The Lost Boy (Patrick Hedstrom and Erica Falck, Book 7) Page 18

  ‘You make it sound so simple,’ said Vivianne. She felt apprehension well up inside her. Apprehension and questions that she didn’t dare ask.

  ‘It is simple.’ He spoke tersely, not letting his voice reveal any emotion. But Vivianne knew her brother all too well. She knew that in spite of the steady gaze of his blue eyes behind his glasses, he was worried. However much he tried not to show it.

  ‘Is this worth it?’ she asked at last.

  He looked at her in surprise.

  ‘That’s what I tried to talk to you about the other day, but you refused to listen.’

  ‘I know.’ She raised her hand and wrapped a lock of blond hair around her index finger. ‘I don’t really have any doubts; I just wish that it was over so we could finally have some peace and quiet.’

  ‘Do you think we’ll ever have that? Maybe we’re so damaged that we’ll never find what we’re looking for.’

  ‘Don’t say that,’ she told him fiercely.

  He had spoken the forbidden words that sometimes came to her in weak moments, the words that crept in when she was lying in bed in the dark, on the verge of sleep.

  ‘We’re not going to say or think such a thing,’ she repeated firmly. ‘We’ve drawn all the short straws in life, we’ve had to fight for everything, nothing has ever been free. We deserve this.’ She stood up so abruptly that her chair fell over backwards and landed on the floor with a bang. Leaving it there, she fled to the kitchen, needing to occupy her brain so it wouldn’t start dwelling on other matters. With shaking hands she began rifling through the refrigerator and pantry to make sure they had everything they needed for tomorrow’s pre-dedication events.

  Mette, who lived in the next flat, had been nice enough to offer to look after the kids for a couple of hours. Madeleine didn’t have any specific plans; unlike most people, her life wasn’t filled with all the errands and chores that she so longed to make part of her days. She simply needed some time for herself.

  She strolled along Strøget, Copenhagen’s pedestrian street, heading towards Kongens Nytorv. All the shops were brimming with enticing summertime wares. Clothes, swimsuits, sunhats, sandals, jewellery, and beach toys. Everything that normal people, with normal lives, could buy without realizing how fortunate they were. That didn’t mean she was ungrateful. On the contrary, she was extremely happy to find herself in a foreign city that was able to offer her something she hadn’t experienced in so many years. Safety. Usually knowing they were safe was enough, but occasionally, like today, she longed so desperately just to be like everyone else. She didn’t want to have luxuries or to buy lots of useless items that cluttered up the cupboards, but she would have liked to be able to afford little everyday things, to go into a shop and buy herself a swimsuit because she was going to take the children swimming on the weekend. Or to go to a toyshop and buy a Spiderman duvet cover for Kevin, because she thought he might sleep better if he shared his bed with his hero. Instead, she had to search her pockets for enough Danish kroner to catch the bus into town. There was nothing normal about that, but at least she was safe. Even though so far only her brain was certain of that – not her heart.

  She went into the Illum department store and headed straight for the pastry shop with its wonderful aroma of baking and chocolate. She practically started drooling when she caught sight of the Wienerbrød with chocolate in the centre. She and her children weren’t starving, although the neighbours must have noticed what their situation was like, because sometimes they brought over dinner, with the excuse that they’d made too much food for their own families. She really couldn’t complain, but she would have loved to walk up to the counter, point at the Wienerbrød and say to the assistant: ‘Three of the ones with chocolate, please.’ Or even better: ‘Six pieces of Wienerbrød with chocolate, please.’ Then they could really gorge themselves, each of them greedily devouring two pastries and afterwards, feeling a bit stuffed, they would lick the chocolate off their fingers. That would be a real treat, especially for Vilda. She’d always been such a chocoholic. She even liked the chocolates filled with cherry liqueur that came in boxes of Aladdin sweets, the ones that everybody else refused to eat. Vilda would devour them with a delighted smile. He had always brought chocolates for Vilda and Kevin.

