The Stonecutter: A Novel (Pegasus Crime)

by Camilla Lackberg

  ‘What about Niclas?’

  ‘Oh no, Niclas is perfect in Mamma’s eyes. She coos and fawns all over him and feels sorry that he has such a worthless wife. He can do no wrong as far as she’s concerned.’

  ‘But doesn’t he see how she treats you?’

  ‘Like I said, he’s almost never at home. And she’s on her best behavior whenever he’s around. You know what he said yesterday when I had the audacity to complain? “But Charlotte, dear, why can’t you just give in a little?” Give in a little? If I gave in any more I’d be completely obliterated. It made me so mad, I haven’t spoken to him since. So now he’s probably sitting there at work feeling sorry for himself because he has such an unreasonable wife. No wonder I came down with the world’s worst migraine this morning.’

  A sound from upstairs made Charlotte get up reluctantly.

  ‘Erica, I’ve got to run upstairs and see to Albin. Otherwise Mamma will be doing the whole martyr bit before I get there … But remember, I’m coming by this afternoon with some pastries. Maybe around 3:00? Here I’ve been going on about myself, and I haven’t even asked how you’re doing. But I’ll be over later.’

  She hung up and combed her fingers quickly through her hair before she took a deep breath and went upstairs.

  It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It wasn’t supposed to be like this at all. She had plowed through tons of books about having a child and what life would be like as a parent, but nothing she’d read had prepared her for this. Instead, it seemed like a huge plot. The authors raved about happy hormones and how you would float on a pink cloud when you held your baby, naturally feeling a totally overwhelming love at first sight toward the little bundle of joy. Of course it was mentioned, but only in passing, that you would probably be more exhausted than you’d ever been in your life. But even that was shrouded in a romantic halo, and all part of the wondrous package of motherhood.

  Bullshit! was Erica’s honest assessment after two months as a mother. Lies, propaganda, utter crap! She had never in her entire life felt so miserable, tired, angry, frustrated, and worn out as she had since Maja arrived. And she certainly hadn’t experienced any all-consuming love when the red, shrieking, and yes, ugly bundle was placed on her breast. Even though maternal feelings were creeping in ever so slowly, it still felt as though a stranger had invaded their home. Sometimes she almost regretted their decision to have a child. She and Patrik had been getting along so well, just the two of them, until their all-too-human selfishness combined with a desire to see their own excellent genes reproduced. In one stroke they had changed their lives, and she was reduced to a round-the-clock milk machine.

  How such a little baby could be so ravenous was beyond her comprehension. Maja was constantly clinging to Erica’s breasts, which were twice the size they should be and swollen with milk. These days she felt like she was just two huge walking breasts. Nor was her figure in general anything to cheer about. When she came home from the maternity hospital, she still looked very pregnant, and the pounds were not dropping away as fast as she hoped. Her only consolation was that Patrik had also eaten like a horse when she was pregnant, and now he too was carrying a few extra pounds.

  Thank goodness the pain was almost gone by now, but she still felt sweaty, bloated, and generally lousy. Her legs had not seen a razor in several months, and she was in desperate need of a haircut and maybe some highlights. Erica briefly abandoned herself to that fantasy, but then reality took over. How the hell could she get out of the house to do that? Oh, how she envied Patrik. For at least eight hours every day he was released into the real world, the world of grownups. Nowadays her only company was Ricki Lake and Oprah Winfrey, as she listlessly zapped the remote while Maja sucked and sucked.

  Patrik assured Erica that he would rather stay home with her and Maja than go to work, but she could see in his eyes that what he really felt was relief at being able to escape for a while. She sympathized, but couldn’t help feeling bitter. Why did she have to bear such a heavy load when the baby had been a mutual decision and should have been a mutual project? Shouldn’t he carry an equal share of the burden?

  So every day she kept close tabs on the time he had promised to come home. If he was even five minutes late she would be consumed by annoyance, and any later meant he could expect a real onslaught of fury. As soon as he came in the door she would dump Maja into his arms, if his arrival coincided with one of the rare breaks in her breastfeeding schedule. Erica would then fall into bed wearing earplugs, just for a few moments away from the shrieks of the baby.

