Third Voice (10 page)

‘OK, that’s enough now!’

Suddenly it all got too much for Olivia. The first attack had taken her aback, but now she felt that there were things welling up inside her that had been festering since the day before. Since Mette had belittled her for not wanting to carry on with her police career.

‘Have you forgotten who told you it could be murder?’ she said, pulling the door closed to prevent half her neighbours finding out the same information about Sahlmann from Mette as Olivia had shared with ‘half of Customs and Excise’. When she turned around, Mette was gone. She’d gone into the kitchen to get some water to soothe her throat after her outburst.

She drank straight from the tap.

‘Mette.’

Mette carried on drinking.

‘Mette!’

Mette turned off the tap and turned around. The women glared at each other. One of them was very tall and had just about regained her composure; the other was just about to lose hers.

She started.

‘It was wrong of me to talk about it,’ Olivia said. ‘It was reckless, I’m sorry. Now I think you should apologise.’

‘For what?’

‘For attacking me as though I was a piece of shit.’

Mette smiled, far from sincerely.

‘Dear girl,’ she said. ‘You know how much I care about you. I know who you are. But if you ever trample on one of my murder investigations again and mess up like you did today, my patience will run out.’

‘So you’re giving me another chance?’

‘Are you being sarcastic?’

‘I’m pissed off. OK, I made a mistake, but this whole outburst is actually only about me not wanting to join the police, which actually has bugger all to do with you. I’ll do as I please.’

‘You made that pretty clear today. From now on I think you should focus on your history of art and not meddle in my work.’

‘I think you should go now.’

‘Thanks for the water.’

Mette walked past Olivia and out into the hall. When she slammed the door closed, Olivia sank down into a chair. Her anger subsided quickly. She knew that what she’d done was wrong, pure thoughtlessness. She knew that Mette was right in principle. She’d behaved very unprofessionally, and now she had seriously fallen out with one of the few people whom she respected.

Then Sandra called.

She was angry and upset, having been told that her father was murdered and then been asked loads of questions about that awful night. Olivia had to snap out of her mood.

‘Was it Lisa Hedqvist who spoke to you?’ she asked.

‘Yes. She was nice, but those questions were really tough.’

‘What did she want to know?’

‘All kinds of things. If I’d seen anyone on my way home and stuff…’

‘Did you?’

‘No. Well, there was that guy in the underpass, and that car.’

‘What car?’

‘A car drove past when I was on my way towards the woods, and then she asked me what make and colour it was and stuff like that.’

‘Do you remember?’

‘It was a BMW, a blue one.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes, Dad rented one like it not so long ago when we went on holiday.’

‘Oh right. Where are you now?’

‘At Charlotte’s.’

‘Is she there?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good.’

There were a few seconds of silence. When Sandra’s voice returned, it was desperate, almost breaking.

‘Who wanted to kill my dad?’

Olivia wanted to know that too, but she didn’t have any answers.

‘I don’t know, Sandra, but I’m certain that we’ll find out.’

‘Do you really think so?’

‘Yes.’

Just words of comfort. But what was she supposed to say?

‘Thank you for calling,’ she said. ‘I was thinking of ringing you myself. I was at your dad’s work today, but there was no sign of the computer there.’

‘Oh no, really? Where is it, then?’

‘I don’t know, maybe it’s been stolen.’

‘Who by?’

Olivia declined answering that question and in the silence, Sandra formulated the answer herself, and said: ‘Imagine if was still been there when I got home.’

Her voice was small and fearful.

With reason.

Olivia hadn’t thought of that.

The murderer could well have still been in the house when Sandra came home.

Mårten felt that something wasn’t right. He’d noticed it as soon as Mette walked into the kitchen and sat down. She could hardly look at him or Jolene. She’d just stared at the floor and then got up and left the room. He followed her. She was standing in the African room, the room that was decorated and adorned with sculptures and fabrics and all kinds of weird and wonderful ornaments from their trips to Africa. The room that was generally used whenever someone wanted to disappear into themselves. It was kind of sacred, but Mårten chose to ignore that now. He went towards Mette who was fiddling with a large wooden tube. The tube was filled with bone fragments, so it was said, which created a monotonous rattling noise as they trickled from one side to the other, like tropical rain.

