The Ice Princess (42 page)

Vera gave him a wry smile. ‘I didn’t even think of that, of course. It was clever of you to work it out.’

‘I think I know approximately what happened, but I’d really like to hear you tell it in your own words.’

She fingered the paper for a moment, feeling the words with her fingertips, as if she were reading Braille. A deep sigh, and then she complied with Patrik’s friendly but firm request.

‘I went over to Anders’s place with a bag of food. The door was unlocked, but it almost always was, so I just called out and then went in. It was calm, completely quiet. I saw him at once. I felt like my heart stopped that instant. That was exactly how it felt. As if my heart stopped beating and there was only stillness in my chest. He was swaying a little. Back and forth. As if there were a wind inside the room, which of course I knew was impossible.’

‘Why didn’t you call the police? Or an ambulance?’

She shrugged her shoulders. ‘I don’t know. My first instinct was to run up and get him down somehow, but when I entered the living room I saw that it was too late. My boy was dead.’

For the first time since she started talking he heard a slight quaver in her voice, but then she swallowed hard and forced herself with uncanny calm to go on.

‘I found this letter in the kitchen. You’ve read it, you know what it says. That he couldn’t go on living. That life was one long torment for him and now he couldn’t fight it anymore. All his reasons to continue were gone. I must have sat there in the kitchen for an hour, maybe two, I don’t really know. In an instant I stuffed the letter in my purse, and then I only had to take the chair he used to climb up to the noose and put it back in its place in the kitchen.’

‘But why, Vera? Why? What purpose did it serve?’

Her gaze was steady but Patrik could see from her trembling hands that her outward calm was a sham. He couldn’t even imagine what horror it must have been to see her son hanging from the ceiling, with a thick blue tongue and eyes popping out. It had been hard enough for him to look at Anders, and now his mother would have to live the rest of her life with that image in her mind.

‘I wanted to spare him more humiliation. For all these years people have looked at him with contempt. People pointed and laughed. Put their noses in the air when they walked past, feeling superior. What would people say when they heard that Anders had hanged himself? I wanted to spare him that shame, and I did it the only way I could think of.’

‘But I still don’t understand. Why would it be worse if he took his own life than if he was murdered?’

‘You’re too young to understand. The contempt for suicides still sits deep in people here in the coastal regions. I didn’t want people to talk like that about my little boy. They’ve talked enough rubbish about him over the years.’

There was a touch of steel in Vera’s voice. For all these years she had devoted herself to protecting and helping her son, and although Patrik still didn’t understand her motive, it was perhaps only natural that she continued to protect him even after his death.

Vera reached for the photo album on the table and opened it so that both she and Patrik could see. Judging by the clothing, the pictures must have been from the Seventies. Anders’s face smiled at him, open and carefree, from all the slightly yellowing photos.

‘He was certainly fine, my Anders.’

Vera’s voice was dreamy and she stroked a finger across the pictures.

‘He was always such a nice boy. There was never any problem with him.’

Patrik looked with interest at the pictures. It was unbelievable that this was the same person whom he had met only as a wreck. Lucky that the boy in the photos didn’t know what fate had awaited him. One of the pictures aroused his interest even more. A thin, blonde girl stood next to Anders, who was sitting on a bicycle with a banana seat and chopper handlebars. She showed just the hint of a smile as she peered out shyly from under her fringe.

‘This must be Alex, isn’t it?’

‘Yes.’ Vera’s tone was curt.

‘Did they play much together when they were little?’

‘Not often. But sometimes, sure. They were in the same class, after all.’

Patrik cautiously entered a sensitive area. He mentally tested the water with his toes before each step he took.

‘I understood that they had Nils Lorentz as a teacher for a while?’

Vera gave him a searching look. ‘Yes, that’s possible. It was a long time ago.’

‘There was some talk about Nils Lorentz, from what I hear. Especially since he later simply disappeared.’

‘People talk about all sorts of things here in Fjällbacka. So they probably talked about Nils Lorentz as well.’

It was obvious that he was now poking at a festering wound, but he had to keep going and probe even deeper.

