The Ice Princess (43 page)

As soon as Patrik told him who the child’s father was, Mellberg had moved Dan up to the top of the list of suspects.

Patrik nodded, a bit too willingly in Mellberg’s suspicious mind, and stood up to go.

‘Oh, uh, good job, Hedström,’ Mellberg said reluctantly. ‘Are you following up on that now?’

‘Absolutely, Chief, consider it done.’

Did he catch a trace of sarcasm there? But Patrik looked at him with an innocent expression and Mellberg waved off the suspicion. The fellow probably had enough sense between his ears to recognize the voice of experience when he heard it.

The purpose of a yawn was to get more oxygen to the brain. Patrik was very doubtful whether it was doing him any good. The fatigue from the night he’d spent at home tossing and turning had caught up with him, and sleeping with Erica had been vetoed by a majority decision. He looked wearily at the by now familiar piles of paper on his desk and had to quell an impulse to take all the documents and toss them in the wastebasket. He was sincerely sick of this whole investigation by now. It felt as if months had passed, while actually it had been no more than two weeks. So much had happened and yet he hadn’t made any progress. Annika went past his office and saw him rubbing his eyes. She came back with a much-needed cup of coffee and set it in front of him.

‘Feeling bogged down?’

‘Yes, I have to admit that it’s a little rough going just now. But all I have to do is start over from the beginning. Somewhere in these stacks of paper is the answer, I know it. All I need is a tiny little lead that I missed before.’ He tossed his pencil on top of the piles in resignation.

‘Anything else?’

‘What?’

‘I mean, how’s life, apart from the job? You know what I mean.’

‘Yes, Annika, I know exactly what you mean. What do you want to know?’

‘Is it still bingo?’

Patrik wasn’t sure he really wanted to know, but against his better judgement he asked anyway. ‘Bingo?’

‘Yes, you know. Five in a row…’ Then she left, shutting the door with a mischievous smile on her lips.

Patrik chuckled to himself. Yes, you could probably call it that.

He forced his thoughts back to the task at hand and scratched his head meditatively with a pencil. There was something that didn’t fit. Something that Vera had said just didn’t seem right. He took out the notebook he’d been writing in during their conversation and went through his notes methodically, word for word. An idea was slowly forming. It was only a small detail, but it might be important. He pulled out a sheet of paper from one of the piles on his desk. The impression of chaos was deceptive. He knew precisely where everything was.

He read over this item with great meticulousness and circumspection, and then reached for the telephone.

‘Yes, hello, this is Patrik Hedström from the police in Tanumshede. I was wondering if you’ll be home for a while, I have a few questions. You will be? That’s great, then I’ll be over there in twenty minutes. Where exactly do you live? Just on the way into Fjällbacka. Take a right just after the steep hill and it’s the third house on the left. A red house with white trim? Okay, I should be able to find it. Otherwise I’ll call you back. See you soon.’

Scarcely twenty minutes later Patrik stood outside the door. He’d had no problem finding the little house, where he guessed that Eilert had lived for many, many years with his family. When he knocked on the door it was opened almost at once by a woman with a pinched-looking face. She introduced herself effusively as Svea Berg, Eilert’s wife, and showed him into a small living room. Patrik could see that his call had triggered feverish activity. The good china was on the dining-room table, and seven kinds of pastry were piled on a tall three-level cake plate. This case was going to give him a real spare tyre by the time it was over, Patrik sighed to himself.

Even though he instinctively took a dislike to Svea Berg, he instantly liked her husband when he encountered a pair of lively, clear-blue eyes above a firm handshake. He could feel the calluses on Eilert’s hand and knew that this was a man who had worked hard his whole life.

The sofa cover looked wrinkled when Eilert got up, and with a deep frown Svea was there to smooth it out with a reproachful glance at her husband. The whole house was squeaky clean, without a wrinkle, and it was hard to believe that anyone actually lived in the place. Patrik felt sorry for Eilert. He looked lost in his own home.

The effect turned almost comical when Svea quickly alternated between the ingratiating smile when she was facing Patrik to the reproachful grimace when she turned to her husband. Patrik wondered what it was her husband had done to bring on such disapproval. He suspected that Eilert’s mere presence was a source of vexation for Svea.

