The Drowning (15 page)

But he opened his eyes when they started talking about him. Then all of the blackness came pouring over him full force. He was back with her again, he had the horrid smell in his nostrils, he heard the silence echoing in his head.

Mother’s voice pierced through the silence, pierced through the darkness. As young as he was, he understood exactly what she was saying. She regretted becoming his mother, now they were going to have a child of their own. If only she’d known ahead of time, she would never have brought him home. And Father, with his grey and tired-sounding voice, said: ‘But the boy is here now, so we’ll just have to make the best of things.’

Angry Cloud didn’t move as he sat there, and at that moment his hatred was born. He couldn’t have put the feeling into words, but he knew that it felt both wonderful and terribly painful.

So while Father packed the car with the camp stove and their clothes and the tins of food and all sorts of other stuff, he packed his hatred. It filled up the entire seat where he was sitting in back. But he didn’t hate Mother. How could he? He loved her.

He hated the one who had taken her away from him.

Erica had driven over to the Fjällbacka library. She knew that Christian wasn’t at work. He’d done a good job on the
Morning
show, at least up until the end. When they started asking him about the threats, his nervousness became all too obvious. In fact, it was so painful to watch him turning bright red and starting to sweat that Erica had turned off the TV even before the interview was over.

And now here she was, pretending to scan the titles of the books on the shelves while she worked out how she was going to broach the real purpose of her visit: talking to Christian’s colleague, May. Because the more Erica thought about the letters, the more convinced she was that it couldn’t be a stranger who was threatening Christian. No, it felt too personal; the culprit had to be found among people who were part of Christian’s life, now or in the past.

The problem was that he’d always been extremely reluctant to talk about himself. This morning she’d decided to write down everything she’d ever heard about Christian and his background. She ended up sitting in front of a blank piece of paper, holding her pen in her hand. She realized that she really knew nothing about him. Even though she and Christian had spent a lot of time together
editing his manuscript, and even though, in her opinion, they had become good friends, he had never told her anything about his private life. He never mentioned where he was from or the names of his parents or what sort of work they did. He hadn’t said where he’d gone to school, or whether he’d played any sports in his younger days. He never talked about friends he’d had or mentioned whether he was still in contact with any of them. She knew nothing about him.

That in itself set off the alarm bells. Because people always reveal little titbits about themselves in conversation, scraps of information that show what they were once like and what had made them who they’d become. The fact that Christian was so guarded about what he said made Erica even more certain that he was hiding something. The question was whether he’d been equally successful in keeping up his guard with everybody else. Maybe a colleague who worked with him every day might have learned something.

Erica cast a sidelong glance at May, who was typing at her computer. Fortunately they were the only two people in the library at the moment, so they could talk un disturbed. Finally she decided on a possible tactic. She couldn’t very well just come right out and ask May about Christian; she needed to take a more circuitous approach.

She pressed her hand to the small of her back, sighed heavily, and sank on to one of the chairs in front of the counter where May was sitting.

‘It must be hard for you. I heard you’re having twins,’ said May, giving Erica a look of maternal sympathy.

‘That’s right. I’ve got two of them inside here.’ Erica patted her stomach, trying to look as though she really needed to rest for a while. It didn’t take much acting on her part. Whenever she sat down, her whole back would relax in gratitude.

‘Just sit there and rest for a while.’

‘Thanks, I will,’ said Erica with a smile. After a moment she added, ‘Did you see Christian on TV this morning?’

‘No, I missed it, unfortunately. I was here at work. But I set up my DVD player to record the programme. At least I think it will. I’ll never be comfortable with all these modern machines. Did he do a good job?’

‘He certainly did. It’s great that his book is getting so much attention.’

‘Yes, I’m really proud of him,’ said May, her face lighting up. ‘I had no idea that he was a writer until I heard about his book being published. And what a book! The reviews have been fantastic.’

‘It’s really amazing, isn’t it?’ Erica fell silent for a moment. ‘Everybody who knows Christian must be so happy for him. I hope his former colleagues are too. Where was it he worked before he came to Fjällbacka?’ She tried to look as if she knew but just couldn’t remember.

‘Hmm …’ Unlike Erica, May seemed to be actually searching her memory. ‘You know what? Now that I think of it, I’ve actually never heard where he used to work. How strange. But Christian was already working here at the library by the time I was hired, and we’ve never talked about what he did before.’

‘So you don’t know where he’s from, or where he lived before moving to Fjällbacka?’ Erica could tell that she sounded a bit too interested, so she fought to maintain a more neutral tone. ‘I just happened to think about it today as I was watching the interview. I’ve always thought that he speaks with a Småland accent, but I suddenly seemed to hear traces of a different dialect, and I couldn’t really place it.’ Not a very good lie, but it would have to do.

May seemed to accept her explanation. ‘Well, he’s not from Småland, that much I can say with certainty. But otherwise I have no idea. Of course we talk to each other
here at work, and Christian is so pleasant and amiable.’ She looked as if she were considering how to put her next thought into words. ‘Yet he always seems to put up a barrier with other people. As if he’s saying: “It’s okay to come this close, but no closer.” Maybe I’m being silly, but I’ve never asked him about personal matters because he has somehow signalled that those types of questions wouldn’t be welcome.’

‘I know what you mean,’ replied Erica. ‘So he’s never mentioned anything in passing?’

May paused to think. ‘No, I can’t recall … Wait a minute …’

‘Yes?’ said Erica, silently cursing her own impatience.

‘It was just a little thing. But I got the feeling that … One time we were talking about Trollhättan because I’d gone to visit my sister, who lives there. And he seemed to know the town. Then he looked as if he’d been caught off guard, and he started talking about something else. I specifically remember noticing that. The fact that he changed the subject so abruptly.’

