The Stone Cutter

by Camilla Lackberg

  'Yes?' His tone was dismissive, and the person outside the door seemed to hesitate. But then the door handle was pressed down and the door slowly swung open.

  'Am I interrupting?'

  Her voice was just as timorous as he remembered it, and the annoyed frown disappeared at once.

  'Mother?' Niclas jumped out of his chair and stared in wonderment at the little woman standing hesitantly in the doorway. She had always aroused his protective instincts, and right now he just wanted to rush over and throw his arms around her. But he knew that she had grown wary of such open displays of emotion over the years. It would only upset her, so he restrained himself and waited for her to take the initiative.

  'May I come in? Or are you busy?' She glanced at the piles of papers in front of him and made a move to turn round.

  'No, absolutely not, come in, come in.' He felt like a schoolboy and rushed round the desk to pull up a chair for her. She sat down carefully, on the very edge of the seat, and looked around nervously. She had never seen him in his professional role, so he understood that it must seem odd to find him in this environment. In fact, she had hardly seen him at all in years, so that alone must feel strange. As if he had metamorphosed from a seventeen-year-old boy to a grown man in an instant. That thought made anger begin to swell in his chest. There was so much they had denied themselves, he and his mother, because of that nasty old man. Thank goodness Niclas had managed to escape from him, but when he studied his mother he realized that the years had not been kind to her. He saw the same weary, submissive expression on her face as when he'd left, but now made worse by all the new wrinkles she had acquired.

  Niclas pulled up a chair next to hers, but not too close, and waited for her to begin. She didn't really seem to know what she had come there to say. After a moment's silence she said, 'I'm so, so sorry about the girl, Niclas.' That was all she said, and all he could do was nod.

  'I didn't know her… but I wish I had.' Her voice quavered slightly, and he sensed the emotions that lay beneath the surface. It must have been very hard for her to come here. As far as he knew, she had never gone against his father's orders before.

  'She was wonderful,' he said, and even though there was a lump in his throat behind the words, no tears came. There had been so many the past few days that he doubted he had any left. 'She had your eyes, but I don't know where she got the red hair.'

  'My grandmother had the loveliest red hair you ever saw. It must have been from her' - she hesitated before saying the name but finally managed it - 'that Sara got her red hair.'

  Asta looked down at her hands resting in her lap. 'I saw her now and then. Her and the boy. Also saw your wife when she was out walking with them. But I never said anything. We just looked at each other. Now I wish that I'd spoken with the girl at least once. Did she know that she had a grandmother here?'

  Niclas nodded. 'I talked a lot about you. She knew your name and we showed her pictures of you as well. The few that I took with me when…' He let the words die out. Neither of them dared set foot on the minefield that had caused their estrangement.

  'Is it true what I heard?' She raised her eyes and looked straight at him for the first time. 'Did someone harm the girl?'

  He tried to answer, but the words lodged deep in his throat. There was so much he wanted to tell her, so many secrets that weighed like an enormous boulder on his chest. He wanted nothing more than to cast it off at her feet. But he could not. Too many years had passed.

  Now the tears came which he thought were done. They spilled over and ran down his cheeks. He didn't dare look at his mother, but her instinct conquered all admonitions and prohibitions, and in the next second he felt her fragile arms around his neck. She was so tiny and he was so big, but at that moment the situation seemed reversed.

  'There, there.' With practised hands she stroked his back, and he felt the years fall away, and he was a child once more. Safe in his mother's hands. Her warm breath and loving voice in his ear, and assurances that everything would be all right. That the monsters under the bed were really only in his imagination, and that they would disappear if he told them to. But this time the monster was there to stay.

  'Does Father know?' he said with his mouth against her shoulder. He knew better than to ask, but he couldn't help it. He felt her stiffen immediately, and he pulled away from the consoling embrace. The magic was broken, and she again sat facing him like a worn-out, grey little old lady, who had sided with his father at the moment when Niclas needed her most. His feelings were so ambivalent. He longed for her and loved her, but he was also filled with bitterness and contempt because she hadn't defended him when he needed her.

