The Stonecutter (46 page)

‘Fourteen,’ said Patrik, and they were silent for a moment, faced with the incomprehensible fact that a boy of fourteen could find life so unbearable that death was the only way out.

‘Is there any reason to believe that it’s not a suicide?’ asked Torbjörn as he prepared the camera in his hand.

‘No, not really,’ said Patrik. ‘There’s a note, which I haven’t seen yet. Although the note names a person involved in a homicide investigation, so I won’t leave anything to chance.’

‘The girl?’ said Torbjörn, and Patrik nodded.

‘Okay, then in other words we’ll treat it as a suspicious death. Ask one of the others to take care of the note, so it’s not handled by too many people before we get our mitts on it.’

‘I’ll do it right now,’ said Patrik, relieved to have an excuse to leave the garage. He went over to Martin, who was selfconsciously wiping his mouth with a paper napkin.

‘Sorry,’ he said, gloomily looking at his shoes which had been sprayed by his lunch.

‘Don’t worry. I’ve done it myself,’ said Patrik. ‘But now the techs and then the ambulance guys will have to deal with the body. I’m going to check on that note, and you can go see whether it’s possible to talk to the stepfather.’

Martin nodded and bent down to wipe off his shoes. Patrik waved to one of the techs from Uddevalla. She brought her bag of equipment and followed without a word.

The house was uncannily quiet when they went inside. The boy’s stepfather had watched them as they went in the front door.

Patrik looked around.

‘I’d guess it’s upstairs,’ said the tech, whose name, Patrik remembered vaguely, was Eva. She was one of the techs who’d done the examination of the Florins’ bathroom.

‘Yeah, I don’t see anything down here that looks like a boy’s room, so you’re probably right.’

They climbed the stairs, and Patrik suddenly had a flashback to his own childhood home. The houses all seemed to have been built around the same time, and he knew the style well, with fiber wallpaper on the walls and light pine stairs with a wide banister.

Eva was right. At the top of the staircase was an open door that led to a room that unmistakably belonged to a teenage boy. The door, the walls, and even the ceiling were covered with posters, and it didn’t take a genius to discover the common theme. The boy had loved action heroes. Anyone who struck first and asked questions later; they were all there. The men were dominant, of course, but a single woman had been granted a place in the collection—Angelina Jolie, as Lara Croft. Although Patrik suspected that her toughness wasn’t the only reason that Sebastian had her up on his wall—she had quite a pair, to be exact. Not that he could blame the boy.

A white sheet of paper lying in the middle of the desk brought Patrik back to reality. They went over to take a look at the note. Eva put on a pair of thin gloves and took a plastic bag out of her equipment case. Carefully, with her thumb and forefinger holding one corner of the letter, she dropped it into the plastic bag and then handed it to Patrik. Now he could read it without destroying any fingerprints that might be on the paper.

Patrik glanced through the letter in silence. The words were so filled with pain that it made him dizzy. But he cleared his throat and continued. When he finished, he returned the note to Eva. He had no doubt that the letter was genuine.

Patrik felt overcome with anger and resolve. He couldn’t offer Sebastian a toned, sunglass-wearing Schwarzenegger to mete out justice, but he could definitely offer him the help of Patrik Hedström. He had to hope that would be enough.

His phone rang, and he answered absentmindedly, still absorbed by his rage over the boy’s meaningless death. He was mildly surprised to hear Dan’s voice on the phone, since Erica’s friend usually never called him directly. But very soon Patrik’s astonishment was replaced by horror.

Since his meeting with Jeanette had done nothing to calm the adrenaline still pumping through his veins, Niclas thought he might as well take on one more difficult task—he should confront the conversation he’d been avoiding before his usual flight instinct kicked in. So much of what had gone wrong in his life could be blamed on his fear of conflict. He always turned weak when strength counted most. Charlotte was the main reason for almost all the things that were still good in his life.

When he turned into the driveway at the house, he forced himself to sit in the car for a minute and just breathe. He needed to think through what he was going to say to Charlotte. It was essential that he find exactly the right words. Ever since he’d had to confess to her about Jeanette, he’d felt the chasm between them widening by the minute. The cracks in their relationship had already existed, both before his revelation and before Sara’s death, so it wasn’t hard for them to grow. Soon, he knew, it would be too late. The secret that they shared hadn’t brought them together; instead it had merely hastened the process that was pushing them apart. That was where he thought they’d have to begin. If they weren’t honest about everything starting right now, nothing would be able to save their marriage. And for the first time in ages, maybe ever, he was sure now that that was what he wanted.

