Camilla Lackberg Crime Thrillers 1 and 2: The Ice Princess, The Preacher. Camilla Lackberg
Читать онлайн книгу.
the stack of papers, now nearing the bottom. After a while, with no new information about Nils’s fate, public interest had begun to flag and the disappearance was seldom mentioned anymore. Even Nelly made the society columns only rarely after that; she wasn’t written about even once during the Nineties. Fabian’s death in 1978 had prompted a large obituary in Bohusläningen, with the usual rhetoric about being a pillar of society, and that was the last time he was mentioned.
Their adopted son Jan, however, was in the papers more and more frequently. After Nils vanished, he became the sole heir to the family business, and when he turned twenty-one he stepped in at once as CEO. The company had continued to flourish under his leadership, and now it was he and his wife Lisa who were constantly written up in the society columns.
Patrik paused. A paper had fluttered to the floor. He bent down to pick it up and began reading with interest. The article was over twenty years old. It provided Patrik with a great deal of interesting information about Jan and his life before he ended up with the Lorentz family. Disturbing information, but fascinating. His life had changed radically when he became part of the Lorentz family. The question was whether Jan himself had changed just as radically.
Patrik resolutely gathered up all the papers and tapped the stack on the desk to even out the edges. He pondered what he should do now. So far he had no more than his – and Erica’s – intuition to go on. He leaned back in his office chair, put his feet up on the desk and clasped his hands behind his head. With his eyes closed, he tried to create some sort of order in his thoughts so he could weigh one alternative against another. Closing his eyes was a mistake. Ever since their dinner on Saturday, all he could see was Erica.
He forced himself to open his eyes and focused instead on the depressing light-green concrete of the wall. The police station was from the early Seventies, and presumably designed by someone who specialized in government institutions, with their predilection for ninety-degree angles, concrete and dirty green paint. He had tried to liven up the office a bit with a couple of potted plants in the window and some framed pictures on the walls. When he was married he had kept a photo of Karin on his desk. Even though the desk had been dusted many times since then, he still thought he could see a mark where it had stood. He obstinately set his pen-holder in that spot and quickly went back to weighing his options. What should he do about the material he had in front of him?
There were really only two courses of action. The first was to investigate this lead on his own, which would mean doing it in his free time. Mellberg always saw to it that his workload was enough to make him run about like a scalded rat all day long. He actually hadn’t managed to look at the articles during work hours, but only because of a rebellious desire to make trouble. He would have to pay for it by working a good part of the evening. He wasn’t very eager to spend the little free time he had doing the work Mellberg had assigned to him, so option two should at least be tried.
If he went to Mellberg and presented the matter the right way, perhaps he could get permission to follow up on these leads during working hours. Mellberg’s vanity was his weak point, and if it was massaged correctly he might be able to win his consent. Patrik was aware that the superintendent viewed the case of Alex Wijkner as a guaranteed return ticket to the Göteborg force. Based on all the rumours he’d heard, Patrik believed that Mellberg had burned all his bridges, but he still might be able to exploit the man’s vanity for his own ends. If he could exaggerate the connection to the Lorentz family a little, perhaps hint that he’d received tips that Jan was the father of Alex’s child, it might get Mellberg to go along with him. Not particularly ethical perhaps, but he felt deep in the pit of his stomach that the connection to Alex’s death could be found in the piles of papers in front of him.
With one fluid motion, he took down his feet from the desk and shoved back the chair so hard that it continued backwards on its wheels and banged into the wall behind him. Patrik picked up all the photocopies and went down to the other end of the bunker-like corridor. Before he could change his mind he pounded hard on Mellberg’s door and thought he heard him say, ‘Come in.’
As always he was shocked at how a man who did absolutely nothing could manage to amass such a huge amount of paper. Stacks of paper covered every inch of his desk. In the window, on all the chairs, and above all on the desk, thick piles of paper were collecting dust. The bookshelf behind the superintendent was sagging with binders, and Patrik wondered how long it had been since the documents had seen the light of day. Mellberg was on the telephone but waved for Patrik to come in. Patrik wondered in amazement what was going on. Mellberg was beaming like a star in the window on Christmas Eve. It’s a good thing his ears are in the way, thought Patrik, or that smile would wrap all the way round his head.
Mellberg’s half of the phone conversation was terse.
‘Yes.
‘Yes, of course.
‘Not at all.
‘Yes, that’s obvious.
‘You did the right thing.
‘Heavens no.
‘Yes, thank you so much, ma’am, I promise to get back to you.’
In triumph, he slammed the receiver down in the cradle, making Patrik jump in his chair.
‘That’s the way to do things!’
Mellberg continued beaming like a jovial Santa Claus. It occurred to Patrik that this was the first time he’d ever seen Mellberg’s teeth. They were astonishingly white and regular. Almost a little too perfect.
Mellberg gave him an expectant look, and Patrik gathered that he wanted him to ask what was going on. Obediently he did so, but he didn’t expect the answer he received.
‘I’ve got him! I’ve got Alex Wijkner’s murderer!’
Mellberg was so beside himself with excitement that he didn’t notice that his comb-over had slipped down over one ear. For once Patrik was not struck by a desire to giggle at the sight. He ignored the fact that the superintendent had used the pronoun ‘I’ indicating that he had no intention of sharing any glory with his co-workers. Instead Patrik leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and asked earnestly, ‘What do you mean? Have we got a breakthrough in the case? Who was that you were talking to?’
Mellberg raised his hand to stop the barrage of questions and then leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands over his stomach. This was a moment he intended to milk to the last drop.
‘Well, Patrik, when you’ve been in this profession as long as I have, then you know that breakthroughs aren’t something you get; they’re something you earn. Due to my extensive experience and skill, as well as my hard work, there has indeed been a breakthrough in the case. A certain Dagmar Petrén rang and passed on some interesting observations that she’d made just before the body was discovered. Yes, I’d even venture to say significant observations, which will eventually lead to our putting a dangerous killer behind bars.’
Impatience tingled like tiny pinpricks inside of Patrik, but he had sense enough to know that all he had to do was wait Mellberg out. Eventually he would get to the heart of the matter. Patrik only hoped that it would happen before he took retirement.
‘Yes, I recall a case we had in Göteborg, autumn of 1967 …’
Patrik sighed and prepared himself for a long wait.
She found Dan where she expected to find him. He was moving the pieces of equipment on the boat as easily as if they were sacks filled with cotton. Huge, fat rolls of rope, seamen’s sacks and enormous fenders. Erica enjoyed watching him work. In a hand-knit sweater, cap and gloves and with white vapour steaming out of his mouth with each breath, he looked as though he fit right in with the tableau behind him. The sun was high in the sky and the light reflected off the snow on deck. The silence was absolute. He worked efficiently and purposefully, and Erica could see that he was loving every minute of it. This was his true element. The boat, the sea, the islands in the background. She knew that in his mind he was picturing how the ice would start to break up and how the Veronica would head off for the horizon at full speed. Winter was merely one long waiting period.