  'He doesn't know that I'm here,' was all she said, and Niclas saw that mentally she had already walked out the door. But he couldn't let her go yet. If only for another moment, he wanted to keep her here with him, and he knew just how to do it.

  'Do you want to see pictures of the children?' he asked softly, and she nodded.

  He went over to his desk and pulled out the top drawer. He took out the photo album and handed it to her, careful not to look at it himself. He wasn't ready for that yet.

  Deferentially she paged through the photographs, smiling sadly at each picture. What she had lost suddenly became incredibly tangible.

  'How lovely they are,' she said with a grandmother's pride in her voice. But the pride was mixed with sorrow that one of the children was now gone for ever.

  'You took your wife's surname?' she asked hesitantly clutching the album tightly on her lap.

  'Yes,' said Niclas, his eyes fixed on some point behind her. 'I didn't want to keep his name.'

  She just nodded sadly. 'Shouldn't you be getting back to your work?' she added uneasily, looking at him sitting behind the desk.

  Niclas plucked aimlessly at the papers before him and swallowed hard to force back the last of his tears.

  'I saw no alternative if I wanted to survive,' he continued.

  His mother contented herself with that explanation, but the concern in her eyes increased. 'Just don't forget about the ones you still have left,' she said softly, hitting the tender spot in his chest with frightening precision.

  But he felt as though he were two people. One person who wanted to be home with Charlotte and Albin and never leave them again, and one who wanted to escape into work, away from the pain that was made worse by sharing it. Above all he didn't want to see his own guilt mirrored in Charlotte's face. That was why his flight instinct had at last won the battle. All this he wanted to tell his mother. He wanted to put his head in her lap, grown man that he was, and tell her everything and then hear her assurances that everything would be all right. But the moment passed, and after placing the photo album on the desk she got up and headed for the door.

  'Mother?'

  'Yes?' She turned round.

  Niclas held out the photo album to her. 'Take this, we have lots more pictures.'

  Asta hesitated but then accepted it, as if it were a precious but fragile piece of jewellery. She slipped it carefully into her handbag.

  'It's probably best if you hide them properly,' he said quietly with a wry smile, but she had already closed the door behind her.

  He stared up at the ceiling and gave the wall a light kick. He couldn't comprehend how it could have turned out this way.

  Why him? And why hadn't he objected when it might still have been possible?

  The posters on the wall reminded him of who he wanted to be. Normally the heroes surrounding him could motivate him to fight harder, make a greater effort. Today they were just making him mad. They never would have stood for this shit. They would have refused at once. Done what had to be done. That was why they were where they were today. That's why they were heroes. He himself was just a little shit, and he would never be anything else. Just as Rune had always said. He hadn't wanted to believe him when he said that. He had dug in his heels and thought that by God, he was going to show Rune that he was wrong. He would show Rune that he
was a hero, and then he'd be sorry, sorry about all those harsh words. All the humiliations. Then he would be the one who had the upper hand, and Rune would have to beg on his bended knee to get even a minute of his time.

  The worst thing was that at first he had liked Rune. When his mum first met him he'd thought he was cool as hell. He drove a big American car and had mates who drove trendy choppers, and sometimes they let him ride on the bitch seat. But then they'd gotten married and that's when it all started to go haywire. Suddenly Rune and his mum had to show that they were proper Svenssons, with a house, a Volvo, and even a fucking caravan. The mates with the choppers disappeared, and instead they hung out with other ordinary Svenssons and had dinner parties with couples on Saturday nights. And of course they had to have their own kid. He'd heard Rune say that once to one of the boring neighbour couples. That they needed to have a kid of their own. Naturally he loved Sebastian, he said, but then added in a serious tone of voice that it still wasn't the same thing as having his own kid. So when Rune and his mum never managed to produce their own kid, Rune took it out on his stepson. Sebastian had to endure Rune's frustration over the fact that he and his wife never had a kid of their own. And when Mum died of cancer a few years ago, it only got worse. Now Rune was truly saddled with a kid that wasn't his own. He was always pointing this out, no matter how much Sebastian tried to show that he was grateful not to be shipped off to some horrible foster home when his mother died. Rune insisted on taking care of the boy as if he were his own. But sometimes Sebastian thought that if this was Rune's idea of how to take care of his own kid, then it was just as well that he and Mum had never had one.