‘Did you have the feeling that he might have lived there?’

‘I think so. Although, as I said, I can’t be sure.’

It wasn’t much to go on. But at least it gave her somewhere to start. In Trollhättan.

‘Come in, Christian!’ Gaby met him at the door, and he cautiously entered the white landscape that was the publishing company’s domicile. Even though Gaby, who was head of the company, preferred strong colours and an extravagant personal style, the office was spartanly furnished and tended towards pale pastel hues. But maybe that was intentional, because it provided the perfect backdrop for her to shine.

‘Would you like some coffee?’ She pointed to a coat
rack with hangers and a shelf for hats. He hung up his jacket.

‘Yes, thanks. That would be nice.’ He followed Gaby as she led the way, her high heels clacking down the long corridor. The kitchen was decorated in colours as pale as the rest of the place, but the cups she took from the cupboard were a shocking pink, and there didn’t seem to be any others to choose from.

‘Latte? Cappuccino? Espresso?’ Gaby pointed at a gigantic coffee machine that dominated the counter. Christian paused to consider.

‘I’ll have a latte, please.’

‘Coming right up.’ She reached for his cup and began pressing buttons. When the coffee machine had stopped huffing and puffing, she motioned for Christian to follow her.

‘We’ll go to my office. There are too many people running around here.’ She nodded pointedly at a young woman in her thirties who had come into the kitchen. Judging by the woman’s alarmed expression, Christian thought Gaby must keep a tight rein on her employees.

‘Have a seat.’ Gaby’s office was right next door to the kitchen. It was neat and pleasant but impersonal. No photographs of family members, no odd little knickknacks. Nothing that would give any hint as to who Gaby really was, and Christian suspected that was exactly the way she wanted it.

‘You were great this morning!’ She sat down behind the desk, beaming at him.

He nodded, fully aware that she’d noticed his nervousness. He wondered if she had any pangs of conscience about the way she’d thrown him to the media, leaving him defenceless for what was to come.

‘You have such a presence.’ Her teeth flashed a dazzling white as she smiled at him. Too white, an unnatural white.

He clutched the pink coffee cup in his sweaty hands.

‘We’re going to try to get you a few more TV spots,’ Gaby prattled on. ‘
Carin
, at nine thirty in the evening,
Malou
on Channel 4, maybe some kind of game show. I think you –’

‘I’m not doing any more TV shows.’

Gaby stared at him. ‘Sorry? I must have heard wrong. Did you just say that you’re not doing any more TV?’

‘That’s right. You saw what happened this morning. I’m not going to subject myself to that again.’

‘But TV sells books.’ Gaby’s nostrils flared. ‘Just that one short interview this morning is going to really spark sales of your book.’ She was impatiently tapping her long fingernails on the desktop.

‘I’m sure that’s true, but it doesn’t matter. I’m not doing anything like that again.’ And he really meant what he said. He didn’t want to appear in the spotlight any more. He couldn’t. Even that one interview was too much; it had been enough to provoke a reaction. Maybe he could still keep fate at bay if he put a stop to it. But he had to do it now.

‘I must say, you’re not being very cooperative. I can’t sell your book or get readers to notice it if you won’t help me. And that means taking part in the promotional efforts.’ Gaby’s voice was ice cold.

Christian felt a buzzing start up inside his head. He stared at Gaby’s pink nails against the light-coloured desktop, and he tried to stop the roar that kept getting louder and louder. He began scratching the palm of his left hand. He felt a prickling under his skin. Like an in visible eczema that got worse the more he touched it.

‘I’m not doing anything like that again,’ he repeated. He didn’t dare meet her eye. The slight nervousness he’d felt before coming to this meeting had now turned to panic. She couldn’t force him. Or could she? What exactly
did it say in the contract that he’d signed? He hadn’t really read it, he’d been so thrilled about getting his book accepted for publication.

Gaby’s voice cut through the roaring sound. ‘We expect you to show up, Christian. I expect you to show up.’ Her annoyance provided more impetus for the prickling and itching sensation inside of him. He scratched even harder at the palm of his hand, until he felt it sting. When he glanced down, he saw bloody streaks left by his fingernails. He looked up.

‘I need to go home now.’

Gaby studied him with a frown on her face. ‘How are you doing, actually?’ The furrow on her brow deepened when she saw the blood on the palm of his hand. ‘Christian …’ She seemed at a loss for what to say, and he couldn’t take it any longer. The thoughts were buzzing louder and louder, saying things that he didn’t want to hear. All the question marks, all the connections, everything merged together until the itching under his skin was the only thing he noticed.

He jumped up and ran out of the room.

Patrik stared at the phone. It would take quite a while to get a complete report on the body that they’d found under the ice, but he was counting on receiving confirmation very soon that it really was Magnus Kjellner. Rumours were no doubt already flying through Fjällbacka, and he didn’t want Cia to hear about it from anyone other than the police.

But so far his phone had remained silent.

‘Nothing yet?’ Annika stuck her head in the door, giving him an enquiring look.

Patrik shook his head. ‘Nope. But I’m expecting to hear from Pedersen any minute.’

‘Let’s hope you do,’ said Annika. The second she turned
to go back to the reception area, the phone rang. Patrik grabbed the receiver.

‘Hedström.’ He listened, motioning for Annika to wait. It was Tord Pedersen from the forensics lab on the line. ‘Yes … Okay … I understand … Thanks.’ He put down the phone and exhaled loudly. ‘Pedersen confirmed that it’s Magnus Kjellner. He won’t be able to give us a time of death until after the post-mortem, but he can say with certainty that Kjellner was the victim of a violent assault. His body has a number of stab wounds on it.’