The Drowning

by Camilla Lackberg

  ‘For giving me a good kick up the backside. This is exactly what I needed. Good Lord, just look at me.’ She glanced down at her mis-buttoned blouse and almost tore off the buttons in her eagerness to fix it. Her fingers were trembling.

  ‘You’re welcome,’ said Cecilia, and she couldn’t help laughing a bit at the situation. ‘What are you planning to do?’

  ‘What you’ve already done. I’m going to tell him to go to hell,’ said Louise firmly, and she no longer had a vacant look in her eyes. The feeling that she still had power over her own life had triumphed over her former mood of resignation.

  ‘Make sure you have your finances in order first,’ said Cecilia drily. ‘I have to admit that I was infatuated with Erik for a while, but I know what kind of man he is. He’ll strip you of everything if you leave him. Men like Erik refuse to be dumped.’

  ‘Don’t worry. I’ll make sure to get the most out of him that I can,’ said Louise as she tucked her blouse, now properly buttoned, inside the waistband of her trousers. ‘How do I look? Is my make-up running?’

  ‘A little. Wait a minute and I’ll fix it.’ Cecilia got up, held a piece of kitchen roll under the tap, and then came back to stand in front of Louise. Carefully she wiped off the mascara from under her eyes. She stopped abruptly when she felt Louise’s hand on her stomach. At first neither of them spoke. Then Louise whispered:

  ‘I hope it’s a boy. The girls have always wanted a little brother.’

  ‘My God,’ said Paula. ‘That’s one of the most horrifying stories I’ve ever heard.’

  Patrik had told her what Erica had found out from Sanna. Paula now gave her colleague a surreptitious look as he sat next to her in the passenger seat. After the near-death experience on the road the day before, she wasn’t planning to let him get behind the wheel again until he started looking more rested.

  ‘But what does it have to do with the investigation? That happened so many years ago.’

  ‘Thirty-seven years ago, to be exact. And I don’t know whether it has anything to do with the case, but everything seems to be linked to Christian. I think the answer has to lie in his past; it’s there we’ll find some sort of connection with the other events. If there is a connection, that is,’ he added. ‘Maybe they were just innocent bystanders and were targeted because they were close to Christian. But that’s what we need to find out, and we might as well start from the beginning.’

  Paula overtook a lorry at high speed, almost missing the exit to Trollhättan.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want me to drive?’ asked Patrik anxiously, gripping the door handle.

  ‘Now you see how it feels,’ laughed Paula. ‘After yesterday, you’re no longer reliable. Did you get any rest, by the way?’ She glanced at him as she accelerated through a roundabout.

  ‘Actually, I did,’ said Patrik. ‘I slept for a couple of hours, and then I had a nice, relaxing evening with Erica. It was great.’

  ‘You need to take better care of yourself.’

  ‘That’s exactly what Annika told me. The two of you need to stop being such mother hens,’ said Patrik.

  Paula shifted her gaze to the map that they’d printed out from the internet. Then she looked at the street signs along the road, almost hitting a cyclist who suddenly appeared on the right.

  ‘Let me read the map. Apparently it’s not true that girls are good at multi-tasking,’ said Patrik with a grin.

  ‘Watch what you say,’ said Paula, although she didn’t really seem insulted.

  ‘Turn right here. We’re getting close,’ said Patrik. ‘This is going to be interesting. Apparently the documents still exist, and the woman I talked to on the phone knew instantly what case I was talking about. But then, it’s not the sort of thing that would be easy to forget.’

  ‘It’s great that everything went so smoothly with the prosecutor. Otherwise it would have been difficult to get access to these kinds of documents.’

  ‘You’re right,’ said Patrik, focusing his attention on the map.

  ‘There it is,’ said Paula, pointing at the building that housed the social welfare offices in Trollhättan.

  A few minutes later they introduced themselves to Eva-Lena Skog, the woman that Patrik had spoken to on the phone.

