They all gasped.
'Where did they find it?' asked Martin, looking a bit miffed that Patrik hadn't told him about this.
'That's just the thing,' said Patrik. 'It wasn't in the main house, but out in the cabin on the lot where their son Morgan lives.'
'Jesus Christ,' said Gosta. 'I could have sworn that weirdo was mixed up in it. People like that -'
Patrik cut him off. 'I agree that it looks bad, but I don't want us to get locked into that theory yet. First of all, we don't know whether it was the father or the son who put the jacket there; it could just as well have been Kaj trying to hide it. Second, there are too many other unresolved issues – for example, Niclas's attempt to construct a false alibi – so we can't completely ignore them. We have to keep working on
Mellberg spoke up. 'Excellent work, Hedstrom. It looks good. And by all means check out those other things you wrote down as well.' He gestured idly at the board. 'But I'm inclined to agree with Gosta. That Morgan boy doesn't seem quite right, and if I were you,' he said, holding his hand theatrically to his chest, 'I'd pull out all the stops to clamp down on him. But it's clear, you're responsible for the investigation, and you're the one who decides.' Mellberg said this in a way that made it obvious to everyone that he thought Patrik would do best to follow his advice.
Patrik didn't reply, which Mellberg interpreted to mean his message had hit home. He nodded contentedly. Now it was only a matter of time before the case was solved.
Resolutely Patrik went back into his office and got to work on the day's tasks. The old fart could believe what he liked, but Patrik had no intention of dancing to
FJALLBACKA 1928
Standing with her back to the Swedish coastline she closed her eyes and felt the breeze against her eyelids. This was what freedom felt like.
The boat to America had sailed from Goteborg on the dot, and the wharf had been full of people saying goodbye to their loved ones with both hope and sorrow. None of them knew whether they would ever see one another again. America was so far away that most people who went there never returned and were heard from only by letter.
But there had been no one to say goodbye to Agnes. That was precisely the way she wanted it. She was leaving her old life behind and setting off towards a new land. With her father's cheque in her pocket and a fine cabin in first class, she felt for the first time in years that she was on the right track.
For a moment her thoughts drifted to Anders and the boys. The church had been filled to the brim for the funeral, and loud sniffles had risen towards the roof in a sorrowful chorus. But she had not wept. Behind the veil of her hat she had looked at the three coffins near the altar. One big one and two small. The white coffins were covered with flowers and wreaths. The largest wreath was from her father. She had forbidden him to come.
Not that there had been much to put in the coffins. The fire had raged with such consuming heat that almost nothing was left. So the coffins contained only a few remains. The pastor had suggested urns instead, considering the state of the remains, but
Agnes had wanted it this way. Three coffins that could be lowered into the ground.
Some of Anders's workmates had carved the headstone. One stone for all three, with their names elegantly engraved.
They had been the sole victims of the fire. Otherwise only property had been destroyed, but the destruction had been extensive. The whole lower part of Fjallbacka, the part closest to the sea, was now charred and in ruins. Many houses were gone, and burnt pilings stuck up out of the water where docks used to be. But few had complained about the loss of their homes. Whenever they had the desire to cry about what they had lost, they thought of Agnes and what had been taken from her. Everyone from that part of town had turned up at the funeral, and their hearts ached when they pictured in their minds the little blond boys walking hand in hand with their father.
But their mother shed nary a tear. When the funeral was over she went back to her temporary lodgings and packed the few belongings that had been given to her. Charity. Being forced to accept alms was so distasteful to her that it made her feel sick, but she would never be at the mercy of other people's kindness again.
As she stood on the top deck of the ship, no one would guess that until quite recently she had lived a life of poverty. New clothing had been hastily acquired, and her baggage was the most elegant that money could buy. With pleasure she stroked her hand over the soft fabric of her dress. What a difference from the worn, faded clothes that had been her lot for four years.
All that was left of her old life was a blue wooden box that she had carefully stowed in the bottom of her luggage. The box itself was not important, but its contents were. She had sneaked out the night before and filled it to remind her never again to let anything stand in the way of the life she deserved. She had made the mistake of trusting one man, and it had cost her four long years. After the way her father had betrayed her, she was determined never to let another man do the same. And she would see to it that her father would pay dearly for his actions. Loneliness was the highest price, but she also intended to make sure that his money flowed in her direction. She had earned it. And she knew precisely which buttons to push to keep his guilty conscience alive. Men were so easy to manipulate.
She was roused from her reverie by the sound of someone clearing his throat. She was so startled that she jumped.
'Ah, excuse me, I hope I didn't frighten you, Madam?'
An elegantly dressed man smiled suavely and held out his hand to her.
Agnes scrutinized him with a quick and practised eye before she returned his smile and placed her gloved hand in his. He had an expensive, tailored suit and hands that had never seen manual labour. In his thirties and with a pleasant, yes, even attractive appearance. No ring on his ring finger. This passage might be much more pleasant than she'd anticipated.
'Agnes, Agnes Stjernkvist. And it's Miss, not Madam.'
Erica's friend Dan had come to visit. Even though they'd spoken on the phone a couple of times, he still hadn't been to the house to have a look at Maja. But now his huge body filled the hall, and he took the baby from Erica with the ease of an experienced father.
'Helllllo, baby girl. What a little beauty we have here,' he cooed, lifting her towards the ceiling. Erica had to stifle an impulse to snatch her daughter back, but Maja didn't look like she minded the situation at all. And considering that Dan had three daughters of his own, he probably knew what he was doing.
'So how's little Mamma doing?' he said, giving Erica one of his bear-hugs. Once upon a time they had been an item, but the romance was long since over and for many years now they had been close friends. Their friendship had suffered a real setback two winters ago, when they had both gotten mixed up in a murder investigation under unpleasant circumstances, but the passage of time had healed the rift. After Dan got a divorce from his wife Pernilla, though, they hadn't seen each other very often. Dan had jumped into the single life and all that involved, while Erica went in the opposite direction. He had gone through a series of unsuitable girlfriends, but at the moment he was single and on the loose. Erica thought he looked happier than he had in a long time. The divorce had taken its toll on him, and he often lamented not being with his daughters more than every other week, but he seemed to have grown used to the situation and moved on.
'I wondered whether you'd like to take a walk with us,' said Erica. 'Maja is
