The Gallows Bird (23 page)

Kerstin flipped listlessly through the channels. It was mostly a bunch of programmes where the viewers were supposed to ring in and guess words. Terribly boring. Her thoughts moved on to the subject that had preoccupied her over the past two weeks. Who had wanted to harm Marit? Who had snatched her in the midst of her despair over their argument, in the midst of her anger? Had she been scared? Was her death quick or slow? Had it been painful? Did she know she was going to die? All these questions tumbled about in Kerstin’s head without finding any answers. She had followed the reports on the murder of the girl in the reality show, both in the papers and on TV, but she felt oddly removed from it all; she was already filled to the brim with her own pain. Instead she had worried that this second murder might be taking resources away from the investigation of Marit’s death. The media attention would make the police spend all their time on trying to find the girl’s killer, and they would no longer care about Marit.

Kerstin sat up and reached for the phone on the coffee table. If no one else was going to do anything, she would at least see to it that Marit’s interests were protected. She owed her that much.

Since Barbie’s death they had gathered in a circle in the middle of the community centre once a day. At first this had been met with protests. Sullen silence had been followed by scathing remarks, but after Fredrik had explained that this was what it would take for them to continue with the shoot, they had all reluctantly agreed to cooperate. After about a week they had even begun in some awkward way to look forward to the group meeting with Lars. He didn’t talk down to them, he listened, made comments that didn’t seem misplaced, and spoke with them on their own terms. Even Uffe had reluctantly begun to like Lars, although he would rather die than admit it openly. The group sessions had also been supplemented with individual counselling, and though no one in the group was exactly jubilant about the therapy process, an air of resigned acceptance now prevailed.

‘How have you felt about the past few days? With all that’s happened?’ Lars looked from one person to the next, waiting for someone to start talking. His eyes stopped on Mehmet.

‘I think it’s been okay,’ Mehmet said after a moment. ‘It’s been such chaos that we, like, almost haven’t had time to think.’

‘Think about what?’ said Lars.

‘About what happened. About Barbie.’ Mehmet looked down at his hands. Lars moved his gaze from him and let it sweep over the others.

‘Do you think that’s a good thing? That you don’t have to think about it? Is that how the rest of you have experienced it? That the chaos has been positive?’

Another moment’s silence.

‘Not me,’ said Jonna gloomily. ‘I think it’s been tough. Really tough.’

‘In what way? What aspect of it has been tough?’ Lars cocked his head to one side.

‘Thinking about what happened to her. Seeing the images in my mind. How she must have died and things like that. And the way she was dumped there in that . . . rubbish bin. That was disgusting.’

‘Do the rest of you see images too?’ Lars’s gaze stopped on Calle.

‘Course we do. But thinking about it won’t do any good. Barbie is still going to be dead.’

‘So you don’t think it would be better for you to deal with these images? Confront them?’

‘Shit, it’s better to just have another beer. Don’t you think so, Calle?’ Uffe kicked Calle on the shin and laughed, but then retreated behind his usual sullen expression when he noticed that nobody was buying it. Now Lars shifted his focus to Uffe, which made him squirm uncomfortably in his chair. He was the only one who still stubbornly refused to go along with the process, as Lars called it.

‘Uffe, you always put on a tough exterior. But what comes to mind when you think about Barbie? What sort of mental images go through your head?’

Uffe looked around as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. What mental images he had of Barbie? He laughed and looked at Lars. ‘Well, anybody who says that her boobs aren’t the first thing that springs to mind is a liar. Talk about silicone bombshells!’ He held up his cupped hands and then looked around to seek support in the group. But nobody seemed to be amused this time either.

‘Jesus, Uffe, shut up,’ said Mehmet in annoyance. ‘Are you as stupid as you seem, or are you just showing off?’

‘Where the hell do you get off criticizing me?’ Uffe leaned towards Mehmet with a hostile expression, but then withdrew into sullen silence. Nobody had liked her when she was alive, but now they all talked about her as if they’d lost their best friend in the whole world.

‘Tina, you haven’t said much. How has Lillemor’s death affected you?’