  ‘There are plenty of people here who remember the story,’ she told them, taking out of her desk a folder containing papers that had turned yellow with age. ‘It was a long time ago, but that kind of thing stays with you,’ she said, pushing back a lock of grey hair. She looked like the stereotypical schoolteacher, with her long hair pulled back in a neat bun.

  ‘Did anyone suspect that the situation was as bad as it was?’ asked Paula.

  ‘Yes and no. We’d received some reports, and we’d made …’ She opened the folder and ran her finger over the page on top. ‘We’d made two home visits.’

  ‘And there was nothing to indicate that some sort of intervention might be necessary?’ asked Patrik.

  ‘It’s hard to explain, but those were different times,’ said Skog with a sigh. ‘Today we would have stepped in at a much earlier stage, but back then … well, we simply didn’t know any better. Apparently things improved during certain periods, and most likely our visits took place during those times when she was doing better.’

  ‘And there weren’t any relatives or friends who reacted?’ asked Paula. It was difficult for her to understand how something like this could have happened without anyone noticing.

  ‘There were no other family members. I don’t think there were any friends either. They lived a very isolated life, and that’s why things happened the way they did. If it hadn’t been for the smell …’ She swallowed hard and looked down. ‘We’ve made a lot of progress since then. It would never happen today.’

  ‘Let’s hope not,’ said Patrik.

  ‘As I understand it, you need this information in connection with a murder case,’ said Skog, pushing the folder across her desk towards them. ‘But you’ll be careful how you handle the material, won’t you? It’s only under special circumstances that we allow access to this sort of file.’

  ‘We’ll be extremely discreet. I promise,’ said Patrik. ‘And I’m positive that these documents are going to help us move forward with our investigation.’

  Skog looked at him with ill-concealed curiosity.

  ‘What could your case possibly have to do with this? It all happened so many years ago.’

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t discuss that,’ said Patrik. The truth was that he had no idea whatsoever. But they had to start somewhere.

  20

  ‘Mamma?’ He tried again to shake her, but she didn’t move. He didn’t know how long she’d been lying there like that. He was only three and didn’t know how to tell time yet. But it had turned dark twice. He didn’t like the dark, and his mamma didn’t either. They always left the lamp on when they went to bed, and he’d turned it on all by himself when it started getting too dark in the flat to see. Then he had crept close to her. That was how they usually slept. Close to each other, very close. He pressed his face against her soft body. There was nothing angular about his mamma, nothing that poked out or felt hard. Nothing but softness, warmth, and security.

  But last night she no longer felt warm. He had nudged her and pressed closer, but she didn’t stir. Then he got an extra blanket out of the wardrobe, even though he was afraid to set his feet on the floor when it was dark. He was afraid of the monster under the bed. But he didn’t want Mamma to freeze. He didn’t want to freeze either. Carefully he tucked around her the striped blanket that smelled so strange. She still didn’t get warm. He didn’t either. Shivering, he had lain next to her all night, waiting to wake up so this odd dream would be over.

  When it started to get light, he climbed out of bed. Then he pulled the blanket over her again, since it had shifted during the night. Why was she sleeping so long? She never slept this long. Occasionally she might spend all day in bed, but she would wake up now and then. She would talk to
him and ask him to get her a glass of water or something else. On those days when she stayed in bed she sometimes said strange things. Things that scared him. She even shouted at him once in a while. But he would have preferred that to this, when she lay in bed so quiet and so cold.

  He could feel hunger tearing at his stomach. Maybe Mamma would think he was clever if she woke up to find that he’d made breakfast. The idea made him more cheerful, and he headed for the kitchen. But halfway there, he thought of something and turned back. He wanted Teddy to come too. He didn’t want to be alone. With his teddy bear dragging along the floor, he again headed for the kitchen. Sandwiches. That’s what Mamma used to make for him. Jam sandwiches.

