The Drowning

by Camilla Lackberg

  No one ever talked about him. That was also something he learned by eavesdropping. It was as if he didn’t exist; he merely took up space. But he had learned to live with that. The few times that he felt hurt, he would think about the smell and what was now starting to seem more and more like an evil fairy tale. A distant memory. That was enough to enable him to live with being invisible to everyone except Alice. Now that he had made her be nice.

  A phone call changed everything. The Old Bitch had died, and her house now belonged to Mother. The house in Fjällbacka. They hadn’t been there since Alice was born, not since that summer in the caravan when he had lost everything. Now they were going to move there. Mother was the one who made the decision. Father tried to object, but as usual nobody listened to him.

  Alice didn’t like change. She wanted everything to always remain the same, the same things every day, the same routines. So when all of her possessions were packed up and they were sitting in the car with Father behind the wheel, Alice turned around and pressed her nose against the back window, peering at the house until it was lost from sight. Then she turned around to face forward again, moving close to him. She laid her cheek on his shoulder, and for a moment he considered consoling her, giving her a little pat on the head or taking her hand. But he didn’t do it.

  She leaned against him all the way to Fjällbacka.

  ‘You certainly embarrassed me yesterday,’ said Erik. He was standing in front of the mirror in the bedroom, trying to knot his tie.

  Louise didn’t respond. She merely turned her back to him, rolling over on to her side.

  ‘Did you hear what I just said?’ He raised his voice a bit, but not enough so the girls could hear him from their rooms across the hall.

  ‘I heard you,’ she said in a low voice.

  ‘Don’t do that again. Ever! It’s one thing for you to behave like a drunk here at home in the daytime. As long as you can stay on your feet when the girls are around, I don’t care what else you do. But I bloody well won’t have you coming over to the office.’

  No answer. It annoyed him that she offered no defence. He preferred her caustic remarks to this silence.

  ‘You disgust me. Do you know that?’ The knot of his tie ended up too far down, and he swore as he tore it apart to try again. He cast a glance at Louise. She was still lying on the bed with her back turned, but now he saw that her shoulders were shaking. Damn it. This morning was just getting better and better. He despised her hangovers, which were always accompanied by tears and self-pity.

  ‘Stop that. You need to pull yourself together.’ He could feel how the same old admonitions, repeated over and over, were starting to wear out his patience.

  ‘Are you still seeing Cecilia?’ Her voice was muffled by the pillow. Then she turned over to face him to hear his answer.

  Erik looked at her with distaste. Without make-up and without the disguise of expensive clothes, she looked ghastly.

  She repeated her question. ‘Are you still seeing her? Are you fucking her?’

  So she knew. That was more than he’d expected from her.

  ‘No.’ He thought about the last conversation that he’d had with Cecilia. He didn’t want to talk about it.

  ‘Why not? Are you already tired of her?’ Louise had taken hold of the topic like a pit bull.

  ‘Let’s just drop it!’

  There was no sound from the girls’ rooms, and he hoped that they hadn’t heard. He realized that he must have been shouting. But he didn’t want to think about Cecilia or the child that he was going to be forced to support in secret.

  ‘I don’t want to talk about her,’ he said in a calmer tone of voice as he finally got his tie knotted.

  Louise was staring at him, her mouth agape. She looked old. Tears had collected at the corners of her eyes. Her lower lip was quivering as she kept looking at him without saying a word.

  ‘I’m going to the office now. Get your arse out of bed and make sure the girls get to school on time. If you can manage that.’ He gave her a cold stare and then turned away. Maybe it would be worth the money to be rid of her after all. There were plenty of women who would be overjoyed to accept what he had to offer. She would be easy to replace.

  ‘Do you think he’s in any shape to talk to us?’ Martin asked Gösta. They were driving out to Kenneth’s house, even though neither of them really wanted to disturb him so soon after his wife’s death.

  ‘I don’t know,’ replied Gösta, his voice clearly indicating that he didn’t want to talk about it. Both of them fell silent.

  After a while Gösta asked, ‘So how’s it going with the little girl?’