‘I spoke with Alex’s parents, who made certain claims about Nils Lorentz. Claims that also affected Anders.’

‘I see.’ She was obviously not going to make it easy for him.

‘According to them, Nils Lorentz sexually assaulted Alex, and they claimed that Anders was also abused.’

Vera sat ramrod stiff on the edge of the kitchen chair, and she didn’t reply to Patrik’s statement, which he had intended as a question. He decided to wait her out, and after a moment of internal struggle she slowly closed the photo album and got up from her chair.

‘I don’t want to talk about ancient history. I want you to go now. If you want to charge me for what I did when I found Anders, then you know where to find me. But I don’t intend to help you root about in things that would best be left buried.’

‘Just one question: did you ever talk to Alexandra about this? From what I understood she had decided to deal with what happened, and it would have been natural for her to speak with you as well.’

‘Yes, she did. I sat there in her house about a week before she died, listening to her naive ideas about coming to terms with the past, taking all the old skeletons out of the closet, and so on and so forth. Modern drivel in my opinion. Today, everyone seems obsessed with washing their dirty linen in public, claiming it’s so healthy to reveal all their secrets and sins. But some things should remain private. I told her that as well. I don’t know whether she listened to me, but I hope so. Otherwise, I only had a stubborn bladder inflammation to show for the trouble of sitting there in her freezing house.’

And with that Vera signalled that the discussion was over and walked towards the front door. She opened it for Patrik and said a very guarded farewell.

When he found himself standing out in the cold again with his cap pulled down over his ears and his mittens on, he literally didn’t know which foot to stand on. He hopped a few times to warm himself up and then headed briskly for his car.

Vera was a complicated woman, he had gathered that much from their conversation. She belonged to a completely different generation, but in many ways she was in conflict with that generation’s values. During her son’s childhood she had supported him by her own labour, and even after he reached adulthood and should have taken care of himself, she continued to keep him under her wing. In her way, she was a liberated woman who over all those years had got along without a man. At the same time, she was bound by the rules that existed for women, and men for that matter, from her generation. He couldn’t help feeling a certain reluctant admiration for her. She was a strong woman. A complex woman, who had endured more than any person should have to endure in a lifetime.

He didn’t know what the consequences might be for Vera when it came out that she had interfered to make Anders’s suicide look like a murder. He would definitely need to turn in that information to the police station, but he had no idea what would happen after that. If it were his decision, he would choose to look through his fingers, but he couldn’t promise that’s what would occur. From a purely legal point of view it was possible to charge her with obstructing an investigation, for example, but he sincerely hoped that wouldn’t happen. He liked Vera, he couldn’t get away from that. She was a fighter, and there weren’t many like her.

When he got into his car and flipped open his mobile, he discovered a message waiting for him. It was from Erica. She reported that there were three ladies and a very, very small gentleman who hoped he would have dinner with them this evening. Patrik glanced at the clock. It was already five, so he decided without great internal debate that it was probably already too late to go to the station. And what did he have at home to do? Before he started the car he rang Annika at the station and gave her a brief report on what he’d accomplished, but he left out the details since he wanted to report on the whole situation when he had Mellberg face to face. He wanted at all costs to prevent the situation from being misinterpreted, and to prevent Mellberg from mobilizing some enormous operation simply for his own amusement.

As Patrik drove back to Erica’s house, the thoughts of Alex’s murder kept returning. It frustrated him that he had run into yet another blind alley. Two murders meant twice the chance that the killer had made a mistake. Now he was back at the beginning once more, and for the first time he thought he might never find the person who had murdered Alex. That made him strangely sad. It felt somehow that he knew Alex better than anyone else did. What he’d found out about her childhood and life after the assaults had moved him deeply. He wanted to find her killer more than he’d ever wanted anything in his whole life.

But he had to accept the situation. He had now reached another blind alley, and he didn’t know where he should go from here, or where to look. Patrik forced himself to let it go for the time being. Right now he was going over to see Erica, her sister, and especially the kids, and that was exactly what he needed this evening. All this misery had made him feel frayed inside.

