Camilla Lackberg Crime Thrillers 1-3: The Ice Princess, The Preacher, The Stonecutter

It was almost seven o’clock and the snowstorm had gathered force by the time Patrik finally stood on her doorstep. Erica was surprised at how strong her emotion was when she saw him and how natural it was to throw her arms around his neck. He set down two grocery bags from ICA on the floor in the hall and returned her embrace, holding her close for a long time.

‘I’ve missed you.’

‘Me too.’

They kissed tenderly. After a while Patrik’s stomach began to growl. They took that as a signal to take the bags into the kitchen. He had bought far too much food, but Erica put the extra things in the fridge. As if by tacit agreement, they didn’t talk about what had happened that day while they fixed dinner. Not until they had satisfied their hunger and were sitting facing each other at the table did Patrik begin to tell her what had happened.

‘Anders Nilsson is dead. His body was found in his flat this morning.’

‘Were you the one who found him?’

‘No, but I got there soon afterwards.’

‘How did he die?’

Patrik hesitated. ‘He’d been hanged.’

‘Been hanged? You mean he was murdered?’ Erica couldn’t conceal her agitation. ‘Was it the same person who killed Alex?’

Patrik wondered how many times today he’d heard that question. But it was undeniably key to the case.

‘We think so.’

‘Do you have any more leads? Did anyone see anything? Did you find any concrete evidence tying the murders together?’

‘Hold your horses.’ Patrik held up his hands. ‘I can’t tell you any more. We could talk about something more pleasant, you know. How was your day, for instance?’

Erica gave him a crooked smile. If only he knew how unpleasant her day had been too. But she couldn’t tell him about it. She had to let Dan tell the story himself.

‘I slept fairly late and then I wrote most of the day. Considerably less exciting than your day.’

Their hands sought each other across the table. Their fingers intertwined. It felt so lovely and safe to sit there together as the darkness enveloped the house. Huge snowflakes kept floating down like tiny falling stars against the black night sky.

‘I spent some time thinking about Anna and the house as well. I really let her have it on the phone the other day, and I’ve felt bad about my outburst ever since. Maybe I was being selfish. I was only thinking about how it would affect me if the house were sold, about my loss. But thing aren’t easy for Anna right now either. She’s trying to make the best of her situation, and even though I think she’s doing the wrong thing, she’s not doing it to be mean. Sure, she can be both thoughtless and naïve sometimes, but she’s generally a considerate and generous person, and I’ve been venting my sorrow and disappointment on her lately. Maybe it would be best to sell the house after all. Start over. I could even buy a new, though much smaller house for the money. Maybe I’m being too sentimental. It’s time to move on, to stop regretting what could have been and instead take a look at what I actually have.’

Patrik understood that she was no longer talking about the house.

‘I’m sorry I have to ask this, but how did the accident happen?’

‘That’s all right.’ She took a deep breath. ‘My parents had been in Strömstad visiting my father’s sister. It was dark and rainy, and the cold had formed black ice on the roadway. Pappa always used to drive carefully, but they think an animal jumped out in front of the car. He turned hard, went into a skid, and the car slammed right into a tree by the side of the road. They probably died instantly. At least that’s what Anna and I were told. There’s no way to know whether it was true.’

A solitary tear trickled down Erica’s cheek, and Patrik leaned forward and brushed it away. He took hold of her chin and made her look straight at him.

‘They wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t true. I’m sure they didn’t suffer, Erica. Completely sure.’

She nodded mutely. She trusted what he said, and it felt as if a huge burden was lifted from her chest. The car had caught fire, and she had spent many sleepless nights, wondering in horror whether her parents might have lived long enough to feel the fire burning them. Patrik’s words quelled her anxiety, and for the first time she felt a kind of peace when she thought about the accident that had killed both her parents. The grief was still there, but the anxiety was gone. With his thumb Patrik wiped away some more tears that rolled down her cheek.

‘Poor Erica. Poor, poor Erica.’

She took his hand and held it against her cheek.

‘There’s no reason to feel sorry for me, Patrik. I’ve actually never been as happy as I am right now, at this moment. It’s strange, but I feel so unbelievably safe with you. I don’t feel any of that uncertainty I usually feel when I’ve just slept with someone. Why do you think that is?’

‘I think it’s because we’re meant for each other.’

Erica blushed at the magnitude of his words. But she couldn’t get away from the fact that she felt the same way. It was like finding her way home.

As if on cue, they got up from the table, left the dishes where they were, and went up to the bedroom arm in arm. Outside a full-blown snowstorm was under way.

It felt strange to be staying in her old room again. Especially since her taste had changed over the years, but the room was still the same. A lot of pink and lace was not really her style any longer.

Julia lay on her back on her narrow childhood bed and stared at the ceiling with her hands clasped on her stomach. Everything was about to disintegrate. Her whole life was falling apart all around her and piling up in a drift of shattered fragments. It was as though she had lived her whole life in a funhouse, with trick mirrors in which nothing was what it seemed. She had no idea how things would go with her studies. All enthusiasm had been drained out of her with one blow, and now the school term was going on without her. Not that she thought anyone would notice that she was gone. She had never had an easy time making friends.

