The Stonecutter
‘Couldn’t you have sold the house and moved somewhere else?’ Patrik asked cautiously, but the question sparked a fire in Kaj’s eyes.
‘Move? Not on your life! I would never give her the satisfaction. If anyone should move, she should. Now I’m just waiting for word from the court of appeal.’
‘The court of appeal?’ Patrik asked.
‘They built a balcony on their house without checking the building code first. And it sticks out two centimetres onto my property, so it’s against the law. They’re going to have to tear that balcony down as soon as the verdict comes in. It should be coming any day now, and I can’t wait to see Lilian’s face,’ Kaj beamed.
‘Don’t you think that they have bigger concerns at the moment than the existence or non-existence of a balcony?’ Patrik couldn’t help interjecting.
Kaj’s face darkened. ‘Certainly I’m not insensitive to their tragedy, but fair’s fair. And such things are of no concern to Lady Justice,’ he added, looking to Ernst for support. Ernst nodded appreciatively, giving Patrik yet another reason to worry about the suitability of his participation in this investigation. There was enough cause for concern even before it turned out that Ernst was mates with one of the persons on their interview list.
They split up to cover the houses in the vicinity. Ernst muttered as he trudged through the biting wind. His tall body seemed to catch the wind quite effectively, and his lankiness made him sway back and forth, fighting to keep his balance. He could taste the gall at the back of his mouth. Once again he had to take orders from a snot-nosed kid who was scarcely half his age. It was a mystery to Ernst. Why were his years of experience and skill constantly overlooked? A conspiracy was the only explanation he could come up with. He was a bit fuzzy as to the motive or the brains behind it all, but that didn’t bother him. Apparently he was regarded as a threat precisely because of the qualities he knew he possessed.
Knocking on doors was deadly boring, and he wished he were inside where it was warm. People had nothing sensible to say, either. No one had seen the little girl that morning, and all they could say was how terrible it all was. And Ernst had to agree. It was lucky that he’d never been stupid enough to have kids. He’d managed to keep his distance from women too, he thought, effectively suppressing the fact that it was the women who had never shown much interest in him.
He glanced over at Hedström, who was covering the houses to the right of the Florins. Sometimes his fingers itched to give his colleague a punch in the nose. He had seen the look in Hedström’s eyes when he was forced to take him along this morning. That had actually given Ernst a brief moment of satisfaction. Otherwise Hedström and Molin were as thick as thieves, and they refused to listen to older colleagues like himself and Gösta. Well, Gösta was probably not the best example of a good cop, Ernst had to admit, but his many years on the force deserved respect. And it was no wonder that he’d lost interest in putting any energy into his job under the current conditions. When Ernst thought about it more closely, it was probably the fault of the younger officers that he often didn’t feel like working and instead made a point of sneaking off on breaks whenever possible. It was a comforting thought. Naturally it wasn’t his fault. Not that he hadn’t had pangs of guilt about his lacklustre work performance, but it felt good that he’d finally put his finger on the source of the problem. The crux of the matter, so to speak. It was all because of those snot-nosed kids. All at once life felt much, much better. He knocked on the next door.
Frida was carefully combing the doll’s hair. It was important for her to look good because she was going to a party. The table in front of her was already set with coffee and cakes. Tiny little plastic cups with fancy red plates. Naturally they were only pretend cakes, but dolls couldn’t eat real ones, so that didn’t matter.
Sara had always thought it was dumb to play with dolls. She said they were too old for that. Dolls were for babies, Sara had said, but Frida loved playing with dolls. Sara could be so tiresome sometimes. She always had to be the one to decide. Everything had to be the way she wanted it, or else she would sulk and break things. Mamma would get really mad at Sara when she broke Frida’s things. Then Sara would have to go home, and Mamma would ring Sara’s mamma and her voice sounded so angry. But when Sara was nice then Frida liked her a lot, so she still wanted to play with her. Just hoping that she’d be nice.