‘Well, Constable, take a seat and have some coffee and cakes.’

Patrik sat down obediently on the chair facing the window, and Eilert made a move to sit on the chair across from him.

‘Not there, Eilert, you know that. Sit over there.’

Svea pointed dictatorially to the chair at the head of the table, and Eilert obeyed politely. Patrik looked around as Svea dashed about like a lost soul, pouring coffee as she simultaneously smoothed out invisible wrinkles in the tablecloth and curtains. The home had apparently been decorated by someone who wanted to give the appearance of a prosperity that did not exist. Everything was a bad copy of the real thing, from the curtains that were supposed to look like silk with plenty of flounces and rosettes in a ‘progressive’ design to the plethora of knick-knacks made of silver plate and imitation gold. Eilert looked like a fish out of water in all this simulated pomp.

To Patrik’s frustration, it took a while before he could get on to his actual business. Svea babbled incessantly as she slurped loudly from her coffee cup.

‘This coffee service, you understand, was sent to me by my sister in America. She married a wealthy man there and she’s always sending me such fine presents. It’s very expensive, this service.’

She raised her elegantly decorated coffee cup with great ostentation. Patrik was rather sceptical of the value of the service, but wisely chose not to comment.

‘Yes, I would have gone to America as well, if I weren’t always in such delicate health. If it hadn’t been for that, I probably would have married a rich man there too, instead of sitting in this hovel for fifty years.’

Svea cast an accusatory eye at Eilert, who calmly let the comment pass. It was undoubtedly a tune he’d heard many times before.

‘It’s gout, the constable should know. My joints are all used up, and I’m in pain from morning till night. It’s lucky I’m not the type to complain. With my terrible migraines as well, there would be plenty to complain about, but it’s not in my nature to complain, you understand. No, one must bear one’s afflictions with equanimity, as they say. I don’t know how many times I’ve heard, “How strong you are, Svea, going on day in and day out with your infirmities.” But that’s the way I am.’

She modestly lowered her eyelids as she made a great show of wringing her hands, which in Patrik’s layman’s eyes looked anything but gout-ridden. What a damned harpy, he thought. Painted and dolled up with far too much cheap jewellery and a thick layer of make-up. The only positive thing he could say about her appearance was that at least it matched the decor. How on earth could such a mismatched couple as Eilert and Svea have stayed married for fifty years? But he assumed it was a generational thing. Their generation got divorced only for considerably worse reasons than mutual differences, But it was a shame. Eilert couldn’t have had much fun in his life.

Patrik cleared his throat to interrupt Svea’s torrent of words. She obediently fell silent, and her eyes hung on his lips to hear what exciting news he might come out with. The gossip grapevine was going to start up as soon as he stepped out the door.

‘Well, I have a few questions about the days before you found Alexandra Wijkner’s body. When you were there looking after the house.’

He stopped and looked at Eilert, waiting to hear what he would say. But Svea began first.

‘Yes, I do declare. That something like that would happen here. And that my Eilert would discover the body. No one has talked about anything else the past few weeks.’

Her cheeks were glowing with excitement, and Patrik had to restrain himself from offering a sharp comment. Instead he gave a sly smile and said, ‘If you’ll forgive me, I wonder if it would be possible for me and your husband to speak undisturbed for a while. It’s standard protocol in the police that we only take testimony when persons not directly concerned are not present.’

A pure lie, but he saw to his satisfaction that Svea, despite her great annoyance at being excluded from the centre of all the excitement, accepted his authority in the matter and reluctantly got up from the table. Patrik was rewarded at once with an appreciative and amused glance from Eilert, who could hardly conceal his glee at seeing Svea so ignominiously robbed of her gossip tidbits.

When she had reluctantly dragged herself out of the kitchen, Patrik went on, ‘Now where were we? Yes, you were going to start by telling me about the week before, when you were at Alexandra Wijkner’s house.’

‘Why is that important?’

‘I’m not sure just yet. But it could be important. So try to remember as many details as possible.’

Eilert thought for a moment, using the time to stuff his pipe carefully from a packet of tobacco marked with three anchors. He didn’t speak until he had lit the pipe and puffed a couple of times.

