The Drowning (28 page)

‘About the same as me. He has them over at the office. I was just coming home to pick mine up and then we were going to contact the police …’ His voice faded
again, and Patrik could see his thoughts were back in that room where he’d found his wife dead.

‘What do you think the message on this note means?’ asked Patrik cautiously. ‘It refers to a “truth about yourself” – what do you think that could be?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Kenneth quietly. ‘I really have no idea.’ Then he took a deep breath. ‘What will you do with her now?’

‘She’ll be taken to Göteborg for closer examination.’

‘Closer examination? Do you mean a post-mortem?’ Kenneth grimaced.

‘Yes. A post-mortem. I’m afraid it’s necessary so we can work out what actually happened here.’

Kenneth nodded, but his eyes were glazed, and his lips were looking slightly blue. Realizing that they’d been standing outdoors in the cold too long, considering the thin clothing that Kenneth was wearing, Patrick added:

‘It’s cold out here, and you need to go inside.’ He paused for a moment. ‘Would you like to drive over to the office with me? To your office, I mean? Then we can have a talk with Erik. Feel free to say no if you’re not up to it, and I’ll go over there myself. Is there anyone you’d like to phone, by the way?’

‘No. I’d like to go with you,’ said Kenneth, almost defiantly. ‘I want to know who did this.’

‘All right, then.’ Patrik took him lightly by the arm to steer him towards the car. He opened the door on the passenger side so Kenneth could get in. Then he went over to Martin and Paula to give them some brief instructions. He went inside to get a jacket for Kenneth before he motioned for Gösta to come with him. The tech team was on its way, and Patrik hoped to get back before they were finished. Otherwise he’d have to talk to them later. Right now going to see Erik was so urgent that it couldn’t wait.

As they backed out of the driveway, Kenneth cast a
long look at the house. His lips moved, as if forming the words of a silent farewell.

Nothing had really changed; it felt just as empty as before. The only difference was that now there was a body to bury and the last glimmer of hope had vanished. Cia’s premonitions had turned out to be right, after all. Dear God, how she wished she’d been wrong.

How was she going to live without Magnus? How would her life look without him? It seemed so unreal that her husband, the father of her children, would be lying in a grave in the cemetery. Magnus, who had always been so full of life, who had always wanted to have fun and make sure that everyone else enjoyed themselves too. Of course she had been annoyed with him on occasion, irritated by his carefree attitude and constant teasing. It drove her crazy whenever she wanted to talk about something serious and he just played about and teased her until she couldn’t help laughing even though she didn’t want to. At the same time, she had never wanted to change anything about him.

What she wouldn’t give for just one more hour with him! Half an hour, even one minute! They weren’t finished with their life together; in fact, they had just begun. They’d only had the chance to make half the journey they’d envisioned for themselves. The exhilarating first meeting when they were nineteen. The first years when they were so in love. Magnus proposing to her, and then their wedding in Fjällbacka church. The children. The nights filled with crying infants, when they’d taken turns getting some sleep. All the hours of playing and laughing with Elin and Ludvig. The nights when they had made love or just fallen asleep, holding hands. And the last few years when the children were getting older and she and Magnus had been able to get to know each other again.

But there was so much more they had wanted to do; the road ahead had seemed long and filled with anticipated experiences. Magnus was looking forward to teasing his children’s first boyfriend and girlfriend, respectively, who would turn up at their house to be introduced, awkward and shy and stammering. They were planning to help Elin and Ludvig when they moved into their first flats, carrying in furniture, painting the walls, and sewing curtains. As the father, Magnus would give a speech when each of his children married. He would talk too long, get too sentimental, and tell too many details about their childhood. Cia and Magnus had even imagined their first grandchild, even though it would be years until that happened. But it was there in the future, like a promise, sparkling like a jewel. And they would be the world’s best grandparents. Always ready to lend a hand and spoil the grandchildren. Give them cake for dinner and buy them far too many toys. Offering their time, all the time that they had.

