Camilla Lackberg Crime Thrillers 4-6: The Stranger, The Hidden Child, The Drowning

‘Yes, I understand that you’ve been working hard,’ said Erling. To his surprise he saw a deep blush spread over the chief’s face.

‘How can I assist you?’ said Mellberg, pointing to a chair.

Erling sat down and said with a deeply concerned expression, ‘Well, I just got a phone call from the producer of Sodding Tanum. Evidently some of your officers threatened to shut down the production. I have to say that I was both surprised and dismayed when I heard about it. I thought we’d established good cooperation. So, Bertil, I was very disappointed. Do you have any explanation?’

Far from looking suitably cowed, the chief stared back at him, making no attempt to reply to the accusation. Erling began to feel uneasy. Maybe he should have brought along a bottle of whisky. Just in case.

‘Erling …’ Mellberg said, and his tone of voice gave Erling W. Larson a feeling that maybe he’d gone a bit too far this time. ‘We’re conducting a homicide investigation. In case you had forgotten, a young woman has been brutally murdered. Someone associated with the production has not only withheld important evidence from us but also sold it to the press. Frankly, I’m inclined to agree with my colleagues that the best solution would be to shut the whole thing down.’

Erling could feel himself starting to sweat. Rehn had omitted to mention this minor detail. This was bad. He stammered, ‘Is it … Is it in today’s paper?’

‘Yes,’ said Mellberg. ‘On the front page and then in the centre section of the paper. Extracts from a diary that the murdered woman apparently was keeping, although we didn’t know about it. Someone withheld the information from us. Instead, the individual chose to go to the Evening News and sell the diary.’

‘I had no idea,’ said Larson, going over in his mind the conversation he was going to have with Rehn as soon as he left the police station.

‘Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t pull the plug on this project this instant.’

For once, Erling was lost for words. He looked at Mellberg, who chuckled.

‘Defenceless at last. I never thought I’d see the day. But I’ll be fair. I know there are plenty of people who enjoy looking at this shit. So we’ll let it continue for a while yet. But at the first sign of trouble …’ Mellberg pointed a threatening finger and Erling nodded gratefully. He’d been lucky. He shuddered at the thought of how humiliating it would have been to stand before the town council and confess that the project couldn’t go on.

He was on his way out the door when he heard Mellberg say something. He turned round.

‘You know, my supply of whisky at home is running low. You wouldn’t happen to have a bottle to spare, would you?’

Mellberg winked, and Erling gave him a strained smile. He would have liked to ram the bottle down Mellberg’s throat. Instead he heard himself say, ‘Certainly, Bertil, I’ll take care of it.’

The last thing he saw before the door closed behind him was Mellberg’s satisfied smile.

‘Talk about low,’ said Calle with a look at Tina as she loaded a tray with drinks to take over to a table.

‘Easy for you to say, swimming in your pappa’s cash!’ Tina snapped, about to tip over the glass of beer she’d just set on the tray.

‘You know, there are some things people don’t do for money.’

‘“There are some things people don’t do for money”,’ Tina mocked him in falsetto, with a grimace. ‘Jesus Christ, where do you get off, being so self-righteous? And that fucking Mehmet! I’m going to kill that shithead!’

‘Oh, cool it,’ said Calle, leaning on the bar. ‘They were threatening to lock down the whole shoot unless somebody talked. But you seemed more interested in saving your own skin. You have no right to drag the rest of us down with you.’

‘They were just bluffing, don’t you get it? No fucking way would they shut down the only thing that’s ever brought any attention to this town. They’re living for this!’

‘Well, at any rate I don’t think it’s Mehmet’s fault. If I’d seen you take that diary I would have grassed too.’

‘I bet you would, you fucking wimp,’ said Tina. She was so furious that her hands were shaking as she held the tray. ‘The problem with you is that you spend all your time waving your pappa’s credit card, gliding through life, refusing to do anything useful, and getting a free ride off everybody else. It’s so fucking pathetic! And then you think you can tell me what’s right and what’s wrong! At least I’m doing something with my life and have a bit of ambition. And I have talent, no matter what Barbie said!’