  He opened the refrigerator. There was the jar of jam, with a red lid and strawberries on the label. And there was the butter. Carefully he took them out of the fridge and lifted them up on to the counter. Then he fetched a chair and set it in front of the counter so he could climb up on to the seat. This was starting to feel like an adventure. He reached for the bread box and took out two slices of bread. He pulled out a kitchen drawer and found a wooden butter knife. Mamma didn’t let him use the real knives. Slowly he spread butter on one of the pieces of bread, and jam on the other. Then he slapped them together. All right. The sandwich was ready.

  He got down from the chair and again opened the fridge. He found a container of juice on a shelf in the door. With an effort he lifted the juice out and placed it on the kitchen table. He knew where the glasses were: in the cupboard above the bread box. Up on the chair again, then he opened the cupboard and took out a glass. He didn’t want to drop it. Mamma would be mad if he broke a glass.

  He set the glass on the table, placed the sandwich next to it, and pushed the chair back into place. He climbed on to the chair, kneeling so that he could pour the juice. The container was heavy, and he struggled to hold it over the glass. But just as much juice ended up on the table as in the glass. He had to lean down and slurp up what had spilled on to the oilcloth.

  The sandwich tasted wonderful. It was the first sandwich he had ever made all by himself, and he ate the whole thing in a few greedy mouthfuls. Then he noticed that his stomach had room for more, and this time he knew what to do. Mamma was going to be so proud of him when she woke up and discovered that he could make his own sandwiches.

  ‘Did anyone see anything?’ Patrik was talking to Martin on the phone. ‘No? Okay, I wasn’t really expecting it. But keep knocking on doors. You never know.’

  He ended the conversation and bit into his Big Mac. They had stopped at McDonald’s to eat lunch and to discuss how they should proceed.

  ‘Nothing?’ asked Paula, who had been listening to Patrik while she poked at her chips.

  ‘Nothing so far. There aren’t many people living in the area now that it’s winter. So it’s not surprising that they haven’t had much luck.’

  ‘How’s it going at Badholmen?’

  ‘They’ve taken the body away,’ said Patrik as he took another bite. ‘That means Torbjörn and his men will probably be done soon. He promised to call if they found anything.’

  ‘So what should we do now?’

  Before getting their food, they had glanced through the copies of the documents that they’d been given at the social welfare office. Everything seemed to match with what Sanna had told Erica.

  ‘We keep moving forward. We know that Christian was placed with a couple named Lissander shortly afterwards. Here in Trollhättan.’

  ‘I wonder if they still live here,’ said Paula.

  Patrik carefully wiped off his hands before looking through the file to find the right page. Then he memorized the information and phoned directory assistance.

  ‘Hi, I wonder if you have a listing for Ragnar and Iréne Lissander in Trollhättan. Okay, thanks.’ His face lit up, and he nodded to Paula that he was in luck. ‘Could you text me the address?’

  ‘They still live here?’ Paula stuffed a few more chips into her mouth.

  ‘It seems so. What do you say we go over there and have a little chat with them?’ Patrik stood up, looking at Paula impatiently.

  ‘Shouldn’t we phone them first?’

  ‘No, I want to see what happens if we turn up un announced. There must be some reason why Christian changed his last name back to the name of his biological mother, and never mentioned their existence to anyone, not even his wife.’

  ‘Maybe he didn’t live with them for very long.’

  ‘That’s possible, but I don’t think so.’ Patrik tried to formulate why he had such a strong feeling that this was a lead worth following. ‘Because he didn’t change his name until he turned eighteen. Why wait? Why keep the name at all if he didn’t live with them for very long?’

  ‘I suppose you’re right about that,’ said Paula, though she still didn’t sound convinced.

  But they would soon find out. In a very short time one of the missing puzzle pieces about Christian Thydell would fall into place. Or rather, Christian Lissander.

  Erica hesitated, her hand on the phone. Should she or shouldn’t she? Finally she decided that it would soon be public knowledge anyway. Gaby might as well hear the news from her.

  ‘Hi, it’s Erica.’

  She closed her eyes as Gaby showered her with the usual effusive greetings. But she cut off the publishing director in the middle of the torrent of words.

  ‘Christian is dead, Gaby.’