All of that was now gone. Their dreams for the future would never be realized. Suddenly Cia felt a hand on her shoulder. She heard his voice, but it sounded so unbearably like Magnus that she shut it out, refused to listen. After a while the voice fell silent and the hand was taken away. In front of her she saw that the road had vanished, as if it had never existed.

On the last stretch of the drive to Christian’s house Erica felt as if she were heading towards Golgotha. She had phoned the library to speak to him, but was told that he’d gone home. So she had squeezed herself in behind the wheel to drive over there. She still wasn’t sure that it was a good idea to do as Gaby had asked. At the same time, she didn’t really see how she could get out of the situation. Gaby never took no for an answer.

‘What do you want?’ asked Sanna when she opened the door. She looked even sadder than usual.

‘I need to talk to Christian,’ Erica told her, hoping that she wouldn’t be asked to explain why.

‘He’s not home.’

‘When do you expect him?’ asked Erica patiently, feeling almost grateful for the chance to postpone the meeting.

‘He’s writing. Over in the boathouse. You can go down there if you want to, but you’ll be disturbing him at your own risk.’

‘That’s okay. I’ll take the risk.’ Erica hesitated. ‘It’s important,’ she added.

Sanna shrugged. ‘Do whatever you like. Do you know where it is?’

Erica nodded. She had visited Christian in his little writer’s den a couple of times before.

Five minutes later she parked the car next to the row of boathouses. The one Christian was working in had been inherited from Sanna’s family. Her maternal grandfather had bought it for a song, and now it was one of the few still owned by someone who lived in Fjällbacka year-round.

Christian must have heard her car, because he opened the door even before she could knock. Erica noticed that he had a cut on his forehead, but she decided that it wasn’t the right time to ask him about it.

‘What are you doing here?’ he asked with the same lack of enthusiasm that Sanna had displayed.

Erica was starting to feel as if she were carrying the plague. ‘It’s just me and a couple of others,’ she tried to joke, but Christian didn’t look amused.

‘I’m working,’ he said, making no sign of inviting her inside.

‘I’ll only bother you for a few minutes.’

‘You of all people should know what it’s like to be in the middle of writing something,’ he said.

This was going a lot worse than Erica had expected. ‘I had a visit from Gaby a while ago. She told me about your meeting.’

Christian’s shoulders sagged and he sighed. ‘She came all the way here just to tell you about that?’

‘She was in Göteborg for a meeting. She’s really upset. And she thought that I could … Er, couldn’t we go inside to talk instead of just standing here in the doorway?’

Without saying a word, Christian finally stepped aside and let her come in. The ceiling was so low that he had to bow his head a bit, but Erica, who was half a head shorter, was able to stand up straight. He turned his back to her and led the way into the room facing the sea. The computer was on and manuscript pages lay strewn over the drop-leaf table in front of the window, indicating that he really had been working.

‘All right, what did she say?’ He sat down, crossed his long legs and folded his arms. His whole body radiated antipathy.

‘As I mentioned, she’s very upset. Or maybe concerned is a better word. She says that you refuse to do any more interviews or other promotion for your book.’

‘That’s right,’ replied Christian, looking even more defiant.

‘May I ask why?’

‘I’m sure you know why,’ he snapped, and Erica gave a start. He noticed her reaction and seemed to regret his tone of voice. ‘You know why,’ he repeated dully. ‘I can’t … I just can’t. Not after everything that has been said in the media.’

‘Are you worried about attracting more attention? Is that it? Have you received more threats? Do you know who’s sending them?’ The questions poured out of her.

Christian shook his head vigorously. ‘I have no idea. His voice rose again. ‘I have absolutely no idea! I just want a little peace and quiet so I can work undisturbed and not have to …’ He turned away.

Erica studied Christian in silence. He didn’t really fit in with this setting. That was something she’d thought about before, when she met him here at the boathouse, and the feeling was even stronger this time. He looked so out of place among all the fishing gear and nets adorning the walls. The little shed seemed like a doll’s house into which he had squeezed his long limbs and then got stuck so he couldn’t get out. In a sense, that might have been exactly what happened. She glanced at the manuscript on the table. It was impossible to see what the text was about, but she estimated that there were nearly a hundred pages.

