headed for the car park.

Patrik went back to the spot on the shoreline that was
closest to the place where a tech was now methodically working to lower some sort of hook through a small hole bored in the ice and fasten it to the body. To be on the safe side, the tech was lying on his stomach with a rope around his waist. The rope and the line attached to the hook both ran all the way to shore. Torbjörn wasn’t taking any chances with his team.

‘As I said, when we’ve got a good hold on him, we’ll cut a bigger hole in the ice and then pull him out.’ Patrik jumped when he heard Torbjörn’s voice on his left. He’d been so focused on what was happening out on the ice that he hadn’t heard him approach.

‘Will you bring him ashore then?’

‘No, because we might end up losing any evidence that’s on his clothing. Instead, we’ll try to put him in a body bag out there on the ice before we bring him in.’

‘Would there really be any evidence left after he’s been in the water this long?’ asked Patrik sceptically.

‘Most of it has probably been destroyed. But you never know. There might be something in his pockets or in the folds of his clothes. It’s best not to take any chances.’

‘I’m sure you’re right about that.’ Patrik didn’t think it very likely that they’d find anything. He’d seen corpses get pulled out of the water before, and if they’d been there a while, there was never much left.

He shaded his eyes with his hand. The sun had climbed a little higher in the sky, and the blinding reflection off the ice brought tears to his eyes. He squinted and saw that the hook must now be securely fastened to the body, because a bigger hole was being cut in the ice. Slowly, very slowly, the body was pulled from the water. It was too far away for Patrik to see any details, and for that he was grateful.

Another tech cautiously crawled out on to the ice, and when the body was all the way out of the water, two
pairs of hands carefully placed it inside a black body bag, which was then scrupulously closed. A nod to the men on shore, and the line went taut. Inch by inch, the bag was hauled towards land. Patrik instinctively backed up when it came close, but then cursed himself for being such a wimp. He asked the techs to open the bag and forced himself to look down at the man who had been under the ice. His suspicions were confirmed. He was almost positive that they had found Magnus Kjellner.

Patrik felt completely empty inside as he watched the techs seal the body bag closed, then lift it up and carry it over to the lawn above the bathing beach which served as a parking area. Ten minutes later the body was on its way to the forensics lab in Göteborg for the post-mortem. On the one hand, it meant that they would be able to provide some answers and follow some leads. There would be a resolution. On the other hand, as soon as the identity of the body was confirmed, he would have to tell the family. And that was not something he looked forward to doing.

8

Finally the holiday was over. Father had packed up all their things, stowing them away inside the car and the caravan. Mother was lying in bed, as usual. She was even thinner, even paler. Now she said that all she wanted was to go home.

At last Father had told him why she looked so ill. It turned out that she wasn’t really sick. She had a baby inside her stomach. A little brother or little sister. He didn’t understand why that should make her feel so bad. But Father said that it did.

At first he was happy. A brother or sister to play with. But then he heard them talking, Mother and Father, and he understood. He now knew why he was not his mother’s handsome little boy any more, why she no longer stroked his hair, and why she looked at him the way she did. He knew who had taken her away from him.

Yesterday he had returned to the caravan, moving like an Indian brave. He sneaked up without making a sound, tiptoeing in his moccasins with a feather stuck in his hair. He was Angry Cloud, and Mother and Father were the palefaces. He could see them moving around inside the caravan behind the curtains. Mother was not in bed. She was up, talking, and Angry Cloud was glad, because maybe now she was feeling better, maybe the baby wasn’t making her sick any more. And she sounded happy, tired but happy. Angry Cloud crept closer, wanting to hear more of the paleface’s joyful voice. One step at a time, he moved closer until he was right under the open window. With his back pressed against the caravan, he shut his eyes and listened.