The Stone Cutter

by Camilla Lackberg

  Her hesitation apparently made Jeanette realize that she might have certain human obligations. Stiffly she said, 'I'm really sorry about your daughter. About Sara.'

  'Don't speak my daughter's name, thank you,' said Charlotte with an icy cold that made Jeanette shrink back. She lowered her eyes and stirred her coffee.

  'Instead answer my question: did Niclas worry about sleeping with you when he had a family at home?'

  'He didn't talk about you,' said Jeanette evasively.

  'Never?'

  'We had other things to do rather than talk about you,' Jeanette let slip, before she again realized that out of sheer decency she ought to watch what she said.

  Charlotte looked at her with disgust. But she felt even more disgust and contempt for Niclas, who clearly had been ready to throw away everything they shared for this - a stupid, narrow- minded girl who thought that the world lay at her feet simply because she'd once been chosen as the class Lucia in high school. Yes, Charlotte knew the type. Too much attention during her most impressionable years had swelled Jeanette's ego to enormous proportions. Hurting other people, taking what didn't belong to her, had no meaning for girls like her.

  Charlotte stood up. She was sorry she'd come. She would have preferred to keep the image of Niclas's lover as a beautiful, intelligent, passionate woman. Someone she could harbour some understanding for as a competitor. But this girl just seemed cheap. The thought of Niclas with Jeanette turned her stomach, and she could feel the little respect she still had for him slowly vanishing into nothingness.

  'I'll find my way out,' she said, and left Jeanette sitting at the kitchen table. On the way out she happened to bump into a ceramic donkey with 'Lanzarote 1998' painted on it that was standing on the hall bureau. It shattered into a thousand bits on the floor. An ass for an ass, thought Charlotte, treading with glee on the remains before she shut the door behind her.

  * * *

  FJÅLLBACKA 1928

  It was a Sunday when catastrophe struck. The boat to America was supposed to sail from Göteborg on Friday and they had already done most of the packing. Anders had sent Agnes into town to buy some last items that he thought they would need 'over there', and for once he had entrusted her with some money.

  She had her basket full of purchases when she turned the corner and began to walk up the hill. She could hear people shouting in the distance, and she quickened her steps. The smoke reached her a few houses away from theirs, and she saw that it was thicker farther up the hill. Agnes dropped the basket and ran. The first thing she saw was the fire. Huge flames were shooting out of the windows of the house, and people were running back and forth like chickens with their heads cut off. The men and some of the women were carrying buckets of water. The rest of the women held their hands to their heads, screaming in panic. The fire had spread to a number of houses and seemed to be taking over more and more of the neighbourhood. It spread with incredible speed. Agnes observed the scene with her mouth agape and her eyes wide with shock. Nothing could have prepared her for this sight.

  A thick black smoke began to settle like a lid over the houses, turning the air at ground level greyish and hazy, like a fog. Agnes still stood as if frozen to the spot when one of the neighbour women came up to her and grabbed her by the arm.

  'Agnes, come with me, don't just stand there staring at it.' She tried to pull her along, but Agnes wouldn't budge. Her eyes filled with tears from the smoke as she stared at the flaming ruin of their home. It seemed to be the one burning brightest of all.

  'Anders… the boys…' she said tonelessly. The neighbour woman now tugged desperately at the sleeve of her blouse to get her to leave the scene.

  'We don't know anything yet,' said the woman, who Agnes vaguely recalled was named Britt, or maybe Britta. She went on, 'Everybody was told to gather at the market square. Maybe your family are already down there,' she said, but Agnes could hear the doubt in her voice. The woman knew as well as Agnes that she wouldn't find any of them there.

  Slowly she turned round and felt the heat from the fire warming her back. Listlessly she followed Britt or Britta down the hill, allowing herself to be led to the square, where the wailing of the women rose to the heavens. But they all fell silent when Agnes appeared. The rumour had already spread; while they were crying over their lost homes and possessions, Agnes could cry over her husband and her two little boys. All the mothers looked at her with aching hearts. Regardless of what they may have said or thought about her before, at this moment she was a mother who had lost her children, and they pressed their own little ones close.