She didn’t understand what had happened to Sara. Mamma had explained that she was dead, that she’d drowned in the sea, but where was she then? In heaven, Mamma had said, but Frida had stood for a long, long time looking up at the sky, and she hadn’t seen Sara. She was sure that if Sara had been in heaven she would have waved to her. Since she hadn’t, that must mean she wasn’t there. So the question was: where was she? She couldn’t just disappear, could she? Imagine if Mamma disappeared like that. Frida felt scared all over. If Sara could disappear, could mammas disappear too? She hugged her doll tight to her chest, trying to push away that nasty idea.
There was something else she wondered about too. Mamma had said that the old men who rang the doorbell and told them about Sara were police officers. Frida knew that you were supposed to tell the police everything. You could never lie to them. But she had promised Sara not to tell anybody about the nasty old man. Did she have to keep her promise to someone who was gone? If Sara was gone, then she wouldn’t find out that Frida had told about the old man. But what if she came back and heard that Frida had tattled? Then she’d be madder than she ever was before. She might even smash everything in Frida’s room, including her doll. Frida decided that it was best not to say anything about the nasty old man.
‘Flygare, have you got a minute?’ Patrik had been careful to knock on Gösta’s door, but he saw his colleague hastily shut down a golf game on his computer.
‘Sure, I probably have a minute,’ said Gösta sullenly, painfully aware that Patrik had glimpsed his less than noble pursuit during working hours. ‘Is this about the girl?’ he went on in a more pleasant tone. ‘I heard from Annika that it wasn’t an accident. Bloody awful,’ he said, shaking his head.
‘Yes, Ernst and I have just been out talking with the family,’ Patrik said, taking a seat in the visitor’s chair. ‘We told them that it’s now a murder investigation. We asked all the family members where they were at the time Sara disappeared, and whether they knew anyone who’d want to harm her.’
Gösta gave Patrik an inquisitive look. ‘Do you think that someone in the family might have killed her?’
‘Right now I don’t think anything. But in any case, it’s important to eliminate them from the investigation as soon as possible. At the same time we’ll have to check whether there are any known sex offenders in the area.’
‘But I thought the girl hadn’t been violated, from what Annika told me,’ said Gösta.
‘Not according to what the M.E. could see, but a little girl who’s been murdered …’ Patrik didn’t finish his sentence, but Gösta understood what he meant. There had been far too many stories in the media about the exploitation of children for them to ignore that possibility.
‘On the other hand,’ Patrik went on, ‘to my surprise I got an immediate answer when I asked whether they knew anyone who might wish them harm.’
Gösta held up his hand. ‘Let me guess: Lilian threw Kaj to the wolves.’
Patrik gave a little frown at the expression. ‘Well, I suppose you could put it that way. In any event there doesn’t seem to be any love lost between them. We canvassed the neighbourhood and had an informal interview with Kaj as well. You might say there are plenty of old grudges beneath the surface.’
Gösta snorted. ‘Beneath the surface isn’t the expression I’d use. It’s a drama that’s been going on in broad daylight for almost ten years. And, personally, I’m fed up with it.’
‘Well, I gathered from Annika that you’re the one who has taken the reports they’ve filed against each other over the years. Could you tell me a bit about them?’
Without answering at once, Gösta turned round and took a binder from the bookshelf behind his desk. He hastily paged through it and found what he was looking for.
‘I only have stuff from the most recent years here; the rest is down in archives.’
Patrik nodded.
Gösta leafed through the binder, skimming over some of the pages he found.
‘You might as well take this binder. There’s a bunch of good details in here. Complaints from both sides about everything you could imagine.’
‘About what, for example?’
‘Trespassing – Kaj apparently cut across their property on one occasion, and his life was actually threatened – Lilian clearly said to Kaj that he should watch out if he valued his life.’ Gösta kept paging through the binder. ‘And then we have a number of complaints about Kaj’s son, Morgan. Lilian claimed that he was spying on her, and I quote, “boys like that have an overdeveloped sex drive, I’ve heard, so he’s surely planning to rape me”, end quote. And this is just a small selection.’
Patrik shook his head in astonishment. ‘Don’t they have anything better to do?’
