The Ice Princess (19 page)

In the bathroom she washed under her arms and sent a silent prayer of thanks that she had shaved her underarms when she showered this morning. She dabbed perfume on her wrists, between her breasts, and at her throat where she felt her pulse beating so strong beneath her fingers. She threw open the wardrobe and tossed most of the contents on the bed before she managed to decide on a simple black Filippa top and matching tight black skirt that came down to her ankles. She looked at the clock. Ten minutes left. Bathroom again. Powder, mascara, lip gloss and a light eye shadow. No need for rouge, her face was red enough already. The effect she was going for was the fresh, unpainted look, and with every year that passed it seemed to take more and more make-up to achieve.

The doorbell rang. As she cast one last look in the mirror she realized in panic that her hair was still up in a slovenly top-knot, held in place with a neon-yellow elastic. She ripped off the elastic and with a brush and a little mousse she managed to make her hair look presentable. Another ring, more insistent this time, and she hurried downstairs but stopped halfway to catch her breath and compose herself for a second. With the coolest expression she could muster, she opened the door with a big smile.

His finger was shaking a little as he pressed the doorbell. He’d been about to turn round several times and phone her with some excuse, but the car practically drove itself towards Sälvik. Of course he remembered where she lived and automatically took the tight curve to the right on the hill before the campground on the way up to her house. Although it was only afternoon it was black as night out, but the streetlights were bright enough that he could glimpse a view of the sea. All at once he understood how Erica felt about her parents’ house. He also understood the pain she must feel at the thought of losing it. And he realized the impossibility of his feelings for her. She and Anna would sell the house and then there would be nothing to keep Erica in Fjällbacka. She would move back to Stockholm, and a provincial cop from Tanumshede wouldn’t make much of an impression compared with the lounge lizards of Stureplan. He plodded with Moloch-like steps up to the front door and rang the bell.

No one came to the door, so he rang the doorbell again. This was definitely starting to feel like a bad idea, not the way he had first imagined on the way from Mrs Petrén’s house. He simply couldn’t resist calling Erica since she was so close. But he was beginning to regret the whole thing as soon as she answered the phone. She sounded so busy, even irritated when he rang. Oh well, it was too late to worry about that now. The chime of the doorbell echoed for the second time through the house.

He could hear someone coming down the stairs. The footsteps paused for a moment before they continued the rest of the way to the door. The door opened and there she stood with a big smile. She took his breath away. He couldn’t understand how she always managed to look so fresh. Her face was bare of any make-up, with the natural beauty that he found most attractive in a woman. Karin had never dreamed of showing her face without make-up, but Erica looked so amazing in his eyes that he couldn’t imagine anything that could possibly improve her appearance.

The house looked exactly the same as always, the way he remembered it from his visits as a child. Here the furniture and the house had been allowed to age together with dignity. Wood and white paint predominated, with light-coloured fabrics in blue and white that harmonized with the ageing patina of the furniture. She had lighted candles to drive away the winter darkness. The whole place breathed calm and tranquillity. He followed Erica out to the kitchen.

‘Would you like some coffee?’

‘Yes, please. Oh, and I brought these.’ Patrik handed over the bag of pastries. ‘Although I should really take some back to the station. I’m sure there’s enough for everybody, and then some.’

Erica peeked into the plastic bag. She smiled. ‘I see you’ve been visiting Mrs Petrén.’

‘Yep. And I’m so full I can hardly move.’

‘A charming old lady, don’t you think?’

‘Incredible. If I were around ninety-two I’d marry her.’

They smiled at each other.

‘So, how are you doing?’

‘Fine, thanks.’

A moment of silence made them both squirm. Erica poured coffee into two cups and then poured the rest into a table thermos.

‘Let’s sit on the veranda.’

They took their first sips and the silence no longer felt uncomfortable, but rather pleasant. Erica sat on the wicker sofa across from him. He cleared his throat.

‘How’s it going with the book?’

‘Good, thanks. And what about you? How’s the investigation going?’

Patrik thought for a moment and decided to tell her a little more than he actually should. Erica was already involved anyway, and he couldn’t see that it would hurt any.

‘It looks like we’ve probably solved it. We actually have a suspect in custody. He’s being interrogated right now, and the evidence is as watertight as it could possibly be.’