  There was silence on the phone. Then she heard Gaby take a deep breath.

  ‘What? How?’ she stammered. ‘Is it the same person who …?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Erica closed her eyes again. The words sounded so terrible and final when she said them out loud: ‘He was found hanged this morning. The police aren’t saying anything more at the moment. We don’t know whether it was suicide or whether …’ She couldn’t finish the sentence.

  ‘Hanged?’ Gaby gasped. ‘That can’t be true!’

  Erica didn’t reply at once. She knew that the news had to sink in slowly before it became real. She’d been through the same experience herself when Patrik told her.

  ‘I’ll let you know if I hear anything else,’ said Erica. ‘But I’d appreciate it if the media could be kept as much out of this as possible. It’s hard enough for his family right now.’

  ‘Of course, of course,’ said Gaby, sounding as if she actually meant it. ‘But keep me posted about what happens, okay?’

  ‘I will,’ said Erica, putting down the phone. She knew that even if Gaby could resist ringing the press, it wouldn’t take long before Christian’s death would be on all the front pages. He had become an overnight star, and the papers had quickly realized that he was newsworthy material. His mysterious death would undoubtedly dominate the news placards in the days ahead. Poor Sanna, and those poor boys.

  Erica had hardly been able to look at the boys when she was supposed to be taking care of them at Agneta’s house. They were sitting on the floor, playing with a big pile of Lego blocks. Carefree and happy, just squabbling a bit now and then, as siblings do. The terrifying experience with the red paint from the day before seemed to have rolled right off them. But maybe they were just keeping it all in. Maybe they were hurting inside, even though it didn’t show on the outside. And now their father was gone. How was that going to affect their lives?

  She had sat on the sofa without saying a word until she finally forced herself to look at them. With their heads close together, the two little boys were discussing where to put the siren on the toy ambulance. They looked so much like both Christian and Sanna. And now they were the only thing left of him. Aside from his book, of course. The Mermaid.

  Erica suddenly had a strong urge to read the story again. Read it as a form of memorial for Christian. First she looked in on Maja, who was sleeping soundly in her cot. Maja had been allowed to stay home from the day-care centre today, since the morning had been filled with so much commotion. Gently Erica stroked Maja’s blonde head lying on the pillow. Then she went to ge
t the book, settled herself comfortably, and opened the novel to the first page.

  They were going to bury Magnus in two days. In two days he would be put in the ground. Into a hole in the ground.

  Cia hadn’t left the house since receiving the news that they’d found him. She couldn’t stand the thought of people staring at her, couldn’t bear to see their eyes filled with sympathy as they wondered what Magnus could have done to deserve such a death. Everyone was probably speculating about what he might have done to bring this misfortune down on himself.

  She knew that people were talking; over the years she’d participated in the gossiping too. Not contributing much, she was glad to say, but all the same she had listened without offering any protests.

  ‘There’s no smoke without fire.’

  ‘I wonder how they could afford a trip to Thailand. He must be getting paid under the table.’

  ‘You wouldn’t believe the plunging necklines she’s suddenly taken to wearing. I wonder who she’s trying to impress.’

  Scattered rumours taken out of context and then patiently piled up to form a mixture of fact and fiction. Until finally it became the truth.

  She could just imagine what stories were circulating through town. But as long as she could stay at home, it didn’t matter. She could hardly bear to think about the video that Ludvig had shown the police yesterday. She hadn’t lied when she said that she didn’t know about it. At the same time, it had got her thinking. She had occasionally sensed that there was something Magnus wasn’t telling her. Or had she just made that up after the fact, now that her whole life had been turned upside down in such a bewildering way? But she thought she could recall sometimes wondering what was behind the strange melancholy that occasionally came over her husband, who was otherwise such a happy person. It would fall over him like a shadow, a solar eclipse. A few times she had actually asked him about it. Yes, now she remembered. She had patted his cheek and asked him what he was thinking about. And it was always as if he switched on the light again, chasing away the shadow before she could see any more of it.