  Erica sighed as she sat holding the phone in her hand. Everything seemed so hopeless. But her chats with her friend were a welcome break in the gloom. As the mother of two kids, Charlotte was a steady rock to lean on, and full of calm assurances. Secretly, too, Erica had to admit that it was nice to listen to someone else’s hardships instead of focusing on her own.

  Of course, there was another source of concern in Erica’s life—Anna. She had only talked to her sister a few times since Maja was born, but even in these few calls she felt that something was off. Anna sounded subdued and distant on the phone, even as she claimed that everything was fine. And Erica was so wrapped up in her own misery that she hadn’t pressed her sister for more information. But something was wrong, she was sure of that, and as soon as she was stronger she would find out what it was.

  She pushed aside the troubling thoughts and shifted Maja from one breast to the other, which made the baby fuss a bit. Listlessly she picked up the remote and changed the channel. Glamour was about to start. After that, the only thing she had to look forward to was this afternoon’s coffee break with Charlotte.

  Lilian stirred the soup with brisk strokes. She had to do everything in this house. Cook, clean, and take care of the kids. At least Albin had finally gone to sleep. Her expression softened at the thought of her grandson. He was a little angel. Hardly made a peep. Not at all like the other one. She frowned and stirred faster, sending little drops of soup splashing over the edge where they sizzled and stuck to the surface of the stove.

  She carefully carried the pot over to the tray she had prepared on the countertop and poured the hot soup into the bowl. The warm aroma rising with the steam made her smile. Chicken soup, Stig’s favorite. She hoped he would feel like eating today.

  She cautiously picked up the tray and, using her elbow, pushed open the door to the stairs. Always this dashing up and down stairs, she thought peevishly. Some day she’d end up lying at the bottom with a broken leg, and then they’d see how hard it was to get along without her. She did everything for them, like a house slave. Right now Charlotte was downstairs in the basement loafing in bed, pretending to have a migraine. What bloody rubbish. If there was anyone with a migraine around here it was Lilian herself. She didn’t see how Niclas could stand it. All day long he worked hard at the clinic, doing his best to support the family, and then came home to the basement where it looked like a bomb had gone off. Just because they were living there only temporarily didn’t mean they couldn’t keep the place tidy. And Charlotte had the nerve to insist that her husband help her take care of the kids when he came home in the evening. What she ought to do instead was let him rest after a hard day’s work, let him sit in peace in front of the TV and keep the kids away as best she could. No wonder little Sara was so impossible. No doubt she could see how little respect her mother showed her father. That could lead to only one thing.

  Lilian climbed the last steps to the top floor, taking the tray to the guest room, where she installed Stig when he was sick. It wouldn’t do to have him moaning and groaning in the bedroom. If she was to take care of him properly, she had to get a good night’s sleep.

  ‘Dear?’ She cautiously pushed open the door. ‘Wake up now, I’m bringing you a little something. It’s your favorite: chicken soup.’

  Stig weakly returned her smile. ‘I’m not hungry, maybe later,’ he said.

  ‘Nonsense, you’ll never get well if you don’t eat pr
operly. Come on, sit up a little and I’ll feed you.’

  She helped him up to a half-sitting position and then sank down on the edge of the bed. As if he were a child, she fed him soup and wiped off what ran out of the corners of his mouth.

  ‘See, that wasn’t so bad, was it? I know exactly what my darling needs, and if you just eat properly you’ll be back on your feet in no time, you’ll see.’

  Once again the same wan smile in reply. Lilian helped him lie back down and pulled the blanket over his legs.

  ‘The doctor?’

  ‘But sweetie, have you entirely forgotten? We have our very own doctor right here in the house now. I’m sure Niclas will look in on you this evening. He just had to go over his diagnosis again, he said, and consult with a colleague in Uddevalla. It will all work out very soon, you’ll see.’

  Lilian fussily tucked in her patient one last time and took the tray with the empty soup bowl. She headed for the stairs, shaking her head. Now she had to be a nurse as well, on top of everything else that needed her attention.

  She heard a knock at the front door and hurried down the stairs.

  Patrik’s hand struck the door with a sharp rap. Around them the wind was coming up quickly, rising to gale force. Droplets of rain pelted them from behind, as the stormy gusts whipped up a fine mist from the ground. The sky had turned dark, its usual gray now streaked with darker gray clouds, and, far from the summery blue sparkle, the dirty brown of the sea was now covered in whitecaps scudding along. There were white geese on the sea, as Patrik’s mother used to say.

