The Stonecutter (6 page)

4

Strömstad 1923

‘Agnes, I have nothing but tedious meetings today. It’s not a good idea for you to come along.’

‘But I want to go with you today. I’m so bored. There’s nothing to do.’

‘What about your girlfriends?’

‘They’re all busy,’ Agnes replied, sulking. ‘Britta’s getting ready for her wedding, Laila’s going to Halden with her parents to visit her brother, and Sonja has to help her mother.’ Sadly she added, ‘Imagine having a mother to help …’

He sighed. ‘Well, then, come along if you like. But you have to promise to sit still and be quiet, and not run about like a whirlwind talking to the staff. The last time, you completely confused those poor old men; it took them several days to get over it.’ He couldn’t help smiling at his daughter. She was unruly, certainly, but a more dazzling girl could not be found on this side of the Norwegian border.

Agnes gave a happy laugh and rewarded her father with a hug and a pat on his big belly.

‘Nobody has a father like mine,’ she cooed, and August Stjernkvist chuckled with pleasure.

‘What would I do without you?’ he said half in earnest, half in jest, pulling her close.

‘Oh, you don’t have to worry about that. I’m not going anywhere.’

‘No, not at the moment, anyway,’ he said somberly, caressing her hair. ‘But it won’t be long before some man is going to come and steal you away from me. If you can find one who’s good enough, that is,’ he laughed. ‘Up until now it’s been slim pickings, I must say.’

‘Well, I can’t just take any man who comes along,’ Agnes laughed in reply. ‘Not with the example I’ve had. So it’s no wonder I’m particular.’

‘Look here, my girl, enough flattery,’ August preened. ‘Get a move on if you’re coming with me to the office. It wouldn’t do for the boss to arrive late.’

Despite his admonishing words it took almost an hour before they were on their way. First there was the whole business of tending to her hair and clothes, but by the time Agnes was ready, her father had to admit that the result was worth it. So they arrived at the office half an hour late.

‘I’m sorry for the delay,’ said August as he swept into the room where three men were sitting and waiting. ‘But I hope you’ll forgive me when you see the reason for my tardiness.’ He gestured toward Agnes, who was close behind him. She was wearing a red dress that clung to her body and accentuated her slim waist. Although many girls had bobbed their hair according to the new fashion, Agnes had been smart enough to resist the temptation. Her thick black hair was done up in a simple chignon at her neck. She was well aware of the impression she made, thanks to the mirror at home. Now she exploited it fully as she paused in front of the men, slowly removed her gloves, and then let them shake her hand, one by one.

She enjoyed the effect. Two of them sat there gaping like fish and holding on to her hand a trifle too long. But the third man was different. To her astonishment, Agnes felt her heart give a leap. The big, burly man hardly looked up at her and only took her hand quite briefly. The hands of the other two men had felt soft and almost feminine against hers, but this man’s hand was different. She could feel the calluses scraping against her palm, and his fingers were long and strong. For a moment she considered not letting go of his hand, but she caught herself and merely nodded to him demurely. His eyes, which only looked into hers fleetingly, were brown, and she guessed there was Walloon blood in his family.

After the introductions, she hurried to sit down on a chair in the corner and clasped her hands in her lap. She could see that her father hesitated for a moment. He probably would rather have sent her out of the room, but she put on her most angelic expression, and wordlessly he nodded that she could stay. She decided for a change to sit quietly so as not to risk being sent out of the room like a child. She didn’t want to be subjected to that sort of treatment in front of this man.

Normally, after an hour of silence she would have been almost in tears from boredom, but not this time. The hour flew past as she watched the men discussing business, and by the time the meeting was over, Agnes was sure of her cause. She wanted this man, more than she had ever wanted anything else.

And what she wanted, she usually got.

‘Shouldn’t we visit Niclas?’ Asta implored her husband. But she saw no sign of sympathy in his stony expression.

‘I told you his name must never be mentioned in my house again!’ Arne stared hard out of the kitchen window, and there was nothing but granite in his gaze.

‘But after what happened to the girl …’

‘God’s punishment. Didn’t I tell you that would happen someday? No, this is all his own fault. If he’d listened to me it never would have happened. Nothing bad happens to God-fearing people. And now we shall speak no more of this!’ His fist slammed the table.

Asta sighed to herself. Of course she respected her husband, and he did usually know best, but in this case she wondered if he might not be wrong. Something in her heart told her that this couldn’t be consistent with God’s wishes. Surely they should rush to their son’s side after such a terrible tragedy. True, she had never gotten to know her granddaughter, but she was still their own flesh and blood, and children did belong to the kingdom of God, that’s what it said in the Bible. But these were only the thoughts of a lowly woman. Arne was a man, after all, and he knew best. It had always been that way. So, as usual, she kept her thoughts to herself and got up to clear the table.

Too many years had passed since she had spoken to her son. They did see each other occasionally on the street, of course; that was unavoidable now that he had moved back to Fjällbacka, but she knew better than to stop and talk to him. He had tried to speak to her a few times, but she always looked away and just walked off briskly, as she had been instructed to do. But she hadn’t cast down her eyes quickly enough to avoid seeing the hurt in her son’s eyes.

The Bible did say that one should honor one’s father and mother, and what had happened on that day so long ago was, as far as she could see, a breach of God’s word. That’s why she shouldn’t let him back into her heart.

She gazed at Arne as he sat at the table. His back was still as straight as a fir tree, and his dark hair had not thinned, in spite of a few flecks of gray. But they were both over seventy. She remembered how all the girls had run after him when they were young, but Arne had never seemed the least bit interested. He had married her when she was just eighteen, and as far as she knew he had never even looked at another woman. For that matter he hadn’t been particularly keen on carnal matters at home either. Asta’s mother had always said it was a woman’s duty to endure that aspect of marriage. It was not something to enjoy, so Asta had no great expectations and considered herself fortunate.

