The Preacher (27 page)

Martin now understood Patrik’s reasoning much better. He was even inclined to admit that his colleague might be right. ‘But how can you get an exhumation order on such flimsy grounds, and so quickly?’

The expression on Patrik’s face was grim when he explained, ‘Stubbornness, Martin, sheer stubbornness.’

They were interrupted by the ring of Patrik’s mobile phone. He answered, speaking only in curt syllables, while Martin nervously looked on and tried to work out what the conversation was about. After only a minute or so Patrik put down the phone.

‘Who was that?’

‘It was Annika. The lab called back about the DNA sample we took from Mårten Frisk.’

‘And?’ He sincerely hoped that he and Patrik were wrong. That Tanja’s murderer was now sitting in jail.

‘The samples don’t match. The semen we found on Tanja did not come from Mårten Frisk.’

Martin hadn’t realized that he was holding his breath until the air was slowly released in one long gasp.

‘Damn. Still, that’s hardly a surprise, is it?’

‘No, but we were hoping.’

They sat in dismal silence for a while. Then Patrik heaved a deep sigh, as if marshalling his powers for the task that still loomed as large as Mount Everest before them.

‘No, all we have to do now is get permission for an exhumation in record time.’

Patrik picked up his mobile and set to work. He would have to be more persuasive than he’d ever been before in his professional life. And not even he was convinced he could do it.

Erica’s mood was rapidly approaching rock bottom. The enforced idleness made her wander through the house, pottering about first here, then there. Memory of the row she’d had with Anna was festering in the back of her mind like a hangover, dragging her mood down even further. She was also feeling a little sorry for herself. She had actually been a bit relieved when Patrik went back to work, but she hadn’t reckoned with the fact that he would become so swallowed up by this case. Even when he was home she could see that his mind was still occupied with the homicide. She recognized the gravity of what he was doing and understood it, but there was still a pitiful little voice inside her that selfishly wished he would focus more of his attention on her.

She rang up Dan. Maybe he was home and had time to come over for a cup of coffee. His eldest daughter answered and said that Pappa was out with Maria in the boat. Typical. Everyone was busy with their own lives while here she sat with her big belly twiddling her thumbs.

When the telephone rang she threw herself on it so eagerly that she almost knocked it off the bench.

‘Hello, Erica Falck.’

‘Yes, hello. I’m looking for Patrik Hedström.’

‘He’s at work. May I help you with something, or would you like his mobile number?’

The man on the other end hesitated.

‘Well, it’s like this. I got his number from his mother. Our families have known each other for a long time, and the last time I talked to Kristina she thought I should give Patrik a buzz if our paths crossed. So now my wife and I have just arrived in Fjällbacka, and …’

Erica had a brilliant idea. Here was the solution to her boredom.

‘Would you like to come over? Patrik will be home at five, so you can surprise him. And we’ll have time to get to know each other. You were childhood friends, you said?’

‘Yes, that would be fantastic. We did hang out a lot when we were kids. We haven’t seen much of each other as adults, but we do manage it once in a while. Time flies.’ He gave a small chuckle.

‘Well then, we definitely need to remedy that situation. How soon could you be here?’

He conferred with someone in the background and was soon back on the line.

‘We don’t have anything special planned, so we could come over right away, if that’s all right.’

‘Super!’

Erica felt her enthusiasm return at the prospect of a break in the routine. She gave them directions and hurried to put on a pot of coffee. When the doorbell rang, she realized she’d forgotten to ask their names. Well, they could start with introductions …

Three hours later, Erica was bored close to tears. She blinked her eyes and summoned the last of her strength in an attempt to look interested.

‘One of the most interesting aspects of my work is following the flow of the CDRs. As I explained earlier, CDR stands for “Call Data Record”, or the values that contain the information about how long someone talks on the telephone, where one is calling, et cetera. When we compile all the CDRs, we get a quite fantastic source of information regarding our customers’ behaviour patterns …’

It seemed as if he had been talking for an eternity. Would the guy ever shut up? Jörgen Berntsson was so dull that he made Erica’s eyes water, and his wife wasn’t far behind. Not because she spouted the same sort of long, totally uninteresting expositions as her husband, but because she hadn’t said a word other than her name.

When Erica heard Patrik’s footsteps on the front porch she jumped up gratefully from the sofa and went to meet him.

‘We have visitors,’ she hissed.

‘Who?’ he whispered back.

‘One of your childhood friends. Jörgen Berntsson. And his wife.’

