FABIAN RISK WAS FEELING restless and bored. He’d always been terrible at being sick. A fever was never enough of a reason to stay home, and the few times he’d been afflicted by a stomach flu that forced him to stay in bed, he’d complained so much that Sonja had threatened to divorce him. He was well aware that he should follow the example of the rest of his hospital ward and get some rest, but he couldn’t fall asleep. Talking to Molander would be the only thing that would help him relax. Fabian needed to find out if they had arrived at the same conclusion. He had been taken away in an ambulance before he could hear everyone’s theories about the crime scene.
He decided to call Molander, even though it was quite a bit past midnight. He dug out his phone only to discover that the battery was dead. He looked around the hospital room. There was a phone on the wall not far from him, which was probably only for internal calls, if it was connected at all. He ignored the pain and extended his arm as far as he could, but he couldn’t reach it. With the help of one of the crutches leaning against the wall, he managed to unlock the brake on the bed and drag himself toward the phone.
He put the receiver to his ear and heard a dial tone, but soon discovered that his prediction was correct. He pressed zero and was put through to an operator at the hospital, who surprisingly agreed to place his call without asking any questions. He dialled directory assistance to request the cell phone number for Ingvar Molander in Helsingborg and was immediately connected: “Hello. You have reached Ingvar Molander’s voicemail. I can’t take your call right now, so leave your name and number after the beep, and I promise to call you back. Or, even better, you can send a text. Thanks. Goodbye.”
Fabian hung up. It was pretty late, but Molander couldn’t possibly have gone to bed already. The crime scene at Söderåsen would likely keep them busy all night long and part of tomorrow, at least. He closed his eyes and realized that maybe his body was ready to give in to exhaustion after all.
*
HE WOKE UP TO Tuvesson standing beside his bed. He lurched forward and felt his pain level shoot from zero to one hundred. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. I didn’t actually think you were capable of sleeping.”
“I didn’t either, until... What time is it?”
“It’s early — seven thirty. I brought you some breakfast. Hospital food isn’t usually all that great.” She put a bag from 7-Eleven down on the bedside table. “I wanted to see how you’re doing.”
“I’m okay. Besides forgetting to apply sunscreen, I don’t have much to complain about.”
Tuvesson laughed. “The sun is always stronger than you think.”
“So, how are things going for the unit?”
“Well, we sure aren’t lacking evidence to examine. By the way, Molander mentioned you tried to call him.”
“I did, but he didn’t answer. Where is he?”
“It was his and Gertrud’s anniversary yesterday. They were going to stay at Marienlyst in Helsingør.”
Anniversary. Fabian savoured the word. It had been a long time since he and Sonja had celebrated their own. For the first few years, they hadn’t let anything get in the way of their annual celebration: they would hire a babysitter, dress up, and go out. One of them always surprised the other with an activity, anything from going out to the theatre and a restaurant, to having a picnic and taking a ride in a hot-air balloon. Fabian decided that as soon as this case was solved, he would surprise Sonja and make up for all their lost anniversaries.
“Have you come up with anything?”
He opened the 7-Eleven bag and was delighted to find that Tuvesson had treated him to a brownie, and a fresh roll, and was carrying a cup of good coffee.
Tuvesson pulled up a chair and sat down beside the bed. “Please allow me to ask the questions instead. I want to remind you that I took you off the case for a reason. You were supposed to let us handle this and take a vacation.”
“I was kicked off the case because you needed a scapegoat. What I do on my vacation is my business — as long as I don’t do anything illegal.”
Tuvesson sighed heavily and threw up her hands. “The truth is that we haven’t come up with much at all. And now that your theory about Rune being the killer has turned out to be totally wrong, we’re feeling mostly confused and like we’re back at square one.”
“You haven’t come up with a new theory yet?”
“Not exactly. It looks like it could be absolutely anyone — someone else from your class or one of the other classes in the same year, a teacher you were all a little extra-awful to, or even a parent.”
She took out a cigarette and ran it under her nose.
“I’m not going to light it, I promise. Klippan and Lilja have contacted everyone in the class who isn’t off travelling somewhere, and none of them have come up with any suggestions besides Claes Mällvik. So now I’m asking you... Do you remember if there was anyone who came in contact with the class in some way or another and —”
“Hold on. I don’t understand,” Fabian interrupted her. “How is it possible that you haven’t come up with anything?”
“Can you please just answer my question?”
“The crime scene at Söderåsen must have given you a few new leads. You must have found something!”
Tuvesson stuck one hand in her pocket to reassure herself that she had a lighter. “All we know for sure is that Rune Schmeckel lay there burning for more than two weeks, and he didn’t die until a few days ago. There was a drum of water hidden under the glass plate, and he had access to a straw so he could drink from it.” She stopped talking and shook her head. “I can’t even imagine how much he must have suffered, that poor man.”
Fabian thought about what Tuvesson had just said and realized that it only strengthened his theory. He met her gaze. “I think the killer set up the whole place to present himself and his motives.”
“I don’t understand. What do you mean?”
“The place itself — he wanted us to find it. Maybe not right now, but in time. He put so much time and energy into the presentation; it couldn’t just be about taking Schmeckel’s life. There’s more he wants to say.”
“But the murders of Jörgen and Glenn were committed as punishment for their crimes.”
“Right, and presumably the very same thing is happening here.”
“But what is Schmeckel — or Claes Mällvik — guilty of, besides being Jörgen and Glenn’s victim?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I wanted to ask Molander what you’ve found.”
“Not much more than what you already saw... Actually, there is one thing. We found it when we lifted the body off the glass plate. The moss all around the glass was dead, but the moss that grew in the shadow of his body was alive and healthy. It formed the shape of a person, so it actually looked like there was someone lying under the glass, but really it was just moss. Do you follow me? It’s kind of hard to explain.”
Fabian nodded. He understood. “That must be him.”
“Who? The perpetrator?”
“He created a self-portrait. That’s how he wants us to see him.”