‘Apparently not,’ said Gösta dryly. ‘And for some reason they always insist on coming to me with their woes. But I’ll gladly let you take over for the time being,’ he said, handing the binder to Patrik, who took it with some misgivings.
‘But even if both Kaj and Lilian are quarrelsome devils, I find it hard to believe that Kaj would have gone so far as to kill the girl.’
‘No doubt you’re right,’ said Patrik, getting up with the binder in his arms, ‘but, as I said, now his name has been brought up, so I’m at least going to have to examine that possibility.’
Gösta hesitated. ‘Let me know if you need any more help. Mellberg couldn’t have been serious when he said that you and Ernst were supposed to take care of this by yourselves. It’s a homicide investigation, after all. So if I can be of any assistance …’
‘Thanks, I appreciate it. And I think you’re right. Mellberg was probably just trying to rile me. Not even he could have meant that you and Martin wouldn’t be allowed to help out. So I thought I’d call everyone in for a briefing, probably tomorrow. If Mellberg has anything against it, he’ll have to speak up. But as I said, I don’t think he will.’
He thanked Gösta with a nod before he left the office and turned left towards his own. Settled in his desk chair, he opened the binder and began to read. It turned out to be a journey through the pettiness of humankind.
STRÖMSTAD 1923
Her hand shook a bit as she cautiously knocked on his window pane. The window was opened at once, and she thought with satisfaction that he must have been sitting there waiting for her. It was warm in the room, and she didn’t know whether his cheeks were flushed from the warmth or from the prospect of the hours they had before them. Probably the latter, she thought, because she felt the same heat in her own face.
Finally they had arrived at the moment she had been longing for ever since she had thrown that first pebble against his window. She had instinctively known that she needed to proceed cautiously with him. And if there was one thing she knew how to do, it was to read men. Read them and then give them the woman they wanted. In Anders’s case that meant she would have to play the shrinking violet for a couple of interminable weeks, even though she wanted to creep into his room and slip into his bed that very first evening. But she knew he would have been scared off by such behaviour. If she wanted to win him she would have to play the game. Whore or madonna. She could give men both.
‘Are you frightened?’ he asked her as she sat next to him on his narrow bed.
She forced back a smile. If he knew how well-versed she was in what was now about to take place, he would be the one shaking with alarm. But she couldn’t show her true self. Not now, when for the first time she wanted a man as much as he wanted her. So she looked down at the floor and just nodded feebly. When he tried to reassure her by putting his arms around her, she couldn’t help smiling against his shoulder.
Then she sought out his mouth with her own. When the kiss deepened and got serious, she felt him carefully unbuttoning her blouse. He moved at a devastatingly slow pace. She wanted to grab hold of her blouse and tear it off. Yet she knew that would destroy the image that she had spent weeks creating. Soon enough she’d be able to show the passionate side of her nature, but by then he’d be able to credit himself with having enticed her. Men were so simple.
When the last piece of clothing fell, she pulled the covers modestly over herself. Anders caressed her hair and looked into her eyes, silently asking her permission. Then he waited for her affirmative nod before he crept in beside her.
‘Could you blow out the candle?’ she asked, making her voice sound tiny and frightened.
‘Yes, of course, absolutely,’ he said, embarrassed that he hadn’t realized she might prefer the cover of darkness. He reached towards the nightstand and pinched off the flame with his fingers. In the dark she felt him turn towards her and, unbearably slowly, begin to explore her body.
At precisely the right moment she let out a whimper of feigned pain, hoping that he wouldn’t take the absence of blood as a telltale sign. But judging from his tender solicitude afterwards, he had no suspicions, and she felt satisfied with her performance. Since she’d had to stifle her natural instincts, it had been somewhat more boring than she’d expected, but the potential was there. Soon she’d be able to blossom in a way that would be a pleasant surprise for him.
Lying in the hollow of his arm, she thought about whether she might cautiously initiate a second round, but decided she’d better wait a while. For the time being she would have to be content at having played her part well. She had him right where she wanted him. Now it was merely a question of recouping the maximum dividend from all the time she’d invested in him. If she played her cards right, she could look forward to an entertaining pastime this winter.
