The Stone Cutter

by Camilla Lackberg

  'Do we need to get something for dinner?' They were walking past the old clinic that was now a day-care centre, and saw the Konsum supermarket sign up ahead.

  'Something good.'

  'Do you mean dinner or dessert?' said Patrik, turning down the little hill towards the Konsum car park. Erica shot him a look, and Patrik laughed.

  'Both,' she said. 'What I was thinking

  When they emerged from the market with plenty of goodies loaded onto the pram's undercarriage, Patrik asked in surprise, 'Did I imagine it, or was the woman behind us in the queue giving me a funny look?'

  'No, you weren't imagining it. That was Monica Wiberg, the Florins' neighbour. Her husband's name is Kaj and they have a son named Morgan, who I hear is a little strange.'

  Now Patrik understood why the woman had been staring at him with such anger. Of course he wasn't the officer who had questioned her son, but it was probably enough that he was a member of the same profession.

  'He has Asperger's,' said Patrik.

  'Who?' said Erica, who had already forgotten what they were talking about and was fully engrossed in arranging Maja's cap, which had twisted to one side as she slept, exposing her ear to the autumn chill.

  'Morgan Wiberg,' said Patrik. 'Gösta and Martin went over to talk to him, and he told them himself that he has something called Asperger's.'

  'What's that?' said Erica curiously, letting Patrik push the pram once Maja's ears were both properly covered by the warm cap.

  Patrik told her some of what he'd learned from Martin on Friday. It had been a good idea to go out and meet the psychologist.

  'Is he a suspect?' Erica asked.

  'No, not the way things look at the moment. But he seems to be the last person who saw Sara, so it doesn't hurt to know as much about him as possible.'

  'To make sure that you're not targeting him because he's a little odd.' She bit her tongue as soon as she said that. 'Sorry, I know that you're more professional than that. It's just that in small towns like this, people who are different are always the ones singled out whenever something bad happens. Blame it on the village idiot, that sort of thing.'

  'On the other hand, unusual individuals have always met with greater respect in small communities than in the big cities. An eccentric character is just another part of the daily scene and is accepted as he is. In the big city he would end up considerably more isolated.'

  'You're right, but that kind of tolerance has always rested on shaky ground. That's all I'm saying.'

  'Yeah, well, in any case Morgan isn't being treated any differently from anyone else, I can assure you of that.'

  Erica didn't reply but stuck her arm under Patrik's again. The rest of the walk home they talked about other things. But she could sense that his thoughts were somewhere else the whole time.

  By Monday the fine weather that had prevailed the day before was gone. Now it was just as grey and bitterly cold as before, and Patrik huddled up in a big, thick woollen jumper as he sat at his desk. Last summer the air conditioning hadn't worked, and it was like working in a sauna. Now the raw damp seeped through the walls, making him shiver. A ring from the telephone made him jump.

  'You have a visitor,' Annika's voice said on the line.

  'I'm not expecting anyone.'

  'A Jeanette Lind says she wants to see you.'

  Patrik pictured the curvaceous little brunette in his mind and wondered what she wanted.

  'Send her in,' he said, getting up to greet his unexpected visitor. They shook hands politely in the corridor outside his office. Jeanette looked tired and haggard, and he wondered what had happened since last Friday when he last saw her. Many evening shifts at the restaurant, or something more personal?

  'Would you like a cup of coffee?' he asked, and she nodded.

  'Have a seat, and I'll bring you some.' He pointed to one of his guest chairs.

  A moment later he set two cups on his desk.

  'So, how can I help you?' He put his forearms on the desk and leaned forward.

  It took a few seconds before she replied. With her eyes lowered, she warmed her hands on the coffee cup and seemed to be pondering how to begin. Then she tossed back her thick, dark hair and looked him straight in the eye.

  'I lied about Niclas being with me last Monday,' she said.

  Patrik's expression didn't reveal his consternation, but inside he felt something leap in his chest.

  'Tell me more,' he said calmly.

