always had the house here as our base, and if anyone asks me where I live, I tell them Fjällbacka. But in the summertime I always flee to my flat in Paris. I can’t take all the hustle and bustle that comes with the tourists. For the most part we live a rather quiet and isolated life, my brother and I. The cleaning lady is the only one who ever visits us. We prefer … preferred it that way.’ Axel’s voice broke.
Paula caught Martin’s eye, and he shook his head slightly before returning his gaze to the motorway. Neither of them could think of anything else to ask. They spent the rest of the drive to Fjällbacka chatting tensely about trivial matters. Axel looked as if he might fall apart at any moment, and he seemed visibly relieved when they finally pulled up in front of his house.
‘Do you have any problem with … staying here now?’ Paula asked.
Axel stood in silence for a moment, his eyes fixed on the big white house, his carry-on bag in his hand. Finally he said:
‘No. This is my home, and Erik’s. We belong here. Both of us.’ He smiled sadly and shook hands with them before heading for the front door. To Paula, gazing after him, it seemed that he exuded loneliness.
‘So, did she rake you over the coals when you got home yesterday?’ Karin laughed as she pushed Ludde in his pushchair. She was walking at a brisk pace, and Patrik was panting with the effort of keeping up.
‘You might say that.’ He winced at the thought of the reception he’d had when he got home. Erica had not been in the sunniest mood. And to some extent, he could understand why. He was supposed to be taking responsibility for Maja during the daytime so that Erica could work. At the same time, he couldn’t help feeling that she’d overreacted. He hadn’t been out on some fun expedition; he was busy doing household errands. And how could he know that Maja wasn’t going to take her nap the way she usually did? It had seemed a bit unfair that he ended up in the doghouse for the rest of the day. But the good thing about Erica was that she never held a grudge for long, so this morning she’d given him a kiss, as usual, and the events of yesterday seemed forgotten. Although he hadn’t dared tell her that he was going to have company on his walk today. Of course he planned to tell her eventually; he was just putting it off for the moment. Even though Erica wasn’t a particularly jealous person, taking a walk with his ex-wife was not a subject that Patrik wanted to broach while he was already in the doghouse. As if Karin could read his mind, she said:
‘Is Erica okay with the idea that we spend time together? It’s years ago that we got divorced, but some people are a little more … sensitive.’
‘Sure, of course it’s okay,’ said Patrik, unwilling to admit to his cowardice. ‘It’s fine. Erica has no problem with it.’
‘That’s great. I mean, it’s nice to have company, but not if it causes problems on the home front.’
‘What about Leif?’ asked Patrik, eager to change the subject. He leaned over the pushchair to straighten his daughter’s cap, which was sitting askew. Maja didn’t pay any attention because she was fully occupied communicating with Ludde in the pushchair moving alongside her own.
‘Leif?’ Karin snorted. ‘You might say it’s a miracle that Ludde even knows who Leif is. He’s always out on the road.’
Patrik nodded sympathetically. Karin’s new husband was a singer with a dance band called Leffes. He could see how it might be a strain to be a dance band ‘widow’.
‘No serious problems between the two of you, I hope.’
‘No, we see each other too seldom for any problems to arise,’ replied Karin, laughing. But the laugh sounded bitter and hollow. Patrik sensed that she wasn’t telling the whole truth, and he didn’t know what to say. It felt a little strange to be discussing relationship problems with his ex-wife. Thankfully the ringing of his mobile saved him.
‘Patrik Hedström.’
‘Hi, it’s Pedersen. I’m ringing with the post-mortem results for Erik Frankel. We’ve faxed over the report, as usual, but I thought you’d want to hear the main points on the phone.’
‘Sure, of course,’ Patrik said hesitantly, casting a glance at Karin, who had slowed her pace to wait for him. ‘But the thing is, I’m actually on paternity leave at the moment.’
‘Is that right? Congratulations! Oh, you’ve got a wonderful time ahead of you. I stayed home for six months with both of my children, and those were the best months of my life.’
Patrik felt his jaw drop. He would never have believed that of the super-efficient, reserved, and rather cold medical examiner at the forensics lab. He suddenly pictured Pedersen, wearing his doctor’s lab coat, sitting in a sandbox where he was slowly and meticulously, with the greatest precision, making the perfect sand pies. Patrik couldn’t stop himself from laughing, which prompted a brusque ‘What’s so funny?’ in reply.
‘Nothing,’ said Patrik, as he motioned to Karin, who was looking surprised, that he’d explain later. ‘Would you mind giving me a brief summary?’ he went on in a more serious tone of voice. ‘I was at the crime scene the day before yesterday, and I’d like to keep up-to-date on what’s happening.’
‘Of course,’ said Pedersen, still sounding miffed. ‘It’s quite straightforward. Erik Frankel received a blow to the head from a heavy object. Probably something made of stone, because there are tiny fragments of stone in the wound, indicating that the substance in question had to be very porous. He died instantly since the blow struck him above his left temple and caused massive bleeding in the brain.’
‘Do you have any idea from which direction the blow was delivered? From behind? In front?’
‘In my opinion, the perpetrator was standing directly in front of the victim. And in all likelihood, the perp is right-handed. It’s more natural for someone who is right-handed to strike from the right. It would be extremely awkward for a left-handed person to do that.’
‘And the object that was used, any ideas as to what it might be?’ Patrik was aware of the eagerness in his own voice.
‘That’s for you to determine. A heavy object made of stone. Although it doesn’t look as if the victim’s skull was struck by any sort of sharp edge. The wound looks more like a contusion.’
‘Okay, that at least gives us a little to go on.’
‘Us?’ said Pedersen with a slightly sarcastic tone. ‘Didn’t you say you’re on paternity leave?’
‘Er, yes,’ said Patrik and paused for a second before he continued. ‘Well, I assume that you’ll ring the station and give them all the information.’
‘I supposed I’d better do that, under the circumstances,’ said Pedersen in amusement. ‘Shall I take the bull by the horns and ring Mellberg? Or do you have another suggestion?’
‘Martin,’ said Patrik instinctively, and Pedersen chuckled. ‘I’d already decided to do that, but thanks for the tip anyway. I’m surprised at you though: don’t you want to ask me when Frankel died?’
‘Oh, that’s right. When did he die?’ Patrik’s voice regained its eager tone. He cast another glance at Karin.
‘Impossible to say exactly. His body has been lying there in the heat for too long. But my best estimate is between two and three months ago. So that takes us to sometime in June