8
Monica went round with her cart, replacing books on the shelves. She had loved books her whole life. Having almost died of boredom the first year at home after Kaj sold the business, she had seized the opportunity when she heard that the library needed someone to help out part-time. Kaj thought she was barmy, working when she didn’t need to, and she suspected that he considered it a loss of prestige for him. But she was enjoying herself too much to care. There was a good atmosphere at work, and she needed some feeling of community to see any meaning in her life. Kaj had grown more and more short-tempered and grumpy with each passing year, and Morgan didn’t need her any more. There probably weren’t going to be any grandchildren either; in any case she thought it highly unlikely. Even that joy had been denied her. She couldn’t help feeling a consuming envy when the others at work talked about their grandchildren. The light in their eyes made Monica shrink inside with jealousy. Not that she didn’t love Morgan. She did, even though he hadn’t made it easy for them to love him. And she believed that he loved her too. He just didn’t know how to show it. Maybe he didn’t even know that what he felt was called love.
It had taken many years before they understood that there was something wrong with him. Or rather, they knew that something wasn’t as it should be, but there was nothing in their experience that jibed with what they observed in Morgan. He wasn’t mentally challenged, but instead extremely intelligent for his age. She didn’t think that he was autistic, because he didn’t withdraw inside his shell and had no aversion to being touched – all reactions that were often associated with autism, according to what she’d read. Morgan had gone to school long before ADHD and DAMP became household words, so such diagnoses had never even been considered. And yet Monica realized that something wasn’t quite right. He behaved strangely and seemed resistant to any guidance. He simply didn’t seem to comprehend the invisible communication between people, and the rules that governed social intercourse were like Hebrew to him. He kept doing and saying the wrong thing, and Monica knew that people whispered behind her back, assuming that her son’s behaviour was due to lax discipline on her part. But she knew that it was more than that. Even his motor skills were erratic. He kept causing mishaps both big and small, because of his clumsiness. Sometimes the accidents weren’t even accidents but something he did on purpose. That was what worried her most, that it seemed impossible to teach him the difference between right and wrong. They had tried everything: punishment, bribery, threats and promises, all the tools that parents use to instil a conscience in their children. But nothing had worked. Morgan could do the most awful things without showing any remorse when he was discovered.
But fifteen years earlier they’d had an improbable stroke of luck. One of the many teachers they had visited over the years had a real passion for his profession, and he read everything he could find about new research in the field. One day he told them that he’d discovered a diagnosis that fitted Morgan’s condition: Asperger’s syndrome. A form of autism, but with normal to high intelligence in the patient. The burden of all those years of hardship seemed to lift from Monica’s shoulders the minute she heard the term for the first time. She had tasted it, rolled it around on her tongue with pleasure: Asperger’s. It wasn’t something they had simply imagined, nor were they at fault in failing to bring up their child properly. She had been right that it was difficult if not impossible for Morgan to comprehend what made daily life so much easier for everyone else: body language, facial expressions, and implicit meanings. None of this registered in Morgan’s brain. For the first time they were finally able to offer him serious help. Or rather she was. To be honest, Kaj hadn’t been particularly involved with Morgan. Not since he coldly stated that his son would never live up to his expectations. After that, Morgan had become Monica’s boy. So it was she who read everything she could find about Asperger’s and developed some basic tools that would help her son get through the day. Little cards that described various scenarios and how one was supposed to behave, role-playing games in which they practised various situations, and conversations to try and get him to understand intellectually what his brain refused to assimilate intuitively. She also took great pains to speak clearly with Morgan. To clear away all the metaphors, exaggerations and figures of speech that people used in order to give colour and meaning to language. To a large degree, she had been successful. At least he had learned to function tolerably in the world, but he still kept mostly to himself. With his computers.
