Read an Excerpt
Stone Coffin
A Mystery
By Kjell Eriksson, Ebba Segerberg St. Martin's Press
Copyright © 2001 Kjell Eriksson
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-250-02551-7
CHAPTER 1
"Come up here on the road! You're getting your shoes dirty!"
The girl tore off a last flower and held the clover flowers up to her mother.
"Four leaves means good luck," the girl said.
"We'll put those on the grave."
The woman arranged the flowers, peeling away a withered leaf.
"Nana liked clover," she said thoughtfully, looking off at the church and then at the child by her side. One day, she thought, you got only one day together on this earth.
Six years and one day ago, Emily was born, and the very next day her grandmother died. Every anniversary of her death they walked to the church and laid flowers on her grave. They also sat on the low stone wall for a while. The woman would drink coffee and her daughter some juice.
The walk took them half an hour. They could have taken the car but preferred to walk. The slow trip to the church enabled reflection. She had loved her mother above all else. It was as if Emily had filled in for her Nana. As one love slipped away, another arrived.
She and her newborn had been transported in the Akademiska hospital to the unit where her mother lay in a state between consciousness and sleep.
The little girl had been lifted into her arms. At first it looked as if she thought yet another burden was being added to her already ravaged body.
The woman guessed that the baby's scent brought her mother to life, because her nostrils widened suddenly. The gaunt, needle-riddled hand patted the tiny bundle in her lap and she opened her morphine-obscured eyes.
* * *
"I want to run the last bit," the girl said, interrupting her mother's thoughts.
"No, we'll stay together," she said, and right before she died, she realized that she might have saved her daughter's life if she had let her go.
* * *
The car struck them both with full force. The child was thrown some ten meters and died almost instantly. The mother was thrown forward and the front left wheel of the car ran over her body. She lived long enough to grasp what had happened, that she might have been able to save her daughter. She also had time to note that the car swerved and slid as it accelerated and disappeared in the direction of the church.
"Why are you killing us?" she whispered.
CHAPTER 2
Ann Lindell was savoring her colleague's good mood. Sammy Nilsson had read the horoscope of the day with a serious face, but when he arrived at the final line, "... and why not give in to love's invitation that comes your way today?" he burst into laughter.
"Love's invitation," Lindell said. "That's something."
"Maybe Ottosson will offer you a cup of coffee," Sammy said. "I think he's working on you."
Ottosson was the unit commander for Violent Crimes. He had called a meeting for nine-thirty, and both Lindell and Sammy thought he would likely announce a reorganization of the unit.
Everything seemed to be undergoing reorganization. The community policing initiative that had been introduced with great fanfare lay shot and gasping. It was going to give up the ghost at any moment. There was talk that the community policing in Gottsunda and other far-flung areas would be relocated to the Fyrislund industrial area. "Community" was likely to gain a new definition if Commissioner Lindberg got his wish.
"How are you doing? I hear rumors that you're seeing someone."
Lindell looked up abruptly. Sammy thought she seemed almost frightened.
"Seeing someone? No way."
"Didn't you hook up with some guy?"
"I went out and partied with the girls."
"I heard something else."
Lindell smiled. "Don't believe everything you hear. It was just one time."
"And one time doesn't count?"
Lindell just smiled in reply.
* * *
Ola Haver walked up to them. Lindell saw in his face that something had happened, but he sat down at the table before he started to talk.
"We have a hit-and-run," he said. "Two dead."
"Where?" Sammy asked.
"Uppsala-Näs."
"Any witnesses?" Lindell asked.
Haver shook his head.
"Someone who drove past the scene called it in. One of the dead is a child. A little girl."
Haver was white as a sheet.
"Shit," Sammy said.
"Maybe six years old."
Lindell checked the time: nine-twelve.
"I'll call Ottosson," she said and got up.
* * *
Love's invitation, Lindell thought as she jumped into Sammy's car. Hardly. These were the kinds of invitations that came their way.
She glanced over at Sammy as he turned onto Salagatan. He swore quietly about the traffic, drove up Sankt Olofsgatan, and stared furiously at the driver who came from the right and forced him to stop.
Haver was in the backseat talking on his phone and Lindell heard that he was getting information directly from the patrol unit on the scene.
* * *
Wednesday, July 14. One of those summer days that promised so much. The valley sloping down toward Lake Mälaren was flourishing with vegetation. The field grasses were tall. In some plots they were even gathering the first harvest. At Högby a man had left his tractor by the side of the road and was taking dignified steps through the clover and timothy grass that almost reached up to his waist. For a moment, Ann Lindell had an almost physical recollection of Edvard. It could have been him walking across that field and running his hand across the top of the sheaths. A stabbing sensation. Everything was over in a moment, and yet it wasn't. He was there. In the landscape. Even after half a year, Edvard Risberg existed as a shadow inside her. She heard his words and felt his hands. No one had touched her like he had.
