The Stonecutter (43 page)

In order for that plan to succeed, though, she had to sustain the story she had created about her life in America. She sold everything she owned and spent every öre on a dress of elegant quality and a set of fine luggage. The bags were empty—she hadn’t had enough money to fill them with anything—but no one would notice that when she came ashore. What they would see was a successful woman, the widow of a wealthy man with business dealings of an indefinite nature. ‘Something in finance,’ she intended to say, with a blasé shrug of her shoulders. She was sure it would work. People back in Sweden were so naïve and so easily impressed by people who had been to the promised land. No one would think it was odd that she came home in the midst of her triumph. No one would suspect a thing.

The wharf was full of people. Agnes was shoved here and there as she carried a suitcase in each hand. The money hadn’t been enough for a first-class or even a second-class ticket, so she would stick out like a peacock among the grey masses in third class. In other words, she didn’t have to fool anyone on the boat with her fake finery. As long as she disembarked in Göteborg, nobody would know how she had made the voyage.

She felt something soft nuzzling her hand. Agnes looked down to see a little girl in a white frilly dress looking at her with tears running down her cheeks. The crowd swelled around her, surging back and forth, and no one paid any attention to the little girl who must have lost her parents.

‘Where’s your mommy?’ said Agnes in the language she now mastered almost perfectly.

The girl cried even harder, and Agnes vaguely recalled that when the twins were this size they hadn’t started to talk yet. In fact this little one seemed to have just learned to walk and looked as though she might fall beneath the tramping feet all around her.

Agnes took the girl by the hand and looked around. No one seemed to be looking for her. Nothing but rough work clothes wherever she looked, and judging by her clothing the girl definitely seemed to belong to a different social class. Agnes was about to call for help when she had an idea. It was bold, incredibly bold, but brilliant. Wouldn’t her story about the rich husband who died and widowed her for the second time take on additional veracity if she also had a small child with her? And even though she remembered how much trouble the boys had been, it would probably be entirely different with a little girl. She was sweet as sugar, this girl. Agnes could dress her in pretty clothes, and tie ribbons in that lovely hair. She was a regular little darling. The thought was appealing to Agnes more and more, and she swiftly made up her mind. She took both suitcases in one hand and the girl by the other and strode towards the ship. No one reacted when she embarked, and she stifled a desire to look back over her shoulder. The trick was to look as though the child naturally belonged to her, and, shocked, the girl had even stopped crying. Agnes took that as a sign that she was doing the right thing. Her parents were surely not nice to her, since she went with a stranger so easily. Given a little time, Agnes would be able to give the girl everything she wished for, and she knew that she would be an excellent mother. The boys had just been too difficult. This little girl was different. She could feel it. Everything was going to be different.

Niclas came home as soon as she rang. Because she hadn’t wanted to say what it was about, he dashed in the front door with his heart in his throat. On the stairs he saw Lilian coming down with a tray, and she looked surprised.

‘Why are you home?’

‘Charlotte called me. You don’t know what it’s about?’

‘No, she never tells me anything,’ Lilian snapped. Then she gave him an ingratiating smile. ‘I was just out buying fresh buns, they’re in a bag in the kitchen.’

He ignored her and took the stairs down to the cellar flat in two strides. It wouldn’t surprise him if Lilian was standing with her ear to the door right now, trying to hear what they were saying.

‘Charlotte?’

‘I’m in here, changing Albin.’

He went to the bathroom and saw her standing at the changing table with her back to him. Even from her posture he could see that she was angry, and he wondered what she’d found out now.

‘What was it that was so important? I had patients waiting.’ The best defense was a good offense.

‘Martin Molin rang.’

He searched his memory for the name.

‘The police in Tanumshede,’ she clarified, and now he remembered. The young, freckled chap.

‘What did he want?’ he said tensely.

Charlotte, who now had finished changing and dressing Albin, turned toward Niclas with their son in her arms.