  She pushed away these thoughts. She shouldn’t be thinking about him. If she did, the anxiety would get so bad that she wouldn’t be able to breathe. She hurried to the exit and continued on towards Nyhavn. As soon as she saw the water she could feel herself breathing easier. She fixed her gaze on the horizon as she passed the beautiful old harbour area, where the outdoor cafés were now filling with customers, and the proud owners of the boats lining the docks were busily sweeping and polishing their vessels. Across the water was Sweden and the city of Malmö. Boats left nearly every hour, but the trip could also be made by car or train across the bridge. Sweden was so close, and yet so far away. It was possible that they’d never go back. Her throat closed up at the thought. She’d been surprised by how much she missed her homeland. She hadn’t really gone very far, and Denmark was deceptively similar to Sweden. But there were so many things that were different, and her friends and family weren’t here. And there was no way of knowing whether she’d ever see them again.

  She turned away from the water, hunched her shoulders, and slowly walked back to town. She was lost in her own thoughts when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Panic instantly overwhelmed her. Had they found her? Had he found her? With a scream she turned around, ready to hit, scratch, and bite – whatever it took. A man with an alarmed expression was looking at her.

  ‘I didn’t mean to startle you.’ The stout, elderly man was so taken aback by her reaction he looked as if he was going to have a heart attack. ‘You dropped your scarf, and you didn’t hear me when I called.’

  ‘Sorry, I’m really sorry,’ she stammered. Then she began to sob, which alarmed the man even more.

  Without another word, she fled, running for the nearest bus, which she knew would take her home. She had to get back to her kids. She had to feel their arms around her neck and their warm bodies pressed against her own. That was the one thing that made her feel safe.

  ‘Torbjörn’s report is in,’ said Annika as soon as Patrik and Martin came in the door.

  Patrik was so full that he could hardly breathe. He’d eaten way too much pasta for lunch at the Lilla Berith restaurant.

  ‘Where is it?’ he asked as he strode through the reception area and yanked open the door to the corridor.

  ‘On your desk,’ Annika told him.

  He hurried towards his office, with Martin in tow.

  ‘Have a seat,’ Patrik said, pointing to the chair in front of his desk. He dropped on to his own chair and began reading the documents that Annika had left for him.

  Martin looked as if he wanted to rip the pages from his colleague’s hands.

  ‘What does it say?’ he asked after a couple of minutes, but Patrik merely waved his hand dismissively and continued reading. After what felt like an unbearably long time, he put down the report, looking disappointed.

  ‘Nothing?’ queried Martin.

  ‘Well, nothing new, at any rate.’ Patrik sighed, leaned back, and clasped his hands behind his head.

  For a moment neither of them spoke.

  ‘No clues whatsoever?’ Even as Martin asked the question, he knew what the answer would be.

  ‘You can read the report yourself, but it doesn’t seem like it. Strangely enough, the only fingerprints inside the flat belonged to Mats Sverin. There were other prints on the front-door handle and the bell outside. Presumably some of them belong to Signe and Gunnar. There was also a different set of prints on the door handle inside, so they might belong to the killer. If so, we can use them to link an eventual suspect to the crime scene, but since the fingerprints aren’t on our database, they’re of no use at the moment.’

  ‘Okay. So that’s that. We’ll just have to hope that Pedersen has something more for us in the post-m
ortem report on Wednesday,’ said Martin.

  ‘I don’t really know what that could be. It appears to have been a simple matter of someone shooting Sverin in the back of the head and then leaving. The perpetrator doesn’t even seem to have entered the flat. Or if he did, he was careful to erase all traces.’

  ‘Did it say that in the report? Had the door handles been wiped clean?’ Martin sounded a tad more hopeful.

  ‘Good idea, but I don’t think …’ Patrik didn’t finish his sentence as he leafed through the report again. After scanning the pages, he shook his head. ‘Apparently not. Sverin’s fingerprints were on all the surfaces that you might expect: door handles, cupboard handles, the kitchen counter, and so on. Nothing seems to have been deliberately wiped clean.’

  ‘Which indicates that the murderer never went beyond the front hall.’

  ‘That’s right. And unfortunately that means that we still can’t establish whether Mats knew his killer. Whoever rang the bell could have been someone familiar to him, or a complete stranger.’