Mellberg drummed impatiently with his fingers on the desktop. Where the hell was that young whippersnapper? Did he think this was some sort of damned day-care? That he could come and go as he liked? Of course it was Sunday, but anyone who thought he could take a day off before this was all over was seriously mistaken. Well, he would soon disabuse him of that notion. At his station, it was strict regulations and clear discipline that counted. Good honest leadership. It was the watchword of the times, and if anyone had ever been born with leadership qualities, then he was the one. His mother had always said that he would make something great out of himself. Even if he had to admit that it may have been taking a bit longer than either of them had expected, he had never doubted that his excellent qualifications would pay off sooner or later.

That’s why it was so frustrating that they seemed to be stuck in these investigations. Mellberg felt that his big chance was so close that he could taste it. But if his miserable team didn’t start delivering results soon, he might as well give up any hope of a promotion and a move back to Göteborg. Slackers, that’s what they were, village cops who could hardly find their own arse with both hands and a pocket torch. He’d had some hope for young Hedström, but it seemed as if he, too, would disappoint him. Patrik still hadn’t reported the results of his trip to Göteborg, so it might turn out to be nothing more than an entry on the expense side of the books. It was ten past nine and he still hadn’t seen any trace of him.

‘Annika!’ He yelled in the direction of the open door and felt his irritation rise even higher when it took a good minute before she deigned to respond to his call.

‘Yes, what is it?’

‘Have you heard anything from Hedström? Is he still asleep in his warm bed, or what?’

‘I should hardly think so. He rang and said that he had a little trouble getting his car started this morning but that he was on the way.’ She looked at the clock. ‘He should be here in fifteen minutes or so.’

‘What the hell, he could walk here if he wanted to.’

Annika hesitated and to his astonishment he saw a little smile play over the corners of her mouth.

‘Well, I don’t think he was at home.’

‘Where the hell was he then?’

‘You’ll have to ask Patrik that,’ said Annika, turning to go back to her room.

The fact that Patrik seemed to have a good excuse for being late annoyed Mellberg even more, for some reason. Couldn’t he plan ahead and allow for some extra time in the morning in case he had car trouble?

Fifteen minutes later, Patrik knocked discreetly on the open door and came in. He looked out of breath and red-cheeked and seemed unabashedly happy and brisk even though he’d made his boss wait for almost half an hour.

‘Do you think this is a part-time job here, or what? And where the hell were you yesterday? Wasn’t it two days ago that you drove to Göteborg?’

Patrik sat down in the visitor’s chair across the desk and calmly answered Mellberg’s barrage of questions.

‘I apologize for being late. The car wouldn’t start this morning, and it took over half an hour to get it going. Yes, it was the day before yesterday that I went to Göteborg, and I thought I’d report on that first, before I tell you what I did yesterday.’

Mellberg grunted in reluctant agreement. Patrik told him what he’d found out about Alex’s childhood. He included all the disgusting details. At the news that Julia was Alex’s daughter, Mellberg felt his jaw drop in the direction of his chest. He’d never heard anything like it before. Patrik continued to tell him about Karl-Erik’s emergency trip to the hospital and how he’d had a piece of paper from Anders’s flat analyzed on the spot. He explained that it had turned out to be a suicide note, and then he gave an account of what he’d done yesterday and why. Patrik then summed it all up for an unusually quiet Mellberg.

‘So one of our murders has turned out to be a suicide, and as for the other, we still have no idea who did it or why. I have a feeling that it has something to do with what Alexandra’s parents told me, but I have absolutely no evidence or actual facts to support that theory. So now you know everything that I know. Do you have any ideas about how to proceed?’

After another moment of silence, Mellberg managed to regain his composure. ‘Well, that was certainly an amazing story. I would have put my money on that guy she was screwing, rather than a rehash of some old incident from twenty-five years ago. I suggest you talk to Alex’s lover boy and tighten the thumb-screws a little extra this time around. I think that would prove to be a considerably better use of our resources.’