  'I just told you what Niclas had asked me to say. He gave me the times and asked me to say that we'd been together then.'

  'And did he say why he wanted you to lie on his behalf?'

  'All he said was that everything would be complicated otherwise. That it was much simpler for everyone if I gave him an alibi.'

  'And you didn't question that?'

  She shrugged. 'No, I had no reason to do so.'

  'Even though a child had been murdered, you didn't think there was anything remarkable in him asking you to give him an alibi?' Patrik said incredulously.

  Jeanette shrugged again. 'No,' she said. 'I mean, Niclas would hardly have killed his own daughter, would he?'

  Patrik didn't reply. After a moment he asked, 'Niclas hasn't said anything about what he was actually doing that morning?'

  'No.'

  'And you have no idea yourself?'

  Once again the impassive shrug of her shoulders. 'I just assumed he took the morning off. He works hard, and his wife is always nagging him about how he should help around the house, even though she's at home all day long. He probably needed a little free time.'

  'And why would he risk his marriage by asking you to give him an alibi?' said Patrik, trying in vain to read something in Jeanette's aloof expression. The only thing that revealed any emotion was the way she was nervously drumming her long nails on the coffee cup.

  'I have no idea,' she said impatiently. 'He probably thought that of two evils, it was better to be discovered with a lover than to be suspected of the murder of his own daughter.'

  Patrik thought that sounded far-fetched, but people reacted strangely under stress; he'd seen many different examples.

  'If you thought it was okay to give him an alibi as late as last Friday, why have you changed your mind now?'

  Her nails kept drumming on the coffee cup. They were extremely well-manicured, even Patrik could see that.

  'I… I thought about it all weekend, and it doesn't feel right. I mean, a child is dead, isn't she? You should be told everything.'

  'Yes, we should,' said Patrik. He wasn't sure that he believed her explanation, but it didn't matter. Niclas no longer had an alibi for Monday morning, and worse, he'd asked someone to give him a phoney one. That was enough to send a number of warning Hags to the top of the mast.

  'Well, I must thank you for coming here to tell me this,' Patrik said, getting to his feet. Jeanette held out a dainty little hand and held onto his a bit too long as they said goodbye. Unconsciously Patrik wiped his hand on his jeans as soon as she was outside the door. There was something about that young woman that made her really disliked. But thanks to Jeanette they now had a solid lead to go on. It was time to look more closely at Niclas Klinga.

  All at once Patrik remembered the note that Annika had given him. In a slight panic he felt in his back pocket. When he fished out the little piece of paper he was extremely grateful that neither he nor Erica had got around to washing clothes this weekend. He read the note and then sat down to make some phone calls.

  * * *

  FJÅLLBACKA 1926

  The two-year-olds were shouting noisily behind her and Agnes hushed them in annoyance. She had never seen the likes of those boys for making a racket. They were surely spending too much time over at the Janssons', picking up things from their snotty kids, Agnes thought. She chose to close her eyes to the fact that the neighbouring woman had pretty much brought up her sons as her own ever since they were six months old. But things were going to change now that they were moving i
nto town. Agnes looked back with pleasure from her seat on the moving cart. Hopefully, she would never have to set eyes on that miserable shack again. Now she would come one step closer to the life she deserved. She was at least going to live among sensible people in surroundings that were bustling and lively. The house they were renting wasn't really much to brag about, though the rooms were cleaner and brighter, and even a few square yards bigger, than those in the shack. But at least the house was located in Fjällbacka. She could step off the front porch without sinking to her ankles in mud, and she could start cultivating acquaintances who were considerably more stimulating than those simple stonecutter wives, who did nothing but produce one kid after another. Finally she would have a chance to get to know other people with completely different outlooks. Agnes chose to ignore the fact that she herself might not be an interesting acquaintance for them, since she now belonged to the crowd of cutter wives she scorned. Or perhaps she thought they would see that she was different.

