‘How is your wife doing?’ Erica asked, hoping he wouldn’t be offended by the question.
‘Things are bad. She’s not doing well at all.’
Neither of them spoke for a moment. Then Kenneth sat up straight and attempted a smile, although it didn’t hide the pain he was feeling.
‘So, are you and Patrik thinking about a new house? The one you have is really very nice. But no matter what, Erik is really the one you and your husband need to talk to. I handle the finances and the account books, and I’m not much of a talker. But Erik will be here after lunch, I think, so if you’d like to come back then …’
‘No, I’m not here about buying a house.’
‘Oh? Then why exactly are you here?’
Erica hesitated. Why the hell did she have to be so curious that she couldn’t help sticking her nose in everybody else’s business? How was she going to explain this?
‘I suppose you’ve heard about Magnus Kjellner? That his body was found?’ she began.
Kenneth’s face turned a shade greyer as he nodded.
‘And as I understand it, the two of you saw quite a lot of each other. Is that right?’
‘Why are you asking me about this?’ said Kenneth, his expression suddenly wary.
‘I just …’ Erica searched for a good explanation but didn’t find one. She’d have to settle for telling a lie. ‘Did you read what it said in the newspapers about the threatening letters that Christian Thydell has received?’
Kenneth nodded, still looking circumspect. Something flashed in his eyes, but it was gone so fast that Erica wasn’t even sure she’d seen anything.
‘Christian is my friend, and I want to help him,’ she went on. ‘I think there’s a connection between the threats he’s been receiving and what happened to Magnus.’
‘What sort of connection?’ asked Kenneth, leaning forward.
‘I can’t go into that right now,’ she said evasively. ‘But it would really help if you could tell me a little about Magnus. Did he have any enemies? Is there anyone who might have wanted to harm him?’
‘No, that doesn’t seem at all likely.’ Kenneth leaned back in his chair again. His whole posture signalled his unwillingness to continue with this topic.
‘How long have you known each other?’ Erica was trying to steer the conversation towards less charged territory. Sometimes it was best to take a roundabout approach.
And it worked. Kenneth seemed to relax. ‘In principle, our whole lives. We’re the same age, so we were in the same class in grade school and also in secondary school. The three of us have always been friends.’
‘The three of you? You mean you, Magnus, and Erik Lind?’
‘Yes, that’s right. If we’d first met as adults, I don’t think we would have become friends, but Fjällbacka is so small, and we more or less grew up together, so we’ve always stayed in touch. When Erik lived in Göteborg, we didn’t see much of him, but since he moved back here we’ve seen rather a good deal of each other, getting together with our families. Out of habit, I suppose.’
‘Would you say that the three of you are close?’
Kenneth paused to think, glancing out of the window and staring across the ice before he answered. ‘No, I wouldn’t say that. Erik and I work together, of course, so we have a lot of contact with each other. But we’re not close friends. I don’t think anyone is close to Erik. And Magnus and I were so different. I don’t have a bad word to say about Magnus; I don’t think anyone does. We always got on well together, but we’ve never been what you’d call confidants. In that sense, it was Magnus and the newcomer in the group, Christian, who spent the most time together.’
‘How did Christian come into the picture?’
‘I don’t really know. Magnus was the one who decided to include him and Sanna, right after Christian moved here. After that, he became a regular.’
‘Do you know anything about his background?’
‘No,’ he said and then fell silent for a moment. ‘Now that you mention it … I really know nothing about what he did before he moved to Fjällbacka. We never talked about it.’ Kenneth seemed surprised by what he’d said.
‘How do you and Erik get along with Christian?’
‘He’s a bit difficult to get to know, and he can be really gloomy. But he’s a nice guy, and if he just has a couple of glasses of wine, he loosens up and we usually have a great time.’
‘Do you think he’s seemed stressed lately? Worried about anything?’
‘Christian, you mean?’ Again a flash of something in Kenneth’s eyes, but it disappeared so quickly.
‘Yes. He’s been getting these threatening letters for almost a year and a half.’
‘That long? I didn’t know that.’
‘So you and Erik haven’t noticed anything?’
He shook his head. ‘As I said, Christian is rather … complicated, you might say. It’s hard to know what’s going on inside his head. For instance, I had no idea that he was writing a book until it was just about to be published.’
‘Have you read it? It’s really creepy,’ said Erica.
Kenneth shook his head. ‘I’m not much of a reader. But I heard that the reviews have been great.’
‘Yes, really incredible,’ Erica replied. ‘But Christian didn’t tell you or Erik about the letters?’
‘No, he never mentioned them. But as I said, we’ve mostly seen each other at social events. Dinner parties, celebrations, and at New Year’s and Midsummer. Things like that. Magnus was probably the one person that Christian might have talked to.’
‘And Magnus didn’t say anything to you either?’
‘No, he didn’t.’ Kenneth got up. ‘I’m sorry, but I really need to get back to work now. Are you sure that you and Patrik wouldn’t like to consider a new house?’ He smiled and gestured towards the advertising posters on the wall.