Erica leaned forward with an inquisitive expression. ‘Who is it?’

Patrik hesitated a moment. ‘Anders Nilsson.’

‘So it was Anders after all. Strange, but that doesn’t feel quite right.’

Patrik was inclined to agree with her. There were simply too many loose ends that couldn’t be tied up by Anders’s arrest. But the physical evidence from the murder scene and the testimony of witnesses—that he was in the house not only just before the time Alex was presumably murdered, but also on a number of other occasions after she was killed—didn’t leave much room for doubt. And yet…

‘Well, I suppose it’s over then. Funny, I thought I’d feel more relieved. What about the article I found? The one about Nils’s disappearance, I mean. How does that fit into the picture if Anders is the killer?’

Patrik shrugged his shoulders and raised his hands, palms up.

‘I just don’t know, Erica. I don’t know. Maybe it had nothing to do with the murder. Pure coincidence. In any case there’s no reason to rummage through everything anymore. Alex took her secrets with her to the grave.’

‘And the baby she was expecting? Was it Anders’s?’

‘Who knows? Anders’s, Henrik’s…Your guess is as good as mine. I really wonder what got those two together. Talk about odd couples. It’s true that there’s nothing unusual about people having someone on the side, but Alexandra Wijkner and Anders Nilsson? I mean, I find it hard to believe that he could get anyone in bed, and Alexandra Wijkner was…well, cute as hell is the only thing I can think of to describe her.’

For a moment Patrik thought he saw a furrow form between Erica’s eyebrows, but the next second it was gone and she was her usual polite, agreeable self. At least he imagined as much. She was just opening her mouth to say something when the theme song from an ice-cream advert was heard from the hall. Both Patrik and Erica gave a start.

‘It’s my mobile,’ Patrik said. ‘Excuse me for a moment.’

He rushed out to the hall to take the call, and after rummaging in his jacket pocket he took out his mobile.

‘Patrik Hedström.

‘Hmm…okay…I get it…Well, then we’re back at square one again. Yeah, I know. Oh, so he said that? Well, you couldn’t have known about that. Okay, Superintendent, see you later.’ He flipped his phone closed with a decisive click and went back to Erica.

‘Throw on a jacket and let’s take a ride.’

‘Where to?’ Erica gave him a quizzical look with the coffee cup halfway to her mouth.

‘There’s new information about Anders’s involvement. It looks like we have to cross him off the suspect list.’

‘Really? But where are we going?’

‘Both you and I could feel that there was something wrong about this. You found the article about Nils’s disappearance at Alex’s house, and there may be more things to find there.’

‘But didn’t the police already go through the house?’

‘Sure, but I’m not sure we were looking for the right things. I just want to test an idea I have. Come on.’

Patrik was already halfway out the door. Erica had to throw on her jacket and run after him.

The house looked small and dilapidated. It was beyond her comprehension that people could live like this. That anyone could endure such a dreary and grey existence, so—impoverished. But that was the way of the world. Some were rich and some were poor. Nelly thanked her lucky stars that she belonged to the former category and not the latter. It wasn’t in her nature to be poor. A woman like her was made for furs and diamonds.

The woman who opened the door had probably never even seen a real diamond. Everything about her was grey and brown. Nelly viewed with disgust Vera’s shabby cardigan and the chapped hands holding it closed over her breast. Vera said nothing, just stood in the doorway.

After nervously looking around, Nelly finally had to say, ‘Well, are you going to invite me in, or shall we stand here all day? I’m sure neither you nor I wants anyone to see me visiting you, am I right?’

Vera still said nothing, just backed into the hallway so that Nelly could come in.

‘We have to talk, you and I, don’t we?’

Nelly elegantly removed the gloves she always wore outdoors and took a look around the house with distaste. The hallway, the living room, the kitchen, and a small bedroom. Vera walked behind her with her eyes cast down. The rooms were dark and dismal. The wallpaper had long since seen its best days. No one had bothered to take up the linoleum to reveal the hardwood floors underneath, as most people did with old houses these days. But everything was shiny clean and neat. No dirt in the corners, only a depressing hopelessness that permeated the house from floor to ceiling.

