The Stone Cutter

by Camilla Lackberg

  She shook her head. 'I ate a while ago. But a cup of tea would be nice. She'll probably have had her fill soon.' As if Maja understood what Erica said, she let go and looked up in contentment. Erica gratefully straightened her clothes, set Maja in the bouncer, and went to join Patrik in the kitchen. He was at the stove stirring O'Boy cocoa powder into a saucepan of milk. She went to stand behind him, putting her arms round him to hug him tight.

  It felt so good, and she realized how little physical contact they'd had since Maja was born. She was mostly to blame for that, she had to admit.

  'How was your day?' she asked. That was something else she hadn't done in a long time.

  'Terrible,' he said, taking butter, cheese and caviar out of the fridge.

  'I heard that you brought Kaj in,' she said cautiously, unsure of how much Patrik would want to tell. She had decided not to say anything about the visits she'd had that day.

  'The gossip has spread like wildfire, I presume?' said Patrik.

  'You could say that.'

  'So what are people saying?'

  'That he must have had something to do with Sara's death. Is it true?'

  'I don't know.' Patrik seemed tired as he poured the hot chocolate into a cup and fixed a couple of open sandwiches. He sat down facing Erica and began to dunk his cheese and caviar sandwich into the hot chocolate. After a while he went on, 'But we didn't bring him in because of Sara's murder. There was another reason.'

  He fell silent again. Erica knew better than to pry, but she couldn't help asking. In her mind's eye she saw Charlotte's listless gaze.

  'But is there anything to indicate that he may have had something to do with Sara's death?'

  Patrik dunked another sandwich in the chocolate and Erica tried not to look. She thought this habit was barbaric, to say the least.

  'Yeah, there might well be. But we'll have to wait and see. We can't take the risk of narrowing our focus. There's something else we have to look at too,' he said, avoiding her eyes.

  She stopped asking questions. Some grunts of protest from the living room indicated that Maja was getting tired of sitting all alone. Patrik got up and brought in the bouncer with their daughter in it. She gurgled gratefully and waved her hands and feet when Patrik set her on the kitchen table. The weariness in his face vanished, and his eyes took on that special gleam reserved for his daughter.

  'Is this Pappa's little sweetie? Did Pappa's little darling have a good day? Is she the sweetest girl in the whole world?' he babbled with his face close to Maja's. Then Maja's face contorted, turned bright red, and after a couple of groans there was a noise from the lower regions and a dense stink spread round the table. Erica got up automatically to deal with the situation.

  'I'll get it, you just sit,' said Patrik, and Erica gratefully sank back onto the kitchen chair.

  When Patrik came back with a newly changed Maja in her pyjamas, she told him with great enthusiasm about the successful pram trick and how she had got Maja to fall asleep.

  Patrik looked sceptical. 'She cried for forty-five minutes before she fell asleep? Is she really supposed to do that? On TV they said that if they cry, you're supposed to give them the breast. Can it really be good for her to have to cry like that?'

  His lack of enthusiasm and understanding made Erica furious. 'Obviously the point is not for her to cry for forty-five minutes. It'll taper off in a few days, and besides, if you don't think it's a good idea, then you can stay home and take care of her! You're not the one who has to sit here nursing all day long. That must be why you don't see any need to make any changes!'

  Then she burst into tears and dashed upstairs to the bedroom. Patrik sat there at the kitchen table, feeling like an idiot. He should think before he opened his mouth.

  * * *

  FJÅLLBACKA 1928

  Two days later her father came to Fjällbacka. She was sitting in the little room where she had found a temporary roof over her head, waiting with her hands folded in her lap. When he came in she reflected that the gossip had been right. He looked terrible. His hair had thinned even more on top. A couple of years earlier he'd been pleasantly plump, but now his figure was bordering on fat, and his breathing was erratic. His complexion was flushed bright red from the exertion, but just underneath was a grey tinge that refused to yield to the red. He didn't look well.