  ‘But he felt secure enough to turn his back on whoever it was that he’d let into the flat.’

  ‘I’m not so sure about that. He may have been trying to flee from the person who was at the door.’

  ‘True,’ said Martin. He paused, then said, ‘So what do we do now?’

  ‘That’s the question, isn’t it?’ Patrik stretched his back and ran a hand through his hair. ‘The search of the flat didn’t produce any results. The interviews we’ve done haven’t given us any leads. And the technical report hasn’t either. What’s more it’s unlikely that Pedersen will come up with anything significant. So what do we do now?’

  It was unlike Patrik to be so despondent, but the lack of leads in this case was stalling the investigation. There must be something in Mats Sverin’s secret life that would account for his murder. Because not just anybody got himself shot in the head. Not just anybody got murdered in his own home. There had to be a motive, and Patrik refused to give up until he found out what it was.

  ‘I’d like you to go with me to Göteborg on Monday. We need to pay another visit to the Refuge,’ he said.

  Martin’s face lit up.

  ‘Sure. I’d be delighted,’ he said as he got up. Patrik was almost ashamed to see how happy his colleague looked at being asked to come along. He realized that he’d been ignoring Martin a bit.

  ‘Take the report with you,’ he said before Martin headed for the door. ‘It’s best if you read it yourself, in case I missed some important detail.’

  ‘Okay.’ And he eagerly reached for the report.

  After Martin had left the room, Patrik smiled to himself. At least he’d made one person happy today.

  The hours passed so slowly. He and Signe moved about their home in silence. They had nothing to say to each other, hardly dared open their mouths for fear of releasing the scream hiding inside.

  Gunnar had tried to get her to eat. It had always been Signe who fussed over him and Mats, saying that they weren’t eating enough. Now he was the one who fixed sandwiches and cut them up into small pieces, trying to persuade her to taste them. She did her best, but he could see how the bites of food seemed to swell in her mouth, and she could hardly choke them down. Finally he couldn’t take it any longer; he couldn’t stand seeing his own expression mirrored on her face on the other side of the kitchen table.

  ‘I’m going out to see to the boat. I won’t be gone long,’ he told her. She didn’t even seem to hear him.

  Moving slowly, he put on his jacket. It was late afternoon, and the sun was low in the sky. He wondered whether he’d ever again find joy in a sunset. Whether he’d ever feel anything again.

  The route he took through Fjällbacka was a familiar one, but at the same time it felt different. Nothing was the same. Even the mere act of walking seemed alien. Something that had previously felt so natural now seemed forced and contrived, as if he had to tell his brain to set one foot in front of the other. He regretted not taking the car. It was a relatively long walk from Mörhult, and he noticed that the people he encountered along the way were staring at him. Some even crossed to the opposite pavement if they thought he wasn’t looking, so they wouldn’t have to speak to him. They probably had no idea what to say. And Gunnar didn’t know how to respond if they did speak, so maybe it was best that they treated him like a leper.

  Their boat was docked out by Badholmen. They’d had the berth for many years, and he automatically turned right to cross the small stone bridge. He was completely lost in his own world and didn’t notice anything until he had almost reached the berth. The boat was gone. Gunnar glanced around in confusion. It should have been here. It was always here. A small wooden motorboat with a blue canopy. He walked along the dock, all the way out to the end of the pontoon wharf. Maybe it had been moored in the wrong place for some reason that he couldn’t fathom. Or maybe it had got loose and drifted away among the other boats. Yet the sea had been calm, and Matte had always been so careful about tying up the boat properly. Gunnar walked back to the empty berth. Then he took out his mobile.

  Patrik had just stepped in the door when Annika rang him at home. He clamped the phone between his right ear and shoulder so he could talk as he picked up Maja, who was eagerly jumping around him with her arms outstretched.

  ‘Sorry, what did you say? The boat is missing?’ He frowned. ‘Yes, I’m at home, but I can drive down there and have a look. No, it’s no problem. I’ll handle it.’

