The Preacher Read online

  Her marvellous bloody brother didn’t make matters any easier. It was better to live with him and Marita than at home, but not much. He was so damned reliable. Nothing he did ever went wrong, while she always got the blame for everything.

  ‘Linda?’

  Typical, even here in the stall she couldn’t be left in peace.

  ‘Linda?’ The voice was more urgent. He knew that she was here, so there was no use pretending she didn’t hear him.

  ‘Don’t be such a bloody nag. What is it?’

  ‘You really don’t need to speak to me in that tone of voice. I don’t think it’s too much to ask that you show a little courtesy.’

  She muttered a few curses in reply, but Jacob let it pass.

  ‘You’re actually my brother, not my father, did you ever think of that?’ she told him.

  ‘I’m well aware of that, but as long as you’re living under my roof, I actually do have a certain responsibility for you.’

  Just because he was almost twice her age, Jacob thought he knew everything. It was easy for him to get on his high horse because he was comfortably off. Father had said many times that Jacob was certainly a son to be proud of, and that he would take good care of the family estate. Linda assumed that her brother would inherit the whole lot one day. Until then he could afford to pretend that money wasn’t important, but Linda saw right through him. Everyone admired Jacob because he worked with young people at risk. At the same time they knew full well that eventually he would inherit both the estate and a fortune. Then it would be interesting to see how much longer he continued this idealistic work.

  Linda couldn’t help giggling. If Jacob knew that she was sneaking out at night he’d go nuts, and if he knew who she was meeting, she’d get the lecture of her life. It was fine to talk about having compassion for the less fortunate, as long as they weren’t on your own front porch. Besides, there were other, more deeply rooted reasons for Jacob to hit the roof if he found out that she was seeing Stefan. He was their cousin, and the feud between the two branches of the family had been going on since long before she was born – even before Jacob was born. She had no idea why. That was just the way things were. So she had extra butterflies in her stomach whenever she sneaked out to meet Stefan.

  Linda had a good time with him. He was very considerate, but he was much older, after all, so he had a self-confidence that boys her own age could never muster. It didn’t bother her that they were cousins. Nowadays cousins could even get married. That wasn’t really part of her long-term plans, but she had nothing against exploring one thing or another with him, as long as it remained a secret.

  ‘Did you want something, or were you just planning to hover?’ she said now.

  Jacob gave a deep sigh and put a hand on her shoulder. She tried to shrink away, but his grip was strong.

  ‘I don’t really understand where all this aggression is coming from. The kids I work with would give anything to have a home like yours and be brought up the way you were. A little gratitude and maturity would seem appropriate, you know. And yes, I did want something. Marita has finished cooking and we’re ready to eat. So hurry up and change your clothes. Then come and eat with us.’

  He loosened his grip on her shoulder and left the stable, heading up to the manor house. Muttering, Linda put down the curry-comb and went to change. In spite of everything, she was very hungry.

  Once again Martin’s heart had been broken. He’d lost count of how many times it had happened before, but the fact that he was used to it didn’t make the sting any less. Like all the times before, he’d thought that this woman resting her head on the pillow next to his was the right one. Of course he was fully aware that she was already taken, but with his usual naïveté he thought that he was more than just a diversion and that her boyfriend’s days were numbered. He had no idea that, with his innocent face and almost sweet-as-pie openness, he was like a lump of sugar to a fly for women who were a little older, more mature and living in an everyday rut with their respective husbands. Men they had no intention of leaving for a nice 25-year-old cop, though they thought nothing of having it off with him when the urge or the need for affirmation had to be satisfied. Not that Martin had anything against the physical aspects of a relationship – and he was especially talented in that area – but the problem was that he was also an unusually sensitive young man. Love affairs found a willing participant in Martin Molin. That’s why his little flings always ended in tears and gnashing of teeth on his part, when the women thanked him and then went home to their own lives, that might be boring but were steady and familiar.

  Martin sighed heavily as he sat at his desk, but he forced himself to focus on the task at hand. The calls he had made so far had been fruitless, but there were still plenty of police districts to ring. The fact that the database had crashed just when he needed it most was probably his usual luck. Now he had to sit here looking up one telephone number after the other, trying to find someone who fit the description of the dead woman.

  Two hours later he leaned back and flung his pen at the wall in despair. No one had been reported missing who matched the description of the murder victim. What were they going to do now?

  It was so damned unfair. He was older than that snot-nosed kid and should have been the one to lead this investigation, but the world was filled with ingratitude. For several years now he had assiduously kissed up to that bloody Mellberg, but nothing ever came of it. Ernst took the curves at high speed on the way to Fjällbacka. If he hadn’t been driving a police car he certainly would have seen plenty of raised middle fingers in his rear-view mirror. Just let them try it, those fucking tourists, then they’d have the devil to pay.

  Go and ask the neighbours. That was an assignment for a rookie, not for a cop with twenty-five years of experience. That whippersnapper Martin could have handled the task, leaving Ernst to make some calls to his colleagues in the nearby districts and get a chance to shoot the breeze.

