The Preacher (3 page)

‘I assume you’ve already heard about what happened.’

‘Yes, we heard it on the police radio,’ said Martin. Unlike Ernst, he was young and enthusiastic and sat bolt upright in his chair with a notebook in his lap and his pen poised.

‘A woman was found murdered in the King’s Cleft in Fjällbacka. She was naked and looks to be somewhere between twenty and thirty. Underneath her were found two human skeletons of unknown origin and age. Unofficially, Karlström in CSI told me that they weren’t exactly fresh. So we seem to have been given a lot on our plate, besides all the usual pub fights and drink-drivers we’re up to our necks in. And both Annika and Gösta are on holiday, so we’ll have to roll up our sleeves and get busy. I’m actually on holiday this week as well, but I agreed to come in and work. Mellberg has asked me to lead this investigation. Any questions?’

This was aimed primarily at Ernst, who chose not to confront him. No doubt he would grumble about things behind his back instead.

‘What do you want me to do?’ Martin was like a restless horse, now impatiently circling his pen above his notebook.

‘I want you to start by checking with the Schengen Information System for missing-persons reports about women who’ve disappeared during, let’s say, the past two months. It’s better to expand the time interval until we hear more from the forensic medicine lab. Although I suspect that the time of death is much more recent, maybe just a couple of days ago.’

‘Haven’t you heard?’ asked Martin.

‘Heard what?’

‘The database is down. We’ll have to forget about SIS and do things the good old-fashioned way.’

‘Damn. Great bloody timing. Well, according to Mellberg we don’t seem to have any missing-persons reports outstanding from before I went on holiday. So I suggest that you ring round to all the nearby districts. Start with the closest districts and work your way out. Understood?’

‘All right. How far out should I go?’

‘As far as you need to until we find someone who matches. And ring Uddevalla right after the meeting to get a preliminary description of the victim to use in your enquiries.’

‘So what should I do?’ The enthusiasm in Ernst’s voice was not exactly contagious.

Patrik glanced over the notes he had jotted down after his conversation with Mellberg.

‘I’d like you to start by talking to the people who live near the entrance to the King’s Cleft. Find out whether they saw or heard anything last night or early this morning. The Cleft is full of tourists in the daytime, so the body, or the bodies if we’re going to be precise, must have been transported there sometime during the night or early morning. We can assume that the remains were brought there via the larger entrance; they could hardly have been carried up the steps from Ingrid Bergman’s Square. The little boy discovered the woman at about six o’clock, so you should focus on the hours between nine at night and six in the morning. I thought I’d go down to the archives and take a look myself. There’s something about those two skeletons that is tugging at my memory. I have the feeling that I should know what it is, but … can you think of anything? Isn’t there something that jogs your memory?’

Patrik threw out his hands and waited with raised eyebrows for an answer, but Martin and Ernst just shook their heads. He sighed. Well, there was nothing to do but go to the catacombs …

Wondering whether he might be in disfavour, and not sure whether he even would have known if he’d had time to ponder the matter, Patrik sat deep in the bowels of the Tanumshede police station and dug through old documents. Dust had settled on most of the folders, but thank goodness they still seemed to be in good order. Most of the files were archived in chronological order, and even though he didn’t know exactly what he was looking for, he knew that it had to be there somewhere.

He sat on the stone floor with his legs crossed and methodically went through box after box. Decades of human fates passed through his hands, and after a while it struck him how many people and families kept reappearing in the police registers. It was as if a life of crime were being passed down from parents to children and even to grandchildren, he thought when he saw the same family names popping up again and again.

His mobile phone rang and he saw from the display that it was Erica.

‘Hi, darling, is everything all right?’ He knew what the answer was going to be. ‘Yes, I know that it’s hot. Just sit by the fan, there isn’t much else to be done … Erica, we’ve got a homicide on our hands here, and Mellberg wants me to lead the investigation. Would you be very upset if I came in and worked a couple of days?’