That was why Lilian Florin had managed to transform Monica’s vague sense of irritation into hatred. She was able to put up with everything else. She didn’t give a damn about building codes and infringements and threats about one thing and another. As far as she was concerned, Kaj was just as much to blame in the feud, and she even believed that he sometimes enjoyed it. But the fact that Lilian had gone after Morgan, time after time, had aroused the ferocity of a tigress in Monica. Just because her son was different it seemed to give Lilian, and many others for that matter, a free hand to mock him. God forbid that anyone should be the least bit different. The mere fact that he still lived, if not at home, then on the same lot as his parents, grated on many people. But none of them was as malicious as Lilian. Some of the accusations she concocted made Monica so angry that she could hardly see straight. Many times she regretted moving to Fjällbacka. She had even taken up the matter with Kaj a few times, but she knew that it was pointless. He was far too bull-headed.
She shelved the last books from the cart and went back to see whether there were any more to collect. But her hands shook with rage when she replayed in her mind all the malicious attacks on Morgan that Lilian had instigated over the years. Not only had she run to the police a few times, she had spread false rumours in town as well, and that kind of gossip was almost impossible to refute. Where there’s smoke there’s fire, as they say. Even though practically everybody knew that Lilian Florin was a regular gossipmonger, her words gradually became accepted as truth, through the sheer force of repetition.
Now she was also garnering a large amount of sympathy in town. Much of Lilian’s nastiness had been forgiven in one blow. She had lost a grandchild, after all. But even that couldn’t make Monica feel sorry for her. No, she was saving her sympathy for the daughter. How Charlotte could be Lilian’s child was a mystery to her. It would be hard to find a nicer person, and Monica felt so sorry for Charlotte that she thought her heart would break.
But she didn’t intend to waste a single tear on Lilian.
Aina looked surprised when the doctor showed up at the clinic at his usual time, eight in the morning.
‘Hi, Niclas,’ she said hesitantly. ‘I thought you were going to come in late today.’
He just shook his head and went into his examination room. He didn’t have the energy to explain. He simply couldn’t stand to be at home for a minute longer, even though the guilt he felt at leaving was like a weight on his shoulders. Because it was a different and worse sort of guilt that made him leave Charlotte alone with her despair at home with Lilian and Stig. A guilt that made his throat tighten so he found it hard to breathe. If he had stayed there any longer he would have suffocated, he was sure of it. He couldn’t even look at Charlotte’s face, or meet her gaze. The pain in her eyes, together with his own guilt-ridden conscience, was more than he could bear. That’s why he had fled to his job instead. It was cowardly, he knew that. But he had long since lost all illusions about himself. He was not a strong or courageous person.
But he hadn’t intended for Sara to be affected. He hadn’t intended for anyone to be affected. Niclas pressed his hand to his chest as he sat as if paralysed behind his big desk, cluttered with casebooks and other papers. The pain was so sharp that he could feel it racing up and down his veins and collecting in his heart. Suddenly he understood how a heart attack must feel. That pain surely couldn’t be any worse than this.
Niclas ran his hands through his hair. What had happened, what needed to be resolved, lay before him like a baffling riddle. And yet he had to solve it. He was forced to do something. Somehow he had to get out of the bind he was in. Everything had always gone so well before. Charm, adroitness and an open and honest smile had saved him from most of the consequences of his actions over the years, but perhaps he had finally come to the end of the road.
The telephone began to ring in front of him. Consultation hours had begun. Although he felt so devastated, he had to go and heal the sick.
With Maja in a baby sling on her stomach, Erica made a desperate attempt to clean house. She had her mother-in-law’s previous visit fresh in her mind, so she almost manically pushed the vacuum cleaner round the living room. Hopefully Kristina would have no reason to go upstairs, so if Erica managed to make the ground floor presentable before she arrived, everything would be fine.
The last time Kristina came over, Maja had been three weeks old, and Erica was still in a stunned fog. The dust bunnies had been as big as rats, and the dirty dishes were piled up in the sink. Of course Patrik had made some attempts to start cleaning up, but since Erica flung Maja into his arms as soon as he came home, he had got no further than to take the vacuum cleaner out of the broom cupboard.