The Gallows Bird

some manner.’

‘I recognize everything you’re telling me,’ said Gradenius, picking up a folder lying on his desk. ‘But how did you find out about me?’

Patrik laughed. ‘Overzealous documentation, according to one of my colleagues. We were both at the conference in Halmstad a couple of years ago. One of the assignments was to agree on an unsolved case to present in each group. Something that we were puzzled about but didn’t know how to proceed. You presented a case that made me think about our current one. I had saved my notes, so I was able to check that my memory jibed before I rang you.’

‘Not bad, I must say. I’m impressed that you would remember. It’s lucky for both of us. That case has bothered me for years, but the investigation came to a dead end. I’ll be happy to give you all the information we have, and maybe we can get yours in return?’

Patrik nodded his assent and took the stack of papers that Gradenius handed him.

‘Can I take these with me?’

‘Certainly, they’re just copies. Would you like to go through the information together?’

‘I’d like to look through it on my own first. Then I can phone you; I’m sure I’ll have plenty of questions. And I’ll see to it that you get a copy of our material tomorrow.’

‘Excellent,’ said Gradenius, standing up. ‘It would be good to resolve this matter. The victim’s mother was completely shattered, and is still suffering. She rings me occasionally. I’d like to have something to tell her.’

‘We’ll do our best,’ said Patrik. He couldn’t wait to get back and read through the file. He had a feeling that this would mark a turning point. It had to.

Lars flung himself on the sofa and put his legs up on the coffee table. He’d been so tired lately. That constant, paralysing weariness that overwhelmed him and refused to let go. His headaches had also been more frequent; it was as if one gave birth to the next. The exhaustion and the headaches formed an endless spiral that dragged him down deeper and deeper. He cautiously massaged his temples, relieving the pain a bit. When he felt the pressure of Hanna’s fingers on his, he put his hands in his lap, leaned back, and closed his eyes. Her fingers continued to massage and knead. She knew precisely the place to rub. She’d had a lot of practice lately.

‘How are you feeling?’ she said softly as she gently moved her fingers back and forth.

‘Fine,’ said Lars, noticing how the concern in her voice seeped inside him and settled like an unwelcome irritant. He didn’t want her to worry. He hated it when she worried.

‘You don’t look it,’ she said, stroking his forehead. The caress was wonderful, but he couldn’t relax because of all her unspoken questions. Annoyed, he swept away her hands and sat up.

‘I feel fine, I said. Just a little tired. It’s probably spring fever.’

‘Spring fever,’ said Hanna with a laugh that was both bitter and ironic. ‘Are you blaming springtime now?’ She was still standing behind the sofa.

‘Yeah, what the hell else is there to blame it on? Maybe the fact that I’ve been working non-stop lately. Both on the book and trying to keep those fucking idiots over at the community centre on the straight and narrow.’

‘Such a respectful way to talk about your clients, or patients rather. Do you actually tell them that you think they’re idiots? A good way to facilitate the therapy, I should think.’

Her voice was sharp, and she clearly intended for him to feel its sting. He didn’t understand why she did that. Why couldn’t she simply leave him alone? Lars reached for the remote and sat back down on the sofa, with his back to Hanna. After surfing through the channels for a while, he stopped on Jeopardy and tested his knowledge against the contestants. He knew all the right responses.

‘Do you have to work so much? And with that show?’ she added. Everything she left unsaid charged the air between them.

‘I have to do some sort of work,’ Lars replied, wishing that she would shut up. Sometimes he wondered if she understood him at all. Understood all the things he did for her sake. He turned to look at her.

‘I’m doing what I have to do, Hanna. Just like always. You know that.’

Their eyes locked for a second. Then Hanna turned and left. He watched her go. A while later he heard the front door shut.

On the TV Jeopardy was still spitting out challenges.

They were all much too easy.

‘Well, what do you think of the show so far?’ Uffe cracked open a beer for each of the girls, who giggled as they took them.

‘Great,’ said the blonde.

‘Yeah, great,’ said the brunette.

Calle knew he wasn’t in the mood to do this tonight. Uffe had dragged in two of the groupies that hung about outside the community centre, and now he was in the midst of a big charm offensive. As well as he could manage, anyway. Charm wasn’t exactly his strong suit.

‘Who do you like best then?’ Uffe put his arm round the blonde girl and moved closer. ‘Me, right?’ He poked her in the side and laughed, receiving a delighted giggle in reply. Encouraged, he continued, ‘Well, it’s not much of a competition. I’m the only real man here.’ He took a swig of beer straight from the bottle and then pointed his beer bottle at Calle.

‘Take this guy, for example. One of those typical slick Stureplan dudes, not the sort for a pair of lovelies like you. All they know how to do is whip out their pappa’s credit card.’ The girls giggled again and he went on. ‘Mehmet, on the other hand.’ He pointed to Mehmet who was lying on his bed reading a book. ‘He’s about as far from a slick dude as you can get. A real, genuine working-class greaseball. He’s the guy who knows how to get ahead. But he can’t escape the fact that Swedish flesh is the best.’ He stretched out his arms and then tried to slip his hand under the blonde’s jumper. She instantly caught on to what he was up to, and after an anxious glance at the camera, she shoved his hand away discreetly. Uffe looked displeased for a moment, but quickly recovered. It would take a while for the girls to forget the presence of the camera. But after that it would be clear sailing. His goal with these few weeks on the show was to do a bit of bumping and humping under the covers. Shit, he could become a legend by doing that. He’d got pretty close on the island, if only that lame chick from Jokkmokk had been a little drunker.

‘Cool it, Uffe, let’s just take it easy, okay?’ Calle could feel himself getting more and more annoyed.

‘What do you mean, take it easy?’ Uffe tried to sneak his hand in again, but got no further this time either. ‘We’re not here to take it easy. And here I thought you were the biggest party animal around! Or are you too good to party anywhere but around Stureplan?’

Calle looked for support from Mehmet, but he seemed completely engrossed in his fantasy book. Calle felt once more how sick he was of this shit. He didn’t even know why he’d auditioned in the first place. Survivor had been one thing, but this! Locked up with these losers. He demonstratively slipped in his earphones and lay back, listening to music on his iPod. The high volume mercifully drowned out Uffe’s babbling, and he let his thoughts roam free. He was inexorably drawn back in time. The earliest memories first. Images from his childhood, grainy and jerky, as if played on Super-8 film. Himself running straight into his mamma’s arms. The smell of her hair, which was mixed with the fragrance of grass and summertime. The feeling of security as her arms wrapped around him. He also saw his pappa laughing and looking at them with love in his eyes, but he was always on the way out, on the way somewhere else. Never any time to stop and share in their embrace. Never any time for him to smell Mamma’s hair. The scent of Timotej shampoo, which he could still recall so strongly.

Then the film wound forward until it stopped at an image that was much more distinct. Fully in focus. The image of her feet when he opened the door to her bedroom. He was thirteen. It was many years since he had run into her arms. So much had happened. So much had changed.

He remembered that he had called out. A bit annoyed. Asked why she didn’t answer him. But when he pushed open the door, he felt the oppressive silence and the first icy sensation in his stomach that something was wrong. Slowly he had approached her. She looked like she was asleep. She was lying on her back, her hair that had been long when he was little was now short. There were lines of weariness and bitterness etched into her face. For a second he thought she really was sleeping. Sleeping deeply. Then he caught sight of the empty pill bottle lying on the floor next to the bed. It had fallen out of her hand when the pills started to work, and she was finally able to flee from the life that she could no longer handle.

Ever since that day he and his father had lived side by side, in silent hostility. Nothing had ever been said