The Preacher (29 page)

Gösta said no more, but he could see a light slowly go on for the farmer.

‘It’s about those girls, isn’t it? The girls in the King’s Cleft? And the one who disappeared? Do you think I had something to do with that? Is that what you’ve got into your heads? Jesus Christ.’

Persson got up unsteadily from the table. He was a big man. He didn’t show any of the normal signs of physical decline that came with age. His upper arms were sinewy and strong under his shirt. Ernst raised his hands and stood up too. He was always useful in these sorts of situations, Gösta thought gratefully. He lived for moments like this.

‘Now let’s all calm down. We have a lead that we’re following up, and we have several people to visit. There’s no reason to feel yourself singled out. But we would like to have a look around, just so we can cross you off the list.’

The farmer looked suspicious but then nodded. Gösta was careful to interject, ‘Would you mind if I use the toilet?’

His bladder had seen better days, and his need to relieve himself had been building up and was now acute. Persson nodded and pointed towards a door with the letters ‘WC’ on it.

‘Yes, damn it, people steal like ravens,’ Ernst was saying. ‘What are honest folks like you and I –’ He broke off guiltily when Gösta returned. An empty glass in front of Ernst revealed that he’d had the drink he’d been yearning for, and he and the farmer looked like two old friends.

Half an hour later, Gösta screwed up his courage to admonish his colleague.

‘Jeez, you stink of booze. How do you think you’re going to get past Annika with that breath of yours?’

‘Oh, come on, Flygare. Don’t be such a bloody schoolmarm. I only had a little nip, there’s nothing wrong with that. Besides, it’s impolite to refuse when someone offers you a drink.’

Gösta just snorted but made no comment. He felt depressed. Half an hour of wandering about the farmer’s property hadn’t produced a damn thing. There was no trace of any girl or any recently dug-up grave for that matter, and the morning felt wasted. But Ernst and the farmer had found common ground while Gösta was in the toilet emptying his bladder and had chatted the whole time they walked around the property. Personally Gösta felt that it would have been more appropriate to keep their distance from a possible suspect in a murder investigation, but Ernst followed his own counsel, as always.

‘Did Persson say anything useful?’

Ernst exhaled into his cupped hand and then sniffed. He ignored Gösta’s question at first. ‘Say, Flygare, could you stop here so I can get some throat lozenges?’

Sullen and silent, Gösta turned in at the OK Q8 petrol station and waited in the car while Ernst ran in to buy something to remedy his breath problem. When he got back in the car, Ernst answered the question.

‘No, we were really wasting our time out there. Hell of a nice guy, though, and I could swear he didn’t have anything to do with it. No, we can cross off that theory right now. The thing with the fertilizer is a blind alley too. Those fucking forensic techs sit on their arses all day in a lab analysing themselves to death, while we working stiffs out in the real world see how ridiculous their theories are. DNA and hairs and fertilizer and tyre tracks and all that shit they potter about with. No, a good thrashing in the right spot, that’s what really makes a case open up like a book, Flygare.’ He clenched his fist to illustrate his views. Satisfied that he’d demonstrated how real police work was supposed to be conducted, he leaned his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes.

Gösta drove on in silence towards Tanumshede. He wasn’t so sure.

* * *

The news had also reached Gabriel and his family. All three of them sat silently at the breakfast table, each lost in thought. To their great surprise, Linda had arrived home with her overnight things the night before and without a word went to bed in her room, which stood ready for her.

Hesitantly Laine broke the silence. ‘How nice that you came home, Linda.’

Linda muttered something in reply, with her eyes fixed on the piece of bread she was buttering.

‘Talk louder, Linda, it’s not polite to mumble like that.’

Gabriel got a withering look from Laine, but he didn’t much care. This was his house and he had no intention of making a fuss over the girl simply for the dubious pleasure of having her at home for a while.

‘I told you I’ll only be here for a night or two, then I’m going back to Västergården. Just needed a change of scene. All that hallelujah crap was getting to me. And it’s damned depressing to see the way they treat the kids. I think it’s really creepy too, the way the kids go around talking about Jesus …’

‘Yes, I’ve told Jacob that I think they’re a little too strict with the children. But they mean well. And faith is important for Jacob and Marita, we have to respect that. I know for instance that Jacob gets very upset when he hears you swearing. It’s actually not language that’s becoming for a young lady.’

