The Drowning

‘One last thing. Another man was found dead in Fjallbacka. Magnus Kjellner, one of Christian’s friends. And two other friends seem to have been subjected to the same sort of threats that Christian had received. Erik Lind and Kenneth Bengtsson. Do you recognize those names?’

‘As I said, we haven’t heard a peep from him since he moved,’ said Irene, abruptly getting to her feet. ‘And now you really must excuse me. I have a weak heart, and this has been such a shock that I simply must go and lie down.’ She left the room, and they heard her climbing the stairs.

‘Do you have any idea who it could be?’ asked Ragnar, with a glance towards the doorway where his wife had just left.

‘No, not at the moment,’ said Patrik. ‘But I think that Christian is the central figure in this whole thing. And I have no intention of giving up until I know how and why. Earlier today it was my job to deliver the bad news to his wife.’

‘I understand,’ said Ragnar softly. He opened his mouth again, as if to say something more, but then pressed his lips together. He stood up and looked at Paula and Patrik. ‘I’ll see you out.’

When they reached the front door, Patrik had a feeling that he shouldn’t leave. He wanted to stay and give the man a good shake until he told them what he had been on the verge of saying. Instead, Patrik merely pressed his business card into Ragnar’s hand, and then he and Paula left.

21

A week later, the food ran out. He’d eaten all the bread a couple of days earlier, and then resorted to cornflakes out of the big package. Without milk. Both the milk and the juice were gone, but there was water, and he had pushed a chair over to the sink so he could drink straight from the tap.

But now there was nothing more to eat. There hadn’t been much in the fridge to start with, and in the pantry he found only tinned goods, which he couldn’t open. He’d thought of going out to shop for groceries himself. He knew where Mamma kept her money, in the purse that was always in the front hall. But he couldn’t open the door. It was impossible for him to turn the lock, no matter how hard he tried. Otherwise Mamma would have been even prouder of him. He could have shown her that not only could he make his own sandwiches, but he could also do the shopping all by himself while she slept.

The past few days he’d started to wonder if she might be sick. But he knew that when a person was sick, they got a fever and felt hot. Mamma was very cold. And she smelled strange. He had to hold his nose at night when he crept into bed to sleep close to her. There was also something sticky about her. He didn’t know what it was, but if she’d got sticky, then she must have been out of bed when he wasn’t watching. Maybe she would wake up soon.

He spent every day playing by himself. He would sit in his room with his toys spread out around him. He also knew how to turn on the TV by touching the big button. Sometimes a children’s programme would be on, and it was fun to watch them after he’d been playing alone all day.

But Mamma would probably be angry when she saw how dirty things were in the flat. He needed to clean up. But he was so hungry. So incredibly hungry.

A few times he’d glanced at the telephone and even picked up the receiver, listening to the signal say ‘beep, beep, beep’. But who should he call? He didn’t know anyone’s number. And nobody ever rang the flat.

And Mamma would be waking up soon. She would get out of bed and take a bath and make the bad smell go away, the smell that made him feel sick. Then she would smell like Mamma again.

His stomach was screaming with hunger as he crawled into bed and moved close to her. He didn’t like the smell in his nose, but he always slept next to Mamma. Otherwise he couldn’t fall asleep.

He pulled the covers over them. Outside the window, darkness fell.

Gosta got up as soon as he heard Patrik and Paula come in. An oppressive mood had settled over the police station. Everyone was feeling frustrated. They needed some sort of concrete lead in order to move forward with the investigation.

‘Let’s meet in the kitchen in five minutes,’ said Patrik, and then he disappeared into his office.

Gosta went into the kitchen and sat down in his favourite place next to the window. Five minutes later the others showed up, one after the other. Patrik was the last to arrive. He took up position in front of the counter, leaning his back against it with his arms crossed.

‘As you all know, Christian Thydell was found dead this morning. At the present time, we can’t say whether his death was murder or suicide. We’ll have to wait for the results from the post-mortem. I’ve talked to Torbjorn, and unfortunately he had very little to add. But based on the preliminary examination, there doesn’t seem to be any sign of a struggle at the site.’

Martin raised his hand. ‘What about footprints? Anything to indicate that Christian wasn’t alone when he died? If there was snow on the steps, maybe they could be lifted for analysis.’

‘I asked Torbjorn about that,’ said Patrik. ‘But it would be impossible to say when any shoe prints were actually made, and besides, all of the snow had blown off the steps. But the techs did manage to lift a number of fingerprints, mostly from the railing, and they’ll be carefully analysed, of course. It’ll be a few days before we have a report.’ He turned around to fill a glass with water from the tap and took a few sips. ‘Any new developments from knocking on doors?’

‘No,’ said Martin. ‘We’ve pretty much knocked on every door in the lower part of town. But no one seems to have seen anything.’

‘Okay. We need to go over to Christian’s house and carry out a proper search. See if we can find anything that shows he might have met the murderer there first.’

‘Murderer?’ said Gosta. ‘So you think it was murder and not suicide?’

‘I don’t know what I think at the moment,’ replied Patrik, wearily rubbing his forehead. ‘But I suggest that we assume Christian was also murdered, until we find out more.’ He turned to Mellberg. ‘What do you think, Bertil?’

It was always wise at least to pretend to involve the boss.

‘I agree,’ said Mellberg.

‘We’re also going to have to wrestle with the press. As soon as they get wind of what happened, there’s going to be huge interest from the media. I recommend that nobody talk to any reporters; just refer them all to me.’

‘On that point I have to object,’ said Mellberg. ‘As the police chief here, I should be the one to handle such an important task as liaison with the media.’

Patrik weighed his options. It would be a nightmare to give Mellberg free rein to talk with journalists. On the other hand, it might take too much energy to try to dissuade him.

‘Okay, let’s say that you’ll be the one to keep in contact with the media. But if I might offer a word of advice, it would be best if we say as little as possible, under the circumstances.’

‘Don’t worry. Considering my extensive experience, I’ll be able to twist them around my little finger,’ said Mellberg, leaning back in his chair.

‘Paula and I have been out to Trollhattan, as all of you probably already know.’

‘Did you find out anything?’ asked Annika eagerly.

‘I’m not sure yet. But I think that we’re on the right track, so we’ll keep digging.’ Patrik took another sip of water. It was time to tell his colleagues what they’d discovered and what he was having such a hard time digesting.

‘As Annika found out, Christian was orphaned at a very young age. He lived alone with his mother, Anita Thydell. There’s no record of who his father was. According to information from the social welfare office, the boy and his mother were terribly isolated, and at times Anita had difficulty caring for Christian because of a mental illness she suffered from, combined with drug abuse. The authorities kept a watchful eye on Anita and her son after receiving several calls from the neighbours. But apparently the only home visits were made during the periods when Anita had the situation more or less under control. At least that was the explanation we were given