'Sara, Sara,' she moaned. Even though she was now awake she was still in freefall through space. The only thing holding her back was the pressure of Niclas's arms round her body.
'I know, I know.' He rocked her, his voice thick.
'Where have you been?' she sobbed quietly, but he just kept rocking her and stroking her hair with a trembling hand.
'Shh, I'm here now. Go back to sleep
'I can't!'
'Yes, you can. Shh…' And he rocked her rhythmically until the darkness and the dreams again descended upon her.
The news had spread through the police station while they were out. Dead children were a rarity, the victims of the occasional rare car accident, perhaps. Nothing else could cast such a pall of sadness over the whole building.
Annika gave Patrik a questioning look when he and Martin passed the reception desk, but he didn't feel like talking to anyone. He just wanted to go to his office and close the door. They ran into Ernst Lundgren in the corridor but he didn't say anything cither, so Patrik quickly slipped into the silence of his little den and Martin did the same. There was nothing in their professional training that prepared any of them for situations like this. Informing someone of a death was one of the most odious tasks of their profession. Informing parents of the death of a child in an accident was worse than anything else. It defied all sense and all decency. No one should have to be forced to deliver such news.
Patrik sat down at his desk, rested his head in his hands, and closed his eyes. Soon he opened his eyes again, because all he could see in the dark behind his eyelids was Sara's bluish, pale skin and her eyes that stared unseeing at the sky. Instead he picked up the picture frame that stood before him and brought the glass as close to his face as possible. The first picture of Maja. Exhausted and bruised, resting in Erica's arms in the maternity ward. Ugly yet beautiful, in that unique way that only those who have seen their child for the first time can understand. And Erica, worn out and smiling feebly, but with a new sense of resolve and pride over having accomplished something that could only be described as a miracle.
Patrik knew that he was being sentimental and maudlin. But It was only now, this morning, that he had understood the scope of the responsibility that had been placed in his hands with his daughter's birth. Only now did he realize the extent of both his love and his fear. When he saw the drowned girl lying like a statue on the deck of the boat, for a moment he wished that Maja had never been born. Because how could he live with the risk of losing her?
He carefully put the photograph back on his desk and leaned back in his chair with his hands clasped behind his head. It suddenly felt utterly meaningless to continue with the tasks he'd been working on before they got the call from Fjällbacka. Most of all he wanted to drive home, crawl into bed and pull the covers over his head for the rest of the day. A knock on the door interrupted his dismal ruminations. 'Come in,' he assented and Annika cautiously pushed open the door.
'Hi, Patrik, excuse me for disturbing you. But I just wanted to tell you that Forensic Medicine rang and said they'd received the body. We'll have the autopsy report the day after tomorrow.'
Patrik gave a weary nod. 'Thanks, Annika.'
She hesitated. 'Did you know her?'
'Yes, I've met the girl, Sara, and her mother quite a few times lately. Charlotte and Erica have been spending a good deal of time together since Maja was born.'
'How do you think it happened?'
He sighed and fidgeted absently with the papers before him without looking up. 'She drowned, as I'm sure you heard. Apparently she went down to the wharf to play, fell in the water, and then couldn't get out. The water is so cold that she probably got hypothermia very quickly. But driving out to tell Charlotte, that was the most terrible…' His voice broke and he turned away so that Annika wouldn't see how the tears threatened to spill out of his eyes.
She tactfully closed the door to his office and left him in peace. She wasn't going to get much done on a day like this, either.
Erica looked at the clock again. Charlotte should have been here half an hour ago. She carefully shifted Maja, who was snoozing at her breast, and reached for the telephone. It rang many times at Charlotte's house, but no one answered. How odd. She must have gone out and forgotten that they were supposed to get together that afternoon. Although that really wasn't like her.