  As the door opened, both Patrik and Martin took deep breaths, summoning extra reserves of strength. The woman standing before them was a head shorter than Patrik and very, very thin. She had short hair curled in a permanent and tinted to an indeterminate brown. Her eyebrows were too severely plucked and had been replaced by a couple of lines drawn with a kohl pencil, which gave her a slightly comical look. But there was nothing funny about the situation they were now facing.

  ‘Hello, we’re from the police. We’re looking for Charlotte Klinga.’

  ‘She’s my daughter. What is this regarding?’

  Her voice was shrill. Patrik had heard about Charlotte’s mother from Erica; he could only imagine how trying it must be to listen to her all day long.

  ‘We’d appreciate it if you could let her know that we’d like to talk to her.’

  ‘Of course, but what’s this all about?’

  Patrik insisted. ‘We would like to speak with your daughter first. If you wouldn’t mind—’ He was interrupted by footsteps on the stairs, and a second later he saw Charlotte’s familiar face appear in the doorway.

  ‘Well, hi, Patrik! How nice to see you! What are you doing here?’

  As she saw their faces her own expression changed. ‘Has something happened to Erica? I spoke to her just a few minutes ago and she sounded all right, I thought …’

  Patrik held up his hand. Martin stood silently at his side with his eyes fixed on a knothole on the floor. He usually loved his job, but at the moment he was cursing the day he’d decided to become a cop.

  ‘May we come in?’

  ‘Now you’re making me nervous, Patrik. What’s happened?’ A thought struck her. ‘Did Niclas have an accident, or something?’

  ‘Let’s go inside first.’

  Since neither Charlotte nor her mother seemed capable of moving, Patrik took charge and led them into the kitchen with Martin bringing up the rear. He noted absently that they hadn’t taken off their shoes and were surely leaving wet footprints behind. But soon no one in this house would care.

  He motioned to Charlotte and Lilian to take a seat across from them at the kitchen table, and they silently obeyed. Patrik and Martin sat down across from them.

  ‘I’m sorry, Charlotte, but I have …’ he hesitated, ‘terrible news for you.’ The words lurched stiffly out of his mouth. Saying it this way felt wrong, but was there any right way to say what he had to say?

  ‘An hour ago a lobsterman found a little girl drowned. I’m so, so sorry, Charlotte …’ Then he found himself incapable of going on. The words were so horrific that they refused to come out. But he didn’t need to say any more.

  Charlotte gasped with a wheezing, guttural sound. She grabbed the tabletop with both hands, as if to hold herself upright, and stared at Patrik with empty eyes. In the silence of the kitchen that single breath seemed louder than a scream. Patrik swallowed to hold back the tears and keep his voice steady.

  ‘It must be a mistake. It couldn’t be Sara!’ Lilian looked wildly back and forth between Patrik and Martin, but Patrik only shook his head.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said again, ‘but I’ve seen her and there’s no doubt it’s Sara.’

  ‘But she said she was just going over to Frida’s to play. I saw her heading that way. There must be some mistake. I’m sure she’s over there.’ As if in a trance, Lilian got up and went over to the telephone on the wall. She checked the address book hanging next to it and briskly punched in the numbers.

  ‘Hello, Veronika, it’s Lilian. Listen, is Sara over there?’ She listened for a second and then dropped the receiver so it hung from the cord, swaying back and forth.

  ‘She hasn’t been there.’ She sat down heavily at the table and stared helplessly at the police officers facing her. Martin stepped across the room to return the phone to its cradle.

  The shriek came out of nowhere, and both Patrik and Martin jumped. Charlotte was screaming, motionless, with eyes that didn’t seem to see. It was a loud, primitive, piercing sound. The raw pain in the scream gave both officers goosebumps.

  Lilian threw herself at her daughter, trying to put her arms round her, but Charlotte brusquely batted her away.

