he had.
‘Do you know where we can get hold of Father Mancini?’ said Martin as they stood up to leave.
‘The Catholic congregation has premises downtown.’ Konrad jotted down the address and gave the slip of paper to Martin. He also told them how to find their way there.
‘After you’ve talked with Father Silvio you can come back and pick up a packet with all the material at reception,’ said Gerda as she shook Patrik’s hand. ‘I’ll see to it that copies of everything are made for you.’
‘Thanks for your help,’ said Patrik, and he meant it. Cooperation between districts was, as Gerda had pointed out, not always favoured by the police, so he was very glad that this investigation would be taking a different tack.
‘When are you going to stop all these stupid goings-on?’
Jonna shut her eyes. Her mamma’s voice on the phone was always so harsh, so accusatory.
‘Pappa and I have talked, and we think that it’s irresponsible of you to waste your life like this. And we have our reputations at the hospital to think of as well; you have to understand that you’re making fools of us too!’
‘I knew this would have something to do with the hospital,’ Jonna muttered.
‘What did you say? You have to speak up so I can hear what you’re saying, Jonna. You’re nineteen years old now, and you have to learn to articulate properly. And I have to say that these latest newspaper articles have been especially upsetting for Pappa and me. People are starting to wonder what sort of parents we are. And we’ve done our best, I can assure you. But Pappa and I have an important job to do, and you’re old enough now, Jonna, that you really should understand that. You need to show more respect for what we do. You know, yesterday I operated on a little Russian boy who had come here for treatment to repair a serious heart defect. He couldn’t get the operation he needed in his homeland, but
Jonna cut off the call and sank slowly down to sit with her back against the wall. The anxiety grew and grew until it felt as though it wanted to pour out of her throat. It filled every part of her body, making her feel she was going to explode. The feeling of not having anywhere to go, anywhere to flee, overpowered her as it had so many times before. With trembling hands she took out the razor blade that she always kept in her wallet. Her fingers were now shaking so hard that she dropped the blade, and with a curse she tried to pick it up from the floor. She cut her fingers several times trying, but eventually she picked it up and moved it slowly down the underside of her right forearm. With deep concentration she looked at the razor blade as she lowered it towards the scarred, damaged skin that looked like a lunar landscape of alternating white and pink flesh, with sharp red ridges like tiny rivers. When the first blood trickled out she felt the anxiety subside. She pressed harder and the rivulet became a red, pulsing stream. Jonna watched it with relief written all over her face. She lifted the razor blade and drew a new river among the scars. Then she raised her head and smiled into the camera. She looked almost blissful.
‘We’re looking for Father Silvio Mancini.’ Patrik held up his police identification to the woman who opened the door. She stepped aside and called, ‘Silvio! The police are here about something!’
A white-haired man dressed in jeans and a sweater came towards them. Patrik had expected him to appear in full priestly regalia, not in everyday clothes. He knew that the priest couldn’t go about in his clerical garb all the time, but it still took him a second to recover from his surprise.
‘I’m Patrik Hedstrom, and this is Martin Molin,’ he said, pointing to his colleague. The priest nodded and showed them to a small sofa group. The sanctuary was small but well kept, and there were plenty of the attributes that Patrik with his layman’s knowledge associated with Catholicism, such as pictures of the Virgin Mary and a big crucifix. The woman who had opened the door for them brought in coffee and cakes. Father Silvio thanked her warmly. She smiled in response but then retreated. Father Silvio turned his attention to them and asked in perfect Swedish, but with an unmistakable Italian accent, ‘So, what can I do for the police?’
‘We’d like to ask a few questions about Elsa Forsell.’
Father Silvio sighed. ‘I was hoping that sooner or later the police would find some sort of lead. Even though I truly believe in the flames of purgatory, I would prefer that the murderer receive his punishment while still in this life.’ He smiled, showing humour and empathy at the same time. Patrik got the impression that he and Elsa had been close, which was confirmed by Father Silvio’s next comment.
‘Elsa was a good friend for many, many years. She was very involved in the work of the congregation, and I was also her father confessor.’
‘Was Elsa born Catholic?’
‘No, she was not,’ Father Silvio said with a laugh. ‘Few people are in Sweden, unless they have family that have immigrated from a Catholic country. But she came to one of our services, and yes, I believe she felt as though she’d found a home. Elsa was… what you might call a damaged soul. She was searching for something, and she felt she had found it with us.’
‘And what was she looking for?’ said Patrik. The priest’s whole demeanour bore witness to the fact that he was a man of great empathy, a man who radiated calm and peace. A true man of God.
Father Silvio sat quietly for a while before he replied. He seemed to want to weigh his words, but at last he looked Patrik straight in the eye and said: ‘Forgiveness.’
‘Forgiveness?’ asked Martin.
‘Forgiveness,’ Father Silvio repeated calmly. ‘It’s what we all seek, most of us without even knowing it. Forgiveness for our sins, for our failures, for our shortcomings and mistakes. Forgiveness for things we have done… and for things we didn’t do.’
‘And what was Elsa Forsell seeking forgiveness for?’ Patrik said quietly, looking hard at the priest. For a moment it seemed that Father Silvio was on the verge of telling them something. Then he lowered his eyes and said, ‘Confession is a sacrament. And what does it matter? We all have something to be forgiven for.’
Patrik sensed that there was something more behind his words, but he knew enough about a father confessor’s vow of silence not to try and press the priest.
‘How long was Elsa a member of your church?’ he said instead.
‘For eighteen years,’ said Father Silvio. ‘As I said, we became very close friends over the years.’
‘Do you know whether Elsa had any enemies? Did anyone want to harm her?’
Again the priest hesitated, then shook his head. ‘No, I know nothing about anything like that. Elsa had no one besides us, either friend or foe. We were her family.’
‘Is that usual?’ asked Martin, who couldn’t hide a sceptical tone.
‘I know what you’re thinking,’ the silver-haired man said calmly. ‘But we have no such exclusionary rules, or restrictions, for our members. Most of them have both families and friends, like any other Christian congregation. But Elsa had only us.’
‘Regarding how she died,’ said Patrik. ‘Someone poured a large quantity of alcohol down her throat. What was Elsa’s attitude towards alcohol?’
Once more Patrik thought he sensed a hesitation, a reluctance to speak, but instead the priest said with a laugh, ‘Elsa was probably like most people on that point. She would have a glass of wine or two on Saturday evening sometimes. But never in excess. No, I would say that she had a quite normal attitude towards alcohol. I taught her to appreciate Italian wines, by the way, and we occasionally had wine tastings here. Very popular.’
Patrik raised an eyebrow. The Catholic priest was truly surprising him.
After pausing to consider whether he had anything more to ask, Patrik placed his business card on the table before them. ‘If you think of anything else, please give us a ring.’
‘Tanumshede,’ said Father Silvio as he read the card. ‘Where is that?’
‘On the west coast,’ said Patrik as he got up. ‘Between Stromstad and Uddevalla.’
Patrik watched in amazement as all colour drained out of Father Silvio’s face. For a moment he looked as pale as Martin had been during the ride to Lund the day before. Then the priest regained his composure and nodded curtly. Bewildered, Patrik and Martin said goodbye, both with a feeling that Father Silvio Mancini knew considerably more than he was saying.
There was an air of anticipation at the station. Everyone was eager to hear what Patrik and Martin had found