Hesitantly he got out of the car, stifling the instincts to run, to drive back to the clinic and bury himself in work, to find a new woman to embrace, to return to familiar territory. Instead, he quickened his steps and walked in the front door.

He could hear murmuring voices upstairs and knew that Lilian must be up in Stig’s room. Thank goodness. He didn’t want to face her barrage of questions again, and he closed the door as quietly as he could.

Charlotte looked up in astonishment when he came down to the cellar flat.

‘You’re home early.’

‘Yes, I thought we should talk.’

‘Haven’t we talked enough?’ she said with calculated indifference, as she continued to fold the laundry. Albin was sitting next to her on the floor playing with his toys. Charlotte looked worn out. He knew that she didn’t get many hours of sleep at night; she lay in bed tossing and turning, although he’d pretended not to notice. He hadn’t talked to her about it, hadn’t caressed her cheek or taken her in his arms. The skin under her eyes had dark smudges, and she’d grown thin. How many times had he angrily muttered that she ought to pull herself together and lose some weight? Now he’d give anything for her to get back some of her former plumpness.

Niclas sat down on the bed next to her and took her hand. Her shocked expression told him he hadn’t done this nearly often enough. He felt awkward and fumbling, and for a instant he wanted to flee again. But he kept her hand in his and said, ‘I’m so dreadfully sorry, Charlotte. For everything. For all the years I’ve been distant, both physically and mentally; for everything I’ve blamed you for even though it was actually my own fault; for the affairs I’ve had; for the physical closeness I’ve stolen from you and given to others; for not finding a way for us to get out of this house sooner; for not listening to you; for not loving you enough. I’m sorry for all that and more. But I can’t change the past, only promise you that everything will be different starting now. Do you believe me? Please, Charlotte, I have to hear that you believe me!’

She raised her eyes and looked at him. Tears welled up in her eyes as she fixed her gaze on him.

‘Yes, I believe you. For Sara’s sake, I believe you.’

He simply nodded, unable to go on. Then he cleared his throat and said, ‘Then there’s something we have to do. I’ve thought about this, and we can’t keep living with the secret. Monsters live in the dark.’

After a brief pause she nodded. With a sigh she leaned her head on his shoulder, and he felt as though she were falling into him.

They sat that way for a long time.

Patrik made it home in five minutes. He hugged Erica and Maja long and hard, and then shook Dan’s hand gratefully.

‘What a stroke of luck you were here,’ he said, adding Dan to the list of people he had to be thankful for.

‘Right. But I don’t understand it. Who would take it into their head to do something like this? And why?’

Patrik sat next to Erica on the sofa, holding her hand. After casting a hesitant glance at Erica, he said, ‘It probably has some connection with Sara’s murder.’

Erica gave a start. ‘What? Why do you think that? Why would …?’

Patrik pointed at Maja’s overalls on the floor. ‘That looks like ashes.’ His voice broke and he had to clear his throat to go on. ‘Sara had ashes in her lungs, and there was also a …’ he searched for the right word, ‘an attack on another baby. Ashes were again involved.’

‘But what does it mean?’ Erica looked bewildered. Nothing she was hearing made any sense.

‘I don’t know,’ said Patrik wearily, passing his hand over his eyes. ‘We don’t understand it either. We’ve sent off the ashes we found on the other child’s clothing to the lab, to see whether it has the same chemical composition as the ashes inside Sara, but we haven’t got an answer back yet. And now I want to send off Maja’s clothes too.’

Erica nodded mutely. Her panic had metamorphosed into a trancelike shock. Patrik gave her another hug. ‘I’ll call in and tell them I’m staying home for the rest of the day. I just have to get Maja’s clothes sent off so they can start the analysis as soon as possible. We have to catch whoever is doing this,’ he said grimly. It was a promise he was making to himself as much as to Erica. His daughter was unhurt, true, but the mental cruelty behind the deed gave him an uneasy feeling that the person they were searching for was extremely disturbed.