A deer buck peeked nervously out of the edge of the woods, up toward the Lunsen forest. The sun was shining straight into Lindell's face, but she did not fold down the sun visor in the car. Instead she let her face bask in the rays. Edvard, are you walking by the sea?
One kilometer up the road, a woman and her daughter were lying next to a ditch.
Haver said something that Lindell didn't quite catch.
"It's probably Ryde," Sammy said. "He's the only one who drives such a rusty Mazda."
And so it was. Eskil Ryde, the forensic specialist, was already on the scene. He was leaning over the ditch, one hand running through his thin hair, the other gesticulating.
One of the uniformed policemen waved on a minivan. Lindell caught sight of something in the ditch as she climbed out of the car. A child, she thought and glanced at Sammy. They exchanged the briefest of glances.
Ryde lifted the gray blanket. The girl's forehead was cracked. Åke Jansson, the second uniformed officer, was sobbing. Haver put an arm around him and Jansson balled up his hands. Lindell brushed his shoulder as she went to kneel next to the girl's body. She didn't really see it, only the tiny legs sticking out, the right hand with light-pink-painted nails, the pattern of the red dress, and the blonde hair that had been colored just as red.
Lindell straightened up so fast she felt dizzy.
"Do we know who they are?" she asked of no one in particular.
"No," Jansson said. "I've searched for a pocketbook, purse, or something like that, but there's nothing. They must live in the area. The truck driver who spotted them thought they looked familiar. He drives this route daily."
Lindell had already registered the presence of the truck that was parked some thirty meters away.
"Stay the hell away from my bodies," Ryde said.
"I wanted to know who she was," Jansson said, insulted.
"Maybe they were on the way to the church," Haver said.
"The girl had picked flowers," Ryde said.
"How do you know?"
"Her hands," Ryde said.
Four police officers circled around a child's body. Ryde gently pulled the cover back into place.
"Let's take a look at the woman," he said.
* * *
The woman had been beautiful. Her hair, the same shade as the girl's, was cut short and added a touch of toughness to her face. Not much toughness left now, but Lindell could see that she had been the type of woman that you noticed, that you listened to. She thought she could read self-awareness and will in her features, even though a sharp rock had cut into her chin as if the woman's lip had been pierced by a ring with a blackened jewel.
There was gold in her ears; she wore a substantial gold ring on her left ring finger, and on her right hand a silver ring with precious stones. Her nails were well groomed. "Probably five hundred kronor," Lindell noted. Those nails had carved patterns in the gravel between the lush green of the ditch and the black, cracked asphalt.
Her dress was khaki, summery thin with marks from a car tire across the narrow back.
Her eyes were blue, but her gaze was broken.
* * *
Lindell looked up and let her gaze wander. Summer lay like a warm breath over the landscape. There was absolutely no wind and the sound of a motorboat carried from the lake. A man came walking along the willow allée leading to Ytternäs farm. He walked slowly, but Lindell saw that he was attentive to the gathering of cars parked along the road. Here comes the first gawker, she thought and quickly turned around.
"Identification, that is the most important thing. Who is the minister around here?" Lindell asked and looked over at Sammy, who shook his head.
"No idea," he said. "I'll go up to the church. There may be a bulletin board."
* * *
Lindell walked over to the truck. According to Åke, the driver was sitting up front, and as she drew closer, she saw his face in the rearview mirror. He opened the door and slid down from his seat in a seasoned and yet stiffly awkward movement.
"Hi, Ann Lindell from the police. You were the first on the scene?"
The man nodded and shook her outstretched hand.
"Do you recognize them?"
"I think so."
"Sorry, what was your name? I forgot to ask."
"Lindberg, Janne. I live up there," he said and pointed.
"So you've seen them before?"
"Yes. They often walk along the road. I think they live up toward Vreta Point, but I don't know her."
"She was a beautiful woman."
Janne Lindberg nodded.
"You were coming from home and headed into town? When was that?"
"Around nine."
"Tell me what you saw."
"I saw the mom first. Then the little girl."
"Do you wear glasses?"
"No, why?"
"You're squinting."
"Because of the sun."
"So what did you do then?"
"I checked to see if they were alive." The man shook his head. "Then I called."
"And it wasn't you who ran them over?"
The question made him flinch and he stared at Lindell.
"What the hell," he got out. "You think I would run over a mother and child? I'm a professional driver, damn it."
"It's happened before. May I see your cell phone?"
"Why do you need to see that?"
"I want to see when you called us."
He sighed and handed it over. Lindell selected "Recent Calls" and saw that Lindberg had made the call at 9:08 A.M. Before that he had made a call at 8:26. She also wanted to check "Incoming Calls" and see if Lindberg had received any calls shortly before the emergency call. And sure enough, someone had called at 8:47.
"You got a call before you dialed 112. Who was that?"
"A guy from the asphalt gang. I drive asphalt but had a little problem with the car this morning. He called to check to see if I was on my way."
"So you were in a hurry this morning?"
"Yes, I should have been at the plant a little after six."
"Wasn't it the case that you were stressed, got a call, lost your focus, and didn't have time to swerve?"
