The Stranger. Camilla Lackberg
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only defending yourself, but the children too. No one has any doubt about that, and you were completely exonerated. He would have killed you, Anna. It was you or Lucas.’
Anna’s face twitched slightly as Erica talked, and Maja, sensing the tension in the air, began to whimper in her high chair.
‘I – just – can’t – talk – about – it,’ said Anna between clenched teeth. ‘I’m going back to bed. Will you pick up the kids?’ She got up and left Erica alone in the kitchen.
‘Yes, I’ll collect them,’ said Erica, feeling tears filling her eyes. Soon she wouldn’t be able to stand it anymore. Somebody had to do something.
Then she had an idea. She picked up the phone and dialled a number from memory. It was worth a try.
Hanna went straight to her new office and started getting settled. Patrik continued on to Martin Molin’s cubby-hole and knocked cautiously on the door.
‘Come in.’
Patrik stepped into the room and sat down on the chair in front of Martin’s desk. They often worked together and spent many hours occupying each other’s guest chairs.
‘I heard you drove out to investigate a car crash. Fatalities?’
‘Yes, the driver. Single-car accident. And I recognized her. It was Marit, the woman with the shop on Affärsvägen.’
‘Oh shit,’ said Martin with a sigh. ‘So fucking unnecessary. Did she swerve to avoid a deer or something?’
Patrik hesitated. ‘The techs were there, so their report and the post-mortem will probably give us the definitive answer. But it stank of booze in the car.’
‘Oh shit,’ said Martin for the second time. ‘Drunk driving, in other words. Although I don’t think she’s ever been stopped for that before. Could be the first time she drove drunk, or at least she’s never been in jail for it.’
‘Ye-e-es,’ Patrik drawled. ‘That could be.’
‘But?’ Martin prodded him, clasping his hands behind his head. His red hair shone against his white palms. ‘I can hear there’s something bothering you. I know you well enough by now that I can tell when something’s wrong.’
‘Jeez, I don’t know,’ said Patrik. ‘It’s nothing specific. There was just something that felt … wrong, something I can’t quite put my finger on.’
‘Your gut feelings are usually spot on,’ said Martin with concern, rocking back and forth in the chair. ‘But let’s wait and hear what the experts have to say. As soon as the crime scene techs and the pathologist have looked at everything, we’ll know more. Maybe they’ll come up with an explanation for why something feels strange.’
‘Yeah, you’re right,’ said Patrik, scratching his head. ‘But … no, you’re right, there’s no sense in speculating before we know more. In the meantime we have to focus on what we can do. And unfortunately that means informing Marit’s next of kin. Do you know if she has any family here?’
Martin frowned. ‘She has a teenage daughter, I know, and she shares a flat with a female friend. There’s been some whispering about that arrangement, but I don’t know …’
Patrik sighed. ‘We’ll just have to drive over to her place and then work out what’s best.’
A few minutes later they were knocking on the door of Marit’s flat. They’d checked the telephone book and found that she lived in a high-rise a few hundred metres from the police station. Both Patrik and Martin were breathing hard. This was the most dreaded task in the police force. Only when they heard footsteps inside did they realize that they hadn’t been sure that someone would even be at home at this hour of the afternoon.
The woman who opened the door knew at once why they had come. Martin and Patrik could see it in the way her face blanched and her shoulders drooped in resignation.
‘It’s about Marit, isn’t it? Has something happened?’ Her voice quavered, but she stepped aside to let them into the hallway.
‘Yes, unfortunately we have bad news. Marit Kaspersen was involved in a single-car accident. She … died,’ said Patrik in a low voice. The woman before them stood completely still. As if she were frozen in position and couldn’t manage to send signals from her brain to her muscles. Instead, her brain was busy processing the information she had just heard.
‘Would you like some coffee?’ she said at last, heading robotically towards the kitchen without waiting for their reply.
‘Is there someone we should call?’ Martin asked. The woman looked to be in shock. Her brown hair was cut in a practical pageboy, and she kept tucking it behind her ears. She was very thin, dressed in jeans and a jumper knitted in typical Norwegian style with a lovely, intricate pattern and big elegant silver clasps.
Kerstin shook her head. ‘No, I don’t have anybody. Nobody except … Marit. And Sofie of course. But she’s with her pappa.’
‘Sofie – is that Marit’s daughter?’ asked Patrik, shaking his head when Kerstin held up a carton of milk after pouring coffee into three cups.
‘Yes, she’s fifteen. It’s Ola’s turn this week. Every other week she stays with Marit and me, and the other times with Ola in Fjällbacka.’
‘You were close friends, you and Marit?’ Patrik felt a bit uneasy at the way he asked the question, but he didn’t know how else to broach the subject. He took a sip of coffee as he waited for her answer. It was delicious. Strong, just the way he liked it.
A wry smile from Kerstin showed that she knew what he was asking. Her eyes filled with tears when she said, ‘We were friends the weeks when Sofie stayed here, but lovers when she was with Ola. That was what we …’ Her voice broke and tears started running down her cheeks.
She cried for a while. Then she made an effort to get her voice under control again and went on: ‘That was what we were arguing about last night. For the hundredth time. Marit wanted to stay in the closet, and I was suffocating and wanted to come out. She blamed Sofie, but that was just an excuse. Marit was the one who wasn’t ready to subject herself to gossip and stares. I tried to explain to her that she couldn’t escape it anyway. There was already plenty of gossip and staring. And even if initially people would talk if we made our relationship public, I was convinced it would die down after a while. But Marit refused to listen. She had lived a typical middle-class life for so many years, with a husband and child and a house and camping holidays in a trailer and all that. The idea that she might have feelings for a woman was something she hid deep inside. But when we met it was as if all the pieces suddenly fell into place. At least that’s how she described it to me. She accepted the consequences and left Ola and moved in with me. But she still didn’t dare admit it publicly. And that’s what we argued about last night.’ Kerstin reached for a paper napkin and blew her nose.
‘What time did she leave?’ Patrik asked.
‘Around eight. Quarter past, I think. I realized that something must have happened. She never would have stayed out all night on purpose. But I hesitated to call the police. I thought she might have driven over to a friend’s house, or else she was out walking all night, or … I’m not sure what I thought. When you arrived I was just thinking about ringing round to the hospitals, and if I didn’t find her there I was going to call you.’
The tears had started falling again, and she had to blow her nose once more. Patrik could see how sorrow, pain, and self-reproach were whirling round inside her, and he wished there were something he could say that would at least take away the blame. But instead he was forced to make the matter worse.
‘We …’ he hesitated, cleared his throat, and then went on: ‘we suspect that she was highly intoxicated when the accident occurred. Is that something she … had a problem with?’
He took another sip of his coffee and wished for a second that he was somewhere else, far away. Not here, not in this kitchen,