  Not that Rune beat him or anything. No, a decent, average Svensson like Rune would never do that. But somehow it would almost have felt better if he had. Then Sebastian would have had something more tangible to hate him for. Instead he now abused him only mentally - something that couldn't be seen on the outside.

  As he lay staring at the ceiling Sebastian realized in an instant of clarity why he'd landed in his present situation. In spite of everything he loved his stepfather. Rune was the only father he'd ever known, and Sebastian had never wanted anything but to please him and in the end to be loved in return. And that was exactly why he was in deep shit. He understood this. He wasn't stupid. But what good did it do him to be smart? He was still stuck.

  'What the hell are you saying?' Kaj's face turned beet-red, and he looked as though he was going to rush like a raging bull over to the neighbours' house. Patrik discreetly blocked his way and raised his hands in a calming gesture.

  'Could we just sit down and talk this over in peace and quiet?'

  Fury seemed to prevent the words from registering in Kaj's brain. Patrik and Gösta exchanged a glance. Suddenly it didn't seem so unbelievable that he might have attacked Lilian. But it was dangerous to get stuck thinking along certain lines, and until they had heard Kaj's version of the matter it was best not to draw any conclusions.

  After Patrik's words had had a few seconds to sink in, Kaj turned round and stomped into the house. He evidently was expecting Patrik and Gösta to follow him, which they did after taking off their shoes. When they entered the kitchen they found Kaj facing them, leaning on the counter with his arms belligerently crossed over his chest. He freed one hand for a moment and pointed at the kitchen chairs. He obviously wasn't planning to sit down.

  'What did that old biddy say now? That I hit her? Is that what she claims?' The colour again rose in his face, and for an instant Patrik was worried that the man would have a heart attack right in front of them.

  'We've received a report of assault, yes,' Gösta said calmly, beating Patrik to it.

  'So she reported me, that bitch!' Kaj yelled, and small drops of sweat began to appear at his greying temples.

  'Officially, Lilian has not filed a complaint - not yet,' Patrik added. 'We wanted a chance to talk to you in peace and quiet first, so we could get to the bottom of this whole thing.' He glanced at his notebook and went on. 'So you went over to Lilian Florin's house about an hour ago?'

  Kaj nodded reluctantly. 'I just wanted to hear what the hell she meant by reporting me as a suspect in the killing of that kid. She's done a lot of despicable things over the years, but something so…' More drops of sweat appeared, and his rage made him stumble over his words.

  'So you walked right into her house?' Gösta asked. He too was starting to look a bit worried about Kaj's health.

  'Yeah, what the hell, if I'd knocked she never would have let me in. I just wanted to have a chance to catch her off-guard. Ask her who the hell she thought she was messing with.' A note of anxiety now crept into Kaj's voice for the first time.

  'And then what happened?' Patrik was jotting down notes as Kaj talked.

  'That's all there was to it!' Kaj threw out his hands. 'I probably yelled at her a bit, I willingly admit it, and she told me to get out of her house. Since I'd said what I came to say, I left.'

  'So you didn't hit her?'

  'I probably wanted to give her a punch in the nose, but I'm not that fucking stupid.'

  'Is that a no?' Patrik asked.

  'Yeah, that's a no,' Kaj replied sullenly. 'I didn't touch her, and if she claims I did then she's lying. Which wouldn't surprise me in the least.' Now he was starting to sound really worried.

  'Is there anyone who can corroborate your story?' said Gösta.

  'No, there isn't. I saw Niclas drive off this morning and I made sure to go over there right after Charlotte left with the little boy in the pushchair.' He wiped his brow with one hand and wiped the sweat on his trouser leg.

  'Well, I'm afraid it's your word against hers, unfortunately,' said Patrik. 'And Lilian has marks on her arm.'