‘They discovered that someone had threatened Sara. The day before she died.’ Her voice was ice-cold and Niclas waited nervously for her to continue.

‘Yes?’

‘The man who threatened her was described as an older man with gray hair and black clothes. He called her the “Devil’s spawn.” Does that sound like anyone you know?’

Instantly, rage coursed through his veins.

‘Bloody hell,’ he cried and ran up the stairs. When he tore open the door to the ground floor, he almost knocked Lilian off her feet. He had been right about the old biddy, but it wasn’t even worth getting excited about now. He put on his shoes without bothering to tie them, grabbed his jacket, and ran out to the car.

Ten minutes later he stopped with a screech outside his parents’ house after driving much too fast through town. The house stood on the side of the hill, right above the mini-golf course, and it looked exactly the same as it had when he was a boy. He shoved open the car door and jumped out without bothering to shut it. He rushed right up to the front entrance, took a deep breath, and knocked hard on the door. Niclas hoped his father was at home. No matter how un-Christian he was, it wasn’t proper to do what he intended to do in a church.

‘Who is it?’ called the still-familiar, stern voice. Niclas tried the door handle. As usual, the door wasn’t locked. He stepped inside and called out.

‘Where are you, you cowardly old devil?’

‘What in the world is going on?’ His mother came into the hall from the kitchen holding a dish towel and a plate, as his father’s austere figure emerged from the living room.

‘Ask him.’ Niclas pointed a trembling finger at his father, whom he hadn’t seen except at a distance in more than twenty years.

‘I don’t know what he’s talking about,’ said the father, refusing to speak directly to his son. ‘Of all the nerve, coming in here and standing there cursing and screaming. That’s enough now. Get him out of here.’

‘You know damn well what I’m talking about, you old bastard.’ Niclas saw to his satisfaction how his father flinched. ‘And how cowardly can you be, threatening a little girl! If you’re the one who killed her, I’ll make sure that you never walk again, you bloody fucking …’

His mother looked back and forth between the two men and then raised her voice. This was so unusual that Niclas abruptly shut up, and even his father closed his mouth without replying.

‘Now one of you be so good as to tell me what this is all about. Niclas, you can’t just barge in here and start screaming, and if it’s something to do with Sara, then I have a right to know.’

After taking a couple of deep breaths Niclas said through clenched teeth, ‘The police found out that’—he could hardly bring himself to look at his father—
‘he
yelled and screamed and threatened Sara. The day before she died.’ Fury took over again and he shouted, ‘What the bloody hell is wrong with you? Scaring a seven-year-old out of her wits and calling her the “Devil’s spawn” or some such nonsense. She was seven years old, don’t you get it,
seven years old!
And I’m supposed to believe that it was a coincidence that you threatened her the day before she was found murdered! Is that right?’

He took a step toward his father, who hastily backed up.

Asta now stared at her husband. ‘Is the boy telling the truth?’

‘I don’t have to stand here and answer to anyone. I answer only to the Lord,’ said Arne bombastically, turning his back to his wife and son.

‘Don’t even try that. You answer me now!’

Niclas looked in astonishment at his mother, who followed Arne into the living room with her hands on her hips, ready for a fight. Arne too seemed shocked that his wife dared defy him. He was opening and closing his mouth but no sound was coming out.

‘Answer me,’ Asta continued, backing Arne farther into the room as she came closer. ‘Did you see Sara?’

‘Yes, I did,’ said Arne defiantly, working to recapture the authority he’d taken for granted for forty years.

‘And what did you say to her?’ Asta seemed to grow a meter taller before their eyes. Both men found her suddenly terrifying.

‘I had to see whether she was made of sterner stuff than her father. If she’d taken after my side of the family.’

‘Your side,’ Asta snorted. ‘Oh yes, that would be something. Sanctimonious fawners and stuck-up females, that’s what you have on your side of the family. Is that supposed to be something worth emulating? So what was your conclusion?’

