you more when we find the notes. So far it’s a vague idea, so I want to refresh my memory before I say anymore.’
‘Okay,’ said Martin. He was still curious, but he knew Patrik well enough to realize it wouldn’t do any good to pressure him.
Suddenly Patrik looked up and smiled slyly. ‘But I’ll tell you if you tell me …’
‘Tell you what?’ said Martin in surprise, but when he saw Patrik’s smile he understood what his colleague was getting at. He laughed and said, ‘Fair enough. When you tell me, I’ll tell you.’
After an hour of fruitless searching, Patrik suddenly gave out a yell.
‘Here they are!’ He pulled some papers out of a plastic folder.
Martin recognized Patrik’s writing and tried to read what it said upside down. But it was no use, and he had to wait in frustration while Patrik skimmed through the notes. After he’d read three pages, his index finger stopped suddenly in the middle of the page. A deep furrow formed between Patrik’s eyebrows and Martin tried to coax him mentally to read faster. After what seemed like forever, Patrik looked up in triumph.
‘Okay, your secret first,’ he said.
‘Oh, come on, I’m so curious I’m going to die.’ Martin laughed and tried to tear the papers out of Patrik’s hand. But his colleague was prepared for that manoeuvre and snatched them away, holding them up in the air. ‘Forget it. You first, then me.’
Martin sighed. ‘You’re such a damned tease, you know that? All right, it’s what you thought. Pia and I are going to have a baby. At the end of November.’ He held up a warning finger. ‘But you can’t tell anybody yet! We’re only in week eight, and we want to keep it quiet until after week twelve.’
Patrik held up both hands. The papers he held in his right hand fluttered. ‘I promise, my lips are sealed. But congratulations, for God’s sake!’
Martin grinned from ear to ear. Several times he’d been close to telling Patrik. He was eager to spread the good news, but Pia wanted to wait until the critical first trimester had safely passed. Then he could tell people. It was a relief to tell someone at last.
‘So, now you know. How about you tell me why we’ve been sitting here covered with dust for the last hour.’
Patrik turned serious at once. He handed over the document to Martin, pointed at the spot to begin reading, and waited. After a while Martin looked up in astonishment.
‘Now there can’t be any doubt that Marit was murdered,’ said Patrik.
‘No, I suppose not.’
One question had now been answered. But that only made even more questions pile up. They had tons of work ahead of them.
He was slamming the baking sheets around so hard that the clatter could be heard all the way in the front of the shop. Mehmet stuck his head into the back regions of the bakery.
‘What the hell are you doing? Tearing down the place, or what?’
‘Fuck off!’ Uffe purposely slammed the sheets down again.
‘Sorry,’ said Mehmet, holding up his hands. ‘Woke up on the wrong side of the bed, did you?’
Uffe didn’t answer. He stacked up the baking sheets and then sat down. He was so tired of all this. Sodding Tanum hadn’t lived up to his expectations, not so far at least. It hadn’t sunk in until now that he was actually going to have to work. That was a serious drawback. This was the first time he’d ever had to do an honest day’s work. A few break-ins, several muggings and stuff like that had previously ensured him a life as a non-worker. It was no life of luxury though; he’d never dared do anything more than minor burglaries, but they brought in enough to keep him out of drudgery. And then he’d ended up here. Even life on the island had been easier than this. There he was able to lie about and sunbathe all day, talking trash with the other cast members. An occasional challenge to do, but otherwise pure leisure. He’d been seriously hungry, but the lack of food hadn’t bothered him as much as he’d thought.
Nor had the other participants in Sodding Tanum lived up to his expectations. They were all morons. The oh-so-dependable Mehmet worked like a slave in the bakery, completely of his own free will. Calle was only on the show so he could continue to be the king of the Stureplan club scene. Tina was so fucking superior, it made him want to punch her. As for Jonna, what a loser. All that shit with cutting herself, he just didn’t get it. Last but not least, Barbie. Uffe’s face clouded. If that cheap slut thought she could get away with pulling a stunt like that, she had another think coming. The things he’d heard that morning made him want to have a little talk with that silicone queen.
‘Uffe, are you planning to do any work today, or what?’ Simon gave him a stern look, and with a sigh Uffe got up from the chair. He grinned at the camera on the wall and went out front. He’d have to give in and look busy for a while. But tonight … tonight he and Barbie were going to have a serious talk.
On his way out of the station, Mellberg stopped by Hedström’s office. Both Patrik and Martin were there. They looked busy. There were papers spread all over the desk, and Martin was writing in his notebook. Patrik was on the phone and had the receiver clamped between his ear and shoulder, leaving his hands free to search through the papers in front of him at the same time. For a moment Mellberg considered going in to find out what was so urgent. But he decided against it. He had more important things to do. Like going home and getting ready for his date with Rose-Marie. They were meeting at seven o’clock at the Gestgifveri, which meant that he had two hours left to make himself as presentable as possible.
He was breathing heavily by the time he’d made the short walk home. He wasn’t in the best of shape, he had to admit. When he stepped into his flat he saw everything for an instant with the eyes of a stranger. This would not do at all. Even he could see that. If he were to get lucky and have her over for a little nighttime interlude at his place, something would have to be done. His whole body protested at the idea of doing any sort of cleaning. On the other hand he’d seldom had such a good incentive. He was surprised how important it seemed to make a good impression.
An hour later he was panting as he sat down on the sofa. Its cushions had been fluffed for the first time since he’d moved in. All of a sudden he realized why he rarely did any housework. It was much too strenuous. But when he looked around the flat he could see that the cleaning had actually worked wonders. The place no longer looked so slovenly. He had a few nice pieces of furniture that he’d inherited from his parents. Relieved of the layer of dust the furniture didn’t look half bad. He’d also managed to air out the mouldy smell that usually hung in the air, originating from leftover food and other unhygienic stuff. The worktop, which was usually cluttered with dirty dishes, shone in the springtime sun. Now he could actually picture bringing a woman here.
Mellberg looked at the clock and got up abruptly. Only an hour left until he would meet Rose-Marie, and he was sweaty and covered with dust. He would have to get cleaned up fast. He looked through his clothes for something to wear. The selection was not as large as he would have wished. On closer inspection, most of his shirts and trousers had spots on them, and they hadn’t been anywhere near an iron in a long time. Finally by a process of elimination he ended up with a blue-and-white-striped shirt, black trousers, and a red tie with Donald Duck on it. This last he thought looked really smart. And red suited him, if he did say so himself. The trousers however belonged to the unironed category, and he pondered how to solve that problem. He searched all over the flat, but there was no iron to be