  He was seething inside, but that had been his natural frame of mind since he was a kid, so it was nothing out of the ordinary. A choleric disposition made him ill-suited to a profession that required so much social contact. On the other hand, the hooligans showed him respect because they instinctively knew that Ernst Lundgren was not someone to be trifled with if they valued their health.

  As he drove through the town there were rubberneckers everywhere. They followed him with their eyes and pointed, and he knew that the news had already spread all through Fjällbacka. He had to drive at a crawl across Ingrid Bergman’s Square because of all the cars parked illegally. He saw to his satisfaction that a number of patrons rushed from Café Bryggan’s sidewalk tables to move their cars. A smart thing to do. If the cars were still there when he came back he had nothing against spending some time upsetting the holiday mood of people who had parked illegally. Make them blow into the breathalyser a little, maybe. Some of the drivers had been downing a cold beer when they saw him drive by. If he was lucky he might even be able to confiscate a couple of driving licences.

  There wasn’t much room to park on the short strip of road outside the King’s Cleft, but he squeezed into a space and began Operation Door-Knocking. As he expected, nobody had seen a thing. People who would normally notice if their neighbour farted in his own house seemed to go deaf and blind when the police wanted to know something. Although, Ernst had to admit, maybe they actually hadn’t heard anything. In the summertime the noise level was so loud at night, with drunks staggering home at dawn, that people learned to block out the noise from outside so they could get a good night’s sleep. But it was still damned irritating.

  He didn’t get even a nibble until the last house. Not a big catch, of course, but at least it was something. The old man in the house farthest from the entrance to the King’s Cleft had heard a car drive up around three in the morning, when he was up taking a piss. He narrowed the time frame to a quarter to three. He said he hadn’t bothered to look out, so he could say nothing about either the d
river or the car. But since he was a former driving school instructor and had driven many types of cars in his day, he was quite certain that the vehicle wasn’t a newer model but had a few years on it.

  Great, the only thing Ernst had got out of two hours of knocking on doors was that the murderer had probably driven the body here around three o’clock and that he may have been driving an older model car. Not much to cheer about.

  But his mood rose a few notches when he drove past the square again on his way back to the station and noticed that new scofflaws had parked in the spots vacated by the previous drivers. Now he’d have them blowing into the breathalyser till their lungs popped.

  An insistent ringing of her doorbell interrupted Erica as she was laboriously running the vacuum cleaner over the carpets. Sweat was copiously pouring out of her, and she pushed back a couple of wet strands of hair from her face before she opened the door. They must have driven like joyriders to arrive that fast.

  ‘Hey, fatty!’

  A bear hug caught her in a firm grip, and she noticed that she wasn’t the only one sweating. But with her nose deeply buried in Conny’s armpit she realized that she smelled like roses and lilies of the valley in comparison.

  After extracting herself from his embrace she said hello to Conny’s wife Britta, politely shaking hands since they had only met a few times. Britta’s handshake was damp and limp and felt like a dead fish. Erica shuddered and fought back an impulse to wipe her hand on her slacks.

  ‘What a belly on you! Have you got twins in there or what?’

  She really hated hearing people comment on her body that way, but she’d already begun to realize that pregnancy seemed to give everyone a free pass to make comments on your shape and touch your belly – it was altogether too familiar. Complete strangers had even come up and started pawing at her stomach. Erica was just waiting for the obligatory patting to begin, and within seconds Conny was running his hands over her swollen stomach.

  ‘Oh, what a little football star you have in there. Obviously a boy, with all that kicking. Come here, kids, feel this!’

  Erica didn’t have the strength to object, and she was attacked by two pairs of little hands sticky with ice cream that left handprints on her white maternity blouse. Luckily Lisa and Victor, six and eight years old, soon lost interest.

  ‘So what does the proud father have to say? Is he counting the days or what?’ Conny didn’t wait for an answer, and Erica recalled that dialogues were not his strong suit.

  ‘Yes, damn it, I can remember when these two little rascals came into the world. A hell of an intense experience. But tell him to forget about watching it down there. It’ll make him lose the urge for a long time to come.’

  He chuckled and elbowed Britta in the side. She just gave him a surly look. Erica realized that this was going to be a long day. If only Patrik would come home on time.

  Patrik knocked cautiously on Martin’s door. He was a bit jealous of how neat things were in there. The desk was so clean that it could have been used as an operating table.

  ‘How’s it going? Have you found anything?’

  Martin’s dejected expression told him the answer was negative even before he shook his head. Damn. The most important thing in the investigation right now was to be able to identify the woman. Somewhere people were worried about her. Surely somebody must be missing her.

  ‘What about you?’ Martin nodded towards the folder Patrik was holding in his hand. ‘Did you find what you were looking for?’

  ‘I think so.’

  Patrik pulled up a chair so he could sit next to Martin.

  ‘Take a look at this. Two women disappeared in the late Seventies from Fjällbacka. I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me at once, it was front-page news back then. Anyway, here’s what’s left of the investigative material.’