‘Is that a new book?’ She had no intention of dropping the topic that seemed to upset him so much, but she was willing to give him a short breathing space so he could calm down.

‘Yes,’ he said, and seemed to relax a bit.

‘Is it a sequel? To
The Mermaid
?’

Christian smiled. ‘There is no sequel to
The Mermaid
,’ he told her, turning to look out at the sea. Then he added, hesitantly, ‘I don’t understand how anyone would dare.’

‘Sorry?’ Erica didn’t think she’d said anything that would cause him to smile. ‘What do you mean by “dare”?’

‘Dive.’

Erica turned to see what he was looking at, and suddenly she understood what he meant.

‘You mean from the diving tower? At Badholmen?’

‘Yes.’ Christian was staring at it without blinking.

‘I’ve never dared. But on the other hand, I have to admit that I’m afraid of the water, which is rather embarrassing considering that I grew up here.’

‘I’ve never dared either.’ Christian spoke in a voice that
sounded far away, almost dreamy. Erica waited anxiously for him to say more. There was something in the air, a tension that seemed close to bursting point. She didn’t dare move, she hardly dared breathe. After a few moments Christian went on. But he no longer seemed aware of her presence.

‘She dared.’

‘Who?’ Erica whispered the question. At first she didn’t think she’d get an answer. Silence settled between then. Then Christian said in such a low voice that his words were barely audible:

‘The Mermaid.’

‘In the book?’ Erica didn’t understand. What was he trying to say? And where was he? Not here, at any rate. Not in the present moment, not with her. He was someplace else, and she sincerely wished she knew where that was.

The next instant the mood had passed. Christian took a deep breath and turned to face her. He was back.

‘I want to focus on my new manuscript. Not sit around giving interviews and writing birthday greetings in the books that I’m asked to sign.’

‘That’s all part of the job, Christian,’ Erica calmly pointed out. She couldn’t help feeling a bit annoyed at his arrogance.

‘You mean I have no choice in the matter?’ He spoke calmly, but there was still an underlying tension.

‘If you weren’t prepared to take on that part of the job, you should have said so from the beginning. The publisher, the marketplace, and the readers – and, for God’s sake, they’re the most important of all – expect us to devote some of our time to them. If an author doesn’t want to do that, he needs to make it clear right from the start. You can’t change the rules in the middle of the game.’

Christian looked down at the floor, and she saw that
he was listening carefully, taking in what she was saying. When he raised his head, he had tears in his eyes.

‘I can’t, Erica. It’s impossible for me to explain, but …’ He shook his head and tried again. ‘I can’t. They can ostracize me, blacklist me, I don’t care. I’ll keep on writing, because that’s what I have to do. But I can’t play their game.’ He began vigorously scratching his arms as if there were ants swarming under his skin.

Erica looked at him with concern. Christian was like a taut string that might snap at any moment. But she realized that there was nothing she could do about it. He didn’t want to talk to her. If she was going to solve the mystery of the letters, she would have to look for answers on her own, without his help.

He stared at her for a moment and then abruptly pulled his chair closer to the table with the computer.

‘I have to get back to work now.’ His face was expression less. Closed.

Erica stood up. She wished she could see inside his head and pluck out his secrets, which she knew had to be in there. She was sure they were the key to everything. But he had turned his attention to the computer screen, focusing intently on the words that he’d written, as if they were the last things he would ever read.

She left without saying another word. Not even goodbye.

Patrik sat in his office, trying to fight off an overwhelming sense of fatigue. He needed to concentrate and be alert, now that the investigation had reached a critical stage. Paula stuck her head in the door.

‘What’s happening?’ she asked, taking in Patrik’s unhealthy pallor and the beads of sweat on his forehead. She was worried about him. It was impossible not to notice that he’d been looking worn-out lately.

Patrik took a deep breath and forced his thoughts back to the latest development.

‘Lisbet Bengtsson’s body has been taken to Göteborg for a post-mortem. I haven’t talked to Pedersen, but considering that it’ll be a few days yet before we have the results on Magnus Kjellner, I’m not counting on anything regarding Lisbet until the beginning of next week, at the earliest.’