‘I think it was just so tragic.’ She had tears in her eyes and was shaking her head. ‘I mean, she had her whole life ahead of her. And a worldwide career, sort of. She was going to do a photo shoot for
Slitz
magazine when the series was over, that was already a sure thing, and she’d talked to some guy about going to the States and trying to get into
Playboy
. I mean, she could have been the next Victoria Silvstedt. Victoria is almost an old lady by now, and Barbie was ready to take over. We talked a lot about it, and she was so ambitious. Cool, too. This fucking sucks, it’s so tragic.’ Now the tears were rolling down, and she wiped them away with her hand, careful not to smear her mascara.

‘Yes, it’s so-o-o tragic,’ said Uffe. ‘The world has lost the next Victoria Silvstedt. Like, what is the world going to do now?’ He laughed but held up his hands when he saw the dirty looks that were aimed at him. ‘Okay, okay, I’ll shut up. Just sit there and blubber, you bunch of hypocrites.’

‘You seem to be feeling a lot of frustration about all this, Uffe,’ Lars said gently.

‘It’s not frustration. I just think they’re so fucking phoney. Sniffling over Barbie, when they didn’t give a shit about her when she was alive. At least I’m being honest.’ He threw out his hands.

‘You are
not
honest,’ Jonna muttered. ‘You’re just being a jerk.’

‘Check it out, the psycho wreck is talking. Pull up your sleeves so I can see the latest artwork. You fucking psycho.’ He laughed and Lars stood up.

‘I don’t think we’re going to get much further today. Uffe, I think you and I should have our individual meeting now.’

‘Fine, fine. But don’t think I’m going to sit in there and cry. The rest of these fools do it so well.’ He got up and slapped the back of Tina’s head, which made her turn round and aim a blow at him. He just laughed and sauntered after Lars. The others watched him go.

Rose-Marie was coming to Tanumshede for lunch. This was their first meeting since the dinner at the Gestgifveri, and Mellberg was waiting for the clock to strike twelve with feverish excitement. He looked at the clock, which still read ten minutes to, as he stood stamping outside the entrance. The hands crept forward and he glanced back and forth from the clock to the vehicles that turned into the car park now and then. He had suggested the Gestgifveri again. For a romantic atmosphere, there was no better place.

Five minutes later he saw her red Fiat. His heart began pounding in a strange way and he felt his mouth go dry. Reflexively he checked that his hair was in place. He wiped his hands on his trousers and went over to meet her. Her face lit up when she caught sight of him, and he had to curb an impulse to bend her backward and give her a really long kiss in the middle of the car park. The strength of his feelings surprised him. They hugged and shook hands, and he let her precede him into the restaurant. His hand trembled slightly as he touched her back for a second.

When they entered the restaurant he gasped with surprise. At one of the window tables sat Hedström and Molin staring at him in amazement. Rose-Marie looked with curiosity at him and then at his two colleagues, and reluctantly Mellberg realized that he’d have to make introductions. Martin and Patrik shook hands with Rose-Marie, smiling broadly. Mellberg sighed. This would be certain to set the office rumour mill in motion. On the other hand . . . Rose-Marie was not a woman he was ashamed to be seen with.

‘Would you like to join us?’ Patrik gestured to the two empty seats at their table.

Mellberg was about to decline when he heard Rose-Marie happily say yes. He swore under his breath. He’d been looking forward to his time with her alone. A lunch together with Hedström and Molin wouldn’t provide the romantic intimacy he had envisioned. But he would have to grin and bear it. He gave Patrik an annoyed look behind Rose-Marie’s back. Then, resigned, he pulled out a chair for her. Hedström and Molin looked as if they couldn’t believe their eyes. Striplings their age had probably never even heard of the word ‘gentleman’.

‘How nice to meet you . . . Rose-Marie,’ said Patrik, looking at her across the table. She smiled and the laugh lines around her eyes deepened. Mellberg couldn’t stop looking at her. There was something about the way her eyes sparkled and her lips turned up in a smile that . . . no, he just couldn’t put it into words.

‘Where did you two meet, then?’ Molin’s voice had a slightly amused tone, and Mellberg gave him a frown. He really hoped they didn’t think that they were going to have some fun at his expense. And Rose-Marie’s.

‘At the barn dance. In Munkedal.’ Rose-Marie’s eyes shone. ‘Bertil and I were both dragged there by our friends and we weren’t that enthusiastic about it all. But sometimes fate steers you onto the right path.’ She beamed at Mellberg and he felt himself blushing with happiness. So he wasn’t the only one who was a sentimental fool. Rose-Marie had also felt that there was something special on that first evening.