‘Can you stay until I get back?’ he asked Dan, who nodded.

‘Absolutely. I’ll stay as long as you need me to.’

Patrik kissed Erica on the cheek and patted Maja tenderly. Then he picked up Maja’s overalls, put on his jacket, and hurried off. He wanted to get back home soon.

28

Göteborg 1954

The girl was hopeless. Agnes sighed. So many hopes she’d had for her, so many dreams. She had been so sweet when she was little, and with her dark hair she was easily taken for her daughter. Agnes had decided to call her Mary. Partly because it would remind everyone of her years in the States and the status she’d accrued from living abroad, and partly because it was a lovely name for a charming child.

But after a couple of years something had happened. The girl had begun to swell out in all directions, and the fat covered her sweet features like a mask. It disgusted Agnes. By the time the girl was four, her thighs were quivering, but nothing seemed to stop her from eating. And God knows that Agnes had sincerely tried. But nothing did any good. They hid the food and put locks on the cupboards, but Mary was like a mouse who could always sniff out something that she could stuff into her mouth. Now, at ten, she was a regular mountain of fat. The hours in the cellar didn’t seem to have any deterrent effect; instead she always came up hungrier than ever.

Agnes simply didn’t understand it. She had always placed enormous importance on her own appearance, not least because her looks made it possible for her to get what she wanted in life. It was inconceivable that the girl would want to destroy her chances that way.

Sometimes she regretted her decision to take the girl with her from the dock in New York. But only partly. It had actually worked exactly the way she’d imagined. Nobody could resist the rich widow with the delightful little daughter, and it had taken her only three months to find a suitable man. Åke had come to Fjällbacka for a week in July to enjoy a little recreation; instead, he was caught so efficiently by Agnes that he proposed after knowing her for only two months. With a becoming demureness she had accepted, and after a quiet wedding she and her daughter moved to Göteborg, where Åke had a huge flat on Vasagatan. The house in Fjällbacka had once again been rented out, and she was relieved to have escaped the small-town isolation.

Besides, people in Fjällbacka still insisted on bringing up her past. It was so long ago, and yet Anders and the boys seemed to live so vividly in everyone’s memory. She couldn’t understand their need to keep harping on what had happened. One lady had even had the cheek to ask Agnes how she could bring herself to live on the site where her family had been killed. By then, she had already hooked Åke, so she had allowed herself the liberty of ignoring the comment, simply turning on her heel and walking away. There would surely be talk about that, but it no longer mattered to her. She had achieved her goal. Åke had a prestigious position in an insurance firm and would be able to provide her with a comfortable life. Of course, he didn’t seem much interested in social life, but she would soon change that. For the first time in years, Agnes longed again to be the center of attention at a glittering party. She wanted to have dancing and champagne and beautiful clothes and jewelry, and no one would ever be able to take those things from her again. She erased the memories of her past so effectively that it often felt merely like an unpleasant dream.

But life had one more trick up its sleeve. The glittering parties had been few, and she wasn’t exactly swimming in jewels. Åke proved to be notoriously stingy, and she had to fight for every öre. He had also exhibited an ungentlemanly disappointment when six months after the wedding a telegram arrived, saying that all the assets she had inherited from her wealthy late husband had unfortunately been lost through a bad investment by the man appointed to administer them for her. She had sent this telegram to herself, of course, but she was very proud of the performance she put on when it arrived, including the dramatic fainting scene. She hadn’t counted on Åke reacting as strongly as he did, and it made her suspect that her own imaginary riches had played a greater role in convincing him to propose than she’d thought. But what was done was done for both of them, and they now attempted to tolerate each other as best they could.

At first she had felt only a slight irritation at his miserliness and his absolute lack of initiative. What he enjoyed most was sitting at home, night after night, eating dinner, reading the newspaper and perhaps a couple of chapters in a book, and then changing into his old-man pajamas and slipping into bed just before nine. When they were newlyweds he had occasionally fumbled for her at night, but now to her relief his lovemaking had decreased to twice a month, always with the light off and without even bothering to remove his pajama top. But Agnes had noticed that the morning after, it was always easier to procure some money for herself, and she never let such an opportunity go to waste.