The Stonecutter (14 page)

Their daughter would be going to this school in a few years. It was a pleasant thought, and he could picture Maja scampering about here in the hall with blonde pigtails and a gap between her front teeth, just the way Erica looked in her childhood pictures. He hoped Maja would take after her mother. Erica had been incredibly cute as a little girl. She still was, in his eyes.

He and Ernst took a chance and headed for the first classroom they saw, knocking on the open door to announce themselves. The room was bright and pleasant, with big windows and children’s drawings on the walls. A young teacher sat at a desk immersed in the papers in front of her. She jumped when she heard the knock.

‘Yes?’ Despite her youth she already had that perfect teacherly tone of voice, which made Patrik instinctively stand a little straighter.

‘We’re from the police. We’re looking for Sara Klinga’s teacher.’

A shadow crept over her face and she nodded. ‘That’s me.’ She got up and came over to shake their hands. ‘Beatrice Lind. I teach first through third grade.’ She motioned for them to take a seat on one of the small chairs next to the school desks. Patrik felt like a giant as he gingerly sat down, and he couldn’t help smirking briefly as he watched Ernst trying to co-ordinate his gangly frame to fit in the tiny chair. But then Patrik turned his gaze to the teacher and focused on the task at hand.

‘It’s so terribly tragic,’ said Beatrice, her voice quavering. ‘That a child can be here one day and gone the next …’ Now her lower lip was trembling too. ‘And drowned …’

‘Yes, especially since it turns out that her death was no accident.’ Patrik had thought the news would have spread to everyone in town by now, but Beatrice looked undeniably shocked.

‘What? What do you mean? No accident? But she drowned, didn’t she?’

‘Sara was murdered,’ said Patrik, hearing how brusque that sounded. In a gentler tone of voice he added, ‘She didn’t die from an accident, so we have to find out more about her, and what was going on in her life. What she was like as a person, whether there were any problems in the family, that sort of thing.’

He could see that Beatrice was still upset at the news, but she seemed to be pondering what it might mean. After a while, she had collected herself and said, ‘Well, what is there to say about Sara? She was …’ she searched for the right word, ‘a very lively child. And that was both good and bad. There wasn’t a quiet moment when Sara was around, and to be honest it could be difficult to maintain order in the classroom sometimes. She was something of a leader, pulling the others along, and if I didn’t put a stop to it, utter chaos could result. At the same time …’ Beatrice hesitated again and looked as though she were weighing each word very carefully, ‘at the same time it was precisely that energy that made her so creative. She was incredibly talented in drawing and every other artistic pursuit, and she had the most active imagination I’ve ever seen. She was simply a very creative child, whether she was pulling pranks or producing a work of art.’

Ernst squirmed in the little chair and said, ‘We heard that she had one of those problems with initials, DAMP or whatever it’s called.’

His disrespectful tone prompted a look of sharp surprise and anger from Beatrice, and to Patrik’s amusement his colleague actually cringed.

‘Sara did have DAMP, that’s correct. She was given special tutoring for it. We have a good deal of experience in this field, so we can give these children what they need to function optimally.’ It sounded like a lecture, and Patrik guessed that this was something of a pet topic for her.

‘How did the problems manifest themselves for Sara?’ Patrik asked.

‘In the way I described. She had a very high energy level and could sometimes throw terrible tantrums. But as I said, she was also a very creative child. She wasn’t mean or nasty or badly brought up, as many ignorant people might say of children like Sara. She simply had a hard time controlling her impulses.’

‘How did the other children react to her behavior?’ Patrik was truly curious.

‘It varied. Some couldn’t get along with her at all and retreated. Others seemed to be able to handle her outbursts with equanimity and they played comfortably together. I would say that her best friend was Frida Karlgren. They live right near each other.’

‘Yes, we’ve spoken with Frida,’ said Patrik with a nod. He twisted in the tiny chair. He had begun to get pins and needles in his legs, and he could feel a cramp forming in his right calf. He sincerely hoped that Ernst was feeling equally uncomfortable.

