‘I don’t think she knows anything,’ said Paula. ‘She’s very confused and upset. And scared. She doesn’t think that Christian knows who it was, but she hesitated a bit when she said that – which makes me suspect that she’s not quite sure. It might be good to talk to her again under calmer circumstances, after the worst of the shock has worn off. By the way, I recorded our conversation, so you can listen to it yourself, if you like. The recording is on my desk. Maybe you might pick up something I missed.’
‘Thanks,’ said Patrik again, but this time he meant it. Paula was always reliable, and it was great to have her on the investigative team.
He looked at the small group gathered in the kitchen. ‘All right then, we’re finished here. Annika, keep working on the background material and we’ll check with you again in a couple of hours. I think I’ll take Paula along and go to see Cia. We haven’t made it out to her house yet today, and now it seems even more urgent, after what happened this morning. Magnus’s death is somehow linked to all of this. That’s one thing I know for certain.’
Erica went to a café and ordered a coffee so she could sit in peace and quiet as she read the letters. She had no scruples about opening somebody else’s post. If Christian had been anxious to have those letters, he would have given Janos Kovács his new address, or had the post office forward them.
Her hands shook a bit as she set about slitting open the first envelope. She had put on a pair of thin leather gloves, which she always kept in her car. She had trouble getting the envelope open all the way, and when she tried using a table knife, she almost spilled her big latte over the rest of the letters. She quickly moved the glass a safe distance away.
She didn’t recognize the handwriting on the envelope. It wasn’t the same as the threatening letters she’d seen, and she thought it looked more like a man’s script than a woman’s. She pulled out the sheet of paper and unfolded it. She was surprised. She’d been expecting a letter, but instead she found herself looking at a child’s drawing. She was holding it upside down, so now she turned it around to look at it properly. Two people, two stick figures. One big and one little. The big one was holding the smaller one’s hand, and both of them looked happy. There were flowers around them, and the sun was shining from the upper right-hand corner. They were standing on a green line, that was apparently supposed to be grass. Above the big figure someone had printed ‘Christian’ in scraggly letters. Over the smaller figure it said ‘Me.’
Erica reached for her latte glass and took a sip. She could tell that the thick froth had left a milk moustache above her lip, and she absentmindedly wiped it off on the sleeve of her sweater. Who was ‘Me’? Who was the shorter person next to Christian?
She set down her glass and reached for the other envelopes, which she quickly slit open. She ended up with a small stack of drawings on the table in front of her. As far as she could tell, they had all been done by the same person. Each picture showed two figures: the tall Christian and the short ‘Me.’ Otherwise the scene was different in each drawing. In one of them the larger figure was standing on what looked like a beach, with the smaller figure’s head and arms sticking out of the water. Another had buildings in the background, including a church. Only in the last picture were there more figures. But it was hard to tell exactly how many there were, because the scene was a hodgepodge of legs and arms. That drawing was also darker than the others, with no flowers or sun. The bigger figure had been banished to the left-hand corner. He no longer had a smiling mouth, and the little figure didn’t look happy either. Another corner was covered with black lines. Erica squinted, trying to work out what they could be, but they were clumsily drawn, and it was impossible to know what they represented.
She glanced at her watch, suddenly realizing that she wanted to go home. There was something about the last drawing that made her feel sick to her stomach. She couldn’t put her finger on why, but that particular picture had a deep effect on her.
With an effort, Erica got to her feet. She decided to skip paying a visit to Göran today. He would undoubtedly be disappointed, but they would just have to get together another time.
On the drive back to Fjällbacka, she couldn’t help thinking about everything. The drawings kept flitting through her mind. The big figure of Christian and the smaller ‘Me’. She knew instinctively that this ‘Me’ was the key to everything. And there was only one person who could tell her who it was. First thing tomorrow she would go and have a talk with Christian. This time he would have to answer her questions.
‘What a coincidence. I was just about to give you a call.’ Pedersen’s voice was as dry and correct as always. But Patrik knew that under the laconic facade there was a sense of humour. He’d actually heard Pedersen make a joke on a few occasions, although it didn’t happen often.
‘Is that so? Well, I was just wondering whether I could hurry you up a bit. We need information. Anything you can give us might help us to move forward with the investigation.’
‘I’m not sure how helpful I can be. But I did take it upon myself to put a rush on the post-mortems pertaining to your case. We completed our report on Magnus Kjellner late last night, and I just finished with Lisbet Bengtsson.’
Patrik suddenly pictured Pedersen talking to him on the phone while clad in bloodstained scrubs and wearing surgical gloves.
‘So what’s the verdict?’
‘Let’s start with the obvious: Kjellner was definitely murdered. I could have reached that conclusion just from a cursory visual examination, but you never know. Over the years I’ve encountered a number of cases where the individual died from perfectly natural causes, and then ended up getting injured after death.’
‘But that’s not the case in this instance?’
‘No, absolutely not. The victim had a number of stab wounds on the chest and stomach, which were made by a sharp instrument, probably a knife. That was without a doubt what killed him. The attack came from the front, and he also had classic defence wounds on his hands and forearms.’
‘Are you able to tell what sort of knife was used?’
‘I’d prefer not to speculate, but, judging by the injuries, I can say that it had to be a knife with a smooth blade. And…’ He paused for effect. ‘I’d guess that it was some kind of fish knife,’ Pedersen said with satisfaction.
‘How can you tell?’ asked Patrik. ‘There must be a million different kinds of knives.’
‘You’re right. And I can’t prove that it was an actual fish knife. But I do know that it was a knife that had been used to clean fish.’
‘Okay, but how do you know that?’ Patrik was feeling impatient, and he wished that Pedersen wasn’t so fond of injecting drama into his report. The medical examiner already had his full attention.
‘I found fish scales,’ said Pedersen.
‘You did? But how could they still be inside the body after it was in the water so long?’ Patrik could feel his pulse quicken. He wanted so badly to hear something, anything at all, that would give them a lead so they’d know what direction to take.
‘Probably a lot did disappear in the water. But I found several scales embedded deep in the wounds. I’ve sent them to the lab to see if the type of fish can be determined. I hope that might be useful to you.’
‘It’s possible,’ said Patrik, although he thought the information was basically unimportant. This was Fjällbacka, after all. A community in which fish scales were a regular part of daily life.
‘Anything more about Kjellner?’
‘Not really.’ Pedersen sounded a bit disappointed that Patrik wasn’t more enthusiastic about his find. ‘He was stabbed to death and presumably died instantly. He seems to have bled a great deal. The crime scene must have looked like a slaughterhouse.’