Erica felt that they had become close friends in a very short time. Maybe because they both were in a fragile time of their lives, maybe because they were simply very similar to each other. It was funny, really. She and Charlotte seemed more like sisters than she and Anna ever had. She knew that Charlotte worried about her, and that gave her a secure feeling in the midst of all the chaos. Her whole life Erica had worried about other people, especially Anna. To be viewed for once as the person who was little and scared felt strangely liberating.
At the same time she knew that Charlotte had her own problems. It wasn't only that she and her family were forced to live at home with her parents, Lilian and Stig. Lilian especially didn't seem easy to live with. But something unsure and tense came over Charlotte's face each time she talked about her husband Niclas. Erica had only met him briefly on a few occasions, but her spontaneous impression was that there was something unreliable about the man. Or perhaps unreliable was too strong a word. Maybe it was more a feeling that Niclas was one of those people who has good intentions but in the end will always allow his own needs and desires to take precedence over everyone else's. Charlotte had told her a few things that had confirmed this impression, even though she mostly had to read between the lines, since her friend usually spoke of her husband in adoring terms. Charlotte looked up to Niclas and on several occasions had said straight out that she couldn't understand how she had been so lucky. It seemed inconceivable to her that she was married to someone like him.
Erica could see, of course, that from a purely objective point of view he rated higher on the looks scale than Charlotte. Tall, blond, and handsome was the ladies' assessment of the new doctor. And he had certainly had an extensive academic background, unlike his wife. But if one looked at their inner qualities, Erica realized that the situation was just the opposite. Niclas ought to be thanking his lucky stars. Charlotte was a loving, wise, gentle human being and as soon as Erica managed to pull herself out of this listless state, she was going to do everything she could to make Charlotte realize her own strong points. Unfortunately at the moment Erica had no energy to do more than ponder her friend's situation.
A couple of hours later darkness had fallen, and the storm had reached full force outside her window. Erica saw by the clock that she must have dozed off for an hour or two with Maja, who was using her breast as a dummy. She was just about to reach for the phone to ring Charlotte when she heard the front door open.
'Hello?' she called. Patrik wasn't due home for an hour or two, so perhaps it was Charlotte finally showing up.
'It's me.' Patrik's voice had an empty sound to it, and Erica was Instantly uneasy.
When he entered the living room she was even more concerned. His face was grey, and his eyes had a dead expression that didn't vanish until he caught sight of Maja, still asleep in Erica's arms. With two long strides he came over to them, and before Erica could react he had swept up the sleeping baby, pressing her hard to his chest. He didn't even stop when Maja woke up from the shock of being picked up so abruptly and started shrieking as loud as she could.
'What are you doing? You're scaring Maja!'
Erica tried to take the screaming baby from Patrik to calm her down, but he fended off her attempt and just hugged the infant even harder. Maja was now screaming hysterically, and for lack of any better idea Erica slapped him on the arm and said, 'Stop that! What's wrong with you? Can't you see that she's terrified?'
Then Patrik seemed to snap out of it. He cast a confused look at his daughter, who was bright red in the face from anger and fright.
'Sorry.' He handed Maja over to Erica, who did her best to so
othe the baby. After a few minutes she succeeded, and Maja's screams gave way to low sobbing. Erica looked at Patrik, who had sat down on the sofa and was staring out at the storm.
'What's happened, Patrik?' said Erica, now in a kinder tone. She couldn't prevent a hint of uneasiness from creeping into her voice.
'We got a report of a drowned child today. From here in Fjällbacka. Martin and I took the call.' He paused, unable to go on.
'Oh my God, what happened? Who was it?'
Then her thoughts began whirling until they all fell into place at once, like tiny puzzle pieces.
'Oh my God,' she repeated. 'It's Sara, isn't it? Charlotte was supposed to come over for coffee this afternoon, but she never showed up and there was no answer when I rang her at home. That's it, isn't it? It was Sara you found, right?'
Patrik could only nod. Erica sank into the easy chair to prevent her legs from buckling under her. Before her she could see Sara jumping on their living room sofa as recently as two days ago. With her long red hair flying about her head and laughter bubbling up inside her like an unstoppable primal force.