‘What’s the matter?’

Mette didn’t reply. She turned the tube upside down and the contents tipped to the other end.

‘Jolene wants to watch
Downton
– we bought the box set,’ Mårten said.

Mette loved
Downton Abbey
. If there was anything that could get her out of this state, it was that.

Mette carefully placed the tube against the wall and looked at her husband.

‘I love you,’ she said.

That was worrying. When said just like that, it was a sign of serious emotional turmoil. What had happened? Mårten took Mette by the hand and walked her out of the African room.

‘Two things,’ she said. ‘We’ll talk later.’

So Mårten, Mette and Jolene sank down into the big flowery sofa in front of the flatscreen television and into the programme. Roughly halfway through, Mette turned to Mårten and said: ‘I had a go at Olivia today.’

‘Why?’

‘Shhh!’ Jolene hissed. She hated people talking while watching TV. It upset her concentration. So everyone watched the rest of the episode in total silence. Mesmerised. When it was over,
Mårten turned the television off and Mette kissed Jolene on the cheek.

‘Go up and brush your teeth and get ready for bed.’

‘Are you going to “have a conversation”?’

‘No, we’re not going to “have a conversation”. I’ll be there in a minute.’

Jolene gave Mårten a hug and ran up the stairs to her room. Once she’d gone, he turned to Mette.

‘So, firstly: Olivia?’

‘Yes, the first thing is about Olivia. She did something stupid that messed things up when we tried to question people at Customs and Excise today. So I went to see her and told her that it’s not OK to do that.’

‘Told her off?’

‘Yes.’

‘With reason?’

‘Yes.’

‘But you went a little overboard, because you’re still annoyed by her decision.’

‘Are you going to start on that too? I told her off because she cocked things up.’

‘So why do you feel bad?’

‘I don’t.’

‘Yes, you do, I know it. That’s why you love me. Call her.’

‘Why would I do that?’

‘To put it to bed.’

‘Never in a million years.’

Mårten knew there was no point pushing this. He’d said what he thought and he knew it would sink in. Mette always needed some time before she backed down.

‘And secondly,’ he said.

‘Abbas.’

‘What about him?’

‘He’s on his way to Marseille, with Tom.’

‘Really?’

Mårten did his best to answer in a normal voice.

‘What are they going to do there?’

‘No idea.’

‘Maybe he wants to show Tom where he grew up?’

Mette looked at Mårten as though he was nuts.

‘Did you ask them what they were going to do?’ he asked.

‘Yes. He just said that it was something about the past.’

‘Really?’

That wasn’t a normal response and Mette noticed. It was a clear, surprised ‘Really?’ Mårten stood up. Mette looked at him.

‘What do you think?’ she said.

‘What about? Their trip?’

‘Yes.’

‘We’ll find out in time, I suppose.’

‘Yes.’

They both looked at each other. Mårten stroked Mette’s arm.

‘I’ll do the dishes. You go upstairs.’

Mette nodded and headed towards the stairs. Mårten opened the dishwasher and began loading it with some dirty plates. For show. As soon as he heard it was quiet upstairs, he went down into the cellar.

Down to his private cave.

The room he’d furnished just as he wanted it.

It was his spiritual retreat.

The conversation about Abbas had upset him, more than he’d let on. His calm reaction was just for Mette’s sake – in actual fact he was seriously worried. He went straight over to the CD player and put a Gram Parsons album on. He wanted Kerouac to keep him company, his special little pet. When the black spider heard the music, it crawled out from its crack in the wall and crept over to its favourite spot in the corner. Mårten sank down into the shabby leather armchair.

Abbas.

He recalled so well the first time they met. Stilton walked over from the gate with a skinny youth who looked away when they
greeted each other. And when they talked. And he carried on looking away for a long time after that.

That look became a benchmark for Mårten.