"Lay off! I haven't run anyone over my whole life!"
"May we contact the guy who called you?"
"Of course."
"You understand that you have to stay here. We have to examine your vehicle. I don't think you've hit anyone, but we have to check it out. Okay?"
Janne Lindberg nodded. "I keep thinking about that little girl," he said.
* * *
The man that Lindell had spotted in the allée had almost reached the truck by now and she decided to wait for him. He had a slight limp.
"What's happened?" he asked. "Did someone hit a deer?"
"No," Lindell said. "It's a hit-and-run."
The man stopped abruptly. "Is it Josefin and Emily?"
His voice cracked.
"I saw them on the road," he said. "Is it them?"
"We don't know. Perhaps you can help us."
The man started to sob.
"I saw them on the road. I knew they were coming today."
"It was a woman and a little girl. Could it be them?"
The man nodded.
"Will you help us?"
Lindell took a step closer to the man. She was touched by his weeping and obvious despair and she was also feeling close to tears.
"That's her," the man said when Lindell raised the gray cover.
His face was ashen and Lindell feared that he would faint.
"Let's go sit in the car. Then you can tell me what you know."
At that moment, Sammy returned. "The minister is on his way," he said as he stepped out of the car.
"I don't need a minister!" the man said.
"He's not coming for your sake, "Lindell said soothingly.
"Can you come over?" Ryde shouted. He was crouched down by the woman.
"Talk to him," Lindell told Sammy and walked over to Ryde.
"I don't think she died immediately," Ryde said. "She dragged herself along the road toward her child. See?" He pointed to a faint trail of blood on the roadway.
"She broke her nails," Lindell said.
"She wanted to reach her daughter."
Lindell kneeled and stared down intently. The woman's hand was slender. The stones in the silver ring glittered. Lindell saw that the skin on the index finger had been worn away.
Ryde crawled closer and bent his head to get another angle.
Lindell could barely stand to observe the remnants of skin left on the road. The two officers looked at each other, bent over a woman's beautiful hand on a sunny June morning.
"It wasn't an accident," Ryde said and got up to his feet.
"You don't think?"
Ryde looked around before answering.
"It was daylight, a straight and decently wide stretch of road," he said finally.
"You mean this was murder?"
Ryde didn't answer but got out his cell phone. Lindell remained standing where she was. The girl had picked flowers, she thought. She looked over at the gray cloth that covered the little one. The mother had not managed to reach her. How many meters were left? Seven, eight?
A car appeared. Haver flagged it down and Lindell took out her phone.
CHAPTER 3
An initial meeting and review at the police station took place at shortly after six P.M. A dozen officers from Violent Crimes, a few from Surveillance, and a couple from Forensics were present. Sammy Nilsson led the meeting.
"What do we know? Josefin Cederén, thirty-two years old, living in Vreta. Emily, six years. It was her birthday yesterday. We know that they were on their way to the church where Josefin's mother is buried. They went there every year on this day. Several of the neighbors have confirmed it. Ryde, what did the pathologists say?"
"It was a passenger car. At least according to the pathologists, that's what the injuries indicate. Death must have been instantaneous, at least for the little girl. She was thrown in the air and must have died at the moment she hit the ground. There were some signs that the mother may have lived on for a short while after the accident."
"Okay," Sammy said, "as you know, the husband, Sven-Erik Cederén, is completely MIA. As is the car, a blue BMW — 99 series — with sunroof and all the extras. Haver checked with Novation, where he bought the car. With cash, I might add."
"Where does he work?" Lundin asked.
"MedForsk. It's a company that develops pharmaceuticals. High-level research. A relatively young company, a spin-off from Pharmacia. Sven-Erik Cederén never showed up to work today. MedForsk has some twenty employees and we have talked to all of them. No one has seen him."
"But we know that he left for work as usual," said Norrman, who had been in charge of the door-to-door questioning in Vreta. "He left shortly after eight o'clock. We've talked to about twenty neighbors. The one who lives across the street said a few words to Cederén around seven. Both of them were out to pick up the newspaper."
"And he said he seemed completely normal," Berglund added. "They talked about the usual, weather and wind. According to the neighbor, Cederén was like a clock."
"Where is Lindell?" Beatrice asked.
"With Josefin's father," Ottosson said.
"Does he live in town?"
Ottosson nodded.
"And in Vreta. Josefin Cederén was actually born in that county."
"Apart from that, it's probably mostly moved-in outsider shits," Haver said.
"What do you mean, shits?" Ottosson asked.
"Okay," Sammy said, "we know that he left Uppsala-Näs as usual, but that he never turned up at work. Where did he go?"
"His summer house," Lundin said.
"They don't have one."
"Arlanda," Haver suggested. "He knew that his wife and daughter were going to walk to the church, waited somewhere in the bushes, ran them over, and left the country."
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Stone Coffin by Kjell Eriksson, Ebba Segerberg. Copyright © 2001 Kjell Eriksson. Excerpted by permission of St. Martin's Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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