'Oh my God,' Erica said again, putting her hand to her mouth as she felt her heart sink like a stone to her stomach. Patrik just stared out of the window, and she saw in profile his jaws clenching tight.
'It was so horrible, Erica. I haven't seen Sara that many times, but seeing her lying there in that boat, totally lifeless… I kept picturing Maja in my mind. Since then my thoughts have been churning round in my head. I can't stop imagining if something like that happened to Maja. And then having to tell Charlotte what happened…'
Erica uttered a whimpering, tormented sound. She had no words to describe the depth of the sympathy she felt for Charlotte, and Niclas too. She understood at once Patrik's reaction, and found herself holding Maja even closer. She was never going to let her go. She would sit here holding her tight, keeping her safe, for ever. But Maja squirmed restlessly, intuiting as most children can that things were not as they should be.
Outside the storm continued to rage. Patrik and Erica just sat there for a long time, watching the wild play of nature. Neither of them could stop thinking about the child who was taken by the sea.
Medical examiner Tord Pedersen began the task with an unusually resolute expression on his face. After many years in his profession he had developed a hardened attitude - either desirable or loathsome, depending on how one wanted to view it - which meant that most of the ghastly things he observed in his work left little trace at the end of the day. But there was something about Hitting open a child that conflicted with a primal instinct and disrupted all routine, undermining the objective professionalism that his years as a medical examiner had given him. The defencelessness of a child tore down all the defensive walls that his psyche could put up, so his hand shook a bit as he moved it towards the girl's chest.
When she was brought in he had been told that drowning was the presumed cause of death. Now it was up to him to confirm or reject that hypothesis. But so far there was nothing he could see with the naked eye to contradict it.
The mercilessly bright glare in the post-mortem room emphasized her blue pallor so that it looked like she was freezing. The cold aluminium table beneath her seemed to reflect the cold, and Pedersen shivered in his green scrubs. She was naked as she lay there, and he felt as though he were violating her as he prized open and cut into the defenceless body. But he forced himself to shake off that feeling. He knew that the task he was performing was important, both for the girl and her parents, even if they didn't realize it themselves. It was necessary for the grieving process to have a final determination of the cause of death. Even though there didn't seem to be any ambiguities in this case, the rules were in place for a reason. He knew this on a professional level, but as a human being and father with two boys at home, he sometimes wondered in cases like this how much humanity there was in the work he was doing.
* * *
STRÖMSTAD 1923
'Agnes, I have nothing but tedious meetings today. It's not a good Idea for you to come along.'
'Hut 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.' In a sad voice she added, 'Imagine having a mother to help…' She peered at her father from under her fringe. Yes, the ploy had worked, as usual.
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, having once again emerged victorious, and she 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 sombrely, caressing her dark 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.
'I'm sorry I'm late,' said August as he swept into the room where three men were sat waiting. 'But I hope you'll forgive me when you see the reason for my tardiness.' He gestured towards Agnes, who was close behind him. She was wearing a red dress that clung to her body, accentuating her slim waist. Although many girls had let their hair fall to the scissors in a bob, as was the fashion in the Twenties, 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 removing her gloves, and then letting them shake her hand, one by one.
With great satisfaction she could tell she was having an effect. Two of them sat there gaping like fish, as they held 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 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 gave him an entreating look. As usual he did as she wished. Wordlessly he nodded that she could stay. She decided for a change to sit as quiet as a little churchmouse 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 a
n hour of silent participation she would have been almost in tears from boredom, but not this time. The hour flew past, 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.
'1 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.
'Hut 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 when such a terrible blow had struck him. True, she had never got to know the girl, 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. Like so many times before, she kept her thoughts to herself and got up to clear the table.
Too many years had passed since she had seen her son. They did run into each other occasionally, 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 Stone Cutter Page 4