Nelly sat down cautiously on the very edge of the old wing chair in the living room. As if she were the one who lived there, she motioned to Vera to take a seat on the sofa. Vera obeyed, also sitting on the very edge. She didn’t make a sound, but her hands nervously fidgeted in her lap.

‘It’s important that we continue to keep this to ourselves. You understand that, don’t you?’ Nelly’s voice was urgent. Vera nodded as she kept her eyes on her lap.

‘Well, I can’t say that I feel sorry about what happened to Alex. She got what she deserved, and I think you’ll agree with me about that. That hussy was going to come to grief sooner or later, I’ve always known that.’

Vera reacted to Nelly’s words by casting a hasty glance up at her, but she still didn’t say a word. Nelly felt a great contempt for this plain, sad woman, who didn’t seem to have even an ounce of will left in her body. Typical working-class, with her downcast eyes. Not that she thought it should be otherwise, but she still couldn’t help feeling scorn for these people without class, without style. What irritated her most of all was that she was dependent on Vera Nilsson. But no matter what it cost, she had to secure Vera’s silence. It had worked before, and it would have to work again.

‘It’s unfortunate that things turned out as they did, but now it’s even more important that we don’t do anything hasty. Everything must continue as before. We can’t change the past, and there’s no reason to drag old rubbish out into the open.’

Nelly opened her handbag, took out a white envelope and placed it on the coffee table.

‘Here’s a little something to make your budget go a little further. Come on, take it.’

Nelly pushed the envelope towards her. Vera didn’t pick it up but only stared at it.

‘I’m sorry things have turned out this way with Anders. It might even be the best thing that could have happened to him. There’s not much alcohol to be had in prison, I mean.’

Nelly understood at once that she’d gone too far. Vera slowly got up from the sofa and with a shaking finger pointed towards the front door.

‘Get out!’

‘Now now, dear little Vera, you mustn’t take it—’

‘Get out of my house! Anders isn’t going to prison, and you can take your filthy money and go to hell, you fucking bitch! I know exactly where someone like you comes from, and it doesn’t matter how much perfume you try to pour over it. The smell of shit is still there!’

Nelly shrank back at the naked hatred in Vera’s eyes. Her fists were clenched and she stood erect, staring straight into Nelly’s eyes. Her whole body seemed to be shaking with years of pent-up rage. There was no trace of the subservience she had displayed before, and Nelly began to feel very uncomfortable in this situation. Talk about over-reacting! All she had done was speak the truth. A person ought to be able to stand a little truth. She hurried towards the door.

‘Get out of here and don’t ever show your face here again!’

Vera as good as chased her out of the house, and just before she slammed the door she threw the envelope out. Nelly had to laboriously stoop down and pick it up. Fifty thousand wasn’t something one left lying on the ground, no matter how humiliating it was to see the neighbours pulling their curtains aside. They watched as she practically grovelled in the gravel. What an ingrate! Well, Vera would probably show a little more humility when her money ran out and nobody would hire her as cleaning woman anymore. Her job at the Lorentz home was definitely over, and it probably wouldn’t take much to make her other jobs dry up as well. Nelly would see to it that Vera came crawling on her bare knees to the welfare office before she was done with her. No one insulted Nelly Lorentz with impunity.

It felt like walking through water. His limbs were heavy and stiff after the night spent on the cot in jail, and his head was full of cotton for want of alcohol. Anders looked around the flat. The floor was covered with the dirt of police boots tramping about. But he hardly cared. A little dirt in the corners had never bothered him.

He took a six-pack of strong beer out of the fridge and flopped down on the mattress in the living room. Leaning on his left elbow, he opened the beer with his right hand and greedily took long, deep swallows until the tin was empty to the last drop. Then he tossed it in a wide arc through the living room. It landed with a clank on the floor in the far corner. With his most acute need temporarily quenched, he lay down on the mattress with his hands clasped behind his head. His eyes stared unseeing at the ceiling as he allowed himself to sink for a while into memories from long ago. It was only in the past that he could sometimes find a little respite for his soul. Between these brief moments when he allowed himself to reminisce about better days, the pain would cut through his heart with ceaseless intensity. It amazed him that past events could feel simultaneously so remote and so near.