The waitress came over to their table to take their orders. ‘Have whatever you like, it’s my treat today!’ Mellberg heard himself say, to his great astonishment. For an instant he regretted it, but the look of admiration he got from RoseMarie strengthened his resolve. He realized, for perhaps the first time in his life, the true value of money. What were a few hundred kronor compared with the appreciation he saw in a beautiful woman’s eyes? Hedström and Molin gave him an astounded look and he snorted in irritation, ‘Look here, just order before I change my mind and dock your pay instead.’ Still in a state of shock, Patrik stammered, ‘I’ll have the Torbay sole,’ and Molin, just as flabbergasted, managed only to nod as a sign that he wanted the same thing.

‘I’ll have the hash,’ said Mellberg, then looked at RoseMarie. ‘And you, my sweet? What does the lady wish to order today?’ Mellberg heard Hedström cough as he choked on a mouthful of water. He gave Patrik a reproachful glance and thought it was embarrassing to be in the company of two grown men who didn’t know how to behave. Today’s youth certainly had big gaps in their upbringing.

‘I’d like the pork loin filet, please,’ said Rose-Marie, unfolding her serviette and placing it in her lap.

‘Do you live in Munkedal?’ asked Martin politely, pouring a little more water for the woman seated beside him.

‘At the moment I’m living in Dingle,’ she said, taking a sip of water before she went on. ‘I got an offer to take early retirement and couldn’t say no, and then I decided to move closer to my family. So now I have temporary lodgings with my sister until I find a place of my own. I’ve lived on the east coast for a long time, so I want to get a proper feeling for the area before I decide where to put down my roots. Once I’m settled they’ll have to carry me out feet first.’

She gave a purling laugh that made Mellberg’s heart skip a beat. As if she could hear it, she went on, with her eyes demurely lowered, ‘We’ll have to see what happens. It all depends on the people that one meets.’ She looked up and met Mellberg’s gaze. He couldn’t remember ever being so happy. He opened his mouth to say something, but just then the waitress came with the food. Rose-Marie turned instead to Patrik with a question.

‘How are things going for all of you with this terrible murder, anyway? From what Bertil tells me, I gather it was something quite horrible.’

For a moment Patrik concentrated on balancing fish, potatoes, sauce, and vegetables on his fork which was heading for his mouth.

‘Yes, horrible is certainly the word for it,’ he said after he finished chewing. ‘And it hasn’t been easy for us with this media circus going on either.’ He looked out of the window towards the community centre.

‘Yes, I don’t understand how people can find it amusing to watch that sort of thing.’ Rose-Marie shook her head. ‘Especially after such a tragic event. People are like vultures!’

‘So true, so true,’ said Martin sombrely. ‘I think the problem is that they don’t view these so-called celebrities as real. That’s the only explanation I can come up with. How else could they revel in such a tragedy?’

‘Do you suspect any of the other cast members of being involved in the murder?’ Rose-Marie had lowered her voice conspiratorially.

Patrik cast a glance at his boss. He didn’t feel entirely comfortable discussing aspects of the investigation with members of the public. But Mellberg remained silent.

‘We’re looking at the case from every possible angle,’ said Patrik cautiously. ‘We haven’t yet focused on any specific individuals.’ He decided to drop the subject.

For a while they ate in silence. The food was good, but the odd quartet had a hard time finding a common topic for conversation. Suddenly the silence was broken by the shrill ring of a phone. Patrik fumbled in his pocket for his mobile and then got up and moved quickly towards the hall as he answered. He didn’t want to disturb the other patrons. After a few minutes he came back. Without sitting down he turned to Mellberg.

‘That was Pedersen. Lillemor Persson’s autopsy report is done. We may have something more to go on.’ His expression was sombre.

Hanna was enjoying the quiet in the house. She had decided to drive home and eat lunch; it took only a few minutes by car. After the past few hectic days at the station, it was lovely to be able to rest her ears for a while from all the ringing phones. Here at home she heard only the distant hiss of the traffic on the road outside.

She sat down at the kitchen table and blew on her food that she’d heated for a couple of minutes in the microwave. It was leftover sausage Stroganoff from yesterday’s dinner, a dish that she always thought tasted better the second day.