Patrik held his breath. He knew he should have rung her earlier to say that he might have to work, but like a typical man he had evaded the issue, trying to put off the inevitable. On the other hand, she was well aware of the demands made by his profession. Summertime was the most hectic season for the Tanum police, and they had to take turns going on holiday. It was never guaranteed that they could even take a few days in a row; it all depended on how many drunks, fights, and other side-effects of tourism the station had to handle. And homicide, of course, took precedence over everything else.

Erica said something that he almost missed.

‘Coming to visit, you say? Who? Your cousin?’ Patrik sighed. ‘No, what can I say? Sure, it would have been nicer if we could be alone tonight, but if they’re already on the way … They’re just staying for one night, I hope? Okay, then I’ll pick up some shrimp to serve them. Something simple, so you won’t have to cook. I’ll be home around seven. Kiss, kiss.’

He stuck the phone back in his pocket and continued going through the contents of the boxes in front of him. A file marked ’Missing’ caught his interest. Some ambitious person had at one time collected all the missing-persons reports resulting from police investigations. Patrik knew that this was what he’d been looking for. His fingers were filthy from all the dust, so he wiped them on his shorts before he opened the thin file. After a few minutes’ reading, his memory received the jog it required. He should have remembered this straight away, considering how few people in the district had actually gone missing without being found again. His age must be starting to take its toll. At least now he had the relevant reports in front of him, and he had a feeling that it was no coincidence that two women were reported missing in 1979 and were never seen again. Then two skeletons turn up now in the King’s Cleft.

He took the file with him upstairs to the daylight and placed it on his desk.

The horses were the only reason she stayed. With a practised hand she curried the coat of the brown gelding with steady strokes. The physical labour acted as a safety-valve for her to get rid of some of her frustration. It was shit to be seventeen years old and not have any say about your own life. As soon as she came of age she was going to get the hell out of this hole. Then she’d accept the offer she’d received from the photographer who’d come up to her when she was walking about in downtown Göteborg. When she became a model in Paris and was making tons of money she would tell them all where they could stuff their fucking education. The photographer had told her that with each passing year her value as a model decreased. A whole year of her life would be wasted before she ever got the chance to model, just because the old man had education on the brain. It didn’t take much education to strut down the runway. Later, when she was around twenty-five and starting to get too old, she’d marry a millionaire. Then she could laugh at the old man’s threat to cut her out of his will. Someday she’d be able to go shopping and spend the equivalent of his entire fucking fortune.

Her marvellous bloody brother didn’t make matters any easier. It was better to live with him and Marita than at home, but not much. He was so damned reliable. Nothing he did ever went wrong, while she always got the blame for everything.

‘Linda?’

Typical, even here in the stall she couldn’t be left in peace.

‘Linda?’ The voice was more urgent. He knew that she was here, so there was no use pretending she didn’t hear him.

‘Don’t be such a bloody nag. What is it?’

‘You really don’t need to speak to me in that tone of voice. I don’t think it’s too much to ask that you show a little courtesy.’

She muttered a few curses in reply, but Jacob let it pass.

‘You’re actually my brother, not my father, did you ever think of that?’ she told him.

‘I’m well aware of that, but as long as you’re living under my roof, I actually do have a certain responsibility for you.’

Just because he was almost twice her age, Jacob thought he knew everything. It was easy for him to get on his high horse because he was comfortably off. Father had said many times that Jacob was certainly a son to be proud of, and that he would take good care of the family estate. Linda assumed that her brother would inherit the whole lot one day. Until then he could afford to pretend that money wasn’t important, but Linda saw right through him. Everyone admired Jacob because he worked with young people at risk. At the same time they knew full well that eventually he would inherit both the estate and a fortune. Then it would be interesting to see how much longer he continued this idealistic work.

Linda couldn’t help giggling. If Jacob knew that she was sneaking out at night he’d go nuts, and if he knew who she was meeting, she’d get the lecture of her life. It was fine to talk about having compassion for the less fortunate, as long as they weren’t on your own front porch. Besides, there were other, more deeply rooted reasons for Jacob to hit the roof if he found out that she was seeing Stefan. He was their cousin, and the feud between the two branches of the family had been going on since long before she was born – even before Jacob was born. She had no idea why. That was just the way things were. So she had extra butterflies in her stomach whenever she sneaked out to meet Stefan.

