BooksBarbecue
Back Motive X Save as PDF
Chapters (99)
  1. MOTIVE X
  2. The Fabian Risk Thrillers
  3. MOTIVE X
  4. Copyright Page
  5. Contents
  6. Prologue
  7. PART I
  8. 1
  9. 2
  10. 3
  11. 4
  12. 5
  13. 6
  14. 7
  15. 8
  16. 9
  17. 10
  18. 11
  19. 12
  20. 13
  21. 14
  22. 15
  23. 16
  24. 17
  25. 18
  26. 19
  27. 20
  28. 21
  29. 22
  30. 23
  31. 24
  32. 25
  33. 26
  34. 27
  35. 28
  36. 29
  37. 30
  38. 31
  39. 32
  40. 33
  41. 34
  42. 35
  43. 36
  44. 37
  45. 38
  46. 39
  47. PART II
  48. 40
  49. 41
  50. 42
  51. 43
  52. 44
  53. 45
  54. 46
  55. 47
  56. 48
  57. 49
  58. 50
  59. 51
  60. 52
  61. 53
  62. 54
  63. 55
  64. 56
  65. 57
  66. 58
  67. 59
  68. 60
  69. 61
  70. 62
  71. 63
  72. 64
  73. 65
  74. 66
  75. 67
  76. 68
  77. 69
  78. 70
  79. 71
  80. 72
  81. 73
  82. 74
  83. 75
  84. 76
  85. 77
  86. 78
  87. 79
  88. 80
  89. 81
  90. 82
  91. 83
  92. 84
  93. 85
  94. 86
  95. 87
  96. 88
  97. About the author and translator
  98. Acknowledgements
  99. An Invitation from the Publisher

She had taken a step towards the door and grabbed the letter box when her phone suddenly lit up.

It was Hampus.

He, who never called, of course he would choose this moment to be in touch, when she had neither the time nor any desire to hear his voice.

She declined the call and turned back to the letter box, but then her phone rang again.

‘Hampus, what are you doing?’ she hissed into the phone. ‘I’m busy and I can’t—’

‘I know, but I think you’d better come home right now,’ he said, sounding unusually calm and collected.

‘Why, what happened? Did something even happen? Or are you just having trouble finding the Coke? Because if that’s the case, I can tell you we’re out and you’re just going to have to work up the energy to go to the shops and—’

‘As I said, I think you’d better come and see for yourself.’

46

‘Einar Greide in Forensics, and yes, you have it right – I’m too busy to talk to you right now. And no, don’t leave a message. If I don’t have time to talk to you, why would I have time to listen to you?’

There was a beep; Fabian ended the call. Flätan was known for his hatred of phones, mobiles in particular, and had made a habit of never taking his mandatory work phone home with him.

He called two more times just for the sake of it. At least that way he could say he’d called three times before he decided to go to his house.

He’d never been to Flätan’s house before and wasn’t exactly looking forward to it. The address had not been listed online, and no one at Helsingborg Hospital seemed to know it either, unless they’d in fact been given strict orders not to give it out under any circumstances.

His colleague Arne Gruvesson, on the other hand, had immediately given Fabian the number without objection. Indeed, he’d seemed almost giddy at the thought of Fabian going over there to bother Flätan at the weekend, and his birthday weekend to boot.

He parked on Traktörsgatan 38 and gazed up at the two-storey, side-facing brick house. It was quiet. Surprisingly quiet, considering how close to Söder it was. Once upon a time, the area had probably been teeming with children learning to ride bikes and playing hopscotch and tennis in the streets. Now they’d all flown the coop, leaving their parents to polish their cars while they waited for grandchildren to come and visit.

The only thing that didn’t fit in was Flätan. He had neither a car nor children, and his garish clothes and long grey hair likely irked several of his neighbours no end. Knowing the coroner, though, he couldn’t care less.