  ‘Great!’ Martin’s face lit up. After a long series of un successful relationships, he had almost given up hope of ever having a family of his own. But Pia had changed all that, and in the fall she’d given birth to a baby girl. His bachelor life now seemed like a distant and not particularly pleasant dream.

  Silence again. Gösta drummed his fingers on the steering wheel but stopped after Martin gave him an annoyed look.

  Both of them jumped when Martin’s mobile rang. When Martin answered, his expression grew more and more sombre.

  ‘Change of plan,’ said Martin as he ended the call.

  ‘What do you mean? What’s going on?’

  ‘That was Patrik. Something has happened over at Christian Thydell’s house. He phoned the station and was practically incoherent. But it’s something to do with his kids.’

  ‘Bloody hell.’ Gösta stomped on the gas pedal. ‘Hold on,’ he told Martin and drove even faster. He could feel his stomach starting to clench up. He’d always had a hard time dealing with cases involving children. And it hadn’t got any easier over the years. ‘Couldn’t Patrik tell you anything more?’

  ‘No,’ said Martin. ‘Christian was in such a state that Patrik couldn’t get a sensible word out of him. He and Paula are also on their way, but we’ll get there first. Patrik said not to wait for them.’ Martin was looking pale too. It was bad enough to arrive at a crime scene if they were prepared for what they were going to see. But right now they had no idea what was in store for them.

  When they drove up in front of the Thydell house, they didn’t bother to park the car properly. Gösta brought it to a skidding halt, and then they both jumped out. No one answered when they rang the bell, so they opened the door.

  ‘Hello! Anyone home?’

  They heard sounds coming from overhead, so they dashed upstairs.

  ‘Hello? It’s the police.’ They shouted again, but there was still no answer. From one of the rooms they heard sobs and the high-pitched screams of a child interspersed with the sound of splashing water.

  Gösta took a deep breath and looked inside. Sanna was sitting on the bathroom floor, crying so hard that her whole body shook. In the bathtub sat the two little boys. The water was a faint pink colour, and Sanna was vigorously scrubbing their small bodies.

  ‘What happened? Are they hurt?’ Gösta stared at the children in the tub.

  Sanna turned around, gave them a hasty look, and then turned back to her sons.

  ‘Are they hurt, Sanna? Should we ring for an ambulance?’ Gösta went over to her, squatted down, and put his hand on her shoulder. But Sanna didn’t reply. She just kept on scrubbing, without much result. The red wasn’t coming off. In fact, it just seemed to be spreading.

  Gösta took a closer look at the boys and felt his pulse start to slow down. The red colour wasn’t blood.

  ‘Who did this?’

  Sanna sobbed as she used the back of her hand to wipe away the drops of pink water that had sprayed her face.

  ‘They … they …’ Her teeth were chattering, and Gösta squeezed her shoulder to reassure her. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Martin was standing in the doorway.

  ‘It’s paint,’ he told Martin. Then he looked again at Sanna. She took a deep breath and made another attempt to speak.

  ‘Nils was calling for me. He was sitting up in bed.
This … this is how they looked. Somebody had written on the wall, and some of the paint must have spattered on to their beds. I thought it was blood.’

  ‘But you and Christian didn’t hear anything during the night? Or this morning?’

  ‘No, nothing.’

  ‘Where is the children’s room?’ asked Gösta.

  Sanna pointed out into the hall.

  ‘I’ll go take a look,’ said Martin, turning around to leave.

  ‘I’ll come too.’ Gösta forced Sanna to meet his gaze before he stood up. ‘We’ll be right back. Okay?’

  She nodded. Gösta stood up and went out into the hall. From the children’s room he could hear loud voices.

  ‘Christian, put that down.’

  ‘I have to get this off …’ Christian sounded just as confused as Sanna, and when Gösta entered the room he saw him holding a big bucket of water, ready to toss the contents at the wall.

  ‘We need to have a look at it first.’ Martin held up his hand towards Christian, who wore only his underwear. On his chest were red flecks of paint that he’d no doubt acquired when he helped Sanna carry the boys to the bathroom.