  Agnes kept her gaze fixed on the ground. She did not cry.

  * * *

  They stood up as Patrik came towards them. Veronika held her daughter's hand tight and wouldn't let go even when Patrik led them to his small office. He pointed to the two chairs and they sat down.

  'So, how can I help you?' asked Patrik, smiling reassuringly at Frida when he noticed her anxious expression. She looked up at her mother, who nodded.

  'Frida has something to tell you,' said Veronika, nodding again to her daughter.

  'Actually it's a secret,' said Frida in a faint voice.

  'Oh, a secret,' said Patrik. 'How exciting.' He could see that the girl was extremely uncertain about whether to tell him or not, so he went on, 'But you know, the job of the police is to listen to everyone's secrets, so it doesn't really count if you tell a secret to the police.'

  That made Frida's face light up. 'So you get to know all the secrets in the world, then?'

  'Well, maybe not all of them,' said Patrik. 'But almost all. So what sort of secret do you have?'

  'There was a disgusting old man who scared Sara,' she said, now talking fast to get the words out. 'He was super-nasty and said that she was "double pawn" and Sara got really scared. But I wasn't allowed to tell anybody, because she was afraid the old man would come back.'

  She caught her breath. Patrik felt his eyebrows arch. Double pawn?

  'What did the old man look like, Frida? Can you remember?'

  She nodded. 'He was super-old. A hundred at least. Like Grandpa.'

  'Her Grandpa is sixty,' said Veronika, and couldn't help smiling.

  Frida went on. 'His hair was all grey and his clothes were all black.' She seemed about to continue but then slumped down in her chair. 'That's all I remember,' she said downhearted, and Patrik winked at her.

  'That's excellent. And it was a good secret to tell the police.'

  'So you don't think that Sara will be mad when she comes back from heaven, because I told you?'

  Veronika took a deep breath to explain again the realities of death to her daughter, but Patrik interrupted.

  'No, because you know what I think? I think that Sara is having much too good a time in heaven to want to come back, and I'm sure she doesn't mind whether you told the secret or not.'

  'Are you sure?' said Frida sceptically

  'I'm sure,' said Patrik.

  Veronika got up. 'Well, you know where we live if you need to ask anything else. But I really think Frida doesn't know any more than that.' She hesitated. 'Do you think it might be…?'

  Patrik just shook his head and said, 'Impossible to say, but it was great that you came in and told me about this. All information is important.'

  'Could I ride in a police car?' said Frida, giving Patrik a pleading look.

  He laughed. 'Not today, but I'll see if we can arrange it some other time.'

  She seemed content with that, and preceded her mother into the corridor.

  'Thanks for coming,' said Patrik, shaking hands with Veronika.

  'I do hope you catch the man who did this soon. I hardly dare let her out of my sight,' she said, reaching out to stroke her daughter's hair.

  'We'll do our best,' said Patrik with more confidence than he felt, and accompanied them to the front entrance.

  As the door closed behind them he pondered what Frida had said. A disgusting old man? The description she'd given didn't m
atch Kaj. Who could it be?

  He went over to Annika sitting behind her glassed-in counter. After glancing at the clock he said wearily, 'You had some tips I was supposed to look at?'

  'Yes, here they are,' she said, shoving a sheet of paper towards him. 'And don't forget that Gösta wants to talk to you too. He's probably about to go home, so you'd better get hold of him right away.'

  'Some people sure have it easy, being able to go home,' he sighed. Erica hadn't been happy when he called, and his guilty conscience was nagging him.

  'He probably goes home when you tell him he can go home,' said Annika, peering over the top of her glasses at Patrik.

  'In theory you're right, but in practice it's probably best for Gösta to go home and get some rest. He doesn't contribute much when he's sitting here grumbling.'

  It sounded harsher than Patrik intended, but sometimes he got so tired of having to drag his colleagues along with him. Two of them, at any rate. Oh well, he could at least be thankful that Gösta was far too lacking in initiative to present the problems that Ernst did.