  Patrik tried to talk over the scream. ‘We’ve tried to get hold of Niclas, but he wasn’t at the clinic. We left him a message to come home as soon as he can. And the pastor is on his way.’ He directed his words more to Lilian than to Charlotte, who was now beyond their reach. Patrik knew that he’d handled the situation terribly. He should have made sure that a doctor was present to administer a sedative if needed. Unfortunately, the only doctor in Fjällbacka was the girl’s father, and they hadn’t been able to get hold of him. He turned to Martin.

  ‘Ring the clinic on your mobile and see if you can get the nurse over here at once. And ask her to bring a sedative.’

  Martin did as he asked, relieved to have an excuse to leave the kitchen. Ten minutes later, Aina Lundby came in without knocking. She gave Charlotte a pill to calm her down, and then with Patrik’s help led her into the living room, so she could lie down on the sofa.

  ‘I’ll need a sedative too,’ said Lilian. ‘I’ve always had bad nerves, and something like this …’

  The district nurse, who looked to be about the same age as Lilian, merely snorted and continued tucking a blanket round Charlotte with maternal care as she lay there, teeth chattering as if she were freezing.

  ‘You’ll survive without it,’ she said, gathering up her things.

  Patrik turned to Lilian and said softly, ‘We’ll probably have to talk to the mother of the friend Sara was going to visit. Which house is it?’

  ‘The blue one just up the street,’ said Lilian without looking him in the eyes.

  By the time the pastor knocked on the door a few minutes later, Patrik felt that he and Martin had done all they could. They left the grief-stricken house and got into their car in the driveway. But Patrik didn’t start the engine.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ said Martin.

  ‘Bloody hell indeed,’ said Patrik.

  Kaj Wiberg peered out the kitchen window facing the Florins’ driveway.

  ‘I wonder what the old cow’s up to now?’ he muttered petulantly.

  ‘What?’ his wife Monica called from the living room.

  He turned halfway in her direction and shouted back, ‘There’s a police car parked outside the Florins’. I bloody well bet there’s some mischief going on. I’m
paying for my sins by having that old woman as a neighbor.’

  Monica came into the kitchen combing her hair and looking worried. ‘You really think it’s about us? We haven’t done anything.’ She stopped with the comb in mid-air to peer out of the window.

  Kaj snorted. ‘Try to tell her that. No, just wait till the small claims court agrees with me about the balcony. Then she’ll be completely humiliated. I hope it’ll cost her a bundle to tear it down.’

  ‘Do you think we’re really doing the right thing, Kaj? I mean, it only sticks over a few centimeters into our property, and it’s not really bothering us. And now poor Stig is sick in bed and everything.’

  ‘Sick, oh yeah, thanks a lot. I’d be sick too if I had to live with that damn bitch. What’s right is right. If they build a balcony that infringes on our property, they’re either going to have to pay or tear the bloody thing down. They forced us to cut down our tree, didn’t they? Our fine old birch, reduced to firewood, just because Lilian Florin claimed it was blocking her view of the sea. Or am I wrong? Did I miss something here?’ He turned spitefully toward his wife, incensed by the memory often years of injustices inflicted by their neighbors.

  ‘No, Kaj, you’re quite right.’ Monica looked down, conscious that retreat was the best defense when her husband got in this mood. For him Lilian Florin was like a red flag to a bull, and it was no use talking reason with him once her name came up. Though Monica had to admit that the trouble wasn’t all Kaj’s fault. Lilian wasn’t easy to take, and if she’d only left them in peace it never would have come to this. Instead she had dragged them through one court appearance after another, for everything from incorrectly drawn property lines, to a path that went through the lot behind her house, to a garden shed that she claimed stood too close to her property, and finally the wonderful old birch tree she’d forced them to cut down a couple of years ago. And it had all started when they began building their new house. Kaj had just sold his office supply business for several million kronor, and they had decided to take early retirement, sell the house in Göteborg, and settle down peacefully in Fjällbacka where they had always spent their summers. But they certainly hadn’t found much peace. Lilian had voiced a thousand objections to the new construction. She had organized petitions and collected complaints to try and prevent them from building there. When that failed, she’d begun to quarrel with them about everything imaginable. Exacerbated by Kaj’s volatile temperament, the feud between the neighbors had escalated beyond all common sense. The balcony that the Florins had built was only the latest battle. The fact that it looked as though the Wibergs would win this round had given Kaj the high ground, and he was happy to exploit it.