LITMIR.BIZ

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This was the way she would always remember him. Before everything began to go wrong.

      She had been waiting a long time for this day. Every telephone call, every knock on the door had brought the fear. Maybe this particular call, or this knock, would bring the news that she had dreaded for so long. Until now she had hoped that this day would never come. It was unnatural for a child to die before his parent, and that was probably why it was so hard to imagine the possibility. Hope was the last thing to die, and she had continued to believe that things would work out somehow. Even if it took a miracle. But there was no miracle. And there was no hope. The only thing left now was hopelessness, and a pile of old yellowed photographs.

      The kitchen clock was ticking in the silence. For the first time, she saw how shabby her home looked. For all these years, she had done nothing to the house, and it was obvious. She had held the dirt at bay, but she couldn’t clean away the indifference that clung to the walls and ceiling. Everything was grey and lifeless. Wasted. That was what depressed her the most. Everything that had been wasted and squandered.

      Anders’s happy face mocked her from the pictures. It spoke more clearly than anything else of how she had failed. It had been her task to keep him smiling, to give him faith, hope, and above all love to face the future. Instead she had mutely watched as everything was stripped away from him. She had neglected her job as a mother, and she would never be able to rid herself of the shame.

      It occurred to her how little evidence there was that Anders had ever lived. The paintings were gone, the few pieces of furniture he’d had in the flat would soon be discarded if no one wanted them. In her home, none of his things remained. He had either sold them or destroyed them over the years. The only thing that proved that he had really existed was a handful of photos lying on the table in front of her. And her memories. Of course, he would exist in the memories of others as well, but as a drunken wino, not someone to be missed or mourned over. She was the only one who had happy memories of him. Sometimes it had been hard to summon them up, but they were still there. On a day like today they were the only memories of him that surfaced. Nothing else was allowed.

      The minutes turned to hours, and Vera sat at her kitchen table with the photographs in front of her. Her joints grew stiff. Her eyes began to have a hard time distinguishing the details of the photos as the winter darkness slowly strangled the light. But it didn’t matter. She was now completely, mercilessly alone.

      The doorbell echoed through the house. It took such a long time before he heard anyone inside that he was about to turn round and go back to the car. But after waiting a while he heard someone cautiously coming to the door. The door opened slowly inward and he saw Nelly Lorentz giving him a puzzled look. He was surprised that she answered the door herself. He had envisioned a stiff butler in livery who would graciously invite him in. But maybe nobody had butlers anymore.

      ‘My name is Patrik Hedström, and I’m from the police in Tanumshede. I’m looking for your son Jan.’

      He had rung the office first but was told that Jan was working at home today.

      The old lady didn’t raise an eyebrow but merely stepped aside and let him in.

      ‘I’ll call Jan, just a minute.’

      Slowly but elegantly, Nelly walked in the direction of a door that opened onto a staircase to the floor below. Patrik had heard that Jan had the cellar flat in the luxurious house.

      ‘Jan, you have a visitor. The police.’

      Patrik doubted that Nelly’s frail old voice could really be heard downstairs, but footsteps on the stairs proved him wrong. A look filled with hidden meanings passed between mother and son when Jan came up the stairs into the front hall. Nelly nodded to Patrik and went into her room, and Jan came towards Patrik with outstretched hand and a smile showing a lot of teeth. Patrik had the sudden image of an alligator in his mind. A smiling alligator.

      ‘Hello. Patrik Hedström, Tanumshede police station.’

      ‘Jan Lorentz. Pleased to meet you.’

      ‘I’m investigating the murder of Alex Wijkner, and I have a few questions I’d like to ask you, if you don’t mind.’

      ‘Of course. I don’t know how I can help, but that’s your job to decide, not mine, isn’t it?’

      The alligator grin again. Patrik felt his fingers itching; he wanted nothing better than to wipe that smile off his face. There was something about it that drove him crazy.

      ‘We can go down to my flat, then we won’t disturb Mother up here.’

      ‘Certainly, that would be fine.’

      Patrik had to say that the living arrangements seemed a bit strange. First of all, he had a hard time understanding grown men who still lived at home with their mothers. And second, he couldn’t comprehend why Jan put up with being banished to a cellar while the old lady lived upstairs in extravagant luxury in a house of at least two thousand square feet. Jan wouldn’t be human if the thought hadn’t crossed his mind that Nils would certainly not have been banished to the cellar if he were here today.

      Patrik followed Jan down the stairs. He had to admit that for a cellar flat it wasn’t half bad. No expense had been spared. The flat had been furnished by someone who believed in an ostentatious display of prosperity. There was a lot of gold fringe, velvet and brocade – no doubt furniture of the finest brands, but unfortunately the decor didn’t show itself to best advantage without daylight. The effect was instead a bit like a bordello. Patrik knew that Jan had a wife and wondered which of them had insisted on the decor. Based on his own experience, he would guess the wife.

      Jan showed him into a small office. Besides a desk and computer there was also a sofa. They sat down at opposite ends and Patrik took a notebook out of his bag. He had decided to wait to mention Anders Nilsson’s death; he didn’t want to say anything to Jan about it before he had to. Strategy and timing were important if he hoped to get anything useful out of Jan Lorentz.

      He scrutinized the man facing him. He looked too perfect. There wasn’t a wrinkle in his shirt or suit. His tie was perfectly tied and he was freshly shaven. Not a hair was out of place, and he radiated calm and self-confidence. Too much calm and self-confidence. Patrik’s experience told him that everyone who was questioned by the police behaved nervously, more or less, even if they had nothing to hide. A totally calm exterior indicated that the person in question did have something to hide – that was Patrik’s very own home-grown theory. It had proven to be right a remarkable number of times.

      ‘Nice place you have here.’ It never hurt to be polite.

      ‘Yes, it was Lisa, my wife, who did the decorating. I think she did rather a good job.’

      Patrik looked round the dark little office, which was sumptuously decorated with shiny marble and pillows with gold tassels. An excellent example of what too little taste in combination with too much money could buy.

      ‘Have you come any closer to a solution?’

      ‘We’ve uncovered a good bit of information and are beginning to get a sense of what might have happened.’

      Not entirely true, but it was worth a try to shake him up a bit.

      ‘Did you know Alex Wijkner?’ Patrik asked. ‘I heard for instance that your mother went to the funeral reception.’

      ‘No, I can’t say that I knew her. Naturally I knew who she was, and in Fjällbacka everyone knows everyone, more or less. But her family moved away many years ago. We used to say hello on the street if we met, but never more than that. As far as Mother is concerned, I can’t answer for her actions. You’ll have to ask her.’

      ‘One of the things that has come out during the investigation is that Alex Wijkner had a, what should I call it … relationship with Anders Nilsson. You know him, I assume?’

      Jan smiled. A crooked, condescending smile.

      ‘Yes, in this town nobody could avoid knowing who Anders is. He’s infamous rather than famous, I would say. He and Alex had an affair, you say?

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