‘Oh no, tell me you’re joking.’ He uttered a groan.

‘Sorry, I’m not.’

‘How the hell did they end up here?’

Erica guiltily cast down her eyes. ‘I invited them. As a surprise for you.’

‘You did what?’ His voice was a little louder than he intended and he whispered, ‘Why did you invite them here?’

Erica threw out her hands. ‘I was so damn bored, and he said he was an old friend, so I thought you’d be pleased.’

‘Do you have any idea how many times he was foisted on me when we were kids? And he wasn’t a bit more fun back then.’

They realized that they’d been standing for a suspiciously long time in the hall. They both took a deep breath to gather their strength.

‘Well, hello there! What a surprise!’

Erica was impressed by Patrik’s histrionics. She simply gave a pale smile as they sat down with Jörgen and Madeleine.

An hour later, she was ready to commit hara-kiri. Patrik had a couple of hours to go yet and was still managing to look relatively interested.

‘So, are you just passing through?’

‘Yes, we thought we’d drive up the coast. We stopped to visit an old classmate of Madde’s in Smögen and a guy in Lysekil I once took a course with. The best of both worlds. Go on holiday and rekindle old acquaintances at the same time!’

Jörgen brushed off an imaginary speck of dust from his trousers and exchanged a glance with his wife before he turned back to Patrik and Erica. Actually, he didn’t even have to open his mouth. They knew what was coming.

‘Well, now that we see what a nice house you have here – and so spacious too –’ he took in the living room in a glance like a tax assessor, ‘we thought we’d ask whether it might be possible to stay over a night or two? Most of the hotels are jammed full.’

Jörgen and Madeleine gazed at Patrik and Erica expectantly. And Erica didn’t need to be telepathic to feel the vindictive thoughts that Patrik was sending in her direction. But hospitality was like a natural law to the two of them. There was no way to escape it.

‘Of course you can stay over if you like. We have a guest room you can use.’

‘Super! My God, this is going to be fun! Where was I, anyway? Oh yes, when we’ve gathered enough CDR material to be able to run statistical analyses, then…’

The evening vanished as if in a mist. But they did learn more than they could ever hope to forget about the technology behind telecommunications.

The telephone rang and rang at the other end. No answer. The voicemail picked up: ‘Hi, this is Linda. Leave a message after the beep and I’ll call back as soon as I can.’ In annoyance, Stefan punched off. He had already left four messages, and she hadn’t called back yet. Hesitantly he entered the number to Västergården. He hoped Jacob was at work. He was in luck. Marita answered.

‘Hello, is Linda there?’

‘Yes, she’s in her room. Who may I say is calling?’

He hesitated again. But presumably Marita wouldn’t recognize his voice even if he said his name.

‘Tell her it’s Stefan.’

He heard her put down the receiver and go upstairs. In his mind’s eye he visualized the interior of the manor house at Västergården, now much clearer in his mind after seeing it for the first time in so many years.

After a while Marita returned. Now her voice sounded wary.

‘She says she doesn’t want to talk to you. May I ask which Stefan you are?’

‘Thanks for the help, but I have to be going.’ He hurried to hang up.

Conflicting emotions tore at him. He had never loved anyone the way he loved Linda. If he closed his eyes he could still imagine the touch of her bare skin. At the same time he hated her. The chain reaction had already started when they met like two combatants at Västergården. The feeling of hatred and the desire to hurt her had been so strong that he almost couldn’t control himself. How could two such different feelings exist side by side?

Maybe he’d been stupid to believe that they actually had something good together. That it was more than a game for her. Sitting by the phone he now felt like an idiot, and that feeling added more fuel to the fury burning inside him. But there was something he could do to make her share his feeling of humiliation. She would rue the day that she believed she could do as she liked with him.

He was going to tell what he had seen.

Patrik had never thought he would view an exhumation as a welcome break in the monotony of his day. But after the long and excruciating evening with Jörgen and Madeleine, even this looked like a pleasant activity.

Mellberg, Martin and Patrik stood silently in Fjällbacka churchyard and observed the macabre scene that was playing out before them. It was seven o’clock in the morning and the temperature was pleasant, even though the sun had already been up for hours. Few cars drove past the churchyard, and except for the twittering of birds the only sound was the scraping of shovels being thrust into the earth.

