The Stonecutter (19 page)

When the door closed behind them, the silence was thundering. Then Agnes looked at Anders with so much hatred that he had to dig in his heels so as not to flinch. An inner voice whispered to him to flee while there was still time, but his feet wouldn’t budge. They felt as if they were nailed to the floor.

A premonition of bad times ahead made him shudder.

Morgan watched the police officers arrive and then leave again. But he didn’t waste time worrying what business they had in his parents’ house. He wasn’t one to brood.

He stretched. It was now late afternoon and he had been sitting almost the whole day at his computer, as usual. His mother worried about what it would do to his back, but he saw no reason to be concerned about that before something actually went wrong. So what if it had started to hunch a little? He felt no pain. As long as the problem was merely cosmetic, it didn’t matter to him.

It was a relief to be able to sit in peace, now that the girl was gone. He had really not liked her. Really. She was always coming in to bother him when he was most engrossed in his work, and she pretended not to hear when he told her to leave. The other children were afraid of him, pointing fingers behind his back the few times he left the house. But not her. She kept intruding, demanding attention and refusing to be scared off when he yelled at her. Sometimes he’d gotten so frustrated that he had stood there screaming with his hands over his ears in the hope that it would make her leave. But she had only laughed. So it was really great that she wouldn’t be coming back. Not ever.

Death fascinated him. There was something about the finality of it that kept his brain preoccupied with death in all its forms. The games he most enjoyed were the ones that had a lot of death in them. Blood and death.

Occasionally he had considered taking his own life. Not so much because he no longer wanted to live, but because he wanted to see what it was like to be dead. He’d once said straight out to his parents that he was thinking of killing himself, just as a matter of sharing information. But their reaction had taught him to keep such thoughts to himself. There had been a tremendous row, followed by more visits to the psychologist, and they, or rather his mother, had begun to watch him around the clock. Morgan had not liked that.

He didn’t understand why everyone was so afraid of death. All the incomprehensible emotions that other people seemed to possess became more intense and numerous as soon as the talk turned to death. He really couldn’t understand it. Death was a state of being, just like life. Why should one be better than the other?

Most of all he would have liked to be present when they cut into the girl at the post-mortem, be allowed to stand by and watch. See what it was that other people found so terrifying. Maybe the answer would be there when they opened her up. Maybe the answer would be in the faces of the people who cut her open.

Sometimes he dreamed that he was lying in a morgue himself. On a cold metal table, with nothing to hide his naked body. In his dreams he saw the steel gleaming just before the pathologist made the straight cut along his thorax.

But he knew not to tell anyone about these thoughts. Then they might think he was truly crazy, instead of just different, which was a label he’d learned to live with over the years.

Morgan went back to the code on the computer screen. He enjoyed the calm and the silence. It was really great that she was gone.

Lilian opened the door before they had a chance to knock. Patrik suspected that she had been watching for them ever since they’d left. In the hall stood a pair of shoes that hadn’t been there before, and Patrik assumed they belonged to Lilian’s friend Eva, who’d come over to lend her moral support.

‘So,’ said Lilian. ‘What did he have to say in his defense? Can we finish that report now, so that you can take him in?’

Patrik took a deep breath. ‘We’d just like to have a little talk with your husband first, before we proceed with a report. There are still a few things that seem unclear.’

For a second he saw uncertainty flit across her face, but she regained her belligerent expression at once.

‘That’s absolutely out of the question. Stig is ill. He’s upstairs in bed resting and can’t be disturbed under any circumstances.’ Her voice sounded strained and nervous. Patrik could see that Lilian had also forgotten about Stig as a potential witness. Which meant it was even more important that they be allowed to talk with him.

‘Unfortunately it can’t be helped. I’m sure he could see us for a minute or two,’ said Patrik in the most authoritative voice he could muster, taking off his jacket at the same time to emphasize his intent.

Lilian was opening her mouth to protest again when Gösta interrupted in his most official police voice. ‘If we aren’t allowed to speak to Stig, it might be considered a matter of obstruction of justice. It wouldn’t look good in the official report.’

Patrik was doubtful whether his colleague’s assertion would hold up in the long run, but it seemed to have the desired effect on Lilian, who furiously strode toward the stairs. When it looked as though she planned to go upstairs with them, Gösta placed a firm hand on her shoulder.

‘We can find our way, thanks.’

‘But …’ Her eyes flickered, searching for some other valid protests, but she finally had to give up.

‘Well, don’t say that I didn’t warn you. Stig is
not
doing well, and if he gets worse because you go stomping in and asking a lot of questions, then …’

They ignored her and headed up the stairs. The guest room lay directly to the left, and since Lilian had left the door open, it wasn’t hard to locate her spouse. Stig was ensconced in the bed, but he was awake and had turned his head toward the door in anticipation. Judging by how well Lilian’s shrill voice was now carrying up from the kitchen, he had no doubt heard that they were on their way up. Patrik entered the room before Gösta and had to force himself not to gasp. The man lying in bed was so frail and emaciated that his bones under the covers seemed to jut out in relief. His cheeks were sunken, and his skin had a gray, unhealthy color. His hair had turned prematurely white, making him look considerably older than he was. There was a nauseating odor of illness in the room, and Patrik had to suppress a desire to breathe only through his mouth.

Dubiously he reached out a hand to Stig to introduce himself. Gösta did the same, and then they looked around the tiny room for a place to sit down. It felt altogether too officious to stand towering over Stig as he lay there in his sickbed. Stig raised a grayish hand and pointed to the edge of the bed.

‘Unfortunately this is all I can offer you.’ His voice was dry and feeble, and Patrik was again shocked at how utterly exhausted he looked. This man looked far too ill to be at home. He should be in the hospital. But it was none of his business, and they did have a doctor living in the house, after all.

