The Drowning

‘With the proper equipment, there shouldn’t be any problem for the team. As I see it, the biggest risk is that we make a hole and then the body gets loose and slips away on the current under the ice.’

‘How are you going to prevent that from happening?’ asked Patrik.

‘We’ll start by making a small hole and getting a firm grip on the body before we break up any more ice.’

‘Have you ever done this sort of thing before?’ Patrik still wasn’t totally convinced.

‘Hmm…’ Torbjorn hesitated, seeming to ponder the question. ‘No, I don’t think we’ve ever had a body frozen in the ice before. I’d probably remember if we had.’

‘Right,’ said Patrik, again fixing his gaze on the spot where the body supposedly lay. ‘Go ahead and do what you have to do. I need to talk to the witness.’ Patrik had noticed that Mellberg was having an intense conversation with the man who had found the body. It was never a good idea to allow Bertil to spend too much time with anyone, whether a witness or anyone else.

‘Hello. My name is Patrik Hedstrom,’ he said as he went over to join Mellberg and the man he was talking to.

‘Gote Persson,’ replied the man, shaking hands. At the same time, he tried to rein in a lively golden retriever.

‘Rocky wants to go back out there. I had a lot of trouble getting him to return to dry land,’ said Gote, giving a sharp jerk on the dog’s lead to show him who was in charge.

‘Was it your dog who found him?’

Gote nodded. ‘Yes, he went out on the ice and refused to come in. He just stood there, barking. I was afraid he was going to fall through the ice, so I went after him. And then I saw…’ The man turned pale as he recalled the image of the dead face under the icy surface. Then he gave himself a shake and the colour returned to his cheeks. ‘Do you need me much longer? My daughter is on her way to the maternity clinic. It’s my first grandchild.’

Patrik smiled. ‘Then I can understand why you’d like to be off. Just hang on a little bit longer, and then we can let you go so you won’t miss anything.’

Gote seemed satisfied with that, so Patrik asked him a few more questions. But it was soon evident that the man had nothing more to contribute. He had simply had the bad luck to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, or maybe it was the right place at the right time, depending on the person’s point of view. After writing down his contact information, Patrik let Gote, the soon-to-be-grandfather, leave the scene. Limping slightly, but in a big hurry, he headed for the car park.

Patrik went back to the spot on the shoreline that was closest to the place where a tech was now methodically working to lower some sort of hook through a small hole bored in the ice and fasten it to the body. To be on the safe side, the tech was lying on his stomach with a rope around his waist. The rope and the line attached to the hook both ran all the way to shore. Torbjorn wasn’t taking any chances with his team.

‘As I said, when we’ve got a good hold on him, we’ll cut a bigger hole in the ice and then pull him out.’ Patrik jumped when he heard Torbjorn’s voice on his left. He’d been so focused on what was happening out on the ice that he hadn’t heard him approach.

‘Will you bring him ashore then?’

‘No, because we might end up losing any evidence that’s on his clothing. Instead, we’ll try to put him in a body bag out there on the ice before we bring him in.’

‘Would there really be any evidence left after he’s been in the water this long?’ asked Patrik sceptically.

‘Most of it has probably been destroyed. But you never know. There might be something in his pockets or in the folds of his clothes. It’s best not to take any chances.’

‘I’m sure you’re right about that.’ Patrik didn’t think it very likely that they’d find anything. He’d seen corpses get pulled out of the water before, and if they’d been there a while, there was never much left.

He shaded his eyes with his hand. The sun had climbed a little higher in the sky, and the blinding reflection off the ice brought tears to his eyes. He squinted and saw that the hook must now be securely fastened to the body, because a bigger hole was being cut in the ice. Slowly, very slowly, the body was pulled from the water. It was too far away for Patrik to see any details, and for that he was grateful.

Another tech cautiously crawled out on to the ice, and when the body was all the way out of the water, two pairs of hands carefully placed it inside a black body bag, which was then scrupulously closed. A nod to the men on shore, and the line went taut. Inch by inch, the bag was hauled towards land. Patrik instinctively backed up when it came close, but then cursed himself for being such a wimp. He asked the techs to open the bag and forced himself to look down at the man who had been under the ice. His suspicions were confirmed. He was almost positive that they had found Magnus Kjellner.

Patrik felt completely empty inside as he watched the techs seal the body bag closed, then lift it up and carry it over to the lawn above the bathing beach which served as a parking area. Ten minutes later the body was on its way to the forensics lab in Goteborg for the post-mortem. On the one hand, it meant that they would be able to provide some answers and follow some leads. There would be a resolution. On the other hand, as soon as the identity of the body was confirmed, he would have to tell the family. And that was not something he looked forward to doing.

8

Finally the holiday was over. Father had packed up all their things, stowing them away inside the car and the caravan. Mother was lying in bed, as usual. She was even thinner, even paler. Now she said that all she wanted was to go home.

At last Father had told him why she looked so ill. It turned out that she wasn’t really sick. She had a baby inside her stomach. A little brother or little sister. He didn’t understand why that should make her feel so bad. But Father said that it did.

At first he was happy. A brother or sister to play with. But then he heard them talking, Mother and Father, and he understood. He now knew why he was not his mother’s handsome little boy any more, why she no longer stroked his hair, and why she looked at him the way she did. He knew who had taken her away from him.

Yesterday he had returned to the caravan, moving like an Indian brave. He sneaked up without making a sound, tiptoeing in his moccasins with a feather stuck in his hair. He was Angry Cloud, and Mother and Father were the palefaces. He could see them moving around inside the caravan behind the curtains. Mother was not in bed. She was up, talking, and Angry Cloud was glad, because maybe now she was feeling better, maybe the baby wasn’t making her sick any more. And she sounded happy, tired but happy. Angry Cloud crept closer, wanting to hear more of the paleface’s joyful voice. One step at a time, he moved closer until he was right under the open window. With his back pressed against the caravan, he shut his eyes and listened.

But he opened his eyes when they started talking about him. Then all of the blackness came pouring over him full force. He was back with her again, he had the horrid smell in his nostrils, he heard the silence echoing in his head.

Mother’s voice pierced through the silence, pierced through the darkness. As young as he was, he understood exactly what she was saying. She regretted becoming his mother, now they were going to have a child of their own. If only she’d known ahead of time, she would never have brought him home. And Father, with his grey and tired-sounding voice, said: ‘But the boy is here now, so we’ll just have to make the best of things.’

Angry Cloud didn’t move as he sat there, and at that moment his hatred was born. He couldn’t have put the feeling into words, but he knew that it felt both wonderful and terribly painful.

So while Father packed the car with the camp stove and their clothes and the tins of food and all sorts of other stuff, he packed his hatred. It filled up the entire seat where he was sitting in back. But he didn’t hate Mother. How could he? He loved her.

He hated the one who had taken her away from him.

Erica had driven over to the Fjallbacka library. She knew that Christian wasn’t at work. He’d done a good job on the Morning show, at least up until the end. When they started asking him about the