It was a new experience for all three of them. A disinterment was a rare occasion in a policeman’s daily routine, and none of them had actually had any idea how it was done, from a purely practical standpoint. Did they bring in a little backhoe and plough down through the layers of soil to the coffin? Or did a team of professional gravediggers come in to perform the gruesome task manually? The latter alternative turned out to be closer to the truth. The same men who dug the graves for burials were now attempting to lift out someone who had already been buried. Doggedly they shoved their spades into the earth, without a word. What was there to say? Chat about the match on TV last night? Talk about the barbecue last weekend? No, the gravity of the moment laid a heavy veil of silence over their work and it would remain until the coffin could finally be lifted out of its resting place.

‘Are you sure you know what you’re doing, Hedström?’

Mellberg looked worried, and Patrik shared his apprehension. He had employed all his persuasive powers yesterday – pleaded, threatened and begged – to get the wheels of justice to grind faster than ever before, so that they would get permission to open Johannes Hult’s grave. But the suspicion was still only a hunch, and nothing more.

Patrik was not a religious person, but the thought of disturbing the peace of the grave bothered him nevertheless. There was something sacred about the stillness in the churchyard, and he hoped that he would find that the dead had been disturbed with good reason.

‘Stig Thulin rang me yesterday from the town hall, and he was not happy, I have to tell you. Apparently one of the people you rang and pestered yesterday got hold of him and told him that you were raving about some conspiracy between Ephraim Hult and two of the most respected men in Fjällbacka. You had mentioned bribes and God knows what else. He was extremely upset. Ephraim might be dead, but Dr Hammarström is alive and kicking, along with the undertaker from those days. If it comes out that we’re promoting baseless accusations, then…’

Mellberg threw out his hands. He didn’t have to finish his sentence. Patrik knew what the consequences would be. First he would get the tongue-lashing of his life, and then he would be the eternal laughing-stock of the station.

Mellberg seemed to read his mind. ‘So you’d damn well better be right, Hedström!’

He pointed a stubby finger at Johannes’s grave and shifted from one foot to the other impatiently. The pile of dirt had grown to more than a metre in height, and sweat glistened on the brows of the gravediggers. It wouldn’t be much longer now.

Mellberg’s previous good humour had been a bit diminished this morning. And it didn’t seem only to do with the early hour and the unpleasant task. It was something more. The peevishness that had formerly been a constant aspect of his personality had returned after a couple of remarkable weeks of changed temperament. As yet his foul mood hadn’t reached full force, but it was well on the way. He had done nothing but complain, swear and grumble the whole time they were waiting. In a strange way, it felt more comfortable than his brief period of geniality. Or at least more familiar. Mellberg left them, still swearing, to go and suck up to the team from Uddevalla that had just arrived to assist.

Martin whispered out of the corner of his mouth, ‘Whatever it was, it seems to be over.’

‘What do you think it was?’ asked Patrik.

‘Temporary insanity?’

‘Annika heard a funny rumour yesterday.’

‘What’s that? Tell me.’

‘He left work early yesterday …’ Patrik began.

‘Nothing revolutionary about that.’

‘No, you’re probably right. But Annika heard him ring Arlanda Airport in Stockholm. And he seemed to be in a terrible hurry.’

‘Arlanda? Was he supposed to collect someone there? He’s here, so he couldn’t have been flying anywhere himself.’ Martin looked just as astonished as Patrik felt. And curious.

‘I don’t know any more than you do about what he was doing there. But the plot thickens…’

One of the men by the grave waved to them. They warily went over to the big pile of dirt and looked down in the hole. A brown coffin had been exposed.

‘There’s your boy. Should we bring him up?’

Patrik nodded. ‘Just be careful. I’ll tell the team, then they’ll take over as soon as you get the coffin raised.’

He went over to the three technicians from Uddevalla. They were looking serious and talking with Mellberg. A hearse from the funeral home had been driven up the gravel path and stood with its back door open, ready to transport the coffin, with or without a body.

‘They’re almost ready. Are we going to open the coffin here, or will you do it in Uddevalla?’

The head of the technical unit, Torbjörn Ruud, didn’t answer Patrik but instead instructed the only woman on the team to go over and take some photos. Only when that was done did he turn to Patrik.

‘We’ll probably open the lid here. If you’re right and we don’t find a body in the coffin, then our part is done. If the more likely scenario occurs and there’s a corpse in that coffin, then we’ll take it to Uddevalla for identification. Because I assume that’s what you want done, right?’ His walrus moustache bobbed up and down as he gave Patrik a quizzical look.