  He hesitated at the threshold with an expression of disbelief when he saw how small and dark the room was, but when he caught sight of Agnes he rushed forward to give her a big hug. She didn't return the embrace, but kept her hands in her lap. He had betrayed her, and nothing could change that fact.

  August tried to get a reaction out of her but then gave up and released her. And yet he couldn't help caressing her cheek. She flinched as if he'd slapped her.

  'Agnes, Agnes, my poor Agnes.' He sat down on the chair next to her but refrained from touching her again. The sympathy on his face turned her stomach. It was too late for that now. Four years ago she had needed him, yearned for paternal care and concern. Now it made no difference.

  She studiously avoided looking at him as he urgently spoke to her, his words occasionally catching in his throat.

  'Agnes, I know that I was wrong and that nothing I can say will change that. But let me help you now that you're in such terrible straits. Come back home, and let me take care of you. Things can be like they were before, everything can be like before. What has happened is horrible, but together we can put it all behind you.'

  His voice rose and sank in imploring waves that shattered against the hard shell of her heart. His words felt like a reproach.

  'Dear Agnes, please come home. You can have anything you want.'

  She saw out of the corner of her eye how his hands trembled, and his beseeching tone of voice gave her more satisfaction than she could have ever imagined. And she had imagined it; she had dreamt about it many times during the dark years that had passed.

  She slowly turned to face him. August took this as a sign that she accepted his entreaties and eagerly tried to take her hands. Without expression she abruptly pulled her hands away.

  'I'm leaving for America on Friday,' she said, enjoying the dismayed expression on August's face.

  'A… aa… merica,' August stammered, and Agnes saw beads of sweat break out on his upper lip. Whatever he had expected, it wasn't this.

  'Anders had bought tickets for all of us. He dreamt about a future for us there. I intend to honour his wish and go there myself,' she said dramatically, shifting her eyes away from her father to look out of the window. She knew that her profile was beautiful in the backlight, and her black clothing emphasized the pallor she had so carefully guarded.

  People had been tiptoeing around her for two days. A small room had been put at her disposal, with the promise that she could stay as long as she liked. All the talking behind her back, all the contempt they had previously directed at her, all that was as if it had been swept away with the wind. The women brought her food and clothing. Everything she wore now was either borrowed or a gift. She had nothing of her own left.

  Anders's cutter mates at the quarry had also come by. Dressed in their Sunday best and newly scrubbed, they stood with their caps in hand and looked at the floor. They shook her hand and mumbled some words about Anders.

  Agnes couldn't wait until she could get away from this patched, threadbare crowd. She longed to go aboard the boat that would take her to another continent. She wanted to let the sea air blow away the filth and decay that lay like a membrane over her skin. For a couple more days she had to tolerate their sympathy and their pathetic attempts to show goodwill. Then she would set off and never look back. But first there was what she wanted to get from the bloated, red-faced man sitting next to her, this man who had abandoned her so cruelly four years ago. Now she would see to it that he paid, and paid dearly, for each and every one of the four years that had passed.

  Her father continued to stammer, still in shock over the news she had just announced. 'But, but, how
will you make a living over there?' he asked with concern, wiping the sweat from his brow with a little handkerchief that he pulled out of his pocket.

  'I don't know,' she replied with a melodramatic sigh, allowing a worried shadow to glide across her face. It was gone in an instant, but there was still enough time for her father to notice.

  'Won't you change your mind, my heart? Come stay with your old father instead.'

  She shook her head, waiting for him to offer another suggestion. In that respect he did not disappoint her. Men were so easy to see through.

  'Won't you at least let me help you, then? Some money to get you started, and an allowance so you can manage? Couldn't I do that much for you? Otherwise I'll worry to death about you, all alone and so far away.'

  Agnes pretended to ponder the idea for a moment, and August hastened to add, 'And surely I can see to it that you have a better ticket for the crossing. A private stateroom in first class. That sounds a little better than travelling squeezed in with a bunch of other people.'

