Camilla Lackberg Crime Thrillers 4-6: The Stranger, The Hidden Child, The Drowning. Camilla Lackberg
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recording. She could hear what was said as if from outside, from above. It was so awful. Everything had turned out wrong. Horribly wrong. The darkness had welled up inside her, and she couldn’t stop it. All the darkness that she tried to expel with her blood, with the wounds, had instead surged inside her like a reckless fury.
Now she felt the emptiness of the checkout stand behind her mixing with the shame. And terror. Her veins were pulsating. More blood wanted to come out.
‘Damn it all, if I have any say in the matter, we’re going to shut down this bloody circus!’ Uno Brorsson slammed his fist on the big conference table in the community centre and glared at Erling. He didn’t even look at Fredrik Rehn, who had been invited to discuss what had happened and report on the views of the production company.
‘I think you ought to calm down,’ Erling admonished him. Actually he had a good mind to take Uno by the ear and drag him out of the meeting room like an unruly child, but stifled the impulse. ‘What happened is incredibly tragic, but that doesn’t mean we have to take any hasty decisions based purely on emotion. We’re here today to discuss the project in a sensible manner. I’ve invited Fredrik so that he can tell us their views on whether the project should continue or not. I recommend that you listen to what he has to say. In spite of everything, it’s Fredrik who has the experience with this type of production. Even though what happened is something entirely new, and yes, tragic, as I said, I’m sure he has a number of wise points to make about how the whole thing should be handled.’
‘Useless idiot,’ Uno muttered under his breath, but loud enough for Fredrik to hear. The producer chose to ignore the comment and took up position behind his chair with his hands gripping the back.
‘Well, I can understand that this has stirred up plenty of emotions. Of course we mourn Barbie – Lillemor – deeply. The whole production team and also the management in Stockholm regret deeply what happened. Just as I do personally.’ He cleared his throat and lowered his eyes sadly. After a moment of uncomfortable silence he looked up. ‘But as they say in America: “The show must go on.” I’m sure that neither of you would be able to stop working if anything, God forbid, should happen to your family. We can’t do that either. I am also convinced that Barbie – Lillemor – would have wanted us to continue.’ Silence again, his gaze mournful.
A sniffle was heard from the far end of the big shiny table. ‘The poor child.’ Gunilla Kjellin carefully blotted away a tear with her paper napkin.
For a moment Fredrik looked a bit self-conscious. Then he went on, ‘Nor can we ignore the realities of the situation. And one reality is that we have invested a considerable sum in Sodding Tanum, an investment that we always hoped would reap dividends for both you and ourselves. We would gain viewers and advertising revenue, while you would profit from the boost to tourism. A very simple equation.’
The town’s financial officer Erik Bohlin tried to raise his hand to indicate that he had a question. But Erling was apprehensive that it wouldn’t lead the discussion in a desirable direction, so he glared at the young economist to make him put his hand down.
‘But how is this going to bring us tourists now? Murder usually has a certain … detrimental effect on tourism.’ Former councilman Jörn Schuster frowned at Fredrik Rehn. Erling counted silently to ten. Why did these people always have to be so damned negative? They wouldn’t last a day in the real world. Not in the world he had been used to during his years as CEO. With icy calm he turned to Jörn.
‘I have to say that I’m extremely disappointed in your attitude, Jörn. If there was anyone I expected to see the big picture, it was you. A man of your experience shouldn’t be sitting here getting lost in details. We’re here to promote the best interests of the community; we can’t set up obstacles to everything that might lead us forward, like a bunch of sorry bureaucrats.’ His reproach wrapped in flattery brought an uncertain gleam to the eyes of the former councilman. Most of all, Jörn wanted to be perceived as having voluntarily resigned his post to act as some sort of mentor for the newcomer. Erling was willing to play along, provided he could push through what he wanted. He waited patiently. The silence hung thick in the room, and they all looked tensely at Jörn to see how he was going to react. After a long pause to think, he turned to Erling with a fatherly smile visible through his thick white beard.
‘Naturally you’re right, Erling. During my many years as leader of this community I myself pushed through big ideas without allowing nay-sayers and petty details to stand in my way.’ He nodded in satisfaction and looked around the table. The others looked perplexed. None of them could recall Jörn having a big idea, let alone pushing it through.
Erling nodded his approval. The old fox knew which horse to back. Having won Jörn’s support, Erling finally addressed the issue.
‘When it comes to tourism, we are now in a unique situation. Our town’s name will appear in huge letters on every newspaper placard in the country. Sure, it’s in connection with a tragedy, but the fact remains that the town’s name is being drummed into the mind of every Swede. Without a doubt this is something we can turn to our advantage. I propose calling in a PR firm to help us make best use of the media attention.’
Erik Bohlin began to mutter something about ‘the budget’, but Erling waved off his comment like a bothersome fly. ‘Let’s not get bogged down in mere details Erik. Now we’re thinking big; the rest will sort itself out.’ He turned to Fredrik Rehn who was following the discussion round the table with amusement. ‘And Sodding Tanum will continue with our full support. Am I right?’ Erling turned to the others, giving each and every one of them an intense stare.
‘Naturally,’ piped up Gunilla Kjellin, casting an admiring glance at him.
‘Yeah, what the hell, let the crap run,’ said Uno Brorsson sullenly. ‘It can’t get any worse than it is already.’
‘I agree,’ said Bohlin laconically but with a million questions hovering behind his words.
‘Good, good,’ said Jörn Schuster, tugging on his beard. ‘Delightful to hear that you all see “the big picture”, just as Erling and I do.’ He gave Erling a big smile.
The old coot doesn’t know what he’s talking about, he thought, but he beamed back at him. The whole thing had gone easier than he imagined. Damn, he was good at this!
‘Fish or fowl?’
‘In between,’ replied Anna with a laugh.
‘Oh, cut it out,’ said Erica, sticking out her tongue at her sister. They were sitting on the veranda, wrapped up in blankets and drinking coffee. On her lap Erica had the menu suggestions from Stora Hotellet, and she could feel her mouth watering. Her strict diet the past two weeks had livened up her taste-buds and fired up her hunger. It felt as though she might start drooling in earnest.
‘What do you say to this, for example?’ She read aloud for Anna. ‘Crayfish tails on a bed of lettuce with lime vinaigrette as an appetizer, halibut with basil risotto and honey-roasted carrots for the main, and then cheesecake on a mirror of raspberry sauce for dessert?’
‘Sounds divine!’ said Anna. ‘Especially the halibut!’ She took a sip of coffee, snuggled up a bit more in her blanket, and looked out over the sea before them.
Erica couldn’t help being amazed at how much her sister had changed recently. She regarded Anna’s profile and saw a sense of calm over her face that she couldn’t remember having seen before. She had always worried about Anna. It was delightful to be able to start letting go.
‘Pappa would have loved to see us sitting here and gabbing,’ she said. ‘He always tried to make us understand that we had to get close to each other, as sisters. He thought that I mothered you way too much.’
‘I know,’ Anna said with a smile, turning to face Erica. ‘He talked to me too, tried to get me to take more responsibility, to be more grown-up, not push so much of the burden onto you. Because I did do that. No matter how much I protested that you mothered me, I liked it in a way. And I always expected you to be the one who was mature and took care of things.’