Linda rolled her eyes in annoyance. She’d simply wanted to get away from Stefan for a while, and she knew he wouldn’t dare ring her here. But the harping was already starting to get on her nerves. She’d probably have to go back to her brother’s place tonight anyway. She couldn’t live like this.

‘Yes, I assume you heard at Jacob’s house about the exhumation,’ said Laine. ‘Pappa rang there yesterday when the police contacted him. What an idiotic theory they’ve come up with! They’re talking about some plan that Ephraim supposedly cooked up to make it look like Johannes was dead. That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.’

Red patches appeared on the white skin of Laine’s chest, and she kept fidgeting with her pearl necklace. Linda had to stifle an urge to reach over and tear off the necklace and shove all those fucking pearls down her throat.

Gabriel cleared his throat and joined the discussion with an authoritative voice. The whole business with the exhumation bothered him. It disturbed his routines and stirred up dust in his well-ordered world. He was strongly against the whole idea. He didn’t think for a minute that the police had any reason for their assertions, but that wasn’t the problem. Nor was it the thought that the peace of his brother’s final resting place would be disturbed, even though that was definitely not pleasant. No, it was the disruption that the whole procedure involved. Coffins were supposed to be buried, not dug up. Once graves were dug they should be left untouched, and coffins that were once closed should remain closed. That’s how things should be. Debit and credit. Everything in its proper order.

‘Well, I think it’s a little strange that the police are allowed to take arbitrary action like this,’ said Gabriel. ‘I don’t know what arms they had to twist to get permission, but I intend to get to the bottom of it, believe me. This isn’t a police state we live in, after all.’

Once again Linda muttered something into her plate.

‘Pardon me, what did you say, dear?’ said Laine, turning to her daughter.

‘I said shouldn’t you at least give a thought to how this must be for Solveig, Robert and Stefan? Do you have any idea how it must feel for them to have Johannes dug up like this? But no, the only thing you can do is complain about what a shame it is for you. Why don’t you think a little about someone else for a change?’

She threw her napkin on the plate and left the table. Laine’s hands flew to her necklace again and she seemed to be wondering whether to follow after her daughter or not. A look from Gabriel made her stay where she was.

‘Well, we know where she got that high-strung temper ament.’

His tone was accusatory. Laine didn’t say a word.

‘She has the nerve to claim that we don’t care about how Solveig and the boys are taking all this. Of course we care, but time after time they’ve shown that they don’t want our sympathy. As you make your bed, so must you lie in it …’

Sometimes Laine hated her husband. He sat there so smug, eating his eggs with a good appetite. In her mind she pictured herself going over to him, picking up his plate and slowly rubbing it against his chest. Instead she set about clearing the table.

8
SUMMER 1979

They were sharing the pain now. Like two Siamese twins they were squeezed together into a symbiotic relationship that was held together by equal parts love and hate. On the one hand there was a security in not having to be alone down there in the dark. On the other, an antagonistic relationship was created from the desire to be spared, the wish that the other girl would have to endure the pain the next time he appeared.

They didn’t speak much. Their voices echoed in a much too ghastly way in the blindness underground. When the footsteps approached they flew apart from each other, relinquishing the skin to skin contact that was their only defence against the cold and the dark. Now only the flight from pain was relevant, and they threw themselves at each other in a struggle to make the other girl the first to land in the hands of the evil one.

This time she won, and she heard the screams begin. In a way it was almost as bad to be the one who escaped. The sound of bones being broken was well imprinted on her auditory memory, and she felt every scream in her own mangled body. She also knew what would come after the screams. Then the hands that prised and twisted, cut and wounded would be transformed, now warm and tender, placed on the spot where the pain was worst. Those hands she now knew as well as her own. They were big and strong, but at the same time smooth, without roughness or irregularities. The fingers were long and sensitive like a pianist’s. And even though she had never actually seen them she could picture them quite clearly in her mind’s eye.

Now the screams intensified, and she wished that she could lift her arms to put her hands to her ears. But her arms hung limp and useless by her side and refused to obey her instructions.

