assessment of suicide. A thick rope hung from a hook in the ceiling. The noose was around the boy's neck and a chair had been kicked over and lay on the floor. It looked like a kitchen chair brought from inside the house. The chair had a cushion upholstered in a lingonberry pattern, and its bright cheerfulness offered a sharp contrast to the macabre scene.
Patrik heard a familiar voice behind him.
'Poor devil, he wasn't very old, was he?' Torbjorn Ruud, chief of the technical team from Uddevalla, stepped into the garage and looked up at Sebastian.
'Fourteen,' said Patrik, and they were silent for a moment, faced with the incomprehensible fact that a boy of fourteen could find life so unbearable that death was the only way out.
'Is there any reason to believe that it's not a suicide?' asked Torbjorn as he prepared the camera in his hand.
'No, not really,' said Patrik. 'There's even a note, which I haven't seen yet. Although the note names a person involved in a homicide investigation, so I won't leave anything to chance.'
The girl?' said Torbjorn, and Patrik nodded.
'Okay, then in other words we'll treat it as a suspicious death. Ask one of the others to take care of the note, so it's not handled by too many people before we get our mitts on it.'
'I'll do it right now,' said Patrik, relieved to have an excuse to leave the garage. He went over to Martin, who was self-consciously wiping his mouth with a paper napkin.
'Pardon me,' he said, gloomily looking at his shoes which had been sprayed by his lunch.
'It doesn't matter. I've done it myself,' said Patrik. 'But now the techs and then the ambulance guys will have to deal with the body. I'm going to check on that note, and you can go see whether it's possible to talk to the stepfather.'
Martin nodded and bent down to wipe off his shoes as best he could. Patrik waved to one of the techs from Uddevalla. She brought her bag of equipment and followed without a word.
The house was uncannily quiet when they went inside. The boy's stepfather had watched them as they went in the front door.
Patrik looked around.
'I'd guess it's upstairs,' said the tech. He thought her name was Eva. She was one of the techs who'd done the examination of the Florins' bathroom.
'Yeah, I don't see anything down here that looks like a boy's room, so you're probably right.'
They climbed the stairs and Patrik suddenly had a flashback to his own childhood home. The houses all seemed to have been built around the same time, and he knew the style well, with fibre wallpaper on the walls and light pine stairs with a wide banister.
Eva was right. At the top of the staircase was an open door that led to a room unmistakably that of a teenage boy. The door, the walls and even the ceiling were covered with posters, and it didn't take a genius to discover the common theme. The boy had loved action heroes. Anyone who struck first and asked questions later; they were all there. The men were dominant, of course, but a single woman had been granted a place in the collection – Angelina Jolie, as Lara Croft. Although Patrik suspected that her toughness wasn't the only reason that Sebastian had put her picture up on his wall – she had quite a pair, to be exact. And he couldn't blame the boy.
A white sheet of paper lying in the middle of the desk brought Patrik back to reality. They went over to take a look at the note. Eva put on a pair of thin gloves and took a plastic bag out of her equipment case. Carefully with her thumb and forefinger holding one corner of the letter, she dropped it into the plastic bag and then handed it to Patrik. Now he could read it without destroying any fingerprints that might be on the paper.
Patrik glanced through the letter in silence. The words were so filled with pain that he almost lost his balance. But he cleared his throat to maintain his composure, and when he finished reading the note he handed it to Eva. He had no doubt that the letter was genuine.
Patrik felt overcome with anger and resolve. He couldn't offer Sebastian a Schwarzenegger who would mete out justice while wearing cool sunglasses, but he could definitely offer him the help of Patrik Hedstrom. He had to hope that would be enough.
His phone rang and he answered absentmindedly, still absorbed by his rage over the boy's meaningless death. He was mildly surprised to hear Dan's voice on the phone. Erica's friend usually never rang him directly. Patrik's astonished expression was soon replaced by dismay.
Since the adrenaline was still pumping through his veins, Niclas thought he might as well take on all the troublesome stuff at once, before his usual flight instinct kicked in. So much of what had gone wrong in his life could be blamed on the fact that he was afraid of conflict and turned weak when strength counted most. He was starting to realize that it was Charlotte he had to thank for the things that were still good in his life.
When he turned into the driveway at the house he forced himself to sit in the car for a minute and just breathe. He needed to think through what he was going to say to Charlotte. It was essential that he find exactly the right words. Ever since he'd been forced to confess to her that he'd had an affair with Jeanette, he'd felt the chasm between them widening more and more with each minute they were together. The cracks in their relationship had already existed, both before his revelation and before Sara's death, so it wasn't hard for them to grow. Soon it would be too late. The secret that they shared hadn't brought them together; instead it had merely hastened the process that was pushing them apart. That was where he thought they'd have to begin. If they weren't honest about everything starting right now, nothing would be able to save their marriage. And for the first time in ages, maybe ever, he was sure that was what he wanted.
Hesitantly he got out of the car. Something inside him was still telling him to run, to drive back to the clinic and bury himself in work, to find a new woman to embrace, to return to familiar territory. But he stifled that urge, quickened his steps and walked in the front door.
He could hear murmuring voices upstairs and knew that Lilian must be up in Stig's room. Thank goodness. He didn't want to face her barrage of questions again, and he closed the door as quietly as he could.
Charlotte looked up in astonishment when he came down to the cellar flat.
'You're home early.'
'Yes, I thought we should talk.'
'Haven't we talked enough?' she said indifferently and continued to fold the laundry. Albin was sitting next to her on the floor, playing with his toys. Charlotte looked worn out. He knew that she didn't get many hours of sleep at night; she lay in bed tossing and turning, although he'd pretended not to notice. He hadn't talked to her about it, hadn't caressed her cheek or taken her in his arms. The skin under her eyes had dark smudges, and he could see how she'd grown thin. How many times had he angrily muttered that she ought to pull herself together and lose some weight. Now he'd give anything for her to get back some of her former plumpness.
Niclas sat down on the bed next to her and took her hand. Her shocked expression told him that it was something he did far too seldom. He felt awkward and fumbling, and for an instant he wanted to flee again. But he kept her hand in his and said, 'I'm so dreadfully sorry, Charlotte. For everything. For all the years I've been distant, both physically and mentally; for everything I've blamed you for in my mind even though it was actually my own fault; for the affairs I've had; for the physical closeness I've stolen from you and given to others; for not finding a way for us to get out of this house sooner; for not listening to you; for not loving you enough. I'm sorry for all that and more. But I can't change the past, only promise you that everything will be different starting now. Do you believe me? Please, Charlotte, I have to hear that you believe me!'
She raised her eyes and looked at him. Tears welled up in her eyes and spilled out as she fixed her gaze on him.
'Yes, I believe you. For Sara's sake, I believe you.'
He simply nodded, unable to go on. Then he cleared his throat and said, 'Then there's one thing we have to do. I've thought about this, and we can't keep living with a secret. Monsters live in the
