‘Seems like we keep driving this same road over and over,’ said Gosta as he accelerated past Munkedal.
‘And we do,’ said Martin. He cast a quizzical look at his colleague, who had been unusually quiet ever since they left Tanumshede. Gosta wasn’t a big talker at the best of times, but right now he seemed more taciturn than ever.
‘Is something wrong?’ Martin asked after a while when he could no longer stand the lack of at least sporadic conversation.
‘What? No, it’s nothing,’ said Gosta.
Martin didn’t press the issue. He knew that it would do no good to try forcing something out of Gosta if he didn’t want to share what was on his mind. He’d reveal whatever it was in his own time.
‘What a bloody awful story. Talk about getting a rough start in life,’ said Martin. He was thinking about his little daughter and what might happen if she was subjected to such a terrible experience. It was true what everyone said about becoming a parent. It made a person a thousand times more sensitive to everything concerning children in difficult circumstances.
‘That poor little boy,’ said Gosta, and all of a sudden he looked less distracted.
‘Don’t you think we should wait to talk to Kenneth until we find out more about the sister, Alice?’
‘I’m sure Annika will double-check and triple-check everything while we’re away from the station. The first thing we need to know is where to find Alice.’
‘Couldn’t we just ask the Lissanders?’ said Martin.
‘Since they never even mentioned her existence when Patrik and Paula were there, I assume that Patrik thinks there’s something fishy about the whole situation. And it won’t hurt to find out as many facts about the family as possible.’
Martin knew that his colleague was right. He felt foolish for even asking the question.
‘Do you think she’s the one behind it all?’
‘I have no idea. It’s too early to speculate about that.’
They drove the rest of the way to the hospital in silence. After parking the car, they went straight to the ward where Kenneth was a patient.
‘We’re back,’ said Gosta as they entered his room.
Kenneth didn’t reply, just looked at them as if he didn’t care who came in.
‘How do you feel? Are your wounds starting to heal?’ asked Gosta, sitting down on the same chair as before.
‘It’s going to take a lot more time for that,’ said Kenneth, moving his bandaged arms. ‘They’re giving me painkillers. So it doesn’t really hurt much.’
‘You heard about Christian?’
Kenneth nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘You don’t seem particularly upset about it,’ said Gosta, without sounding unfriendly.
‘Not everything is visible on the outside.’
Gosta gave him a puzzled look.
‘How’s Sanna?’ asked Kenneth, and for the first time they could see a glint of something in his eyes. Sympathy. He knew what it felt like to lose someone.
‘Not so good,’ said Gosta, shaking his head. ‘We were over there this morning. It’s very sad for the boys, too.’
‘Yes, it is,’ Kenneth agreed, his face clouding over.
Martin was starting to feel superfluous. He was still standing, but now he pulled a chair over to the other side of the bed, across from Gosta. Then he glanced at his colleague, who nodded, encouraging him to ask his own questions.
‘We think that everything that has happened lately is connected to Christian, and so we’ve been delving into his background. One thing we found out is that he had a different last name when he was growing up. Christian Lissander. He also has a stepsister named Alice Lissander. Did you ever hear him talk about any of this?’
Kenneth paused before answering.
‘No. It doesn’t sound familiar.’
Gosta fixed his eyes on the man, looking as if he’d like to climb into Kenneth’s head to see if he was telling the truth or not.
‘I said this before, and I’ll say it again: If you know something that you’re not telling us, you’re putting not only your own life in danger, but Erik’s too. Now that Christian is dead, you must realize how serious this is.’
‘I don’t know anything,’ said Kenneth calmly.
‘If you’re withholding information, we’re going to dig it up sooner or later.’
‘I’m sure you’ll make a very thorough job of it,’ said Kenneth. He looked small and fragile as he lay there with his bandaged arms resting on top of the blue hospital blanket.
Gosta and Martin exchanged glances. They realized that they weren’t going to get any more out of Kenneth, but neither of them believed that he was telling the truth.
Erica closed the book. She’d spent the last few hours curled up in an armchair reading, interrupted only by Maja, who came over once in a while to ask for something. On such occasions Erica was grateful for her daughter’s ability to play by herself.
The novel was even better the second time. It was truly amazing. It wasn’t an uplifting kind of book; instead, it had filled her mind with dark musings. But somehow that didn’t seem unpleasant. It dealt with issues that a person needed to think about, issues that required the reader to take a stand and in that way find out what sort of person he or she was.
In Erica’s opinion, the story was about guilt, about how it could eat up a person from the inside. For the first time she wondered what it was that Christian had wanted to convey through his book, what message he wanted his story to present.
She placed the book on her lap with a feeling that she’d missed something that was actually right in front of her eyes. Something she was too dense or blind to see. She turned to the back of the book to look at the inside flap of the dust jacket. There was a photo of Christian, in black and white. A classic author pose, and he was wearing wire-rimmed glasses. He’d been handsome in a rather reserved way. There was a loneliness evident in his eyes that made it impossible to know whether he was ever really present. He always seemed to be alone, never in the company of anyone else. As if he were inside a bubble. Paradoxically enough, it was this sense of distance that had exerted such an attraction on others. People always wanted to have what they couldn’t get. And that was exactly how it had been with Christian.
Erica hauled herself out of the armchair. She was feeling a bit guilty because she’d been so engrossed in the book that she’d ignored her daughter. With great effort she now managed to lower herself to the floor to sit next to Maja, who was overjoyed that her mother was going to join in her games.
But still hovering in the back of Erica’s mind was the mermaid in the book. She wanted to say something. Christian wanted to say something. Erica was sure about that. She just wished she knew what it was.
Patrik couldn’t resist taking his mobile out of his pocket again to look at the display.
‘Stop that,’ said Paula, laughing. ‘Annika isn’t going to call any sooner just because you keep checking your phone all the time. I promise you’ll hear it when it rings.’
‘I know,’ said Patrik, smiling with embarrassment. ‘I just feel like we’re so close now.’ He went back to pulling out drawers and opening cupboards in the kitchen of the house belonging to Christian and Sanna. It hadn’t taken them long to obtain a warrant to search the premises. The problem was that he didn’t know what they were looking for.
‘It should be easy enough to find out where Alice Lissander lives,’ Paula consoled him. ‘Annika will probably ring any minute to give us the address.’
‘Right,’ said Patrik, looking inside the dishwasher. There was no sign that Christian had received any visitors the day before. Nor had they found any indications of a forced entry or that he might have left the house against his will. ‘But why didn’t the Lissanders mention anything about their daughter?’
‘We’ll find out soon enough. But I think it’s wise for us to make our own enquiries about Alice before we talk with her parents again.’