Many years working as a child psychologist had taught him a great deal about people’s expressions. Broken children had the same expression on their faces all over the world. The day that Abbas first managed to look him in the eye properly, really held his gaze, he knew that they would succeed.

Almost two years had passed by then.

And much of it was thanks to Jolene. The ten-year-old girl had broken through the iron-clad emotional tank that Abbas had built up since childhood, with her uninhibited hugs and spontaneous kisses. He let her in, eventually, and ever since then he would have been willing to give his life for Jolene.

Mårten knew that.

And now he was worried.

For many reasons.

One was the fact that Abbas was even going to Marseille, a city that was so loaded with traumatic memories – a place where he’d been both physically and emotionally abused for so many years, by his mother and his father and all the people who regarded Moroccan outsiders as fair game. In the end he’d just left. Or fled. With a fake passport and a couple of scary knives in his luggage.

And now he was on his way back there again.

With Tom, a person he’d never have chosen for company, they just didn’t spend time together like that. Mårten knew that. They were men who stood up for one another, when necessary. Otherwise they didn’t spend a great deal of time together. Now they’d gone to Marseille together.

And that was part of his concern.

He knew what each one was capable of.

When necessary.

But the main thing that Mårten was worried about was what Abbas had replied when Mette asked him about the purpose of the trip.

The past.

Mårten didn’t know that many details about Abbas’s past, not more than Abbas had chosen to share with him. A chaotic mix of sorrow and hatred, entirely devoid of warmth and love. So he assumed that the trip must be about one or the other: sorrow or hatred.

At worst, both.

Olivia had calmed down. There wasn’t much she could do about her confrontation with Mette. Secretly she hoped that Mette would call and apologise, or at least try to smooth things over. That would be OK, but it was a long shot.

Mette wasn’t that kind of person.

So she’d been to Koh Phangan to get some Thai takeaway.

She was now sitting in bed eating Moo Pad King, stir-fried pork with chilli, garlic and ginger. Good food always cheered her up. When she reached for the Coke on the bedside table, her gaze fell on the picture of Elvis, her beloved cat, killed on the orders of escort service owner Jackie Berglund. A real bitch. Olivia enjoyed thinking of bizarre scenarios for this woman to face comeuppance.

Then suddenly her computer made a noise. She wiped her fingers and looked at the screen. It was Ove wanting to skype. The reception was pretty dismal, but eventually she saw his face beaming back at her from the screen, all the way from Guatemala.

‘How does it feel being home?’ he said.

‘Cold, dark and completely wonderful!’

‘Seriously?’

‘The cold and dark bit is true, it’s hideous here at the moment. How about you? How is it there?’

‘Warm and light, but it will come to an end soon.’

‘Are you coming home?’

‘Yes. I’ve got a job working on the restoration of the Säcken Reef. Cool, huh?’

The Säcken Reef was something that had totally passed by Olivia. She had no idea where it was or why it needed to be restored, but she did her best to hide her ignorance.

‘Absolutely! What does it involve?’

‘That I can live on Nordkoster and be near my dad.’

Olivia knew that was important to Ove. His father lived in an old people’s home in Strömstad and his health had been rather precarious the last year. Ove had found it difficult not being able to be there.

‘Good!’

‘Good? It’s fantastic. And furthermore I’ll be able to work on saving my local environment.’

So the Säcken Reef is obviously near Nordkoster, I’ll have to google it, Olivia thought. There was no need – Ove enthusiastically described the work involved in saving the last coral reef in Sweden, conveniently located in the Koster Fjord. Olivia watched him on the screen as he explained how deep-water white coral from nearby Norwegian reefs had been successfully planted there. His enthusiasm fascinated her. He was really passionate about what he did.

She envied him.

‘It sounds fantastic! Congratulations!’

‘Thanks!’

‘When are you coming back?’

‘I’ll be coming to Stockholm in a few days. I’m going to a conference before I leave. I’m not entirely sure when, it’s not booked yet, but I’ll be in touch. But tell me about you now! What are you up to?’

Well, what do I do? Olivia wondered. Pretending I’m in the police, even though I don’t want to be.