The Hidden Child. Camilla Lackberg
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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 or July.’
‘And you can’t be more specific than that?’ Patrik knew the answer to his question even before he asked it.
‘We’re not magicians over here. We have no crystal balls. June. That’s the best answer you’re going to get in this situation. I’m basing it partly on the type of flies that were found, partly on how many generations of flies and larva were present. Taking all of that into consideration, plus the body’s state of decay, I can say that he probably died in June. It’s your job to determine a more precise date of death. Or rather – it’s your colleagues’ job.’ Pedersen laughed.
Patrik couldn’t remember ever hearing him laugh before. And yet it had now happened several times during this phone conversation. All at Patrik’s expense. But maybe that’s what it took to get Pedersen to laugh. Patrik offered the usual words of thanks and then ended the call.
‘Work?’ Karin enquired.
‘Yes, an investigation that we’re doing at the moment.’
‘The old man who was found dead on Monday?’
‘I see that the gossip mill is as effective as ever,’ said Patrik. Karin had picked up the pace again, and he had to jog to catch up.
A red car passed them. After about a hundred metres, it slowed down, and the driver seemed to be glancing in the rear-view mirror. Then the car swiftly backed up, and Patrik swore to himself. Only now did he realize that the car belonged to his mother.
‘What’s this, are the two of you out for a walk together?’ asked Kristina. Having rolled down the window, she looked in surprise at Patrik and Karin.
‘Hi, Kristina! How nice to see you!’ Karin leaned towards the open window. ‘I’ve moved back to Fjällbacka and happened to run into Patrik. We discovered that we’re both on leave from our jobs and in need of company. I have a little boy named Ludvig.’ Karin pointed to the pushchair, and Kristina leaned forward, uttering the appropriate cooing sounds at the sight of the one-year-old.
‘Oh, how nice,’ said Kristina in a tone of voice that made Patrik’s stomach clench. Then a thought occurred to him that made his stomach hurt even more. Without wanting to know the answer, he asked his mother, ‘And where are you off to right now?’
‘I was on my way to your house. It’s been a while since I dropped by. I’ve brought some baked goods with me.’ She pointed happily to a bag of buns and sponge cake on the seat next to her.
‘Erica’s working …’ Patrik ventured lamely, but he knew it was pointless.
Kristina shifted into first gear. ‘That’s good. Then she’ll be happy to take a little coffee break. And you’ll be home soon too, won’t you?’ She waved to Maja, who merrily waved back.
‘Sure, of course,’ said Patrik, trying frantically to come up with a way to ask his mother not to mention who he’d been walking with. But his brain was completely blank, and in resignation he raised his hand to wave goodbye. With his stomach in knots, he watched his mother race off towards Sälvik. He was going to have to do quite a bit of explaining.
The work on her book was going well. She’d written four pages this morning, and now she stretched with satisfaction as she sat at her desk. Her anger from yesterday had faded, and in hindsight she thought that she might have overreacted. She would make it up to Patrik tonight by cooking something extra good for dinner. Before the wedding they’d both made an effort to lose a few pounds, but now they were back to their daily routines. And it was important to treat themselves once in a while. Maybe fillet of pork with gorgonzola sauce. Patrik liked that.
Erica stopped thinking about dinner and reached for her mother’s diaries. She really ought to sit down and read through all of them at once, but she just couldn’t bring herself to do that. She’d have to do it in small doses. Little glances into her mother’s world. She propped her feet up on the desk and began the laborious task of trying to decipher the old-fashioned, ornate handwriting. So far she’d mostly read about daily life in her mother’s home, the chores she’d helped out with, minor meditations about the future, their worry about Elsy’s father who spent all his time out at sea, even on the weekends. The descriptions of life were filled with the naïveté and innocence of a teenager, and Erica had a hard time associating the girlish voice evident in the text with the mother she remembered. She had seemed so remote, so stern and forbidding; Erica and Anna had never known her to speak a tender word or display any affection for them.
After reading partway down the second page, Erica suddenly sat up straight. A familiar name had appeared. Or rather, two names. Elsy wrote that she’d been over to Erik and Axel’s house while their parents were away. The text was mostly a lyrical description of their father’s library, which had impressed Elsy enormously, but Erica saw only the two names: Erik and Axel. It had to be Erik and Axel Frankel. Eagerly she read through the whole passage about the visit, realizing from the tone that they must have spent a lot of time together, Elsy and Erik, and two other youths named Britta and Frans. Erica searched her memory. No, she’d never heard her mother mention any of them. She was quite sure about that. And Axel was depicted in Elsy’s diary as almost a mythical, heroic figure. Elsy described him as ‘infinitely brave, and nearly as stylish as Errol Flynn’. Had her mother been in love with Axel Frankel? No, that wasn’t the feeling Erica got from reading her words; it was more as if Elsy had harboured a deep admiration for him.