Linda had a good time with him. He was very considerate, but he was much older, after all, so he had a self-confidence that boys her own age could never muster. It didn’t bother her that they were cousins. Nowadays cousins could even get married. That wasn’t really part of her long-term plans, but she had nothing against exploring one thing or another with him, as long as it remained a secret.

‘Did you want something, or were you just planning to hover?’ she said now.

Jacob gave a deep sigh and put a hand on her shoulder. She tried to shrink away, but his grip was strong.

‘I don’t really understand where all this aggression is coming from. The kids I work with would give anything to have a home like yours and be brought up the way you were. A little gratitude and maturity would seem appropriate, you know. And yes, I did want something. Marita has finished cooking and we’re ready to eat. So hurry up and change your clothes. Then come and eat with us.’

He loosened his grip on her shoulder and left the stable, heading up to the manor house. Muttering, Linda put down the curry-comb and went to change. In spite of everything, she was very hungry.

Once again Martin’s heart had been broken. He’d lost count of how many times it had happened before, but the fact that he was used to it didn’t make the sting any less. Like all the times before, he’d thought that this woman resting her head on the pillow next to his was the right one. Of course he was fully aware that she was already taken, but with his usual naïveté he thought that he was more than just a diversion and that her boyfriend’s days were numbered. He had no idea that, with his innocent face and almost sweet-as-pie openness, he was like a lump of sugar to a fly for women who were a little older, more mature and living in an everyday rut with their respective husbands. Men they had no intention of leaving for a nice 25-year-old cop, though they thought nothing of having it off with him when the urge or the need for affirmation had to be satisfied. Not that Martin had anything against the physical aspects of a relationship – and he was especially talented in that area – but the problem was that he was also an unusually sensitive young man. Love affairs found a willing participant in Martin Molin. That’s why his little flings always ended in tears and gnashing of teeth on his part, when the women thanked him and then went home to their own lives, that might be boring but were steady and familiar.

Martin sighed heavily as he sat at his desk, but he forced himself to focus on the task at hand. The calls he had made so far had been fruitless, but there were still plenty of police districts to ring. The fact that the database had crashed just when he needed it most was probably his usual luck. Now he had to sit here looking up one telephone number after the other, trying to find someone who fit the description of the dead woman.

Two hours later he leaned back and flung his pen at the wall in despair. No one had been reported missing who matched the description of the murder victim. What were they going to do now?

It was so damned unfair. He was older than that snot-nosed kid and should have been the one to lead this investigation, but the world was filled with ingratitude. For several years now he had assiduously kissed up to that bloody Mellberg, but nothing ever came of it. Ernst took the curves at high speed on the way to Fjällbacka. If he hadn’t been driving a police car he certainly would have seen plenty of raised middle fingers in his rear-view mirror. Just let them try it, those fucking tourists, then they’d have the devil to pay.

Go and ask the neighbours. That was an assignment for a rookie, not for a cop with twenty-five years of experience. That whippersnapper Martin could have handled the task, leaving Ernst to make some calls to his colleagues in the nearby districts and get a chance to shoot the breeze.

He was seething inside, but that had been his natural frame of mind since he was a kid, so it was nothing out of the ordinary. A choleric disposition made him ill-suited to a profession that required so much social contact. On the other hand, the hooligans showed him respect because they instinctively knew that Ernst Lundgren was not someone to be trifled with if they valued their health.

As he drove through the town there were rubberneckers everywhere. They followed him with their eyes and pointed, and he knew that the news had already spread all through Fjällbacka. He had to drive at a crawl across Ingrid Bergman’s Square because of all the cars parked illegally. He saw to his satisfaction that a number of patrons rushed from Café Bryggan’s sidewalk tables to move their cars. A smart thing to do. If the cars were still there when he came back he had nothing against spending some time upsetting the holiday mood of people who had parked illegally. Make them blow into the breathalyser a little, maybe. Some of the drivers had been downing a cold beer when they saw him drive by. If he was lucky he might even be able to confiscate a couple of driving licences.