Patrik and Gösta sat down cautiously on the edge of the bed. Stig grimaced a little when the bed bounced, and Patrik hurried to apologize, afraid that they had caused him pain. Stig waved off the apology.

Patrik cleared his throat. ‘First of all, I’d like to start by offering my condolences for the loss of your granddaughter.’ Again he heard how formal his voice sounded, a tone that he himself despised.

Stig closed his eyes and seemed to collect himself to reply. The words had obviously stirred up emotions that he was struggling to overcome.

‘Technically, Sara was not really my grandchild—her grandfather, Charlotte’s father, died eight years ago—but in my heart she always was. I’ve cared about her ever since she was a little baby until …’ he paused, ‘now at the end.’ He closed his eyes again, but when he opened them he seemed to have regained his composure.

‘We’ve talked a bit with the rest of the family,’ said Patrik, ‘to find out exactly what happened that morning. I wonder whether you might have heard anything in particular. For example, do you know what time Sara left the house?’

Stig shook his head. ‘I take strong sleeping pills and don’t usually wake up before around ten. And by then she was already … gone.’ He closed his eyes once more.

‘When we asked your wife whether she could think of anyone who may have wanted to harm Sara, she named your neighbor, Kaj Wiberg. Do you agree with that assessment?’

‘Did Lilian say that Kaj murdered Sara?’ Stig looked at them skeptically.

‘Well, not in so many words, but she hinted that there were reasons why your neighbor might wish your family ill.’

Stig let out a long sigh. ‘Well, I’ve never understood what it is with those two. The feud was already going on before I came into the picture, before Lennart died. To be honest, I don’t know who cast the first stone, and I daresay that Lilian is just as capable of keeping the feud going as Kaj is. I’ve tried to stay out of it as much as possible, but it’s not easy.’ He shook his head. ‘No, I don’t really understand why they carry on the way they do. I know my wife as a warm, sympathetic woman, but when it comes to Kaj and his family she seems to have a blind spot. You know, sometimes I think that she and Kaj actually enjoy the whole thing. That they live for the sake of the battle. But that sounds absurd. Why would anyone voluntarily keep it up the way they do, with legal action and everything? And it’s cost us plenty of money. Kaj can afford it, but we’re not as well off, retired as we both are. Why would anyone want to keep on fighting like this?’

The question was purely rhetorical. Stig wasn’t expecting an answer.

‘Have they ever come to blows?’ Patrik asked with interest.

‘Good Lord, no,’ Stig said emphatically. ‘They aren’t that crazy.’ He laughed.

Patrik and Gösta exchanged a glance. ‘Did you hear that Kaj was over here earlier today?’

‘Yes, I could hardly avoid hearing it,’ said Stig. ‘There was a frightful commotion down in the kitchen, and he was shouting and carrying on. But Lilian threw him out with his tail between his legs.’ He looked at Patrik. ‘I don’t really understand some people. I mean, regardless of what problems they’ve had with each other, one would think that he’d show a little sympathy, considering what’s happened. With Sara, I mean.’

Patrik agreed that sympathy should have been the prevailing response in recent days, but unlike Stig he didn’t put all the blame on Kaj. Lilian had also displayed an alarming lack of respect for the situation. He felt a nasty suspicion taking shape in his mind. He continued his questions, wanting to have it confirmed. ‘Did you see Lilian after Kaj was here?’ He held his breath.

‘Of course,’ said Stig, who seemed to wonder why Patrik was asking. ‘She came upstairs with some tea and told me how shamelessly Kaj had behaved.’

Now Patrik was beginning to understand why Lilian had looked so uneasy when they told her they wanted to talk to Stig. She had made a tactical error by forgetting about her husband.

‘Did you notice anything different about her?’ Patrik asked.

‘Different? How do you mean? She looked a little upset, but that’s no wonder.’

‘Nothing to indicate that she’d been slapped in the face?’

‘Slapped in the face? No, absolutely not. Who’s making that accusation?’ Stig looked bewildered, and Patrik almost felt sorry for him.

‘Lilian claims that Kaj assaulted her when he was here. And she showed us injuries, including on her face, to prove it.’

‘But she didn’t have any injuries on her face after Kaj was here. I don’t understand …’ Stig stirred restlessly, which evoked another grimace of pain.

Patrik signaled wordlessly to Gösta that they were done.

‘We’re going to go downstairs and have another talk with your wife,’ he said, trying to get up as carefully as possible.

‘Yes, but who could have …?’

They left Stig lying there confused. Patrik suspected that he would probably be having a serious talk with his wife after they left, but first they were going to have their own serious talk with her.

He was seething inside as they went downstairs. It was no more than three days since Sara had died, and Lilian was already trying to use that death as a weapon in a petty feud. It felt impossibly callous. What incensed him most was the fact that she was wasting police time and resources when they needed to focus all their energy on finding the person who had just murdered her only grandchild. The fact that Lilian hadn’t given a thought to the consequences was so despicable and perverse that he could barely find words to describe her actions.

When they entered the kitchen he saw from Lilian’s expression that she knew the battle was lost.

‘We just got some interesting information from Stig,’ Patrik began ominously. Lilian’s friend Eva looked at them curiously. She had no doubt swallowed Lilian’s story whole, but in a few minutes she might well see her friend in a new light.

‘I don’t understand why you persist in bothering someone who’s sick in bed, but the police clearly have no consideration for anyone nowadays,’ Lilian sputtered in an abortive attempt to regain control.

‘You’re certainly right about that,’ said Gösta, calmly sitting down on one of the kitchen chairs facing Lilian and Eva. Patrik pulled out a chair next to him and sat down too.