  Now he made an attempt to throw the water at the wall, but Martin leaped forward and grabbed the bucket. Christian offered no resistance. He let go of the handle and just stood there, swaying slightly.

  With Christian under control Gösta could concentrate on what he’d been trying to wash away. On the wall above the boys’ beds someone had written: You don’t deserve them.

  The red paint had dripped down from the letters, which looked as if they’d been written in blood. The same impression was made by the paint on the children’s bed. Gösta now understood the extent of the shock that Sanna must have had when she came into the room. And he also understood Christian’s reaction. His face was now expressionless as he stared at the words on the wall, but he was muttering to himself. Gösta moved a little closer to hear what he was saying.

  ‘I don’t deserve them. I don’t deserve them.’

  Gösta cautiously took him by the arm. ‘Go and put on some clothes, Christian, and then we’ll talk.’ Gently but firmly Gösta ushered him out the door and over to the room that he had noticed belonged to Christian and Sanna.

  Christian followed obediently, but then he just sat down on the bed, without making any attempt to get dressed. Gösta looked around until he found a bathrobe hanging from a hook behind the door. He handed the robe to Christian, who put it on, his movements listless and slow.

  ‘I need to have another look at Sanna and the children. Then we’ll go down to the kitchen and talk.’

  Christian nodded. His eyes were vacant and glassy. Gösta left him sitting on the bed and went back to find Martin, who was still in the children’s room.

  ‘What the hell is going on here?’ Gösta asked.

  Martin shook his head. ‘This is sick. Whoever did this must be insane. And what does it mean? “You don’t deserve them.” Deserve what? The children?’

  ‘That’s what we need to find out. Patrik and Paula should be here any minute. Could you go downstairs and let them in? And phone for a doctor too. I don’t think the kids are hurt, but the whole family has received a bad shock. It’s probably best to have a doctor look at them. I’m going to help Sanna get the paint washed off of the boys. She’s scrubbing so hard that she’s going to flay the skin off them.’

  ‘We need to get the crime techs out here too.’

  ‘Exactly. As soon as Patrik gets here, ask him to contact Torbjörn ASAP so they’ll send over a team. And we should try not to walk around in here any more than we have to.’

  ‘At least we managed to save the wall,’ said Martin.

  ‘Yes. That was damn lucky.’

  They went downstairs together, and Gösta quickly managed to locate the door that led down to the basement. Only a bare bulb lit the stairs, so he descended cautiously. Like most people’s basements, the one belonging to the Thydell family was filled with all sorts of junk: cardboard boxes, discarded toys, containers labelled ‘Christmas decorations’, tools that didn’t look as if they were used very often, and a shelf holding painting equipment: cans, bottles, brushes, and rags. Gösta reached for a bottle half-filled with white spirit, but the moment his fingers closed around the bottle, he caught sight of something out of the corner of his eye. A rag was lying on the floor. Spattered with red paint.

  He quickly scanned the tins of paint on the shelf. None of them held red paint. But Gösta was positive that the red colour on the rag was the same as he’d seen in the boys’ room. Whoever had painted those words on the wall must have brought the paint along and then come down here to wash up. He looked at the bottle he was holding. Shit. It might have fingerprints on it. But he needed the white spirit. The boys had to have the paint removed from their skin so they could get out of the bath. An empty cola bottle solved the problem. Without changing his grip on the bottle of white spirit, he poured the contents into the plastic bottle and then set it back on the shelf. If he was lucky, he hadn’t ruined all the prints. And the rag might also give them something to go on.

  Carrying the cola bottle, Gösta went back upstairs. Patrik and Paula hadn’t yet arrived, but they couldn’t be far away.

  Sanna was still stubbornly scrubbing her sons when he came into the bathroom. The boys were crying desperately. Gösta squatted down next to the tub and said gently:

  ‘You’re not going to get the paint off just by scrubbing with soap. We need to use white spirit.’ He held up the bottle that he’d brought from the basement. Sanna stopped what she was doing and stared at him. Gösta took a hand towel from a hook next to the sink and poured some of the fluid on to the cloth as Sanna watched. He held up the towel to show it to her and then took hold of the older boy’s arm. There was no use trying to calm them down right now. He just had to work fast.