  The file he placed on the desk was very dusty, and he saw that Martin’s fingers were itching to wipe it off. A stern look from his colleague made him refrain. Patrik opened the folder and showed him the photographs lying on top.

  ‘This is Siv Lantin. She disappeared on Midsummer’s Day in 1979. She was nineteen.’ Patrik pulled out the next photo. ‘This is Mona Thernblad. She disappeared two weeks later and was eighteen years old. Neither of them has been seen since, despite an enormous effort with search parties, dragging the waterways, and everything you can think of. Siv’s bicycle was found in a ditch, but that was the only thing that was found. And they found no trace of Mona except for a running shoe.’

  ‘Yes, now that you mention it, I do remember those cases. There was a suspect, wasn’t there?’

  Patrik leafed through the yellowing pages of the report and pointed to a typed name.

  ‘Stefannes Hult. It was his brother, Gabriel Hult, of all people, who called the police and reported that he’d seen his brother with Siv Lantin on the way to his farm in Bräcke the night she vanished.’

  ‘How seriously was the tip taken? I mean, there must be something behind it if you turn in your own brother as a suspect in a murder case.’

  ‘The feud in the Hult family had been going on for years, and everyone knew about it. So the information was received with some scepticism, I think. It still had to be investigated, and Johannes was brought in for questioning a couple of times. But there was never any evidence besides his brother’s testimony. It was one brother’s word against the other’s, so Johannes was released.’

  ‘Where is Gabriel today?’

  ‘I’m not sure, but I seem to recall that Johannes committed suicide shortly after. Damn … if Annika were here she could have put together a more updated account of this in no time. As I mentioned, the material in the folder is meagre to say the least.’

  ‘It sounds like you’re quite sure that the skeletons we found are these two women.’

  ‘I wouldn’t say that. I’m just basing my guess on the law of probability. We have two women who disappeared in the Seventies, and now two skeletons turn up that seem to have a few years on them. What are the odds that it’s only a coincidence? Although I’m not positive, of course – we won’t be until the ME submits his report. But I intend to see to it that he has access to this information right away.’

  Patrik glanced at the clock. ‘Damn, I’d probably better get going. I promised to be home early today. Erica’s cousin is visiting, and I have to fix some shrimp and things for supper. Could you make sure that the ME gets this information? And check with Ernst when he comes in, in case he’s turned up anything useful.’

  The heat struck Patrik like a wall when he left the police station, and he hurried to his car so he could get back into an air-conditioned environment. If this heat was sapping his energy, he could only imagine what it was doing to Erica, the poor dear.

  It was unfortunate that they were having visitors just now, but he understood that it was hard for her to say no. And since the Flood family were leaving tomorrow, it was only one evening wasted. He turned up the cool to max and headed for Fjällbacka.

  * * *

  ‘Did you talk to Linda?’

  Laine was nervously rubbing her hands together. It was a habit that Gabriel had learned to detest.

  ‘There isn’t that much to talk about,’ he said. ‘She’ll do as she’s told.’

  Gabriel did not even look up but calmly continued what he was doing. His tone was dismissive, but Laine wasn’t about to shut up so easily. Unfortunately. For years he had wished that his wife would choose to be silent more often. It would do wonders for her personality.

  Gabriel Hult himself had the personality of an accountant to his very core. He loved to match credits against debits and figure the balance on the bottom line; he loathed with all his heart everything that had to do with emotions and not logic. Neatness was his motto, and despite the summer heat he was wearing a suit and tie, of a more lightweight fabric of course, but nonetheless very proper-looking. His dark hair had thinned over the years, but he still combed it back and made no attempt to hide the bald patch
in the middle. The pièce de résistance was the pair of round spectacles that rested on the tip of his nose so that he could look over the rims with disdain at whoever he was talking to. What’s right is right – that was the motto he lived by, and he only wished that other people would do the same. Instead it seemed as if they spent all their energy upsetting his perfect equilibrium and making life hard for him. Everything would be so much easier if they just did as he said rather than thinking up a bunch of foolishness on their own.

  The big disturbance in his life at the moment was Linda. Jacob had never been as difficult in his teenage years. In Gabriel’s ideal world, girls were calmer and more compliant than boys. Instead they had a teenage monster on their hands who contradicted them at every turn and in general was doing her best to ruin their lives in the shortest time possible. He didn’t put much store in her idiotic plans to become a model. There was no doubt that the girl was cute, but unfortunately she’d inherited her mother’s brain and wouldn’t last an hour in the harsh world of professional modelling.

  ‘We’ve had this discussion before, Laine, and I haven’t changed my opinion. It’s out of the question. I won’t allow Linda to traipse off and have her picture taken by some sleazy photographer who just wants to get her naked. Linda has to get an education, and that’s all there is to it.’

  ‘Yes, but she’ll be eighteen in a year, and then she’ll do whatever she wants anyway. Isn’t it better for us to support her now instead of running the risk of losing her for good a year from now?’