‘So that’s what this is all about,’ said Calle scornfully. ‘She wrote something about your so-called singing career and you decided to throw her to the wolves in the media. I heard what you were on about the night she died. You couldn’t stand the fact that she was saying what everyone else was thinking.’

‘She told everyone I would never amount to anything, that I had no talent. And then she tried to deny it. She said that she was being set up, and that somebody was lying. But then I saw that she’d written it in her diary, so it was true after all! She really had gone round spreading shit about me to everybody else.’ Tina knocked over one of the glasses. The glass shattered, spilling beer all over the place.

‘FUCK!’ said Tina, setting down the tray with the remaining beers. She grabbed a broom and began sweeping up the glass shards. ‘Jesus H. Fucking Hell.’

‘Hey,’ Calle said calmly. ‘I never heard Barbie say a mean word about you. What I heard was that she tried to encourage you. And you said the very same thing in that last session with Lars. You cried some crocodile tears too, as I recall.’

‘You don’t think I’m so daft that I would talk shit about a dead person, do you?’ she said, sweeping up the last of the broken glass.

‘No matter what she wrote in her diary, you can’t blame her. She was just writing the truth. You can’t sing worth shit, and if I were you I’d start filling out my application to McDonald’s right now.’ He laughed and cast a hasty glance at the camera.

Tina dropped her broom on the floor and took a quick step towards him. She put her face up to his and hissed, ‘You should talk, Calle. You weren’t the only one who heard what was said the night she died. You were going at her pretty hard too. Something about the fact that your mother committed suicide because of your father. But she claimed she didn’t say that either. So I’d keep my mouth shut if I were you.’

She picked up the tray and went out the door to the restaurant. Calle’s face had lost all colour. Inside he was playing back all the taunts and the harsh words he’d flung at Barbie on that night. He also remembered everyone’s look of disbelief when he shouted his accusations at her. Her tear-filled assurance that she’d never said, and never could have said, anything like that. The worst thing was that he couldn’t shake off the feeling that she had spoken the truth.

‘Patrik, have you got a minute?’ Annika stopped talking when she saw he was on the phone.

He held up a finger as a sign for her to wait. He seemed to be winding up his conversation.

‘Okay, agreed then,’ Patrik said in annoyance. ‘We’ll get access to the diary and you’ll receive first-hand information when and if we apprehend the perpetrator.’

He slammed down the receiver and turned to Annika with a harassed expression. ‘Fucking idiots,’ he said with a sigh.

‘The reporter from the Evening News?’ said Annika, taking a seat.

‘Yep. Now I’ve officially made a pact with the Devil. I might have been able to worm the diary out of him, but it would have taken time. We’ve already wasted three days on this. So I’ve promised to toss them their pound of flesh.’

‘Right,’ said Annika. Only now did Patrik notice that she was impatient to say something.

‘And what do you have on your mind?’

‘The APB that I sent out on Monday has produced a result,’ she said, unable to hide her satisfaction.

‘Already?’ said Patrik in surprise.

‘Yes, for once the media attention that’s been directed at Tanumshede has actually proved useful.’

‘So what have you got?’

‘Two more cases,’ she said, looking at her notes. ‘At least the way they died matches one hundred per cent. And … in both cases the police found the same anomalies that we found after Rasmus and Marit died.’

‘No shit?’ said Patrik, leaning forward. ‘Tell me everything you know.’

‘One case is from Lund. A man in his fifties who died six years ago. He was a serious alcoholic, and even though they noticed some questionable injuries, it was assumed that he had drunk himself to death.’ She looked up at Patrik, who motioned her to go on.

‘The second fatality took place ten years ago. This time in Nyköping. A woman in her seventies. It was labelled a murder, but the case was never solved.’

‘So we have two more murders,’ said Patrik, feeling the enormity of the responsibility now resting on his shoulders. ‘Making a total of four murders that seem to be linked.’

‘That’s what it looks like,’ said Annika, removing her glasses and twirling them in her fingers.

‘Four murders,’ said Patrik wearily. Fatigue had cast a grey pallor over his face.