  He set Maja down so he could press the button to end the call. Then he took her hand and led the way to the kitchen, where Erica was preparing two bottles, cheered on by the babies perched on the table in their carrycots. Patrik leaned down and gave each of his sons a kiss and then went over to kiss his wife too.

  ‘Hi. Who was on the phone?’ asked Erica, putting the bottles in the microwave.

  ‘Annika. I have to go out again, but only for a little while. It seems that Gunnar and Signe’s boat has been stolen.’

  ‘That’s awful.’ Erica turned around to look at Patrik. ‘Who would be wicked enough to do a thing like that?’

  ‘I have no idea. According to Gunnar, Mats was apparently the last person to use it, assuming he went out to visit Nathalie, that is. It seems odd that their boat would be the only one missing.’

  ‘Go on,’ she said, and then kissed him on the lips.

  ‘I’ll be back in no time,’ he told her, heading for the front door. Too late he realized that Maja would probably throw a minor fit if he rushed off immediately after coming home. Feeling guilty, he told himself that Erica would undoubtedly deal with the situation. And he’d be back soon.

  Gunnar was waiting for him on Badholmen, standing on the other side of the stone bridge.

  ‘I can’t understand what could have happened to our boat,’ he said, lifting his cap to scratch his head.

  ‘It couldn’t have just drifted away, could it?’ asked Patrik. He followed Gunnar to the empty berth.

  ‘I can’t say for sure what happened. All I know is that the boat isn’t here,’ said Gunnar, shaking his head. ‘Matte was always so careful about tying it up. That was something I taught him when he was only a child. And we haven’t had any stormy weather to speak of lately, so I can’t believe that the boat tore away from its moorings.’ He shook his head again, even more emphatically. ‘Somebody must have stolen it. But I can’t understand what they’d want with an old dinghy like that.’

  ‘Hmm, well, I suppose it’d be worth a few kroner.’ Patrik squatted down. He ran his eyes over the berth, and then stood up again. ‘I’ll write up a report when I get back to the station. But we can start by having a word with the Coast Guard service. They’ll keep an eye out for it when they’re out in their boats making their rounds.’

  Without another word Gunnar fell in behind Patrik as he set off across the bridge. In silence they walked the short distance around the boathouses to the Coast Guard offices. No one seemed to be there, and when Patrik tried
the door, he found it locked. But then he noticed movement inside the MinLouis, the smallest of the Coast Guard vessels, and he went over and knocked on the window. A man appeared in the stern, and Patrik recognized Peter, who had helped them on that fateful day at sea when one of the female participants in the reality show Sodding Tanum was murdered.

  ‘Hello there. How can I help you?’ Peter smiled up at them, drying his hands on a towel.

  ‘We’re looking for a missing boat,’ said Patrik, pointing towards the empty berth. ‘It’s Gunnar’s boat. It’s not where it’s supposed to be, and we don’t know what happened to it. We were wondering if you could keep an eye out for it?’

  ‘Sure. I heard about what happened,’ said Peter quietly, giving Gunnar a nod. ‘Please accept my condolences. And of course we’d be happy to help. Do you think it might have got loose on its own? If so, it wouldn’t have gone very far. And it would probably drift towards land and not out to sea.’

  ‘No, we think it was stolen,’ said Patrik.

  ‘People can be vile sometimes.’ Peter shook his head. ‘It’s a wooden motorboat, right, Gunnar? With a blue or green canopy?’

  ‘Yes. It’s blue. And it says Sophia on the stern.’ He turned to Patrik. ‘I was in love with Sophia Loren when I was young. And when I met Signe, I thought she looked exactly like her. So I named the boat Sophia.’

  ‘Okay. At least now I know what to look for. I’ll be making my rounds in a while, and I promise to take a look for Sophia.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Patrik. He looked at Gunnar and asked, ‘Are you sure that Mats was the last one to use the boat?’

  ‘Well, I can’t really be sure about that.’ Gunnar hesitated. ‘But he said that he wanted to go out and visit Nathalie, so I assumed that …’

  ‘If he didn’t borrow the boat, then when was the last time you saw it?’

  Peter had gone back inside the cabin to continue working on his equipment, so Gunnar and Patrik were alone on the wharf.