When the screams died out and the little hatch above their heads was opened and then closed again, she crawled across the cold, damp surface to the source of the screams.

Now it was time for solace.

alt

When the lid of the coffin was lifted, there was total silence. Patrik caught himself half turning to stare nervously at the church. He didn’t know what he expected. Maybe a bolt of lightning from the church tower that would strike them down in the midst of their blasphemous activity. But nothing of the sort occurred.

When Patrik saw the skeleton in the coffin his heart sank. He was wrong.

‘Well, Hedström. This is a hell of a mess you’ve landed us in here.’

Mellberg shook his head in regret. With that one sentence he made Patrik feel as if his head had been placed on the chopping block. But his boss was right. It was a hell of a mess.

‘We’re going to take the body with us then, so we can confirm that it’s the right guy. But there probably won’t be any surprises on that point. You don’t have any theories about switched bodies or the like, do you?’

Patrik just shook his head. He assumed that he’d got what he deserved. The techs did their job, and a while later when the skeleton was on its way to Göteborg, Patrik and Martin got into their car to drive back to the station.

‘You could have been right. It wasn’t that far-fetched.’ Martin’s voice was consoling, but Patrik merely shook his head again.

‘No, you were right. The conspiracy theories were a little too grandiose to be plausible. I suppose I’m going to have to live with this mistake for a long time to come.’

‘Yes, you can probably count on that,’ said Martin sympathetically. ‘But ask yourself this: could you have lived with yourself if you hadn’t done it? What if later on you found out you were right and it cost Jenny Möller her life? At least you tried. We just have to keep working with all the ideas that pop into our heads, crazy or not. That’s our only chance to find her in time.’

‘If it’s not already too late,’ said Patrik dismally.

‘See, that’s exactly the way we shouldn’t be thinking. We haven’t found her dead yet, so she must be alive. There isn’t any other alternative.’

‘You’re right. But I simply don’t know which way to turn. Where should we look? We keep coming back to that damned Hult family, but there’s never enough to give us anything concrete to go on.’

‘We have the connection between the murders of Siv, Mona and Tanja.’

‘But nothing that connects them to Jenny’s disappearance.’

‘No,’ Martin admitted. ‘But it doesn’t really matter, does it? The main thing is that we do everything we can to search for Tanja’s killer and for whoever kidnapped Jenny. Whether it’s the same person, or two different perps, time will tell. But we’re doing everything we can.’

Martin stressed every word in that last sentence, hoping that the significance of what he was saying sank in. He understood why Patrik was kicking himself after the disinterment that failed to support his theory, but right now they couldn’t afford an investigative leader with no self-confidence. Patrik had to believe in what they were doing.

When they arrived back at the station, Annika stopped them at the reception desk. She was holding the phone in one hand and covering the mouthpiece with her other so the person on the other end wouldn’t hear what she said to Patrik and Martin.

‘Patrik, it’s Stefan Hult. He’s very anxious to get hold of you. Can you take it in your office?’

Patrik nodded and strode off. A second later the phone on his desk rang.

‘Hello, Patrik Hedström.’

He listened eagerly, interrupted with a couple of questions, and then dashed into Martin’s office with renewed energy.

‘Let’s go, Molin, we’re off to Fjällbacka.’

‘But we just came from there. Where are we going?’

‘We have to have a little talk with Linda Hult. I think something interesting is developing, something really interesting.’

Erica had hoped that her guests, like the Flood family, would want to go boating during the day, so that she would be rid of them for a while. She was wrong on that score.

‘We’re not much for the sea, Madde and I. We’d rather keep you company here in the garden. It’s such a beautiful view.’

Jörgen happily gazed towards the islands and prepared himself for a day in the sun. Erica suppressed a laugh. He looked idiotic. He was as pale as an albino and apparently intended to remain that way. He had smeared himself head to toe with sunblock, which made him even whiter, if that was possible. His nose was also covered with some kind of neon-coloured cream that provided extra protection. A big sun hat completed the look, and after half an hour of pottering about he settled with a contented sigh into a garden chair next to his wife. Erica had felt called upon to fetch chairs for them.