Nevertheless, they did have a son. A big, splendid, blond boy, the spitting image of his mother. Maybe that was why things had gone so wrong. If he’d been more like his father, then Arne might have felt more of a connection with his son. But the boy had been hers from the start. She had loved him as much as she could, but it wasn’t enough. When the decisive day arrived and she was forced to choose between the boy and his father, she had let her son down. How could she have done otherwise? A wife must stand by her husband, she had been taught that since childhood. But sometimes, in bleak moments, when the lamp was off and she lay in bed looking up at the ceiling, she let the thoughts come. She wondered how something she knew to be right could feel so wrong. It a relief then that Arne always knew exactly how things should be. Many times he had told her that a woman’s judgment was not to be trusted; it was the man’s job to lead the woman. There was security in that. Since her father had been like Arne in many ways, a world in which the man decided was the only world she knew. And he was so smart, her Arne. Everyone agreed about that.

Even the new pastor had praised Arne recently. He had said that Arne was the most reliable sexton he had ever had the privilege to work with, and God would be grateful to have such loyal servants. Arne had told her this, swelling with pride, when he had come home. But it was not for nothing that Arne had been the sexton in Fjällbacka for twenty years. Not counting the unfortunate years when that woman was the pastor here, of course. Asta would not relive those years for anything in the world. Thank goodness the woman had finally understood that she wasn’t wanted, and stepped aside to make way for a real pastor. How poor Arne had suffered during that woman’s tenure. The thought of a woman in the pulpit of his beloved church had almost destroyed him. It was the first time in more than fifty years of marriage that she had ever seen Arne cry. But he’d also said that he trusted that God would finally cast the moneylenders out of the temple. And this time too, Arne was right.

Her only wish was that he could somehow find room in his heart to forgive his son for what had happened. Until then, she would never have a day of happiness. But she also understood that if Arne could not forgive Niclas now, after this terrible news, there was no hope of reconciliation.

If only she had gotten to know the girl. Now it was too late.

Two days had passed since Sara was found. As difficult as it was to resume normal life, the gloom that had prevailed over the station had slowly dispersed as daily tasks reasserted themselves. Police work didn’t stop because a child had died.

Patrik was writing up the last lines of a report on an assault case when the telephone rang. He saw the medical examiner’s number on the display and picked up the receiver with a sigh. Just as well to get it over with. He and Pedersen exchanged polite greetings before they broached the actual reason for the call. The first indication that Patrik was not hearing what he had expected was that a furrow formed between his eyebrows as he scribbled his notes. A few moments later, it had deepened; and when he had heard everything the M.E. had to report, he slammed down the receiver with a bang. He tried to collect himself for a minute as the thoughts swirled in his head. Then he got up, grabbed his notebook, and went into Martin’s office. Actually he should have gone to Chief Mellberg first, but he needed to talk to someone he trusted. Unfortunately, his boss was not in that category. Martin was the only one of his colleagues who qualified.

‘Martin?’

Martin was on the phone when Patrik came in, but he motioned toward a chair. The conversation sounded like it was winding down, and Martin concluded it cryptically with a quiet ‘hmm … sure … me too … hmm … likewise,’ as he flushed from his scalp downward.

Despite his own concerns, Patrik couldn’t resist teasing his young colleague a little. ‘So, who were you talking to?’

He got an inaudible mumble in reply from Martin, whose face flushed even more.

‘Someone calling to report a crime? One of our colleagues in Strömstad? Or Uddevalla? Or maybe Leif G. W. Persson, interested in writing your biography?’

Martin squirmed in his chair but then muttered a bit more audibly, ‘Pia.’

‘Oh, I see,
Pia.
I never would have guessed. Let’s see, what’s it been—three months, right? That must be a record for you, don’t you think?’ Up until this past summer, Martin had been known as something of a specialist in short, unhappy love affairs, usually because of his talent for getting mixed up with women who were already taken. But Pia was not only available, she was also an extremely attractive and serious young woman.

‘We’re celebrating three months on Saturday.’ Martin’s eyes sparkled. ‘And we’re moving in together. She just called to say that she’d found a perfect flat in Grebbestad. We’re going out to look at it this evening.’ His coloring had returned to normal, but he couldn’t hide how obviously head-over-heels in love he was.

Patrik remembered how he and Erica had been at the start of their relationship. P.B. Pre-baby. He loved her fiercely, but that stormy infatuation all of a sudden felt as distant as a woolly dream. Dirty diapers and sleepless nights were no doubt having their effect.

‘But what about you—when are you going to make an honest woman of Erica? And don’t you want to be recognized as Maja’s legal father?’

‘That’s for me to know and you to find out …’ said Patrik with a grin.

‘So, did you come here to root around in my private life, or did you have something you wanted to tell me?’ By now Martin had regained his composure.

All at once Patrik’s face turned serious, as he remembered that they were facing something that was as far from a joke as one could get.

‘Pedersen just rang. He’s sending the report from Sara’s postmortem by fax, but he summarized the contents for me. What he told me means that she didn’t just slip and fall in the water. She was murdered.’

‘What the hell are you saying?’ Martin threw out his hands in dismay, knocking over his pen-holder and ignoring the pens as they spilled across his desk. Instead he looked intently at Patrik.

‘At first he assumed as we did that it was an accident. No visible marks on the body, and she was fully dressed, in clothing appropriate to the season, except that she had no jacket, but it could have floated away. But most important of all: when he examined her lungs he found water in them.’ He fell silent.