‘What about her family?’ Ernst interjected. ‘Do you know if Sara had any problems at home?’ Ernst massaged his calves as he said this, making Patrik smile quietly.

‘Unfortunately I can’t help you there,’ said Beatrice, pursing her lips. It was obvious that she wouldn’t tell tales about the home life of her pupils. ‘I’ve only met her parents and her grandmother once. They seemed to be stable, pleasant people. And I never had any indication from Sara that anything was wrong.’

A bell rang shrilly to signal that recess was over, and there was soon a lively commotion in the corridor. Beatrice got up and held out her hand as a sign that the conversation was finished. Patrik managed to extricate himself from the chair and thanked her for her time. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Ernst massaging one leg, which had evidently gone to sleep. Like two old men they tottered out of the classroom after saying goodbye to the teacher.

‘Damn, what uncomfortable chairs,’ said Ernst as he limped out to the car.

‘Well, I guess we’re not that limber anymore,’ said Patrik, sinking into driver’s seat of the car. All of a sudden the comfortable seat with plenty of leg room felt like an incredible luxury.

‘Speak for yourself,’ muttered Ernst. ‘My physical condition is just as good as when I was a teenager, but nobody is built to sit on that bloody miniature furniture.’

Patrik changed the subject. ‘We certainly didn’t find out much of any use from that visit.’

‘Sounds to me like the girl was a hell of a pest,’ said Ernst. ‘Nowadays it seems that any kid who doesn’t know how to behave is excused with some damn variant of DAMP. In my day that sort of behavior would get you a couple of raps with the ruler. But now the kids have to be medicated and soothed by psychologists and pampered. No wonder society is going to hell.’ Ernst stared grumpily out of the window on the passenger side and shook his head.

Patrik didn’t acknowledge his comment with an answer. There was really no point.

‘You’re feeding her again? In my day we never nursed more often than every four hours,’ said Kristina, giving Erica a critical look as she sat down in the easy chair to nurse Maja after ‘only’ two and a half hours.

In this situation Erica knew better than to argue, so she simply ignored Kristina’s remark. It was only one of many so far that morning, and Erica knew she was close to her limit. As predicted, Kristina had seized on the miserable state of the house. Now her mother-in-law was dashing about with the vacuum cleaner like a madwoman, muttering again about dust causing asthma in small children. Before this, she had washed all the dishes in the sink and on the drainboard, all the while loudly instructing Erica in the correct way to wash up. The dishes had to be rinsed off promptly so that remnants of food wouldn’t stick, and it was just as well to do the washing up at once. Otherwise the dishes would just pile up. Clenching her teeth, Erica tried to focus on the long catnap she’d be able to take when Kristina went out with the stroller. Although she was starting to wonder whether that brief respite was worth the trouble.

For now, she made herself comfortable in the easy chair and tried to get Maja to nurse. But the baby sensed the tension in the air. She had fretted and fussed most of the morning, and now she stubbornly resisted the milk that would soothe her. Erica was sweating as she fought this battle of wills with her infant daughter. Only when Maja finally gave in and began to nurse did Erica relax. Cautiously, so she wouldn’t have struggled in vain, she switched on the TV. “The Bold and the Beautiful” was on, and Erica tried to immerse herself in Brooke and Ridge’s complex relationship. Kristina glanced at the TV screen as she hurried by with the vacuum cleaner.

‘Ugh, how can you stand to watch such trash? Why don’t you read a book instead?’

Erica retaliated by turning up the volume on the TV. For a second she permitted herself to enjoy the satisfaction of such a spiteful response. But when she saw her mother-in-law’s insulted look, she turned it back down. The price she would have to pay for any attempts at rebellion was too high. She glanced at her watch. Good Lord, it wasn’t even noon. It would be an eternity until Patrik came home. And then another day just like this one would follow, before Kristina packed her bags and went back home, convinced that she had been of invaluable help to her son and daughter-in-law. Two interminable days …

10

Strömstad 1924

The stonecutters’ mood had improved wonderfully with the warmer weather. When Anders arrived at work, he could hear his comrades’ work songs, matching the rhythm of their hammers. They were busy making holes for the gunpowder to blast out the larger blocks of granite. One man held the crowbar, and two took turns striking it until they had made a substantial hole straight into the stone. Then the black powder was poured in and ignited. Attempts had been made with dynamite, but it hadn’t worked properly. The pressure of the detonation was too great and had shattered the granite in all directions.

