But if you happen to think of any other details that might help us, you can call me at this number.’ Patrik handed Gunnar his card. ‘Anything at all. We’re going to want to talk to your wife too. And we’ll need to talk to you again. I hope you understand.’
‘Of course,’ said Gunnar, taking Patrik’s card.
He peered out of the window to look at Signe, who seemed to have stopped crying. Presumably the medics had given her a sedative.
‘I’m very sorry for your loss,’ said Patrik. Then silence settled between them. There really wasn’t much more to say.
As they got out of the car, Torbjörn Ruud and his team of crime techs pulled into the car park. Now the meticulous process of collecting evidence would begin.
With hindsight, it was hard to understand why Nathalie hadn’t seen through Fredrik. But maybe that wouldn’t have been so easy. Outwardly, he seemed very polished, and he had courted her so ardently that at first she had laughed at him. That had merely goaded him on, and he increased his efforts until she eventually gave in. He had pampered her, taken her on trips abroad where they had stayed in five-star hotels, offered her champagne, and sent her so many bouquets of flowers that they practically filled her whole flat. She deserved luxury, he said. And she believed him. It was as if he spoke to something that had always been inside of her. An insecurity and a desire to hear that she was special, that she deserved more than other people. Where had all the money come from? Nathalie couldn’t remember ever asking that question.
The wind had picked up, but she stayed where she was, sitting on the bench on the south side of the house. Though her coffee had grown cold, she carried on sipping at it. Her hands, wrapped around the cup, were shaking. Her legs still felt unsteady, and her stomach was churning. She knew this would go on for a while. It was nothing new.
Slowly she’d been drawn into Fredrik’s world, which was filled with parties, travelling, and beautiful people and things. A lovely home. She had almost immediately moved in with him, all too willing to leave behind her cramped one-room flat in Farsta. How could she possibly go on living there after spending so many nights and days in Fredrik’s enormous house in the wealthy Stockholm suburb of Djursholm, where everything was new and white and expensive?
By the time she fully understood what Fredrik did for a living and how he earned his money, it was too late. Her life was intertwined with his. They had the same friends, she wore his ring on her finger, and she no longer had a job because Fredrik had wanted her to stay home and make sure everything ran smoothly on the domestic front. But the sad truth was that she hadn’t really been very upset when she found out. She had merely shrugged, firmly convinced that he belonged to the upper echelons of a sleazy industry, that he was so high up that he wasn’t touched by the muck far below. There was also a certain excitement about the whole thing. She got a little adrenalin kick from knowing what was going on all around her.
Outwardly, none of this was evident, of course. On paper Fredrik was a wine importer, and that was partially true. His company made a small profit every year, and he loved visiting the vineyard that he’d bought in Tuscany. He planned to launch his own wine label some day. That was the facade he presented to the world, and no one ever questioned it. Sometimes Nathalie would sit at the table, dining with upper-crust guests and important business associates, and she’d muse upon how simple it was to fool them, how readily they swallowed everything Fredrik said. They accepted that the enormous sums of money whirling around them came from his import business. But maybe that was merely what they chose to believe. The same way she had done.
Everything changed when Sam was born. It was Fredrik who insisted they should have a child. He wanted a son. She’d had her doubts. Nathalie was still ashamed to recall her fear that being pregnant would ruin her figure, and that having a child might keep her from having three-hour lunches with her women friends and devoting her days to shopping. Nonetheless, when Fredrik had insisted, she’d reluctantly agreed.
The instant that the midwife placed Sam in her arms, her whole life changed. Nothing else mattered any more. Fredrik finally had his longed-for son, but he found himself pushed to the periphery as she devoted herself to the baby. He wasn’t the sort of man who tolerated being knocked out of first place, and his jealousy of Sam manifested itself in a strange way. Forbidding his wife to breastfeed the baby, against her wishes he brought in a nanny to take care of Sam. Nathalie, adamant that she would not be dismissed in that way, had put Elena in charge of ironing and vacuuming, leaving her to spend more hours in the nursery with Sam. Nothing was allowed to come between them. Previously she had behaved like a pampered and spoiled woman, but now she displayed a new confidence in her role as Sam’s mother.
But the moment she held Sam in her arms, her life also began falling apart. There had been incidents of violence before when Fredrik was drunk or high on drugs. She’d ended up with bruises that had hurt for a few days, or a bloodied nose. Nothing worse than that.
After Sam was born, her life became hell. Now the strong wind, combined with the memories, brought tears to her eyes. Her hands shook so badly that some of the coffee spilled over the side and on to her trousers. She blinked to get rid of both the tears and the images. The blood. There had been so much blood. One remembered image overlapped another, like two negatives merging into one. She felt confused. And scared.
Abruptly Nathalie stood up. She needed to be close to Sam. She needed her son.
‘Yes, this is truly a sad day.’ Erling was standing at the head of the conference table, looking at his colleagues with a sombre expression.
‘How could something like that happen?’ His secretary Gunilla Kjellin blew her nose on a handkerchief. Tears were pouring down her cheeks.
‘The officer who called didn’t tell me much, but I gather Mats was the victim of some sort of crime.’
‘You mean somebody murdered him?’ asked Uno Brorsson, leaning back in his chair. As usual he had rolled up the sleeves of his checked flannel shirt.
‘As I said, I don’t really know any of the details yet, but I trust that the police will keep us informed.’
‘Is this going to affect the project?’ Uno tugged on his moustache, as he always did whenever he was upset.
‘It won’t change a thing. I want to assure you all of that. Matte put so many hours into Project Badis, and he would have been the first to say that we must press on. Everything will proceed exactly according to plan, and I will personally be taking charge of the finances until we can find a replacement for Mats.’
‘How can you already be talking about a replacement?’ said Gunilla, sobbing loudly.
‘Now, now, Gunilla.’ Erling was at a loss faced with such an emotional outburst, which even under the circumstances seemed to him highly inappropriate. ‘We have a responsibility to the town, to the citizens, and to everyone who has put their heart and soul not only into this project but into all that we’re doing to make sure the community thrives.’ He paused, both surprised and satisfied with the way he had managed to formulate his thoughts. Then he continued: ‘As tragic as it is that a young man’s life should be prematurely ended, we cannot simply stop everything. The show must go on, as they say in Hollywood.’
Silence had descended over the others in the conference room, and the last phrase had sounded so good to Erling that he couldn’t help repeating it. He straightened his shoulders, thrust out his chest, and with a strong western Swedish accent, he said in English:
‘The show must go on, people. The show must go on.’
In utter
