‘They don’t seem like the kind of people to give up easily.’
‘She’s a stubborn sort,’ said Gösta with obvious pride.
Erica looked at him in surprise but didn’t ask any questions. She knew from experience how personally involved she could get in the lives of the people that she wrote about. It was probably the same for police officers. Over the course of their careers they became entangled in the fates of so many individuals.
‘When I met Ebba there was one thing that I wondered about and thought a bit strange.’
‘What’s that?’ said Gösta, but a scream made Erica jump up to rush into the living room to see who was hurt. It took a few minutes before she returned to the kitchen to take up the thread of their conversation.
‘Where were we? Oh, right. I thought it was strange that Ebba didn’t have any of the belongings that her family left behind. The house wasn’t just a boarding school, it was their home, so there ought to have been loads of personal possessions. I took it for granted that they’d been given to Ebba, but she had no idea what had happened to all those things.’
‘Good point.’ Gösta rubbed his chin. ‘I need to check whether an inventory was carried out. I can’t remember seeing any lists.’
‘I thought it might be worth it to take a look at their things with fresh eyes.’
‘Not a bad idea. I’ll see what I can find.’ He glanced at his watch and then jumped to his feet. ‘Jesus, the time has flown by. Hedström must be wondering where I am.’
Erica put her hand on his arm to reassure him.
‘You’ll think up a good excuse. Say you overslept or something like that. He won’t suspect a thing, I swear.’
‘Easy for you to say,’ replied Gösta, heading out to the hall to put on his shoes.
‘Don’t forget what we’ve agreed. I need contact details for everyone involved, and you’re going to find out where the Elvanders’ belongings got to.’
Erica leaned forward and impulsively gave Gösta a hug. He awkwardly hugged her back.
‘Okay, let me go. I promise to get to work on everything as soon as I can.’
‘You’re a rock,’ said Erica, winking.
‘Right. Well, best see to your kids now. I’ll be in touch when I have something.’
Erica closed the door after him and did exactly as he’d said. She sat down on the sofa and as all three children climbed up to claim the best place on her lap, she absentmindedly watched the adventures of Pippi Longstocking unfolding on the TV.
It was nice and quiet at the station. For a change, Mellberg had come out of his office to sit in the kitchen. Ernst, who was never more than a metre away from his master, had settled under the table, hoping that sooner or later it would be time for a snack.
‘What a bloody idiot!’ snarled Mellberg, pointing to the latest issue of Bohusläningen on the table in front of him. The newspaper had printed the interview with John Holm as its feature article.
‘I don’t understand how people can elect guys like him to the Riksdag. That’s the flip-side of democracy, if you ask me.’ Patrik sat down across from Mellberg. ‘By the way, we need to have a talk with him. Holm was apparently one of the boys who was out on Valö that Easter.’
‘In that case we’d better hurry. It says he’s only staying here a week before heading back to Stockholm.’
‘Yes, I saw that. I’m planning on seeing him this morning. I was thinking of taking Gösta with me.’ He turned to peer over his shoulder at the hallway. ‘But where is he? Annika – have you heard anything from Gösta?’
‘Not a word. Maybe he overslept,’ replied Annika from the reception area.
‘I could go with you instead,’ said Mellberg, closing the newspaper.
‘Oh, that’s not necessary. I’ll wait for Gösta. He should be here any minute. I’m sure you have more important things to do.’ Patrik could feel panic rising. Taking Mellberg along to an interview always spelled disaster.
Mellberg snapped his fingers a few times, and Patrik tried feverishly to come up with an argument to dissuade him from going.
‘Maybe we should phone ahead to make an appointment.’
Mellberg snorted. ‘It pays to catch a guy like that… what’s the expression?…’ He snapped his fingers again. ‘En garde.’
‘Off guard,’ Patrik corrected him. ‘You mean off guard.’
A few minutes later they were in the car heading for Fjällbacka. Mellberg was whistling to himself. At first he had insisted on driving, but that was where Patrik drew the line.
‘People like that are so narrow-minded and petty. They have no respect for other cultures or human diversity.’ Mellberg nodded at his own statements.
Patrik was itching to remind his boss how narrow-minded he used to be, throwing out comments that the Friends of Sweden would undoubtedly have approved of. But in Mellberg’s defence, it had to be said that he’d rid himself of his prejudices the moment he fell in love with Rita.
‘That’s the boathouse, right?’ Patrik turned into the small gravel area in front of one of the red boathouses on Hamngatan. They’d agreed to take a chance that Holm would be there, rather than the house in Mörhult.
‘It looks like somebody is sitting on the dock, at any rate.’ Mellberg craned his neck to peer over the fence.
The gravel crunched under their shoes as they approached. Patrik wasn’t sure whether he should knock, but that seemed silly, so he simply pushed open the gate.
He immediately recognized John Holm. The photographer for Bohusläningen had captured his almost stereotypical Swedish features while at the same time managing to make the photos of the broadly smiling man seem disturbingly menacing. He was smiling now, but there was confusion in his blue eyes as he came to greet them.
‘Hi. We’re from the Tanum police,’ said Patrik, introducing himself and Mellberg.
‘Oh?’ Holm’s expression turned wary. ‘Has something happened?’
‘That depends on how you look at it. We’re here to talk to you about something that happened a long time ago, but unfortunately it’s in the spotlight once again.’
‘Valö,’ said Holm. It was no longer possible to decipher his expression.
‘Yes, that’s right,’ said Mellberg, taking an aggressive tone. ‘It’s about Valö.’
Patrik took a couple of deep breaths in order to stay calm.
‘Could we sit down and talk?’ he asked, and Holm nodded.
‘Of course. Have a seat. The sun is quite fierce out here. I enjoy it, but if you think it’s too hot, I can put up the umbrella.’
‘No, it’s fine.’ Patrik waved his hand dismissively. He wanted to get this over with as fast as possible, before Mellberg made a mess of things.
‘I see you’ve been reading Bohusläningen.’ Mellberg gestured towards the newspaper, which lay open on the table.
Holm shrugged. ‘Shoddy journalism is always so tiresome. I was misquoted and misinterpreted. The whole article is filled with insinuations.’
Mellberg tugged at his shirt collar. He had already started turning red in the face. ‘I think it’s well written.’
‘The newspaper has clearly taken sides, but you have to put up with these sorts of attacks when you get into this business.’
‘All the things he’s questioning have featured in propaganda put out by you and your group. For instance, the nonsense about how an immigrant who commits a crime should be deported regardless of whether he has a residence permit. How is that going to work? Should somebody who has lived in Sweden for years and put down roots be sent back to his native country just because he or she stole a bicycle?’ Mellberg had raised his voice, and spittle was spraying from his mouth as he talked.
Patrik sat there as if paralysed. It was like witnessing a car accident that was about to happen. Even though he agreed with what Bertil was saying, this was not the proper occasion to discuss politics.