The men nodded to Anders as he walked by, without interrupting the rhythm of their work.

With joy in his heart, he went over to the place where he was working on carving out the statue. Progress had been painfully slow during the winter, when the cold on many days had made it impossible to work the stone. For long periods he had been forced to stop and wait for warmer weather, making it difficult to earn enough wages. But now he could get started in earnest on the huge piece of granite, and he wasn’t complaining. The winter had brought other reasons to be happy.

Sometimes he could hardly believe it was true, that such an angel had come down to earth and crept into his bed. Every minute they had spent together was a precious memory that he stored in a special place in his heart. But sometimes, his worries about the future clouded his joy. He had tried to bring up the subject with her on several occasions, but each time she would kiss him and whisper that they shouldn’t speak of such things, that everything was bound to work out. He had interpreted this to mean that she too still hoped for a future together. Sometimes he actually permitted himself to believe she was right. Deep inside, he was a romantic, convinced that love could conquer all obstacles. Of course they didn’t belong to the same social class, but he was a skilled, hard-working man, and he would undoubtedly be able to provide a good life for her if he only got the chance. And if she felt for him what he felt for her, then material things would not be so important to her. A life shared with him would be worth some sacrifices on her part. On a day like this, with the spring sunshine warming his fingers, he was convinced that everything would really turn out the way he hoped. Now he was merely waiting to receive her permission to speak with her father. Then he would set about preparing the speech of his life.

With a light heart, he meticulously began hammering out the statue from the stone, his head spinning with images of Agnes.

Arne was studying the obituary in the newspaper. He wrinkled his nose. He suspected as much. They had chosen a teddy bear as an illustration, and that was a custom that he really hated. An obituary should contain the symbols of the Christian church, nothing more. A teddy bear was ungodly. But he hadn’t expected anything else. The boy had been a disappointment from the beginning, and nothing he did surprised Arne anymore. It was unthinkable that such a God-fearing person as himself should have a son who had so stubbornly repudiated the right path. People who didn’t know any better had tried to bring about a reconciliation between them. They insisted that his son, from what they had heard, was a fine and intelligent man, with an honorable profession. Mostly it was women who had come to their door spouting such nonsense. Men knew better than to comment on things they knew nothing about. Of course he had to agree that his son had taken on a proper profession and seemed to be doing well. But if he didn’t have God in his heart, it was all meaningless.

Arne’s greatest dream had been to have a son who would follow his grandfather’s footsteps and become a pastor. He himself had been forced to put aside such ambitions early on, since his father drank up all the money that was supposed to go for his seminary training. Instead he’d had to content himself with working as a verger in the church. At least that still allowed him to spend his days in God’s house.

But the church was no longer what it had once been. Things used to be different. Back then, everyone knew his place, and the pastor was shown the proper respect. People also followed the words of Pastor Schartus as best they could, and they did not occupy themselves with other distractions, vices that even pastors appeared to enjoy nowadays: dancing, music, and living together out of wedlock. But the hardest thing for Arne to accept was that females were now allowed to act as God’s representatives. He just couldn’t understand it. The Bible was perfectly clear on this point: ‘Women shall be silent in the congregation.’ What was there to discuss? Women had no business being members of the clergy. They could offer good support as pastors’ wives or even as deaconesses, but otherwise they should remain silent in the congregation. It had been a sorry time when that female had taken over Fjällbacka Church. Arne had been forced to drive to Kville on Sundays to attend worship service, and he had simply refused to show up for work. He had paid a high price, but it was worth it. Now the hideous creature was gone. Of course, the new pastor was a bit too modern for his taste, but at least he was a man. Now he just had to make sure that never happened again.