‘Congregation?’ said Patrik. ‘What sort of congregation?’
‘The Cross of the Virgin Mary,’ Gerda replied. ‘A Catholic congregation.’
‘Catholic?’ said Martin. ‘Was she from some southern country?’
‘There are Catholics in Scandinavia too,’ said Patrik, a bit embarrassed at Martin’s ignorance. ‘That form of Christianity is practised all over the globe, and there are several thousand Catholics here in Sweden.’
‘Quite right,’ said Rickard. ‘There are actually about a hundred and sixty thousand Catholics in Sweden. Elsa had been a member for many years, and the congregation was basically her family.’
‘Didn’t she have any relatives?’ asked Patrik.
‘No, we weren’t able to find any close relations,’ said Gerda. ‘We conducted many interviews with members of her congregation to see whether there was any schism there, anything that might have led to Elsa’s murder. But we drew a blank.’
‘If we wanted to talk with somebody in the congregation who was close to Elsa, who would that be?’ Martin held his pen ready to take notes.
‘The priest, without a doubt. Father Silvio Mancini. And he is from southern Europe.’ Gerda winked at Martin, who blushed.
‘From what I gather, the victim in Tanumshede also bore traces of having been tied up?’ Rickard directed the question to Patrik.
‘Yes, that’s true. Our ME found cord grooves on both the arms and wrists. Was that one of the things that led you to designate Elsa’s death as a homicide straight away?’
‘Yes.’ Gerda took out a photo and slid it across the table to Patrik and Martin. They looked at it for a few seconds and saw that the cord marks were very evident. Elsa Forsell had without a doubt been tied up. Patrik also recognized the odd blue marks around her mouth. ‘Did you also find traces of tape?’ He looked at Gerda, who nodded.
‘Yes, adhesive from ordinary brown tape.’ She cleared her throat. ‘We’re very interested in seeing all the information you have regarding these homicides. We will of course share everything we have. I know that sometimes there’s a certain rivalry between police districts, but we sincerely hope that we can all cooperate and keep the channels open between us.’ This was not an appeal but a cold statement. Patrik nodded without hesitation.
‘Naturally. We need all the help we can get. Including yours. So by all means let’s share copies of whatever material we both have. And we can stay in touch by phone.’
‘Good,’ said Gerda.
Patrik couldn’t help noticing the admiring glance she got from her husband. Patrik’s respect for Rickard Svensson grew. It took a real man to appreciate having a wife who had climbed higher on the career ladder than he had.
‘Do you know where we can get hold of Father Mancini?’ said Martin as they stood up to leave.
‘The Catholic congregation has premises downtown.’ Konrad jotted down the address and gave the slip of paper to Martin. He also told them how to find their way there.
‘After you’ve talked with Father Silvio you can come back and pick up a packet with all the material at reception,’ said Gerda as she shook Patrik’s hand. ‘I’ll see to it that copies of everything are made for you.’
‘Thanks for your help,’ said Patrik, and he meant it. Cooperation between districts was, as Gerda had pointed out, not always favoured by the police, so he was very glad that this investigation would be taking a different tack.
‘When are you going to stop all these stupid goings-on?’
Jonna shut her eyes. Her mamma’s voice on the phone was always so harsh, so accusatory.
‘Pappa and I have talked, and we think that it’s irresponsible of you to waste your life like this. And we have our reputations at the hospital to think of as well; you have to understand that you’re making fools of us too!’
‘I knew this would have something to do with the hospital,’ Jonna muttered.
‘What did you say? You have to speak up so I can hear what you’re saying, Jonna. You’re nineteen years old now, and you have to learn to articulate properly. And I have to say that these latest newspaper articles have been especially upsetting for Pappa and me. People are starting to wonder what sort of parents we are. And we’ve done our best, I can assure you. But Pappa and I have an important job to do, and you’re old enough now, Jonna, that you really should understand that. You need to show more respect for what we do. You know, yesterday I operated on a little Russian boy who had come here for treatment to repair a serious heart defect. He couldn’t get the operation he needed in his homeland, but I was able to help him! Because of me he will survive and live a worthwhile life! I think you ought to display a bit more humility towards life, Jonna. You’ve always had it so easy. Have we ever denied you anything? You’ve always had clothes on your back, a roof over your head, and food on the table. Think of all the children who haven’t even had half, no, a tenth of what you’ve enjoyed. They would be grateful to be in your position. And they wouldn’t keep doing such stupid things and injuring themselves. No, I think you’re being selfish, Jonna. It’s high time for you to grow up! Pappa and I think that –’
Jonna cut off the call and sank slowly down to sit with her back against the wall. The anxiety grew and grew until it felt as though it wanted to pour out of her throat. It filled every part of her body, making her feel she was going to explode. The feeling of not having anywhere to go, anywhere to flee, overpowered her as it had so many times before. With trembling hands she took out the razor blade that she always kept in her wallet. Her fingers were now shaking so hard that she dropped the blade, and with a curse she tried to pick it up from the floor. She cut her fingers several times trying, but eventually she picked it up and moved it slowly down the underside of her right forearm. With deep concentration she looked at the razor blade as she lowered it towards the scarred, damaged skin that looked like a lunar landscape of alternating white and pink flesh, with sharp red ridges like tiny rivers. When the first blood trickled out she felt the anxiety subside. She pressed harder and the rivulet became a red, pulsing stream. Jonna watched it with relief written all over her face. She lifted the razor blade and drew a new river among the scars. Then she raised her head and smiled into the camera. She looked almost blissful.
‘We’re looking for Father Silvio Mancini.’ Patrik held up his police identification to the woman who opened the door. She stepped aside and called, ‘Silvio! The police are here about something!’
A white-haired man dressed in jeans and a sweater came towards them. Patrik had expected him to appear in full priestly regalia, not in everyday clothes. He knew that the priest couldn’t go about in his clerical garb all the time, but it still took him a second to recover from his surprise.
‘I’m Patrik Hedström, and this is Martin Molin,’ he said, pointing to his colleague. The priest nodded and showed them to a small sofa group. The sanctuary was small but well kept, and there were plenty of the attributes that Patrik with his layman’s knowledge associated with Catholicism, such as pictures of the Virgin Mary and a big crucifix. The woman who had opened the door for them brought in coffee and cakes. Father Silvio thanked her warmly. She smiled in response but then retreated. Father Silvio turned his attention to them and asked in perfect Swedish, but with an unmistakable Italian accent, ‘So, what can I do for the police?’
‘We’d like to ask a few questions about Elsa Forsell.’
Father Silvio sighed. ‘I was hoping that sooner or later the police would find some sort of lead. Even though I truly believe in the flames of purgatory, I would prefer that the murderer receive his punishment while still in this life.’ He smiled, showing humour and empathy at the same time. Patrik got the impression that he and Elsa had been close, which was confirmed by Father Silvio’s next comment.
‘Elsa was a good friend for many,