As far as Julia was concerned, she might just as well lie here in her pink room and stare at the ceiling until she got old and grey. Birgit and Karl-Erik wouldn’t dare do anything but let her have her way. She could live off them for the rest of her life if need be. A guilty conscience would keep their wallets open forever.

It felt as if she were moving through water. All her movements were heavy and difficult and all sounds reached her as if through a filter. At first it hadn’t been like this. She’d been full of righteous indignation and a hatred so strong that it scared her. She still felt that hatred, but mixed with resignation instead of energy. She was so used to despising herself that on a purely physical level she could feel how the hatred had changed direction. Instead of being directed outwards it had now turned inwards and was eating huge holes in her chest. Old habits were hard to break. Hating herself was an art form she had learned to practise to perfection.

She turned over on her side. On the desk stood a photo of her with Alex; she reminded herself to throw it out. As soon as she could get up she would tear it into a thousand pieces and get rid of it. The look of adoration she saw in her eyes in the picture made her wince. Alex was cool and beautiful as usual, while the ugly duckling beside her turned her round face towards her with a worshipful expression. In her eyes, Alex could never have done any wrong; Julia had always harboured a secret hope deep inside that one day she would hatch from her cocoon and climb out looking just as lovely and self-confident as Alex. She scoffed at her own naïveté. What a joke. And the joke had always been at her expense. She wondered whether they were talking about it behind her back. Whether they were laughing at stupid, stupid, ugly Julia.

A discreet knock on the door made Julia curl up in the foetal position. She knew who it was.

‘Julia, we’re worried about you. Won’t you come downstairs for a while?’

She didn’t answer Birgit. Instead she studied with the utmost concentration a lock of her own hair.

‘Please, Julia, please.’

Birgit came in and sat down on the chair by the desk, facing Julia.

‘I understand that you’re angry and that you also probably hate us, but you must believe me, we had no intention of harming you.’

Julia felt a sense of satisfaction that Birgit looked so worn-out and harried. She looked as if she hadn’t slept in several nights. Which she probably hadn’t. New wrinkles had formed as crow’s feet around her eyes, and Julia thought maliciously that the facelift she was planning to give herself next year for her sixty-fifth birthday might have to be done earlier than planned. Birgit moved the chair a little closer and put her hand on Julia’s shoulder. She shook it off at once and Birgit recoiled, hurt.

‘Darling, we all love you. You know that.’

The fuck she did. What good was this whole charade? They were all quite aware of where they stood with each other. Love? Birgit didn’t even know what that was. The only one she had ever loved was Alex. Always Alex.

‘We have to talk about this, Julia. We have to support each other now.’

Birgit’s voice was quivering. Julia wondered how many times Birgit wished that it had been her, Julia, who had died instead of Alex. She saw Birgit give up and how her hand shook when she put back the chair. Before she closed the door on her way out, Birgit gave Julia one last entreating glance. Julia made a point of turning over so that she faced the wall instead. The door closed silently behind Birgit.

Mornings weren’t usually Patrik’s favourite time of the day, and this one was turning out to be particularly miserable. First of all, he’d been forced to get up from Erica’s warm bed and leave her there to go to work. Second, he’d had to shovel for half an hour to dig out his car. And third, the bloody car wouldn’t start after he’d dug it out. After repeated attempts he had to give up and go back inside to ask Erica if he could borrow her car instead. That was fine, and luckily it started on the first try.

He dashed into the office a half hour late. The shovelling had soaked him to the skin with sweat, and he tugged at his shirt a few times to try to fan himself. The coffeemaker was a necessary first stop before he could start work. Not until he was seated at his desk with coffee cup in hand did he feel his pulse begin to slow down. He allowed himself to daydream for a moment, sinking into the feeling of reckless, senseless love. The night before had been just as wonderful as the first. They had even managed to muster a tiny bit of good sense and made sure they got a few hours’ sleep. To say that he was rested would have been an exaggeration, but at least he wasn’t in a coma like the day before.

The first thing he dealt with were the notes from his meeting with Jan the day before. It hadn’t produced any new details that aroused his interest, yet he didn’t consider the interview wasted time. It was just as important for the investigation that he get a feeling for the people who were, or could be, involved. ‘Homicide investigations are about people,’ one of his instructors at the Police Academy had often said, and those words of wisdom had stuck in Patrik’s mind. Besides, he thought he was a good judge of people. During interviews with witnesses and suspects he always tried to disconnect from the cold facts for a while and concentrate on soaking up impressions from the person facing him. Jan had generated no directly positive feelings in Patrik. Unreliable, slippery, and hedonistic were words that popped up in his head when he tried to gather his impressions of Jan’s personality. It was quite obvious that the man was hiding more than he revealed. Once again, Patrik picked up the stack of papers dealing with the Lorentz family. He still could show no concrete link between them and the two homicides, except for the phone calls from Anders to Jan. But he couldn’t prove that Jan’s story about wrong numbers coming to his answering machine was not correct. Patrik picked up the folder on the death of Jan’s parents. Something in the tone of Jan’s voice when he spoke about the incident bothered Patrik. There was something that rang false. He had an idea. Patrik picked up the phone and dialled a number he knew by heart.

‘Hi, Vicky, how’s it going?’