Arne’s eyes betrayed his hurt but he said, ‘Silence, woman, I come from God-fearing folk. And it didn’t take long to work out that the girl was not made of good stock. Impudent and obstinate and noisy, not the way girls should be. I tried to talk to her about God, I did, and she stuck out her tongue at me. So I told her a few truths. I was within my full right to do so. Someone had obviously not bothered to raise the child properly; it was high time somebody took her in hand.’

‘So you scared the wits out of my little girl,’ said Niclas, clenching his fists.

‘I saw the Devil in her recoil,’ Arne said proudly.

‘You God-damned …’ Niclas took a step toward him, but stopped when he heard a hard knock at the door.

In that pause, Niclas knew that he had been standing at the edge of the abyss. If he’d gone after his father, he wouldn’t have been able to stop. Not this time.

He left the room without looking at either his father or his mother and opened the front door. The man outside seemed surprised to see him there.

‘Oh, hello. Martin Molin. We’ve met before. I’m from the police. I’d like to have a word with your father.’

Niclas stepped aside without a word. He felt the officer watching him as he walked to his car.

‘Where’s Martin?’ said Patrik.

‘He drove over to Fjällbacka,’ Annika said. ‘Charlotte identified our nasty old man without much difficulty. It’s Sara’s grandfather, Arne Antonsson. A bit of a nut case, according to Charlotte. He and his son have evidently not spoken to each other in years.’

‘Just so Martin remembers to check his alibi, both for the morning when Sara was murdered and for the incident yesterday with the little boy.’

‘The last thing he did was to double-check the time in question for yesterday. Between one and one thirty, wasn’t it?’

‘Exactly. I’m glad there’s at least one person we can count on.’

Annika’s eyes narrowed. ‘Has Mellberg talked to Ernst yet? I mean, I was surprised when he showed up this morning. I thought he would have been suspended at the very least, if not fired by now.’

‘Yeah, I know, I thought that was what happened when he was allowed to go home yesterday. I was just as surprised as you were to find him sitting there as if nothing had happened. I’ll have to speak to Mellberg. He can’t just look through his fingers this time. If he does,
I’m
quitting!’ A grim furrow had formed between Patrik’s eyebrows.

‘Don’t talk like that,’ said Annika in alarm. ‘Have a talk with Mellberg. I’m sure he has a plan for how to deal with Ernst.’

‘You don’t even believe that yourself,’ said Patrik, and Annika looked away. He was right. She seriously doubted it.

She changed the subject. ‘When are we going to question Kaj again?’

‘I was going to do it now, but I’d prefer to have Martin present.’

‘He took off not long ago, so it may be a while before he gets back. He tried to tell you, but you were on the phone.’

‘Yeah, I was busy checking Niclas’s alibi for yesterday. Which was air-tight, by the way. Patient appointments from twelve to three o’clock. And I’m not just going by his appointment book; I had it confirmed by each of the patients he saw.’

‘So, what does that mean?’

‘If I only knew,’ said Patrik, massaging the bridge of his nose with his fingers. ‘It doesn’t change the fact that he couldn’t come up with an alibi for Monday morning, and it’s still suspicious that he tried to conceal his whereabouts. But he wasn’t the one involved yesterday, at any rate. Gösta was going to call the rest of the family to hear where they were at that time.’

‘I assume that Kaj will also have to answer that question in detail,’ said Annika.

Patrik nodded. ‘Yeah, you can bet on it. And his wife. And his son. I thought I’d have a talk with the two of them after I interview Kaj again.’

‘And in spite of everything, the killer could still be someone else entirely, someone we haven’t even considered,’ Annika said.

‘That’s the worst thing about it. While we’re chasing our tails, the murderer is probably sitting at home laughing at us. But after yesterday I’m sure, at least, that he, or she, is still in the vicinity. And that it’s probably someone from Fjällbacka.’