  She nodded graciously and said after a pause, 'Well yes, I suppose I could let you do that. You can give me the money tomorrow. After the funeral,' she added, and August flinched as though he'd burned himself.

  He tentatively tried to find the right words. 'The boys,' he began in a trembling voice, 'did they look like our side of the family?'

  They had been the spitting image of Anders, but in a stony I voice Agnes said, 'They looked precisely like the pictures of you when you were little. Like small copies of you. And they often asked why they didn't have a grandfather like the other children.' She saw how her words twisted like a knife in his breast. One lie after another, but the more his conscience weighed on him, the more he would fill her purse.

  With tears in his eyes her father got up to take his leave. In the doorway he turned round to look at Agnes one last time. She decided to throw him a little scrap and nodded graciously. As she predicted that small gesture made him happy, and he gave her a smile with his eyes shining.

  With hatred Agnes watched him go. She would allow someone to betray her only once. After that there were no second chances.

  * * *

  Patrik sat in the car and tried to focus on the first task of the day. He thought it important to follow up as soon as possible on the call he had made just before he left work yesterday evening. But he was having a hard time forgetting the stupid words he'd said to Erica last night. To think that it could be so difficult. He'd always believed that raising a child was easy. Well, maybe a lot of work, but not as anxiety-ridden as it had been during the past two months. He sighed, feeling dejected.

  Not until he parked outside the brown-and-white blocks of flats by the southern road into Fjällbacka was he able to concentrate on the present and forget his problems at home. The flat he was heading for was in the first block, second stairwell, and he took the stairs up to the first floor. The sign on the door said 'Svensson & Kallin'. He knocked cautiously. He knew that the couple living in the flat had a young child, and he was painfully aware of how Unwelcome a stranger would be if he woke the kid. A young man of about twenty-five opened the door. Although it was already nine-thirty he looked sulky, as if he'd just got up.

  'Mia, it's for you.'

  He stepped aside without greeting Patrik and shuffled into a small room off the hall. Patrik looked into the room that was probably intended as a guest room, but now it was set up as a game room, with a computer, several joysticks, and piles of games strewn across a desk. A game of 'shoot to kill as many enemies as possible' was running on the computer. The young man, who Patrik assumed was either Svensson or Kallin, started playing as if he had entered another world.

  The kitchen was to the left down the hall, and Patrik stepped inside after depositing his shoes by the front door.

  'Come in, I'm feeding Liam.'

  The little boy sat in a white highchair, being fed porridge and some sort of fruit puree. Patrik waved to him and was rewarded with a mushy smile.

  'Have a seat,' said Mia, pointing to a chair across from them.

  He did as she said and took out his notebook.

  'Could you tell me exactly what happened yesterday?'

  A light trembling of her hand holding the spoon showed how upsetting the events of the previous day had been for her. She nodded and related briefly what had happened. Patrik took notes, but it was the same information that Annika had received the day before when Mia had called in her report.

  'And you saw no one in the vicinity of the car?'

  Mia shook her head. Liam, who apparently thought his mother was playing a game, shook his head frenetically too, which made it considerably more difficult to feed him the porridge.

  'No, I didn't see anybody. Either before or after.'

  'You parked the pram in the rear, you said?'

  'Yes, it's more secluded there, and I thought it would be a safer place to leave him. I wanted to take him inside with me, but he was asleep, and it seemed more trouble than it was worth to drag the pram into the store. I was just going to be gone a couple of minutes.'

  'And then when you came out, you saw a dark substance in the pram and on Liam.'

  'Yes, he was screaming like crazy. His whole mouth must have been stuffed full, but he'd managed to spit out most of it. The inside of his mouth was coloured black.'

  'Did you take him to a doctor?'

  Again she shook her head, and Patrik saw that he'd hit a nerve.

