She’s scrubbing so hard that she’s going to flay the skin off them.’
‘We need to get the crime techs out here too.’
‘Exactly. As soon as Patrik gets here, ask him to contact Torbjorn ASAP so they’ll send over a team. And we should try not to walk around in here any more than we have to.’
‘At least we managed to save the wall,’ said Martin.
‘Yes. That was damn lucky.’
They went downstairs together, and Gosta quickly managed to locate the door that led down to the basement. Only a bare bulb lit the stairs, so he descended cautiously. Like most people’s basements, the one belonging to the Thydell family was filled with all sorts of junk: cardboard boxes, discarded toys, containers labelled ‘Christmas decorations’, tools that didn’t look as if they were used very often, and a shelf holding painting equipment: cans, bottles, brushes, and rags. Gosta reached for a bottle half-filled with white spirit, but the moment his fingers closed around the bottle, he caught sight of something out of the corner of his eye. A rag was lying on the floor. Spattered with red paint.
He quickly scanned the tins of paint on the shelf. None of them held red paint. But Gosta was positive that the red colour on the rag was the same as he’d seen in the boys’ room. Whoever had painted those words on the wall must have brought the paint along and then come down here to wash up. He looked at the bottle he was holding. Shit. It might have fingerprints on it. But he needed the white spirit. The boys had to have the paint removed from their skin so they could get out of the bath. An empty cola bottle solved the problem. Without changing his grip on the bottle of white spirit, he poured the contents into the plastic bottle and then set it back on the shelf. If he was lucky, he hadn’t ruined all the prints. And the rag might also give them something to go on.
Carrying the cola bottle, Gosta went back upstairs. Patrik and Paula hadn’t yet arrived, but they couldn’t be far away.
Sanna was still stubbornly scrubbing her sons when he came into the bathroom. The boys were crying desperately. Gosta squatted down next to the tub and said gently:
‘You’re not going to get the paint off just by scrubbing with soap. We need to use white spirit.’ He held up the bottle that he’d brought from the basement. Sanna stopped what she was doing and stared at him. Gosta took a hand towel from a hook next to the sink and poured some of the fluid on to the cloth as Sanna watched. He held up the towel to show it to her and then took hold of the older boy’s arm. There was no use trying to calm them down right now. He just had to work fast.
‘See? The paint comes right off.’ Even though the boy was wriggling like a worm, Gosta managed to wipe off a good deal of the paint. ‘This is what we need to do.’
He realized that he was speaking to Sanna as if she were a child, but it seemed to work because she was starting to look less and less distraught.
‘Okay. So he’s done now.’ Gosta put down the towel and picked up the handheld shower to rinse the solvent off the boy’s body. The child began wildly kicking when Gosta lifted him out of the tub, but Sanna reacted by swiftly wrapping her son in a bathrobe. She pulled him on to her lap and rocked him as she held him close.
‘Okay, little guy. Now it’s your turn.’
The younger boy seemed to understand that if he let the policeman wash him off, he’d be allowed out of the bathtub and could sit on his mother’s lap. He abruptly stopped crying and sat perfectly still as Gosta poured more white spirit on the towel and then began wiping off the paint. Soon he too was only a faint shade of pink, and he was allowed to sit on Sanna’s lap, wrapped from head to toe in a big bath towel.
From downstairs Gosta could now hear voices and then footsteps approaching. Patrik appeared in the doorway.
‘What happened?’ he asked, out of breath. ‘Is everybody okay? Martin said the children didn’t seem to be hurt.’ Patrik’s eyes were fixed on the bathtub filled with crimson water.
‘The kids are fine. Just a little shocked. Like their parents.’ Gosta stood up and went out into the hall with Patrik. Briefly he told his colleague what had happened.
‘This is crazy. Who would do such a thing?’
‘Martin and I said the same thing. Something isn’t right, and that’s putting it mildly. I think Christian knows more than he’s telling us.’ He repeated what he’d heard Christian mumbling.
‘I agree,’ said Patrik. ‘I’ve had that feeling for a while now. Where is he?’
‘In the bedroom. We need to see if he’s in okay shape so we can have a talk with him.’
‘I reckon it’s high time we did just that.’
Patrik’s mobile rang. He took it out of his pocket and answered. Then he gave a start.
‘What did you say? Can you repeat that?’ He glanced at Gosta, a look of dismay on his face. Gosta tried in vain to hear what the other person was saying. ‘Okay. Understood. We’re over at the Thydell home. Something has happened here too, but we’ll deal with it.’
He ended the call.
‘Kenneth Bengtsson has been taken to the Uddevalla hospital. He was out running this morning, and someone had set a trap for him. A cord that tripped him so he fell headlong on to a bed of broken glass.’
‘Good God,’ whispered Gosta. And for the second time that morning, he said, ‘What the hell is going on here?’
Erik stared at his mobile phone. Kenneth was on his way to the hospital. Dutiful as ever, he had persuaded the ambulance medics to ring the office to say that he couldn’t make it to work.
Somebody had set a trap that he was bound to encounter on his run. Erik didn’t even consider the possibility that it could be a mistake, a practical joke that had gone too far. Kenneth always took the same route every morning. Everyone in the area knew that, and anyone else could have found out. So there was no doubt that somebody wanted to harm Kenneth. Which meant that he too was in danger.
This was getting out of hand. Over the years Erik had taken many risks and stepped on plenty of people along the way. But he never would have foreseen something like this, or the terror that he now felt.
He turned to his computer and logged on to his bank’s web site. He needed to get an idea of the possibilities open to him. Thoughts were whirling through his mind, but he tried to focus on the amounts in his bank accounts so as to channel his fear into a plan, a means of escape. For a moment he allowed himself to ponder who could have sent those letters and most likely murdered Magnus. Evidently that person had now shifted attention to Kenneth. At least for the moment. Then Erik pushed those thoughts aside. It would serve no useful purpose to keep speculating. It could be anybody. Right now he had to save his own skin, take what funds he could and leave the country for some warmer place where no one could touch him. And stay there until this whole thing had blown over.
Of course he would miss the girls while he was away. But they were older now, and maybe it would make Louise pull herself together if she had the primary responsibility for their daughters instead of being able to lean on him. And he wouldn’t be leaving them with nothing. He would see to it that they had enough money in the bank to live on for quite a while. But Louise would have to get a job. It would do her good. After all, she couldn’t very well expect him to support her for the rest of her life. He had every right to do this, and the money that he’d saved up over the years would be sufficient to create a whole new life for himself. And keep him safe.
He had the situation under control; all he needed to do was take care of a few practical matters. For one thing, he needed to talk to Kenneth. Erik decided to go to the hospital in the morning and hope that his colleague would be feeling well enough to review some figures. Of course it was going to be hard on Kenneth, having to leave the company so soon after Lisbet’s death, and no doubt there would be some tiresome repercussions. But Kenneth was a big boy now, and maybe Erik was actually doing him a favour by forcing him to stand on his own two feet. The more he thought about it, this was bound to be good for both Louise and Kenneth, since he would no longer be available to hold their hands.
Then there was Cecilia. But she had already told him in no uncertain terms that she didn’t need his help, other than financially. And he should be able to set aside a small sum for her.
So that’s what he would do. Cecilia could take care of herself; they could all take care of themselves. And the girls would probably understand. Over time they would understand.
It had taken a long time to remove all the pieces of glass. Two still remained. They were so deeply embedded that it would take a more serious procedure to get them out. But everyone said that he’d been extremely lucky.
