Camilla Lackberg Crime Thrillers 1-3: The Ice Princess, The Preacher, The Stonecutter
and look happy but actually they feel burdened with all the worries and problems in the world.’
Dan interrupted her abruptly.
‘Erica, the game is starting in about three seconds and I would prefer an ice hockey match to your quasi-philosophical exegesis.’
‘No risk of that. Besides, I brought a book along in case the game is boring.’
Dan had mayhem in his eyes before he noticed the teasing glint in Erica’s eyes.
They made it back to the living room just in time for the face-off.
Marianne picked up at the first ring.
‘Marianne Svan.’
‘Hi, it’s Erica.’
‘Hi, it’s been ages. How nice of you to call. How are you doing? I’ve been thinking a lot about you.’
Once again Erica was reminded that she hadn’t been paying enough attention to her friends lately. She knew that they were worried about her, but the past month she hadn’t even managed to stay in touch with Anna. Yet she knew that they understood.
Marianne had been a good friend since their university days. They had studied literature together, but after almost four years of study Marianne realized that becoming a librarian was not her vocation in life, so she switched to law. Successfully, as it turned out, and she was now the youngest partner ever in one of the largest and most respected law firms in Göteborg.
‘Well, under the circumstances I’m doing okay, I suppose. I’m starting to get a little order back in my life, but there are still plenty of things to deal with.’
Marianne had never been much for small talk, and with her unerring intuition she could hear that Erica hadn’t simply called to chat.
‘So what can I do for you, Erica? I can hear there’s something on your mind, so let’s hear it.’
‘I’m really ashamed I haven’t been in touch for so long, and now that I am calling it’s because I need your help.’
‘Don’t be silly. How can I help you? Is there some sort of problem with the estate?’
‘Yes, you could certainly say that.’
Erica was sitting at the kitchen table fidgeting with the letter that had come in the morning post.
‘Anna, or rather Lucas, wants to sell the house in Fjällbacka.’
‘What do you mean?’ Marianne’s usual composure exploded. ‘Who the hell does he think he is? You love that house!’
Erica felt something suddenly snap inside her, and she burst into tears. Marianne instantly calmed down and started showering Erica with sympathy over the phone.
‘So how are you really doing? Do you want me to come over? I could be there by tonight.’
Erica’s tears flowed even harder, but after a few moments of sobbing she calmed down enough to wipe her eyes.
‘That’s incredibly nice of you, but I’m okay. Really. It’s just all been a bit too much lately. It was very traumatic to sort through Mamma and Pappa’s things, and now I’m late with my book and the publisher is after me and then all this with the house … and to top it all off, last Friday I discovered my best friend from childhood, dead.’
Laughter began bubbling inside her and with tears still in her eyes she began to laugh hysterically. It took her a while to recover.
‘Did you say ‘dead’, or did I hear you wrong?’
‘Unfortunately you heard right. I’m sorry, it must sound terrible that I’m laughing. It’s just been a bit too much. She was my best friend from when I was little, Alexandra Wijkner. She committed suicide in the bathtub of her family’s house in Fjällbacka. You probably knew her, didn’t you? She and her husband, Henrik Wijkner, apparently moved in the best circles in Göteborg, and those are the sorts of people you hobnob with these days, right?’
She smiled and knew that Marianne was doing the same at her end of the line. When they were both young students Marianne had lived in the Majorna district of Göteborg and fought for the rights of the working class. They were both aware that over the years she had been forced to think about completely different issues in order to fit in with the circles that came with her job at the venerable old law firm. Now it was chic suits and blouses with bows. It was the cocktail party in Örgryte that counted, but Erica knew that in Marianne that only served as a thin veneer over a rebellious temperament.
‘Henrik Wijkner. Yes, I do know who he is. We even share some of the same acquaintances, but I’ve never had the opportunity to meet him. A ruthless businessman, so it’s said. The type that could sack a hundred employees before breakfast without losing his appetite. His wife ran a boutique, I think?’
‘A gallery. Abstract art.’
Marianne’s words about Henrik shocked her. Erica had always considered herself a good judge of people, and he seemed anything but her idea of a ruthless businessman.
She dropped the subject of Alex and started talking about the real reason she was calling.
‘I got a letter today. From Lucas’s attorney. They’re summoning me to a meeting in Stockholm on Friday regarding the sale of Mamma and Pappa’s house, and I’m completely clueless when it comes to the law. What are my rights? Do I even have any rights? Can Lucas really do this?’
She could feel her lower lip start to quiver again and took a deep breath to calm herself down. Outside the kitchen window the ice on the bay was glistening after the last couple of days of thawing rain, followed by freezing temperatures at night. She saw a sparrow land on the window-sill and reminded herself to buy a ball of suet to put out for the birds. The sparrow cocked its head inquisitively and pecked lightly at the window. After making sure that there wasn’t anything edible being handed out, the bird flew off.
‘As you know, I’m a tax attorney, not a family rights attorney, so I can’t give you an answer straight off. But let’s do this. I’ll check with the experts in the office and ring you later today. You’re not alone, Erica. We’ll help you with this, I promise you.’
It was great to hear Marianne’s confident assurances, and when they said good-bye life seemed brighter, even though Erica actually knew no more than before she had called.
Restlessness set in almost at once. She forced herself to take up her work on the biography, but it was slow going. She had more than half of the book left to write, and the publishers were growing impatient because they hadn’t received a rough draft yet. After filling up almost two pages she read through what she had written, saw it was crap and quickly deleted several hours of work. The biography only made her feel depressed; the joy of working on it had vanished long ago. Instead, she finished writing the article about Alexandra and put it in an envelope addressed to Bohusläningen newspaper. Then it was time to ring Dan and rib him a bit about the near-fatal psychological wound he seemed to have suffered after Sweden’s spectacular loss the night before.
Feeling content, Superintendent Mellberg patted his large paunch and debated whether to take a little nap. There was still almost nothing to do, and he didn’t ascribe any great importance to the little there was.
He decided that it would be nice to doze for a moment so that his substantial lunch could be digested in peace and quiet. But he barely managed to close his eyes before a determined knocking announced that Annika Jansson, the station’s secretary, wanted something.
‘What the hell? Can’t you see I’m busy?’
In an attempt to look busy he rummaged aimlessly among the papers lying in stacks on his desk, but succeeded only in tipping over a cup of coffee. The coffee flowed towards all the papers and he grabbed the closest thing he could find to wipe up the mess – which happened to be his shirttail, since it was seldom tucked into his trousers anymore.
‘Damn it all, I’m the bloody boss