  'Johan, Karl, calm down. Sit still in the cart, or else you can get off and walk,' said Anders, turning halfway round to the boys. As usual Agnes thought he was much too lenient with them. If it were up to her, he would have yelled at them much louder, and even followed up his scoldings with a box on the ears. But on that issue he was unwavering. No one would raise a hand to his boys. Once Anders had caught her giving Johan a slap, and he gave her such a talking-to that she never dared do it again. In everything else she could get Anders to do as she wanted, but when it came to Karl and Johan he had the last word. He had even chosen their names. If the names were good enough for kings, they were good enough for his sons, he'd said. Agnes had merely snorted. Such foolishness. But she didn't give a damn what the boys were called, so if he wanted to name them she had no objection.

  Most of all it would be lovely to get away from that busybody Mrs Jansson. Sure, it had been convenient that she took care of the kids for her, but she did it of her own free will. At the same time her reproachful glances had got on Agnes's nerves. As if she were a bad person just because she didn't view it as her sole purpose in life to wipe the shit from kids' bottoms.

  They couldn't drive all the way up to the house, which stood along one of the small, narrow lanes that led down to the sea. They had to carry their belongings the last bit. Anders would be making a couple more trips to fetch their rickety furniture. Agnes said hello to the old man who owned the house and would be their landlord, and then she stepped into their new home. She never thought she'd consider two small rooms in a tiny house to be a step up in life, but compared to the dark shack the new dwelling looked like a castle.

  She swept in with her skirts rustling over the threshold, was pleased to find that the previous tenant had left the place clean and neat. She detested living in messy or dirty surroundings, but in the small space of the company shack it hadn't seemed such a great idea to clean house. Besides, she wasn't inclined to clean. But if she could wheedle Anders, the skinflint, into buying some nice curtains and a rug, this house might be acceptable.

  The boys raced past her legs and ran around like crazy in the empty room, chasing each other. Agnes felt herself boiling inside when she saw how the mud they tracked in on their shoes was spread all over the clean floor.

  'Karl! Johan!' she yelled, and the boys froze in terror. She pressed her fists to her sides to stop herself from dealing out a resounding slap. Instead she settled for grabbing her sons by the arms and dragging them out the front door. She permitted herself to give each of them a little pinch, and saw with satisfaction how their tiny faces dissolved in tears.

  'Pappa!' Karl began to wail, and Johan soon joined in the chorus. 'I want Pappa!'

  'Shut up,' Agnes hissed, looking around anxiously. A fine thing it would be to disgrace herself on the first day in their new home. Hut the boys had gone past the point where they could stop crying.

  'Pappa!' they wailed in unison, and Agnes had to force herself to take deep, controlled breaths so she wouldn't do anything rash. Then the boys raised the ante.

  'Karin, we want Karin,' they shrieked, as they lay down on the ground and began pounding their little fists.

  They were damned cry-babies, just like their father. To think that they had the nerve to prefer that rotten bitch to their own mother. She felt her foot start to twitch with an urge to kick them in the soft parts round their stomachs. Fortunately at that moment Anders appeared at the top of the hill.

  'What's going on here?' he said in his melodious Blekinge accent, and the boys were up on their feet like bolts of greased lightning.

  'Pappa! Mamma's mean!'

  'So what happened now?' he said in resignation, giving Agnes a disapproving glance. She silently cursed him. He didn't even know what had happened, and still he took his sons' side. She couldn't be bothered to explain, but turned on her heel and went into the house to gather up the bits of mud the boys had left behind. Behind her she heard them snuffling with their faces buried in Anders's coat. Like father, like sons.

  * * *

  Monica took a sick day on Monday. Only a week had passed since they found the girl, but it felt like years had been added to her life since then. She heard Kaj rummaging about in the kitchen and knew that it was only a matter of time. Sure enough, here it came.

  'Monica-a-a-a. Where's the coffee?'

  She closed her eyes and answered with forced politeness, 'In the tin in the cupboard above the stove. Where it's been for the past ten years,' she couldn't help adding.