  ‘See? The paint comes right off.’ Even though the boy was wriggling like a worm, Gösta managed to wipe off a good deal of the paint. ‘This is what we need to do.’

  He realized that he was speaking to Sanna as if she were a child, but it seemed to work because she was starting to look less and less distraught.

  ‘Okay. So he’s done now.’ Gösta put down the towel and picked up the handheld shower to rinse the solvent off the boy’s body. The child began wildly kicking when Gösta lifted him out of the tub, but Sanna reacted by swiftly wrapping her son in a bathrobe. She pulled him on to her lap and rocked him as she held him close.

  ‘Okay, little guy. Now it’s your turn.’

  The younger boy seemed to understand that if he let the policeman wash him off, he’d be allowed out of the bathtub and could sit on his mother’s lap. He abruptly stopped crying and sat perfectly still as Gösta poured more white spirit on the towel and then began wiping off the paint. Soon he too was only a faint shade of pink, and he was allowed to sit on Sanna’s lap, wrapped from head to toe in a big bath towel.

  From downstairs Gösta could now hear voices and then footsteps approaching. Patrik appeared in the doorway.

  ‘What happened?’ he asked, out of breath. ‘Is everybody okay? Martin said the children didn’t seem to be hurt.’ Patrik’s eyes were fixed on the bathtub filled with crimson water.

  ‘The kids are fine. Just a little shocked. Like their parents.’ Gösta stood up and went out into the hall with Patrik. Briefly he told his colleague what had happened.

  ‘This is crazy. Who would do such a thing?’

  ‘Martin and I said the same thing. Something isn’t right, and that’s putting it mildly. I think Christian knows more than he’s telling us.’ He repeated what he’d heard Christian mumbling.

  ‘I agree,’ said Patrik. ‘I’ve had that feeling for a while now. Where is he?’

  ‘In the bedroom. We need to see if he’s in okay shape so we can have a talk with him.’

  ‘I reckon it’s high time we did just that.’

  Patrik’s mobile rang. He took it out of his pocket and answered. Th
en he gave a start.

  ‘What did you say? Can you repeat that?’ He glanced at Gösta, a look of dismay on his face. Gösta tried in vain to hear what the other person was saying. ‘Okay. Understood. We’re over at the Thydell home. Something has happened here too, but we’ll deal with it.’

  He ended the call.

  ‘Kenneth Bengtsson has been taken to the Uddevalla hospital. He was out running this morning, and someone had set a trap for him. A cord that tripped him so he fell headlong on to a bed of broken glass.’

  ‘Good God,’ whispered Gösta. And for the second time that morning, he said, ‘What the hell is going on here?’

  Erik stared at his mobile phone. Kenneth was on his way to the hospital. Dutiful as ever, he had persuaded the ambulance medics to ring the office to say that he couldn’t make it to work.

  Somebody had set a trap that he was bound to encounter on his run. Erik didn’t even consider the possibility that it could be a mistake, a practical joke that had gone too far. Kenneth always took the same route every morning. Everyone in the area knew that, and anyone else could have found out. So there was no doubt that somebody wanted to harm Kenneth. Which meant that he too was in danger.

  This was getting out of hand. Over the years Erik had taken many risks and stepped on plenty of people along the way. But he never would have foreseen something like this, or the terror that he now felt.

  He turned to his computer and logged on to his bank’s web site. He needed to get an idea of the possibilities open to him. Thoughts were whirling through his mind, but he tried to focus on the amounts in his bank accounts so as to channel his fear into a plan, a means of escape. For a moment he allowed himself to ponder who could have sent those letters and most likely murdered Magnus. Evidently that person had now shifted attention to Kenneth. At least for the moment. Then Erik pushed those thoughts aside. It would serve no useful purpose to keep speculating. It could be anybody. Right now he had to save his own skin, take what funds he could and leave the country for some warmer place where no one could touch him. And stay there until this whole thing had blown over.