The Lost Boy. Camilla Lackberg

flour. Then he felt bile rising up in his throat, and he knew that he had to get rid of that lump, which was getting bigger and bigger.

      Gunnar dashed past Signe out to the bathroom down the hall, and dropped to his knees to lean over the toilet. He watched as coffee, cake crumbs, and bile poured into the water that was always green from the cleaning fluid that Signe insisted on fastening to the side of the porcelain toilet bowl.

      When his stomach was virtually empty, he again heard the sound of his own heart. Thump, thump, thump. Once more he leaned forward and threw up. Out in the kitchen, Signe’s coffee was growing cold in the white cup decorated with roses.

      It was evening by the time they finished their work at Mats Sverin’s flat. Though it was still light outside, the hustle and bustle of the day had begun to taper off, and the number of people passing by had diminished.

      ‘His body just arrived at the forensics lab,’ reported Torbjörn Ruud.

      The head of the crime tech team looked tired as he came over to Patrik, holding his mobile in his hand. Patrik had worked with Torbjörn and his team on several homicide investigations, and he had tremendous respect for the grey-bearded man.

      ‘How soon do you think they’ll get to the post-mortem?’ asked Patrik, massaging the bridge of his nose. He was beginning to feel the effects of what was turning out to be a very long day.

      ‘I don’t know. You’ll have to ask Pedersen about that.’

      ‘What’s your preliminary assessment?’ Patrik shivered in the cold wind blowing across the small patch of lawn in front of the building. He pulled his jacket tighter around him.

      ‘It’s not all that complicated, from what I can see. A gunshot wound in the back of the head. One shot, killing him instantly. The bullet is still inside the skull. The casing we found indicates a nine-millimetre pistol.’

      ‘Did you find any evidence in the flat?’

      ‘We’ve taken fingerprints from all the rooms, and also a few fibre samples. That will give us something to go on, once we have a suspect.’

      ‘Provided that the suspect actually left any prints or fibres,’ said Patrik. Technical evidence was all fine and good, but from experience he knew that a large helping of luck was needed to solve a murder case. People came and went, and it could just as well have been friends or family members who left traces behind in the flat. If the killer was among them, the police would be faced with a whole different set of problems in terms of trying to link the perpetrator to the crime scene.

      ‘Isn’t it a bit too early to be taking such a pessimistic view?’ said Torbjörn, giving Patrik a poke in the side.

      ‘Sorry.’ Patrik laughed. ‘I must be getting tired.’

      ‘You’re taking it easy, aren’t you? I heard that you hit the wall hard, so to speak. It can take a while to recover from something like that.’

      ‘I don’t really like that phrase “hit the wall”,’ muttered Patrik. ‘But you’re right. It was definitely a warning signal.’

      ‘Well, I’m glad you’re paying attention. You’re not exactly old and decrepit yet, and we’re hoping you’ll be working with the police for many years to come.’

      ‘What do you make of the evidence you’ve collected so far?’ asked Patrik, attempting to steer the conversation away from his health.

      ‘As I said, we’ve collected a few things. Everything will be sent over to the lab now. It’s going to take a while to get the results, but I’m owed a few favours, so with a bit of luck, I’ll be able to speed things along.’

      ‘We’d be grateful to get the results as fast as possible.’ Patrik was freezing. It was much too cold for June, and the weather continued to be unpredictable. At the moment it felt like early spring, yet during the day it had been so warm that he and Erica had been able to sit in the garden without putting on a sweater or jacket.

      ‘So what about you? Have you and your colleagues made any progress? Did anyone hear or see anything?’ Torbjörn nodded towards the block of flats.

      ‘We’ve knocked on every single door, but so far with only limited results. One of the neighbours thinks that he heard a sound in the early hours on Saturday, only he was asleep in bed when it woke him, so he’s not sure what it was. Other than that, nothing. Mats Sverin appears to have kept to himself, at least when he was at home. Because he grew up in Fjällbacka and his parents still live here, most people knew who he was and were aware that he worked for the town, and so on, but no one seems to have really known him. His neighbours were nodding acquaintances, nothing more.’

      ‘At least the gossip mill is alive and well in Fjällbacka,’ said Torbjörn. ‘With luck, that should give you a few leads.’

      ‘Perhaps. At this point it seems he lived a hermit’s existence, but we’ll try to drum up some new leads tomorrow.’

      ‘Go home and get some rest.’ Torbjörn gave Patrik a friendly slap on the back.

      ‘Thanks, I will,’ Patrik lied. He had already phoned Erica to say that he would be home late. The investigative team needed to devise a strategy tonight. And after a couple of hours’ sleep, he’d be back at the station early in the morning. He knew that he ought to have learned his lesson after what he’d just been through. But his job came first. He couldn’t help it.

      Erica stared at the wood burning in the fireplace. She had tried not to sound concerned when Patrik called. Although she kept telling herself he was looking much better, with some colour in his face again, and even though she knew this was one of those times when he needed to stay late at work, it worried her that he seemed to have forgotten his promise to take it easy.

      She wondered who the dead man was. Patrik hadn’t wanted to say much on the phone. All he told her was that a man had been found dead in Fjällbacka. She was eager to hear more. As a writer, a keen sense of curiosity was essential. She always wanted to find out the inside story of people and events. In time, she was sure that she’d hear all about it. Even if Patrik declined to tell her, the news would soon spread. That was both the advantage and disadvantage of living in a small town like Fjällbacka.

      The thought of all the support they’d received after the car accident still moved her to tears. Everyone had offered help, be they close friends or people they hardly knew. Some had babysat for Maja and kept an eye on the house; others had left food on the doorstep when she and Patrik had finally come home from the hospital. And at the hospital they had practically drowned in all the flowers, boxes of chocolates, and toys for the children. All gifts from people in town. That was the way it was. In Fjällbacka, everyone stuck together.

      Tonight, however, Erica was feeling lonely. Her first impulse after talking to Patrik had been to ring Anna. She felt a pang in her heart, as usual, when she realized that she couldn’t do that, and slowly she set the cordless phone back down on the table.

      The children were asleep upstairs. The fire was crackling in the fireplace, and outside dusk was gathering. During the past few months she had felt frightened many times, yet never lonely. On the contrary, for she’d been constantly surrounded by other people. But not tonight.

      When she heard the babies crying upstairs, she quickly got to her feet. It was going to take a while to feed the twins and get them to fall asleep again, but at least that would keep her from worrying about Patrik.

      ‘It’s been a long day, but I thought we should spend some time comparing notes and coming up with a plan before we all go home to rest.’

      Patrik glanced at the others. Everyone looked tired but focused. They had long ago given up any thought of meeting in any room other than the station’s kitchen. And Gösta had proven to be unusually considerate tonight by making sure that everybody had a cup of hot coffee.

      ‘Martin, could you summarize what we’ve learned by knocking on doors today?’

      ‘We went round to all the other flats and