  Kaj was deflating with each word that Patrik said. His initial aggressiveness had been replaced by resignation. Then he suddenly straightened up.

  'What about her husband? He was in the house. Damn, I forgot all about him. He's like a ghost. No one ever sees Stig anymore. But he must have been at home. Maybe he saw or heard something.'

  The thought gave him renewed courage, and Patrik looked at Gösta. Imagine, that they hadn't thought of Stig. They hadn't even talked to him about Sara's death. Kaj was right. Stig had been virtually invisible as far as the investigation was concerned up till now. They'd completely forgotten about him.

  'We'll go and talk to him as well,' said Patrik. 'Then we'll see what develops. But if he has nothing to add, things won't look too good for you if Lilian decides to press charges

  He didn't need to explain his reasoning. Kaj was well aware of the possible consequences.

  Charlotte was walking around town aimlessly. Albin was sleeping peacefully in his pushchair. Ever since she'd stopped taking the sedatives she had barely been able to bring herself to look at him. And yet she did what she had to do. She changed him, dressed him and fed him, but mechanically, without any feeling. Because what if it should happen again? Imagine if something happened to him too. She didn't even know how she could go on living without Sara. She put one foot before the other, forcing herself to move forward. But she actually wanted nothing more than to sink down into a little heap in the middle of the pavement and never get up again. Yet she couldn't allow herself to do that, nor could she allow herself to sink into the fog of medication again. Because, despite everything, Albin was still here. Even though she couldn't look at him, she felt in every nerve in her body that she still had one child who was very much alive. And for his sake she had to keep on breathing. But it was just so hard.

  And then there was Niclas, who had retreated to work. It was only three days since their daughter was murdered, and he was already back in his office at the clinic, treating colds and minor injuries. Maybe he was even chatting casually with the patients, flirting with the nurses, and enjoying seeing himself in the role of the almighty doctor. Charlotte knew that she was being unfair. She knew that Niclas was suffering as much as she was. She just wished that they could have shared the pain
, instead of each of them trying separately to find a reason to keep breathing for another minute, and then another and another. It wasn't what she wanted, but she couldn't help feeling anger and contempt because he had abandoned her now when she needed him most. On the other hand, perhaps she shouldn't have expected anything else. When had she ever been able to lean on him? When had he ever been anything but an overgrown child who counted on her to take care of all the dreary chores that shaped the daily lives of most people? But not his. He was supposed to have the right to play his way through life. To do only what was fun and enjoyable. It had surprised her that he'd even completed his medical studies. She had never believed that he would last long enough to get through all the obligatory stages and exhausting shiftwork. But the potential rewards had probably been tempting enough to keep him motivated. He wanted to be respected by others. A happy and successful person. At least outwardly.

  The only reason she had stayed with him was because she would occasionally catch glimpses of that other man. The one who was vulnerable and could show what he was feeling. The one who dared reveal his true self and didn't have to keep his charm turned up to the max at all times. It was those glimpses that had made her fall in love with Niclas, though that now felt like a lifetime ago. In recent years those occasions had come less and less frequently, and she no longer knew who he was or what he wanted. Sometimes, in her weaker moments, she had wondered whether he actually wanted to have a family at all. To be brutally honest with herself, she believed that if given the choice he would have preferred a life without the obligations of a family. But he had to be getting something out of it, or else she didn't think he would have stayed as long as he had done. During the recent dark days she'd hoped in moments of selfishness that what had happened might at least bring her and Niclas closer together. But she had been very wrong about that. They were now farther from each other than ever before.

  Without even noticing, Charlotte had walked towards Fjällbacka Campground and now stood in front of Erica's house. It had meant a great deal that her friend had come by yesterday, but Charlotte still had doubts. She had spent her whole life trying to take up as little space as possible, never demanding anything for herself, never causing any trouble. She understood how her grief affected other people, and she wasn't sure that she wanted to dump more of that burden on Erica. At the same time she really needed to see a friendly face. She wanted to talk to someone who wouldn't either turn away or, as in her mother's case, take the opportunity to tell her what she should have done.