Buried Angels. Camilla Lackberg
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I haven’t. But I don’t see any reason to believe that one case is linked to the other.’ He pronounced each word with exaggerated care, as if trying to provoke Gösta.
Patrik sighed again. They were both acting like kids.
‘You’re the one who decides, Bertil, but I think it would be a mistake not to look a bit closer at what the Starks discovered yesterday.’
‘I’m aware of your opinion in the matter, but you’re not the one who has to answer to the higher-ups when they want to know why we’re squandering our meagre resources on a case that is past its expiry date.’
‘If it’s connected to the arson, as Hedström thinks, then the disappearance of the family is relevant,’ Gösta stubbornly insisted.
For a moment Mellberg sat in silence. ‘Okay, then we’ll spend a few hours on it.’ He gestured for Patrik to continue.
Patrik took a deep breath. ‘All right. Let’s start by looking at what Martin found out.’
Annika put on her reading glasses and peered at the report. ‘Martin didn’t find any discrepancies. The summer camp is not heavily insured – quite the contrary. So the Starks wouldn’t get a large sum in the event of a fire. As far as their personal finances are concerned, they have a lot of money in the bank from the sale of their house in Göteborg. I assume that the money is going to be used for the renovation and all their daily expenses until they get their bed and breakfast up and running. In addition, Ebba has a business registered in her name. It’s called My Angel. Apparently she makes angel jewellery in silver and sells the pieces online, but the income is negligible.’
‘Good. We won’t drop that aspect of the investigation entirely, but at least it seems we can rule out insurance fraud. Then we have yesterday’s discovery,’ said Patrik, turning to Gösta. ‘Could you tell us how the house looked when the police searched it after the family disappeared?’
‘Sure. You can also see for yourselves – here are the original photographs,’ said Gösta, opening one of the file folders. He took out a stack of yellowing photos and handed them around. Patrik was surprised. In spite of their age, the pictures of the crime scene were of excellent quality.
‘In the dining room there were no clues as to what happened,’ said Gösta. ‘The family had begun to eat their Easter lunch, but there was absolutely nothing to indicate any sort of struggle had taken place. Nothing was broken, and the floor was clean. Take a look if you don’t believe me.’
Patrik did as he said, studying the photos carefully. Gösta was right. It was as if the family had simply stood up in the middle of lunch and left. He shivered. There was something ghostly about the table with the half-eaten food still on the plates and the chairs neatly pushed into place around the table. The only thing missing was the people. And the discovery under the floorboards cast a whole new light on the scene. Now he understood why Erica had devoted so many hours to trying to find out what was behind the mysterious disappearance of the Elvander family.
‘If it’s blood, can we determine whether it belonged to the family?’ asked Annika.
Patrik shook his head. ‘That’s not my field of expertise, but I doubt it. I reckon the blood is too old to do that kind of analysis. About the best we can hope for is confirmation whether it’s human or not. Besides, we have nothing to compare it with.’
‘Ebba is still alive,’ said Gösta. ‘If the blood came from Rune or Inez, maybe they could work up a DNA profile and see if it matches Ebba’s.’
‘Possibly. But I think that blood breaks down very quickly, and too many years have gone by. Regardless of the results of the blood analysis, we need to find out what happened on that Easter weekend. We need to transport ourselves back in time.’ Patrik set the photographs on the table. ‘We’ll have to read through all the interviews that were done with people connected to the boarding school and then have another talk with them. The truth is out there somewhere. A whole family can’t simply disappear. And if it’s confirmed that we’re dealing with human blood, then we have to assume that a crime was committed in that room.’
He glanced at Gösta, who nodded.
‘Yes, you’re right. We need to transport ourselves back in time.’
Some people might find it strange to have so many photographs on display in a hotel room, but if so, no one had ever mentioned it to him. That was the advantage of living in a suite. Everybody assumed that a person with so much money might be a little eccentric. And his appearance gave him the opportunity to do as he liked without caring what anyone thought of him.
The photos were important to him. The fact that he always kept them on show was one of the few things that Ia was not allowed to meddle in. Otherwise, he was in her power, and he knew it. But what he had once been and what he’d accomplished were things that she could never take away from him.
Leon rolled his wheelchair over to the chest of drawers where the photos stood. He closed his eyes and for a brief moment allowed himself to be carried back in his mind to the places shown in the pictures. He imagined the desert wind burning his cheeks and how the extreme cold made his fingers ache. He had loved the pain. ‘No pain, no gain’ had always been his motto. Now, ironically enough, he lived with pain every second of every day. Without gaining a single thing from it.
The face that smiled back at him from the photos was beautiful – or rather, handsome. To say it was beautiful implied that it was a feminine face, which was misleading. He radiated manliness and strength. A bold daredevil, longing to feel adrenalin rushing through his body.
He stretched out his left hand which, unlike his right hand, was whole, and picked up his favourite photograph, taken at the top of Mount Everest. It had been an arduous climb, and several members of the expedition had been forced to drop out at various stages. Some had given up before starting. That sort of weakness was incomprehensible. Giving up was not an option for him. Many had shaken their heads at his attempt to reach the summit without oxygen. Those with an understanding of what was involved said that he’d never succeed. Even the expedition leader had begged him to use oxygen, but Leon knew he could do it. Reinhold Messner and Peter Habeler had done it in 1978. Back then it was also considered impossible; not even the native Nepalese climbers had managed it. But he’d made it to the summit of Mt. Everest on the first attempt – without oxygen. In the photograph he was smiling broadly, holding the Swedish flag in one hand, with the colourful prayer flags behind him. At that moment he was on top of the world. He looked strong. Happy.
Leon carefully set the photo down and picked up the next one. Paris to Dakar. Motorcycle division, of course. It still bothered him that he hadn’t won. Instead he’d had to settle for placing among the top ten. He realized this was an amazing accomplishment, but for him first place was the only thing that counted. It had always been like that. He wanted to stand on the first-place podium, no matter what the endeavour. He ran his thumb over the glass covering the framed photo, holding back a smile. If he smiled, one side of his face tugged unpleasantly, and he hated that feeling.
Ia had been so scared. One of the competitors had been killed at the very start of the race, and she had pleaded with him to pull out. But the accident merely increased his motivation. It was the sense of danger that drove him, the realization that his life could be taken from him at any moment. Danger made him love what was good in life all the more intensely. The champagne tasted better, the women seemed more beautiful, the silk sheets felt smoother against his skin. His wealth was more valuable if he stood to lose it. Ia, on the other hand, was afraid of losing everything. She loathed the way he laughed at death and gambled for high stakes at the casinos in Monaco, Saint-Tropez, and Cannes. She didn’t understand the rush he felt whenever he lost big, only to win it all back the following night. On those nights she couldn’t sleep. She tossed and turned in bed while he peacefully smoked a cigar out on the balcony.
In his heart he had actually enjoyed her distress. He knew that she loved the life he could offer her. She not only loved it, she needed and demanded it. That was what made it so exciting to see her expression whenever the roulette ball landed in the