told us about. Ask them about her friends and enemies, her childhood, her personality, everything. Whatever you can think of. Talk to both parents and the sister, but make sure you talk to them one at a time. You get the most out of people that way, in my experience. Just co-ordinate with Molin, who’ll be talking to the husband.’
Gösta winced under the burden of a concrete assignment and sighed in resignation. Not because it would take time away from golf in the middle of this bitter cold winter, but in the past few years he’d almost got used to not needing to do any real work. He had perfected the art of looking busy while he played solitaire on his computer to kill time. The burden of having to produce some concrete results weighed on him. His peace and quiet were over. He probably wouldn’t even be paid overtime. He’d be happy if he even got reimbursed for the petrol back and forth to Göteborg.
Mellberg clapped his hands and shooed them off.
‘All right, let’s get going. We can’t sit on our backsides if we want to solve this thing. I reckon you’re going to work harder than you’ve ever worked before, and as far as days off are concerned, you can forget about that until this is over. Until then your time belongs to me. Get moving.’
If any of them had anything against being shooed off like little children, nobody said a word. They got up, took the chairs they’d been sitting on in one hand and their notebooks and pens in the other. Only Ernst Lundgren stayed behind, but Mellberg uncharacteristically was in no mood for flattery, so he shooed him off as well.
It had been a very productive day. Certainly it was a big disappointment that his prime suspect for the Wijkner murder had turned out to be a blind alley. But at least one plus one was considerably more than two. One murder was an event, two murders were a sensation for such a small district. If before he was reasonably sure of getting a one-way ticket to the centre of the action when he solved the Wijkner case, he was now dead certain that if he wrapped up both murders in a neat package, they would beg and plead for him to come back to Göteborg.
With these bright prospects within reach, Bertil Mellberg leaned back in his chair, stuck his hand into the third drawer, took out a Mums-Mums chocolate-dipped meringue biscuit and popped the whole thing blissfully into his mouth. Then he clasped his hands behind his head, closed his eyes and decided to take a little nap. After all, it was almost lunchtime.
After Patrik left, Erica had tried to sleep for a couple of hours without success. All the feelings jostling inside her made her toss back and forth in bed. A smile kept sneaking over her lips. There ought to be a law against being this happy. The feeling of well-being was so strong that she hardly knew what to do with herself. She lay on her side and rested her right cheek on her hands.
Everything felt brighter today. Everything felt easier to deal with. Alex’s murder, the book that her publisher was impatiently waiting for and that wasn’t really flowing properly, her grief for her parents, and not least the sale of her childhood home. All felt easier to bear today. The problems hadn’t gone away, but for the first time she felt truly convinced that her world wasn’t about to collapse and that she could handle any difficulties that came her way.
Imagine what a difference a day makes, twenty-four little hours. Yesterday at this time she had woken up with a weight on her chest. Woken to a loneliness she couldn’t manage to look beyond. Now it seemed as though she could still physically feel Patrik’s caresses against her skin. Physically was actually the wrong word, or too limited a word.
With her entire being she felt that her loneliness had been replaced by a sense of being two. The silence in the bedroom was now peaceful where it had felt threatening and unending before. Of course she already missed him, but she was secure in the knowledge that wherever he was, he was thinking of her.
Erica felt as if she had taken a mental broom and resolutely swept away all the old cobwebs in the corners and all the dust that had accumulated in her mind. But this new clarity also made her realize that she could no longer flee from what had been occupying her thoughts the past few days.
Ever since the true identity of the father of Alex’s child had appeared like blazing letters in the sky for Erica, she had dreaded the confrontation. She was still not looking forward to it. But the new strength that she felt inside made it possible to come to grips with the dilemma, instead of pushing it aside. She knew what she had to do.
She took a long shower in scalding hot water. Everything felt like a new beginning this morning, and she wanted to meet it completely clean. After the shower and a glance at the outdoor thermometer, she dressed warmly and said a prayer that she could get the car started. She was in luck. It started on the first try.
During the drive Erica thought about how she should bring up the subject. She practised a few opening lines but each sounded lamer than the last, so she decided to ad lib. She didn’t have that much to go on, but her gut told her that she was right. For a fraction of a second she considered ringing Patrik and telling him about her suspicions, but she quickly vetoed that idea, deciding that she had to check it out herself first. There was too much at stake.
The road to her destination was short, but it felt as if it took an eternity. When she turned into the car park below the Badhotel, Dan waved happily from the boat. She had guessed that he would be here. Erica waved but didn’t smile back. She locked the car and with her hands in the pockets of her light-brown duffel coat, she sauntered over towards Dan and the boat. The day was hazy and grey, but the air smelled fresh. She took a couple of deep breaths to try and dispel the last traces of haze in her head, caused by last night’s copious wine intake.
‘Hi, Erica.’
‘Hi.’
Dan kept working on his boat but looked happy to have company. Erica glanced around a little nervously for Pernilla; she was still worried about the look Dan’s wife had given them last time. But in light of what she now knew, she suddenly understood it much better.
For the first time Erica saw how beautiful the worn old fishing boat was. Dan had taken it over after his father, and he had cared for it with real tenderness. Fishing was in his blood, and it was his great sorrow in life that this occupation could no longer feed a family. Naturally he got on well in his role as teacher at Tanum School, but fishing was his true calling in life. He couldn’t help smiling whenever he worked on the boat. The hard work didn’t bother him, and he kept the winter cold at bay by wearing layers of clothing. He hoisted a heavy roll of line onto his shoulder and turned towards Erica.
‘What the hell is this? No treats today? I hope you don’t intend to make a habit of it.’
A lock of his blond hair hung down from under the knit cap. He looked big and strong, standing in front of her like a massive pillar. He radiated strength and happiness, and it pained her that she would have to puncture that joy. But if she didn’t do it, someone else would. The police, in the worst case. She convinced herself that she was doing him a favour, but she knew she was entering an emotional grey zone. The main reason was that she personally wanted to know. She had to find out.
Dan went up to the bow with the roll of line, tossed it onto the deck and came back to Erica, who was leaning against the railing in the stern.
Erica gazed unseeing out at the horizon. ‘I purchased my love for money, for me there was naught else to have.’
Dan laughed and finished the verse: ‘Sing lovely you soft burring strings, sing lovely of my only love.’
Erica wasn’t smiling.
‘Is Fröding still your favourite poet?’
‘Always has been, always will be.
