‘Hmm…’ said Anna, watching Erica as she hurried out of the room. She felt a pang in her heart. Personally she could have done with a little less peace and quiet.
Fjällbacka had never looked better. From the dock outside the boathouse where he sat with his wife and in-laws, John had a view of the entire harbour entrance. The glorious weather had enticed more sailing enthusiasts and tourists than usual, and scores of boats were moored close together along the pontoon dock. He could hear music and laughter coming from inside the vessels, and he was surveying the lively scene as he squinted into the sunlight.
‘It’s too bad that debate is at such a low level in Sweden today.’ John raised his wine glass and took a sip of the nicely chilled rosé. ‘People pay lip service to democracy and say that everyone has the right to be heard, but we’re not allowed to express our views. It’s as if we don’t exist. What everybody forgets is that we were elected by the people. A sufficient number of Swedes showed that they harbour a deep mistrust of the way things are being handled. They want change, and we’ve promised them that change.’
He set his glass down and went back to peeling shrimp. A big plate of unpeeled shrimp was still awaiting his attention.
‘I know. It’s terrible,’ said his father-in-law, reaching for the bowl of shrimp and grabbing a handful. ‘If this is truly a democracy, we need to listen to the people.’
‘And everybody knows that lots of immigrants come here purely to take advantage of the social benefits,’ interjected his mother-in-law. ‘It would be fine if all these foreigners were prepared to work and contribute to society. But I have no desire to see my tax money used to support those parasites.’ She had already begun to slur her words.
John sighed. What idiots. They had no idea what they were talking about. It was the same with most voters: they were nothing but sheep, oversimplifying the problem, unable to see the big picture. His in-laws personified the ignorance that he loathed, and here he sat, stuck with them for a whole week.
Liv stroked his thigh in an attempt to calm him. She knew what he thought about them, and she mostly agreed. But Barbro and Kent were still her parents, and there wasn’t much she could do about that.
‘The worst part is the way they’re moving into all areas these days,’ said Barbro. ‘A family just moved into our neighbourhood, and the mother is Swedish, but the father is an Arab. I can’t begin to imagine how awful it must be for that poor woman, the way Arabs treat their wives. And I’m sure the children will be bullied in school. Then they’ll get in trouble with the police, and she’ll end up regretting that she didn’t marry a Swedish boy instead.’
‘You can say that again,’ said Kent, attempting to take a bite of a huge shrimp sandwich.
‘Can’t you let John have a rest from politics for a while?’ said Liv, her tone mildly reproachful. ‘He spends enough time discussing the immigrant issue in Stockholm, day in and day out. He deserves a break when he’s over here.’
John gave her a grateful look as he paused to admire his wife. She was perfect. Silky blonde hair swept back from her face. Classic features and clear blue eyes.
‘Sorry, sweetheart. We weren’t thinking. We’re just so proud of what John is doing, and the position that he has achieved. All right, let’s talk about something else. How’s it going with your little business, by the way?’
Liv eagerly began recounting all the difficulties she’d been having with the customs department, which seemed determined to complicate her business affairs. She was constantly dealing with setbacks to deliveries of the home furnishings that she imported from France and then sold through her online shop. But John knew that her interest in the shop had been dwindling. She was devoting more and more time to party politics. Everything else seemed unimportant in comparison.
The seagulls were hovering lower over the dock, and he stood up.
‘I suggest we clear things away. Those birds are getting a little too close for comfort.’ He picked up his plate, walked out to the end of the dock, and tossed the shrimp peelings into the sea. The gulls swooped down to catch as many as possible. The crabs would take care of the rest.
He stood there for a moment and took a deep breath as he stared at the horizon. As usual, his gaze settled on Valö, and as usual the anger began smouldering inside him. Fortunately his thoughts were interrupted by a buzzing sound in his trouser pocket. He swiftly took out his mobile, casting a glance at the display before answering. The call was from the prime minister.
‘Tell me, what do you think about those cards?’ asked Patrik as he held the door open for Martin. It was so heavy that he had to give it a shove with his shoulder. Tanum police station was built in the 1960s, and the first time that Patrik set foot in the bunker-like building, he’d been overwhelmed by the dreary appearance. He’d since become so accustomed to the dirty yellow and beige of the furnishings that he’d ceased to notice the complete lack of comfort or appeal.
‘It all sounds very odd. Who would go on sending anonymous birthday cards every year?’
‘Not totally anonymous. They were signed “G”.’
‘Well, that makes it even more peculiar,’ replied Martin, and Patrik laughed.
‘What’s so funny?’ asked Annika, peering at them through the glass panes of the reception area.
‘Nothing in particular,’ said Martin.
Annika swivelled about in her desk chair and scooted over to the doorway of her small office. ‘How’d it go out there?’
‘We need to wait and see what Torbjörn can find out, but it does appear that someone was trying to burn down the house.’
‘I’ll make some coffee and we can talk.’ Annika headed down the hall, shooing Patrik and Martin ahead of her.
‘Have you told Mellberg?’ Martin asked as they went into the kitchen.
‘No, I didn’t think it necessary to say anything to Bertil. He’s got the weekend off, after all. No point bothering the boss yet awhile.’
‘You have a point,’ said Patrik, sitting down on a chair next to the window.
‘So here you all are, having a nice chat over coffee, and you didn’t think to invite me.’ Gösta was standing in the doorway, looking sullen.
‘You’re here? But it’s your day off. Why aren’t you out on the golf course?’ Patrik pulled out the chair next to him so Gösta could sit down.
‘Too hot. Thought I might as well come in and write up a few reports, then I can spend a couple of hours out on the course another day when it’s not so hot that you could fry an egg on the pavement. Where have you guys been? Annika mentioned something about arson.’
‘That’s right. It seems somebody poured petrol or some other accelerant under the front door and then ignited it.’
‘Good Lord!’ Gösta took a Ballerina biscuit and carefully separated the two halves. ‘Where did this happen?’
‘On Valö. The old summer camp,’ said Martin.
Gösta gave a start. ‘The summer camp?’
‘Yes. It’s a bit odd. I don’t know whether you heard, but the youngest daughter – the one who was left behind when the whole family disappeared – has come back and taken over the place.’
‘Right. There have been a lot of rumours about that,’ said Gösta without lifting his gaze from the table.
Patrik gave him a puzzled look. ‘You were here then, you must have worked on the case, right?’
‘Yes, I did. That’s how old I am,’ Gösta told him. ‘I wonder why she’d want to move back there.’
‘She mentioned something about losing a son,’ said Martin.
‘Ebba lost a child? When? What happened?’
‘They didn’t say anything else about it.’ Martin got up to fetch some milk from the refrigerator.
Patrik frowned; it wasn’t like Gösta to show concern. But he’d seen this happen before. Every veteran police officer had an unsolved case that he couldn’t get out of his mind. An old investigation that he kept brooding over, constantly mulling it over, trying to solve the mystery before it was too late.