‘Sounds like a recipe for success,’ said Patrik with a smile, but the enormous sense of ambition radiating towards him also made him feel uncomfortable. It wasn’t something he was used to.
‘I hope so,’ said Hanna, still watching the countryside passing by. ‘And what about you? How long have you worked in Tanumshede?’
To his chagrin Patrik heard himself sounding a bit ashamed when he replied. ‘Oh … ever since police academy, actually.’
‘Ooh, I never could have managed that. I mean, you must really enjoy it. That’s a good omen for my time here.’ She laughed and turned to look at him.
‘Well, I suppose you could think of it that way. But a lot of it has to do with habit and my comfort zone too. I grew up here, and I know the area like the back of my hand. Although I actually don’t live in Tanumshede anymore. Now I live in Fjällbacka.’
‘That’s right, I heard you were married to Erica Falck! I love her books! Well, the ones about murders, that is; I haven’t read the biographies, I have to admit.’
‘You don’t have to be ashamed about that. Half of Sweden has read the latest crime novel, judging by the sales figures, but most people don’t even know that she published five biographies of Swedish women writers. The one that sold best was about Karin Boye, and I think it got up to around two thousand copies. Anyway, we aren’t married yet – but we will be soon. We’re getting married on Whitsun Eve!’
‘Oh, congratulations! How lovely to have a Whitsuntide wedding.’
‘Well, we hope so. Although to be honest, at this point I’d rather fly off to Las Vegas and get away from all the hullabaloo. I had no idea it was such an undertaking to plan a wedding.’
Hanna gave a hearty laugh. ‘Yes, I can imagine.’
‘But you’re married too, I saw in your file. Didn’t you have a big church wedding?’
A dark shadow passed over Hanna’s face. She turned away and mumbled so faintly he could barely hear her: ‘We had a civil wedding. But that’s a story for some other time. It looks like we’re here.’
Up ahead they saw a wrecked car in the ditch. Two firemen were busy cutting through the roof, but they were in no hurry. After a look in the front seat Patrik understood why.
It was not by chance that the town council were meeting in his own home rather than the community centre. After months of intense remodelling, at a cost of two million kronor, the house was ready to be inspected and admired. It was one of the oldest and largest houses in Grebbestad, and it had taken a good deal of persuasion to get the previous owners to sell. Their protests about how it ‘belonged in the family’ had soon subsided when he raised the offer. It never even occurred to them that he had offered considerably less than he would have been willing to pay.
‘As you can see, we took great pains to respect the integrity of the place. In fact the photographer sent by Residence said he’d never seen such a tasteful renovation. If anyone missed last month’s issue, we have a few extra copies – do help yourself on the way out, then you can leaf through it at your leisure.’
Ushering his guests into the dining room, Erling W. Larson pointed to the large dining-room table that was set for coffee. ‘Let’s get down to business, shall we.’ His wife had made all the arrangements while he was showing the house, and now she stood silently by the table waiting for them to sit down. Erling gave her an appreciative nod. She was worth her weight in gold, that Viveca; a bit quiet perhaps, but better a woman who knew when to keep her mouth shut than a chatterbox.
‘Well, you know where I stand,’ said Uno Brorsson, dropping four sugar cubes into his cup. Erling regarded him with distaste. He didn’t understand men who neglected their health. For his part he jogged ten kilometres every morning and had also had some discreet work done. But only Viveca knew about that.
‘We certainly do,’ said Erling, a hint more sharply than he’d intended. ‘But there’s no point debating the matter now that an agreement has been reached. The TV team will be arriving shortly, so let’s be reasonable and make the best of things, eh? Just look at the boost Åmål got from the seasons they filmed there, and that was nothing compared with the publicity generated by Sodding Töreboda. Over the coming weeks, the whole country will be sitting down to watch Sodding Tanum. What a unique opportunity for us to show off our little corner of Sweden from its best side!’
‘Best side?’ Uno snorted. ‘Boozing and sex and dumb reality show bimbos – is that how we want to depict Tanumshede?’
‘Well, I for one think it’s bound to be terribly exciting!’ said Gunilla Kjellin in her strident voice, her eyes sparkling at Erling. Though she would never admit it, she had a massive crush on him. Which suited Erling, so long as it guaranteed him her vote.
‘Yes, listen to Gunilla. This is the spirit in which we should be welcoming the upcoming project. It’s an exciting adventure we’re embarking on, and an opportunity we should embrace whole-heartedly!’ Erling was using the persuasive tone he’d employed with such success over the years as director of a huge insurance firm. Every once in a while he grew nostalgic for those halcyon days. It hadn’t been easy, taking early retirement after his heart attack, but it had proved to be the best decision he’d ever made. And he’d got out in the nick of time. Right before the press, scenting blood, began ripping his former colleagues to pieces.
‘What are we doing about the risk of damage? I heard that Töreboda had a lot of that while they were filming there. Will the TV company cover it?’
Erling snorted impatiently. Erik Bohlin, the town’s young financial officer, was forever fussing about trivialities instead of looking at ‘the big picture’. What the hell did he know about finance anyway? He was barely thirty, and in his whole life he’d probably never dealt with as much money as Erling used to spend in a single day.
Fixing Bohlin with a withering stare, he said dismissively: ‘Compared to the increased tourist influx we’re expecting, a few broken windows are nothing to worry about. Besides, I’m sure the police will do their utmost to earn their salaries and keep on top of the situation.’
He let his gaze rest for a few seconds on each of the council members. One by one their eyes fell as they abandoned any notion of protest.
‘It’ll be fine,’ said Jörn Schuster.
For the life of him, Erling couldn’t understand why Jörn had chosen to remain on the council. Ignominiously voted out after fifteen years as town commissioner, he ought to have crept off with his tail between his legs. But if Jörn wanted to wallow in his humiliation, fine. There were certain benefits in having the old fox present, even though he was now both exhausted and toothless, figuratively speaking. He had his faithful supporters, and they would keep quiet as long as they saw that Jörn was still actively involved.
‘So, now it’s a matter of showing our enthusiasm. I’m going to welcome the team in person at one o’clock, and of course you’re all welcome to attend. Otherwise we’ll see one another at the regular meeting on Thursday.’ He stood up to indicate that the meeting was adjourned.
Uno was still muttering when he left, but Erling reckoned he’d done a pretty good job in mustering the troops. This venture reeked of success, he was sure of it.
Pleased, he went out onto the veranda and lit a victory cigar. In the dining room Viveca silently cleared the table.
‘Da da da da.’ Maja sat in her high chair prattling as she evaded with great skill the spoon that her mother was trying to stick in her mouth. After taking aim for a moment Erica finally managed to get a spoonful of porridge in, but her joy was short-lived when Maja chose that instant to demonstrate that she could make a noise like a car. ‘Brrrrr,’ she said with such