  She heard a muttered reply from the kitchen and got up with a sigh. She'd better go help him. She couldn't understand how a grown man could be so helpless. How he'd been able to run a business with thirty employees was beyond her comprehension.

  'Let me,' she said, snatching the tin of coffee from his hand.

  'What's got into you?' said Kaj in the same annoyed tone of voice.

  Monica took a deep breath to calm herself down as she silently counted out spoonfuls of coffee. It wasn't worth starting a fight with Kaj on top of everything else.

  'Nothing,' she said. 'I'm just a little tired. And I don't like it that the police were here talking to Morgan.'

  'Well, what can we do about it?' said Kaj, sitting down at the kitchen table and waiting for the coffee to be served. 'He's a grown man, even if you refuse to believe it,' he added.

  'You of all people ought to know how difficult things are for

  Morgan. Where have you been all these years? Aren't you part of this family?' The irritation crept back into her voice, and she began slicing the Swiss roll with more energy than necessary.

  'I've been part of this family as much as you have, thank you very much. On the other hand, I haven't been as inclined to coddle Morgan. Or drag him from one shrink to another. What good has that done? He just sits out there in his cabin all day long, getting weirder and weirder with each passing year.'

  'I never coddled him,' said Monica between clenched teeth. 'I tried to give our son the best care he could get, considering what he's had to deal with. The fact that you chose to ignore him is something you'll have to live with. If you spent half the time with him that you spend on your exercise routines…'

  She practically slammed the plate of Swiss roll onto the table and then stood leaning against the counter with her arms crossed.

  'All right, all right,' said Kaj, trying to placate her as he stuffed a piece of cake in his mouth. He was in no mood for a fight either, this early in the morning. 'No need to drag that up again. At any rate, I agree with you that it's unpleasant having the police running in and out. Why don't they focus their attention on that damned bitch next door instead?'

  Now that he was onto his favourite topic again, he pulled the curtain aside and looked over at the Florins' house.

  'Seems quiet over there. I wonder what all those cars were doing there on Friday? And all the boxes and equipment they carried in?'

  Monica dropped her guard reluctantly and sat down across from him. She took a piece of cake even tho
ugh she knew she shouldn't. Her craving for sweets had already added some weight around her hips. But Kaj didn't seem to mind, so why should she make an effort?

  'I have no idea, and it's not worth worrying about. The main thing is that they leave Morgan alone.'

  The cold, sinking feeling in Monica's stomach refused to subside. With each day it got worse and worse. The sugar in the cake calmed her nerves for a while, but she knew that anxiety would soon overpower her again. In despair she looked at Kaj across the table. She considered telling him everything, but soon realized how absurd that would be. Thirty years together and they had nothing in common. He was contentedly chewing another piece of Swiss roll, unaware of the wolves' claws ripping his wife apart inside.

  'Shouldn't you be at work?' said Kaj and stopped chewing.

  Typical. She should have left an hour ago, but he hadn't noticed until now that she'd stayed home.

  'I called in sick. I'm not feeling well.'

  'You look okay to me,' he said critically. 'A little pale, maybe. Well, you know I keep telling you to quit that job. It's crazy to keep slaving away there when you don't have to. We don't really need your salary.'

  A violent rage flared up inside her. She jumped to her feet.

  'I don't want to hear any more about that. I stayed at home for more than twenty years and did nothing but iron your shirts and fix dinner for you and your business associates. Don't I have the right to my own life?'

  She snatched up the plate of cake, went over to the rubbish bin and demonstratively dumped in the last pieces on top of the coffee grounds and food scraps. Then she left Kaj gaping at the kitchen table. She couldn't stand looking at him for another second.

  Mia parked the pram in back of Järnboden hardware store and made sure that Liam was asleep. She was just going to run in and buy a few things, and she didn't feel like dragging the pram inside. The wind was blowing hard, but it was worse at the front of the shop, the side facing the water. At the back the shop was protected against the wind by the stone mass of Veddeberget, and the car would be fine there for the five minutes she planned to be gone.