The Black Path by Åsa Larsson Read Free Book Online Page B

Olsson.
    “You’re joking!” exclaimed Anna-Maria.
    “It’s true! I know because my sister’s ex is a plumbing and heating engineer. And he was working up there when they built it. And it isn’t really a cabin. More like a proper house with top sports facilities, something like that.”
    Anna-Maria turned to Alf Björnfot.
    “No problem,” he said before she could get the question out. “I’ll sign a search warrant straightaway. Shall I ring Benny the locksmith?”
    “Please,” said Anna-Maria. “Let’s go!” she shouted, racing to her room to pick up her jacket. “We’ll do the briefing this afternoon instead!”
    Her voice could be heard from inside her office.
    “You come too, Fredde! Sven-Erik!”
    A minute later, they’d all disappeared. There was a sudden Sunday silence in the building. Alf Björnfot and Rebecka Martinsson were still standing in the corridor.
    “So,” said Alf Björnfot. “Where were we?”
    “We were drinking coffee,” Rebecka said, smiling. “It was just time for a top-up.”
     
     
    “Isn’t it beautiful,” said Anna-Maria Mella. “Like a tourist brochure.”
    They were driving along Norgevägen in her red Ford Escort. To the right of them lay Torneträsk. Clear blue sky. Sun and sparkling snow. Everywhere along the length of the lake were arks in every conceivable color and shape. On the other side of the road the mountains stretched away into the distance.
    The wind had dropped. But it hadn’t turned warm. Anna-Maria looked in among the birch trees and thought the snow had formed a solid crust. They might be able to use kick sledges in the forest.
    “Try looking at the road instead,” said Sven-Erik, who was sitting next to her.
    Kallis Mining’s mountain cabin was a large, timbered house. It was situated in an attractive spot down by the lake. In the opposite direction Nuolja Mountain towered above.
    “My sister’s ex told me about this place when he was working up here,” said Fred Olsson. “His father was involved in the building. It’s actually two chalets from Hälsingland that they’ve transported here. The timber is two hundred years old. And the sauna’s down there by the shore of the lake.”
    Benny the locksmith was sitting outside in his van. He wound down the window and shouted, “I’ve opened up, but I’ve got to go.” He raised his hand in a quick salute and drove away.
    The three police officers walked in. Anna-Maria thought she’d never seen anything like it. The hand-hewn silver-gray timber walls were sparsely decorated with small oil paintings featuring motifs from the mountains, and mirrors in heavy gilded frames. Enormous Indian-style wardrobes in pink and turquoise contrasted sharply with their simple surroundings. The ceiling had been opened up, with the beams exposed. The broad wooden floor planks were covered with rag rugs in every room but one: in front of the big open fire in the living room lay a polar bear skin with the head on and its mouth gaping open.
    “Good grief,” commented Anna-Maria.
    The kitchen, hall and living room were open plan; on one side were huge windows giving a view over the marsh, sparkling in the late winter sunshine. On the other side of the room the light filtered in through small high-set leaded windows with hand-blown glass in different shades.
    On the kitchen table stood a carton of milk and a packet of muesli, a used bowl and a spoon. On the draining board dirty plates were piled high, with the cutlery sticking out in between.
    “Ugh,” said Anna-Maria as she shook the carton of milk and heard the soured lumps clunking around inside.
    Not that her house was ever tidy. But to think that somebody could stay in such a fine place all by themselves and not keep it nice. That’s what she’d do if she ever had the chance to live like this. Strap her skis on outside the door and go for a long cross-country trek over the marsh. Come home and cook dinner. Listen to the radio while washing up, or just