  'No. I probably should have, but we were in a hurry to get home, and he seemed to be doing all right, except that he was scared and angry, so I…'

  Her voice trailed off and Patrik hurried to say, 'I'm sure it's not dangerous. You did the right thing. The boy does look like he's feeling fine.'

  Liam waved his arms, as if to confirm what was said and then opened his mouth wide for the next spoonful of porridge. There was obviously nothing wrong with his appetite, as evidenced by his plump double chin.

  'The shirt I called about yesterday, did you

  She got up. 'No, I didn't wash it, just as you asked me. And it's full of that black stuff. Looks like ashes, I think.'

  She went to get the shirt. Liam stared longingly at the spoon, which she'd put down beside the bowl. Patrik hesitated for a second, then moved to the chair Mia had been sitting on and took up where she left off. Two spoonfuls went smoothly, but then Liam decided to demonstrate his car sounds, flubbering his lips so that Patrik's hair and face were sprayed with mush. Just then Mia came back with the shirt. She couldn't help laughing.

  'Look at you. I should have warned you, or at least given you a raincoat and a sou'wester. I'm really sorry.'

  'No problem,' said Patrik wiping off a little mush from his eyelashes with a smile. 'My baby is just two months old, so it's good for me to get a little practice.'

  'Go ahead and practice,' said Mia, who sat down and let him continue the feeding. 'Here's the shirt,' she said, placing it on the table.

  Patrik looked at it. The whole front was black and filthy.

  'I'd like to take this with me. Do you mind?'

  'Not at all. Take it. I'd have just thrown it away anyway. I'll put it in a plastic bag for you.'

  Patrik took the bag and got up. 'If you think of anything else, just ring the station,' he said, handing her his card.

  'I certainly will. I just don't understand why anyone would do something like this. What do you think the shirt might tell you?'

  He just shook his head in reply. Patrik couldn't say anything about the reason for his interest. As yet nothing had leaked out lo the press about the ashes they'd found in connection with Sara's murder. He glanced at Liam. Thank goodness it hadn't gone as far in his case. The question was whether murder had never been the intention; maybe something had interrupted the person who did this. But until they had the ashes on the shirt analysed, they couldn't say whether it was connected to Sara's death or not. Although he was already willing to bet that they would find a connection. This was no coincidence.
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  When Patrik got back in his car he took his mobile out of his jacket pocket. He hadn't heard from the team that did the search of Kaj's house yesterday, and he thought that was a little strange. He'd had too much on his mind yesterday to worry about it, but now he wondered why they hadn't reported back to him. Swearing, he saw that he'd turned off his phone on his way in to interrogate Kaj and then forgotten to turn it back on. The voicemail icon was flashing. He punched 133 and listened tensely to the message. With a glint of triumph in his eyes he flipped the phone shut and stuffed it back in his pocket.

  Patrik had again chosen the kitchen as their meeting place. It was the biggest room in the police station, and he also thought the proximity to freshly brewed coffee would be an asset, given the situation. Annika had dashed off to the bakery down the street and bought a big bag of hazelnut balls, coconut mocha squares and chocolate oatmeal balls. Patrik didn't have to twist anyone's arm; as he stood at the easel with the tablet everyone was munching on some high-calorie treat.

  He cleared his throat. 'As you know, yesterday was quite eventful.'

  Gösta nodded and reached for another hazelnut ball. But Mellberg was too fast for him. The chief was already well into his third pastry and looked like he'd welcome a fourth. Ernst sat off by himself, and everyone carefully avoided looking at him. Ever since his disastrous mistake had come to light, a sort of doomsday shadow had hovered over him. Nobody knew when the axe would fall. All such matters had to be deferred as long as they were involved in the most intensive phase of the homicide investigation. But everyone knew it was only a matter of time. Including Ernst.

  All eyes were directed at Patrik. He went on. 'I think I'll sum up what we have so far. Most of this you already know, but it might be good to get an overview of where we stand.'

  He cleared his throat one more time, took his pen and began writing notes on the big tablet as he talked.