Martin paused for a moment. ‘You said from the start that you had a funny feeling about this one. You think Mellberg will go along with it?’
Patrik gave him a look, and Martin laughed.
‘It all depends on how I present it, don’t you think?’ Patrik said.
‘Too right. It all depends on the presentation.’
Patrik laughed along with him and stood up. Then he turned serious again.
‘Do you think I’m making a mountain out of a molehill? Pedersen didn’t actually find anything concrete to indicate that it wasn’t an accident. But …’ he said, waving the faxed autopsy report, ‘at the same time there’s something about this that rings a bell. For the life of me I can’t …’ Patrik ran his hand through his hair again.
‘Let’s do this,’ said Martin. ‘We’ll start asking around and gather some more details to see where it leads. Maybe that will trigger your memory of whatever it is that’s bugging you.’
‘Okay, good. I’ll talk to Mellberg first though. Why don’t we drive out and have another chat with Marit’s partner later?’
‘Fine by me,’ said Martin, returning to the reports he was writing. ‘Come and get me when you’re ready.’
‘Okay.’ Patrik was already on his way out the door when Martin stopped him.
‘Wait a sec,’ he said hesitantly. ‘I’ve been meaning to ask you how it’s going at home. With your sister-in-law and everything.’
Patrik smiled as he stood in the doorway. ‘We’re starting to be a bit more hopeful, actually. Anna seems to have begun to climb out of the abyss. Thanks to Dan.’
‘Dan?’ Martin said in surprise. ‘Erica’s Dan?’
‘Excuse me, what do you mean by “Erica’s Dan”? He’s our Dan now.’
‘All right, all right,’ Martin said with a laugh. ‘Your Dan. But what’s he got to do with it?’
‘Well, on Monday Erica had the bright idea to ask him to come over and talk to Anna. And it worked. They’ve started taking long walks together, just to talk, and that seems to be exactly what Anna needed. She’s turned into a whole different woman in just a couple of days. The kids are delighted.’
‘That’s fantastic,’ Martin said sincerely.
‘Yeah, you can say that again,’ said Patrik with a slap on the door jamb. ‘Look, I’ll go in and see Mellberg now to get it over with. We can talk more later.’
‘Okay,’ said Martin, returning to his paperwork; another aspect of the profession he could have done without.
The days dragged by. It felt as if Friday and his date for dinner would never come. It was strange to be thinking in these terms at his age. But even if it wasn’t a real date, it was still a dinner invitation. When Mellberg rang Rose-Marie he hadn’t had any plan worked out, so he surprised himself by suggesting they have dinner at the Gestgifveri. His wallet was going to be even more surprised. He simply couldn’t understand what was happening to him. Previously, the thought of going out to eat at such an expensive restaurant as Gestgifveri would never have crossed his mind. The fact that he was now prepared to pay for two – no, that was not at all like him. And yet he wasn’t bothered by it. To tell the truth, he was looking forward to gazing at Rose-Marie’s face in the candlelight as delicious dishes were set before them.
Mellberg shook his head in bewilderment, and his nest of hair slipped down over one ear. What had got into him? Could he be sick? He folded his hair back up on his pate and felt his forehead, but no, it was cool and showed no sign of fever. But something was going on. Maybe a little sugar would help.
His hand was already reaching for one of the coconut balls in his bottom desk drawer when he heard a knock on the door.
‘Yes?’ he called, annoyed.
Patrik stepped into his office. ‘Pardon me, am I interrupting anything?’
‘Not at all,’ said Mellberg with a sigh, taking one last look at the desk drawer. ‘Come on in.’
Mellberg had mixed emotions about this detective, who was much too young in his view, for all that he was pushing forty. True, he had conducted himself well during the recent homicide investigations, and he never showed any lack of respect for his boss, but Mellberg couldn’t shake off the sense that Hedström considered himself superior.
‘We got the report from Monday’s accident.’
‘Yes?’ Mellberg said, sounding bored. Traffic accidents were part of the routine.
‘Well, there seem to be some things that need clarifying.’
‘Clarifying?’ Now Mellberg’s interest was aroused.
‘Yes,’ said Patrik, again casting a glance at the papers he was holding. ‘The victim has some injuries that cannot be traced to the accident itself. In addition, Marit was actually dead before the crash. Alcohol poisoning. She had a level of point six-one in her blood.’
‘Point six-one – are you joking?’
‘No, I’m afraid not.’
‘And the injuries?’ said Mellberg, leaning forward.
Patrik paused. ‘There are signs of trauma in and around her mouth.’
‘Around her mouth?’ Mellberg said sceptically.
‘I know it’s not much to go on, but taken together with the fact that everyone said she never drank, and that she had an abnormally high blood alcohol level, it seems fishy.’
‘Fishy? Are you asking me to start an investigation because you think something seems “fishy”?’ Mellberg raised an eyebrow. This was all much too vague for his liking. On the other hand, Patrik’s hunches had panned out before, so he couldn’t afford not to pay attention. He thought about it for a whole minute as Patrik watched him tensely.
‘Okay,’ he said at last. ‘Spend a couple of hours on it. If the two of you – I assume you’ll take Molin with you – find anything to indicate that things are not as they should be, then keep going. But if you don’t find anything, then I don’t want you wasting anymore time on it. Understood?’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Patrik with obvious relief.
‘Okay, get to work,’ Mellberg said with a wave of his right hand. His left was already on its way to the bottom drawer of his desk.
Sofie stepped cautiously inside. ‘Hello? Kerstin, are you home?’
The flat was quiet. She had checked, and Kerstin wasn’t at her job at Extra Film; she had called in sick. Not surprisingly, given the circumstances, Sofie had been allowed time off from school. But where could Kerstin be? Sofie walked through the flat. She was suddenly overwhelmed by tears. She dropped her rucksack on the floor and sat down in the middle of the living-room rug. She closed her eyes to lock out all the sensory impressions that had flooded over her. There were reminders of Marit everywhere. The curtains she had sewn, the painting they’d bought when Marit moved into the flat, the cushions that Sofie never fluffed up after lying on them, something that Marit always complained about. All those trivial, everyday, sad things that now echoed with emptiness. Sofie had always been so annoyed by her mother and yelled at her because Marit made demands and laid down rules. But she had secretly been pleased. The constant arguing and squabbling at home had made Sofie long for stability and clear rules. And despite all her teenage rebelliousness, she had always felt secure in the knowledge that her mother was there. Mamma. Marit. Now only Pappa was left.
A hand on her shoulder made Sofie jump. She turned her head and looked up.
‘Kerstin. Were you home?’