  'I suppose I'd better go find out what he wants.'

  Patrik picked up the piece of paper with the tip information and headed for Gösta's office. He stopped in the doorway long enough to see Gösta shut down a game of solitaire on his computer. The fact that his colleague was sitting there wasting time while Patrik was working like a Trojan made him so irritated that he had to clench his teeth. He couldn't have this discussion with Gösta now, but sooner or later…

  'So, there you are,' said Gösta, sounding put out, and Patrik wondered whether 'sooner' might be the best option.

  'I had something important to take care of,' Patrik said, making an effort not to sound as critical as he felt.

  'Well, I have some things to tell you too,' said Gösta, and Patrik heard to his surprise a certain eagerness in his colleague's voice.

  'Shoot,' said Patrik in English, then realizing from Gösta's quizzical look that English expressions probably weren't his strong suit. Unless they were golf-related, of course.

  Gösta told him about the conversation with Pedersen, and Patrik listened with growing interest. He took the faxes that Gösta handed him and sat down to study them.

  'Yep, these are undeniably interesting,' he said. 'The question is, how do we proceed from here?'

  'Well,' said Gösta, 'I've been thinking the same thing. The information might help us link somebody to the murder if we find the right person. But until then it doesn't give us much to go on.'

  'And they couldn't say for sure whether the organic remains were animal or human?'

  'No,' said Gösta, shaking his head. 'But within a few days we might get the answer to that.'

  Patrik looked thoughtful. 'Tell me again, Gösta, what did Pedersen say about the stone?'

  'That it was granite.'

  'Pretty damn common here in Bohuslän, in other words,' said Patrik ironically, running his hand dispiritedly through his hair. 'If only we could work out what role the ashes played, I bet we'd also know who murdered Sara.'

  Gösta nodded in agreement.

  'Well, we aren't going to get any further right now,' said Patrik, getting to his feet. 'But it was damned interesting information. Why don't you head home now, Gösta, and we'll start fresh tomorrow.' He even managed to force a smile.

  Gösta didn't need to be told twice. Within two minutes he'd shut down the computer, gathered up his things, and was on his way out the door. Patrik wasn't quite as fortunate. It was already quarter to seven, but he went in and sat down at his desk to read through the notes Annika had given him. A moment later, he grabbed the telephone.

  Sometimes Erica felt as though she were standing outside the real world, encased in a tiny little bubble that kept shrinking. Now it was so small that she felt she could touch its walls if she reached out her hand.

  Maja was sleeping at her breast. Once again Erica had tried to lay her down and get her to sleep by herself, but Maja woke up a few minutes later, protesting loudly at the enormous indignity of finding herself in a cot. And just when she was sleeping so soundly at her mother's breast. Erica had considered trying out the suggestions in The Baby Book but so far she hadn't got beyond the thinking stage. So as usual she had given up and quieted the baby's cries by putting Maja to her breast and letting her sleep there. Often she would sleep for an hour or two, provided Erica didn't move much and she wasn't disturbed by loud noises from the telephone or the TV. So Erica had now been sitting for half an hour like a paving stone in the easy chair, with the telephone unplugged and the TV on mute. Of course there was nothing good on at this time of day, so she watched an episode of a dumb American soap opera that TV4 apparently had bought by the thousands. She hated her life.

  Feeling guilty, she looked at the little downy head resting happily on the nursing pillow. The baby's mouth was half open and her eyelids fluttered now and then. Erica's despair had nothing to do with lack of motherly love. She loved Maja fiercely and sincerely. At the same time she felt as if she'd been invaded by an alien parasite that sucked all joy out of her and forced her into a shadow existence that had nothing in common with the life she'd lived before.

  Sometimes she felt such bitterness against Patrik as well. He could make small guest appearances in her world and then slip out into the real world like a normal person; he didn't understand how it felt to be living her life right now. But in more clear-headed moments she realized that she wasn't being fair. Because how could he understand? He wasn't physically bound to the baby in the same way she was, nor emotionally either, for that matter. For better or worse, the bond between mother and daughter was so strong in the beginning that it functioned as both a shackle and a lifeline.