‘Now let’s see. I found her on a Friday. I always used to go there on Fridays to check on everything before she arrived in the evening. So the last time I was there was the Friday before that. No, actually, we had to go to our youngest son’s fortieth birthday party on Friday, so I went there on Thursday evening instead.’

‘How was the house then? Did you notice anything unusual?’ Patrik had a hard time concealing his eagerness.

‘Anything unusual?’ Eilert puffed slowly on his pipe as he thought. ‘No, everything was fine. I did a round through the house and the cellar, but everything looked good. I locked the house carefully when I left, as always. She’d given me my own key.’

Patrik felt compelled to ask straight out the question that was gnawing inside him. ‘And the furnace? Was it working? Was there heat in the house?’

‘Oh yes, certainly. There was nothing wrong with the furnace then. It must have gone out some time after I was there. I don’t understand what importance that has. When the furnace went out?’ Eilert temporarily took the pipe out of his mouth.

‘To be quite honest, I don’t know if it is important. But thank you for your help. It might be important.’

‘Just out of curiosity, why couldn’t you have asked me that on the phone?’

Patrik smiled. ‘I suppose I’m a bit old-fashioned. I don’t think I get as much out of phoning as by talking with someone face to face. Sometimes I wonder if I should have been born a hundred years ago instead, before all these modern inventions.’

‘Nonsense, boy. Don’t believe all that rubbish that it was better in the old days. Being cold, poor, and working from eight o’clock till sunset is nothing to envy. No, I use all the modern conveniences I can. I even have a computer, hooked up to the Internet. I’ll bet you wouldn’t believe that of an old man like me.’ He pointed knowingly at Patrik with his pipe.

‘I can’t say that I’m surprised, actually. Well, now I must be going.’

‘I hope I was of some use, so you didn’t have to drive here for nothing.’

‘Not at all, I got exactly the information I wanted. And I got to taste your wife’s excellent pastries too.’

Eilert gave a reluctant snort. ‘Yes, she certainly can bake, I can say that for her.’ Then he sank into a silence that seemed to encompass fifty years of hardship.

Svea, who had undoubtedly been standing with her ear to the door, could stand it no longer and came into the room. ‘So-o-o, did you find out everything you needed?’

‘Yes, thank you. Your husband has been quite accommodating. And I’d like to thank you for the coffee and the excellent pastries.’

‘Think nothing of it. I’m glad you liked them. So Eilert, if you’ll start clearing the table I’ll show the constable to the door.’

Obediently Eilert began collecting the coffee cups and plates as Svea accompanied Patrik to the front door under a constant stream of words.

‘Close the door hard after you. I can’t stand a draught.’

Patrik heaved a sigh of relief when the door closed behind him. What a frightful woman. But he had got the confirmation he wanted. Now he was quite sure that he knew who had murdered Alex Wijkner.

At Anders’s funeral the weather was not as nice as for Alex’s burial. The wind tore at exposed skin and made everyone’s cheeks blossom with the cold. Patrik had dressed as warmly as he could, but it wasn’t enough against the relentless chill. He shivered as he stood by the open grave when the coffin was slowly lowered down. The ceremony itself had been short and dreary. Only a few people had come to the church, and Patrik had sat discreetly on the pew in the back. Only Vera was sitting up in front.

He had been dubious as to whether he should follow along to the burial site, but decided at the last second that it was the least he could do for Anders. Vera hadn’t changed expression the whole time he watched her, but he didn’t think her grief was any less for it. She was simply a person who didn’t like to show her feelings in public.

Patrik could understand and sympathize with that. In a way he admired her. She was such a strong woman.

After the burial ceremony was over, the few guests in attendance went their separate ways. With her head bowed, Vera walked slowly up the gravel path towards the church. The cold wind was whipping hard, and she had tied her scarf like a kerchief over her head. For a second Patrik hesitated. After an internal struggle that increased as the distance grew between him and Vera, he made up his mind and hurried to catch up with her.

‘Lovely ceremony.’

She smiled bitterly. ‘You know as well as I do that Anders’s funeral was just as pathetic as most of his life. But thanks anyway. It was nice of you to say so.’