‘We’re very comfortable where we are, but thanks. And your houses certainly are attractive.’ Erica made an effort to stand up, but with the usual awkward result. Kenneth held out his hand and helped her get to her feet.
‘Thank you.’ Erica wrapped her scarf around her neck. ‘I’m really sorry,’ she said then. ‘About your wife, I mean. I hope that …’ She didn’t know what else to say, and Kenneth merely nodded.
Erica shivered as she stepped back out into the cold.
Christian was having a hard time concentrating. Normally he enjoyed his job at the library, but today he was finding it impossible to focus, impossible to keep his mind on anything.
Everybody who came in wanted to say something about The Mermaid. Some had already read the book, some were planning to read it, some had seen him on the TV talk show. And he always responded politely, thanking people for their favourable comments, and offering a brief summary of his novel for those who asked. But in reality, he just wanted to scream.
He couldn’t stop thinking about the terrible thing that had happened to Magnus. The prickling sensation had started up in his hands again, and it was spreading. To his arms, over his torso, down into his legs. At times it felt as if his whole body was itching and burning. He was having a hard time sitting still. That’s why he kept getting up to go over to the shelves, moving books that had ended up in the wrong place and straightening the spines so the books formed nice, even rows.
All of a sudden he stopped. He was standing there with one hand raised, resting on top of some books, and he was incapable of taking it down. That’s when the thoughts came, the ones that had been appearing more and more often. What was he doing here? Why was he here, in this particular place, at this particular moment? He shook his head to push the thoughts away, but they just burrowed deeper into his mind.
Someone walked by outside, going past the library entrance. He caught only a glimpse of the person, sensing a movement rather than actually seeing anything. But the feeling that instantly came over him was the same as when he had driven home the night before. The feeling of something hostile, yet at the same t
ime familiar.
He dashed over to the entrance and peered out in the direction the person had gone. Nobody there. No footsteps or any other sound. No one in sight. Was he imagining things? Christian pressed his fingertips to his temples. He closed his eyes and in his mind he pictured Sanna, seeing again the expression on her face when he told her what was half true and half lies. Her mouth agape, sympathy mixed with horror.
She wouldn’t be asking him any more questions. At least not for a while. And the blue dress was back upstairs in the attic, where it belonged. By revealing a little bit of the truth, he had bought himself a temporary respite. But sooner or later she would start questioning what he’d told her, looking for answers and the part of the story that he hadn’t wanted to tell. That part had to stay buried. There was no other option.
He still had his eyes closed when he heard someone clearing their throat. Christian opened his eyes.
‘Excuse me, but my name is Lars Olsson. I’m a reporter. I was just wondering if we could have a little chat. I’ve tried to reach you by phone, but nobody answers.’
‘I’ve switched off my mobile.’ Christian took his hands away from his temples. ‘What do you want?’
‘Yesterday a man was found frozen in the ice. Magnus Kjellner. He’s been missing since November. As I understand it, the two of you were good friends.’
‘Why are you talking to me about this?’ Christian backed away, retreating behind the library counter.
‘It seems a strange coincidence, don’t you think? The fact that you’ve been receiving threats for a long period of time, and then one of your closest friends is found dead? We’ve also learned that he was most likely murdered.’
‘Murdered?’ said Christian, hiding his hands under the counter. They were shaking badly.
‘Yes, there were wounds on the body that indicate he was the victim of an attack. Do you know whether Magnus Kjellner had also been threatened? Or who might have sent those letters to you?’ The journalist was using an aggressive tone of voice, leaving no doubt that he expected Christian to answer.
‘I know nothing about that. Nothing at all.’
‘But it seems that somebody is fixated on you, and then it’s not a big leap to assume that people close to you might be targeted too. Has anyone in your family been threatened in any way?’
All Christian could do was mutely shake his head. Images began crowding into his mind, and he swiftly pushed them away. He couldn’t allow them to take over.
‘From what I understand, the threats began arriving before all the media attention started when your book came out. So that seems to indicate this is a personal matter. Do you have any comment about that?’
Again Christian shook his head, this time even more vigorously. He was clenching his jaw so tight that his face felt like a frozen mask. He wanted to run away from all these questions, stop thinking about her and the fact that, after so many years, she had finally caught up with him. He refused to let her in again. At the same time, he knew it was too late. She was already here; he couldn’t escape. Maybe he had never actually been able to flee.
‘So you have no idea who might be behind the threatening letters? Or whether there’s any connection to the murder of Magnus Kjellner?’
‘I thought you said you had information indicating he was murdered. Not that it was an established fact.’
‘Right. But that’s a reasonable assumption,’ replied the reporter. ‘And you have to agree that in a small town like Fjällbacka, it’s a strange coincidence that a man would receive threats and then one of his friends is found murdered. That stirs up a whole lot of questions.’
Christian felt his anger growing. What right did they have to come barging into his life, demanding answers and asking him to produce something that he didn’t have?