  One of her legs had gone to sleep, and Erica cautiously tried to change position. It was risky, she knew that, but the pain in her leg was too much. Maja started to squirm, opened her eyes and immediately began searching for food with her mouth wide open. With a sigh Erica stuck in her nipple again. So far Maja had only slept for half an hour, and Erica knew that it wouldn't be long before she fell asleep again. Sitting motionless like this, her bottom was going to get a real workout today too. No, damn it all, she thought in the next instant. This time she was going to make Maja sleep alone!

  It turned into a battle of wills. In one corner, Erica, seventy- two kilos. In the other, Maja, six kilos. With a firm grip Erica rolled the pram over the threshold between the living room and the hall. A whole arm's length, in, out. She wondered how anyone could sleep in a pram that shook like there was an earthquake going on, but according to The Baby Book that was exactly what was needed. Give the baby plain and clear instructions that 'now you're going to sleep, Mamma has the situation under control'. Although by fifteen minutes into the experiment Erica wouldn't exactly describe her situation as 'under control'. Although Maja, according to all calculations, should have been extremely tired, she screamed to high heaven, furious at being denied the right to the pacifying warmth of her mother's body. For a moment Erica was tempted to give up and sit down and nurse her daughter to sleep, but then she thought better of it. No matter how angry Maja was about the new regime, and how much her shrieks cut to Erica's heart, Maja would be better served by a mother who felt happy and had the energy to take care of her. So she persevered. Each time Maja cried in protest, Erica firmly rolled the pram back and forth. If Maja quieted down and seemed about to go to sleep, Erica would carefully stop the pram. According to Anna Wahlgren it was important to stop moving the pram just before the baby fell asleep so she would do so under her own power. And hallelujah! Half an hour later Maja was sound asleep in the pram. Cautiously Erica wheeled her into the workroom, closed the door, and sat down on the sofa with a blissful smile on her face.

  Her good humour held on, even when it was eight o'clock and Patrik still hadn't come home. Erica hadn't had the energy to go round and turn on the lamps, so as the twilight gradually turned to night, the house had grown ever darker. Now the only light c
ame from the TV screen. She lazily watched one of the many reality shows that were on in the evening as she fed Maja once again. To her shame, she had to admit being hooked on far too many of these shows and Patrik had taken to muttering about being inundated with petty intrigues and people greedy for media attention. His time watching sports programmes had been considerably curtailed, but as long as he wasn't the one who had to sit and nurse Maja all evening, he agreed to let Erica be the boss of the remote control. Now she turned up the volume, amazed at how a bunch of cute girls were willing to prance and preen themselves for the sake of a vain and foolish young man who tried to convince them that he was marriage material. It was obvious to all the TV viewers that he considered his participation in the programme as a way to increase his pick-up success at the trendiest clubs in Stockholm. Erica actually agreed with Patrik that the programme was an intelligence-free zone, but once she started watching it she couldn't stop.

  A sound from the front door made her turn the volume back down. For an instant her old fear of the dark took over, but then she pulled herself together and realized that it must be Patrik finally coming home.

  'You've sure got it dark in here,' he said, turning on a couple of lamps before he went over to Erica and Maja. He leaned over and kissed Erica on the cheek, stroked Maja's head gently, and then plopped down on the sofa.

  'I'm really sorry to be so late,' he said. Despite Erica's childish feelings earlier that day, her annoyance drained out of her at once.

  'It doesn't matter,' she said. 'We managed fine, the two of us.' She was still euphoric at getting some brief moments to herself when Maja was sleeping in the pram in the workroom.

  'No chance of watching a little hockey, is there?' Patrik cast a wistful glance at the TV without having noticed Erica's unusually good mood.

  Erica just snorted in reply. What a dumb question.

  'That's what I thought,' he said and stood up. 'I'm going to make myself a couple of sandwiches. Would you like some?'