‘I have nothing more to say about any of this.’
‘You do realize that we’re going to write about it whether you cooperate or not? It would be in your own best interest to give us your view of the matter.’
‘I’ve said everything that I’m going to say,’ Christian replied, but the journalist didn’t look as if he was going to back off.
Then Christian stood up. He walked through the library and went into the toilet, locking the door behind him. He gave a start when he saw his face in the mirror. It looked like a complete stranger staring back at him. He didn’t recognize himself at all.
He closed his eyes, leaning forward with his hands on the sink. His breathing was fast and shallow. By sheer force of will, he tried to slow his pulse and regain control. But his life was about to be taken away from him. He knew that. Once upon a time she had taken everything, and now she was here to do it again.
Images danced on the inside of his eyelids. He heard the voices too. Hers and theirs. Without being able to stop himself, he tilted his head back. And then with great force he threw himself forward. He heard the sound of the mirror shattering, felt the blood on his forehead. But it didn’t hurt. Because in the seconds when the glass pierced his skin, the voices fell silent. A blessed silence.
It was just past noon, and Louise was marvellously drunk. To precisely the right extent. Relaxed, numbed, but without losing her grip on reality.
Louise filled her glass again. The house was empty. The girls were in school, and Erik was at the office. Or somewhere else, maybe with his whore.
He’d been acting strangely the past few days. Quieter and more subdued. And her sense of dread was mixed with hope. That was how she always felt when she thought Erik might actually leave her. It was as if she were two people. One of them felt relief at being able to escape the prison that their marriage had become, with nothing but betrayal and lies. The other person was panic-stricken at being abandoned. Of course she would get a large portion of Erik’s money, but what would she do with it when she was all on her own?
There wasn’t much companionship in her present life, but it was still better than nothing. She had a warm body next to her in bed at night, and someone sitting at the kitchen table, reading the newspaper at breakfast. She had somebody. If he left her, she would be utterly forsaken. The girls were growing up; they were like temporary guests in the house, always on their way to see friends or go to school. They had already begun to adopt the taciturn behaviour of teenagers, barely answering at all when she spoke to them. When they were home, she mostly saw the closed doors to their rooms, and the only sign of life was the constant thudding of the music they had playing.
One more glass of wine had disappeared, and she poured herself another. Where was Erik right now? Was he at the office or was he with her? Was he rolling over Cecilia’s naked body, entering her, caressing her breasts? Here at home he never did any of those things. He hadn’t touched her in two years. At first she had tried slipping her hand under the covers to touch him. But after being rejected a few times, when he demonstratively rolled over on his side so his back was turned, or simply pushed away her hand, she had given up.
She could see her own reflection in the shiny stainless steel of the refrigerator. As usual, she studied herself, raising her hand to touch her face. She didn’t look that bad, did she? Once, she had been quite attractive. And she’d kept off the pounds, been careful about what she ate, disdaining her contemporaries who allowed buns and sweet rolls to add extra padding to their figures, which they then tried to conceal under a floral tent dress bought at Lindex. She, on the other hand, could still put on a pair of tight jeans and look respectable. She raised her chin. It had actually started to sag a bit. She raised it again. All right, that’s how it should look.
She lowered her chin, noticing how the skin relaxed into a small fold. She had to resist an impulse to take one of the knives out of the holder in front of her and cut off the repulsive flap of skin. She was suddenly disgusted by her own reflection. No wonder Erik didn’t want to touch her any more. No wonder he’d rather have firm skin under his fingers, wanting to touch something that was not slowly decaying and rotting from the inside.
She lifted her wine glass and tossed the contents at the fridge, erasing her reflection and replacing it with the gleaming red liquid that ran down the smooth surface. The phone was on the counter in front of her, and she punched in the number to the office. She had to find out where he was.
‘Hi, Kenneth. Is Erik there?’
Her heart was pounding hard as she put down the phone, even though by now she should be used to the situation. Poor Kenneth. How many times over the years had he been forced to cover for Erik? To quickly come up with some lie about where Erik was and what sort of task he was taking care of, assuring her that he was bound to be back in the office soon.
She filled her glass without bothering to wipe up what she’d thrown at the fridge and resolutely headed for Erik’s workroom. She wasn’t really supposed to go in there. He claimed that it disturbed the order of things if anyone else used the room, so she was strictly forbidden from even setting foot inside. And that was exactly why she was going there now.
Fumbling, she set down her wine glass on the desk and began pulling out the drawers. In all the doubt-filled years she’d spent with Erik, she had never gone through his things. She had preferred not to know. Suspicions were better than knowledge, even though in her case there was very little difference. Somehow she had always known who he happened to be seeing at the moment. Two of his secretaries, when they lived in Göteborg; one of the teachers at the day-care centre; the mother of one of the girls’ classmates. She could tell because of the evasive and slightly guilty expressions the women wore when they saw her. She had smelled their perfume, noticed a hasty touch that wasn’t appropriate.
The Drowning Page 17
