The Stonecutter: A Novel (Pegasus Crime)

by Camilla Lackberg

  ‘I saw no alternative if I wanted to survive,’ he said.

  His mother nodded, contenting herself with that explanation, but her eyes were concerned. ‘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, let her reassure him that everything would be all right. But the moment passed, and, 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 golden egg. She slipped it carefully into her handbag.

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

  Sebastian stared up at the ceiling and gave the wall a light kick. He didn’t understand 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 who he wanted to be. Normally the action heroes surrounding him helped motivate him to fight harder, make a greater effort. But 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 about everything he’d said. All the humiliations. Then Sebastian would be the one who had the upper hand, and Rune would have to beg for even a minute of his time.

  The worst thing was that at first he had liked Rune. When his mom first met him, he’d thought he was cool as hell. He drove a big American car and had friends who drove cool choppers, and sometimes they let him ride on the bitch seat. But then they got married, and that’s when it all started to go haywire. Suddenly Rune and Mom had to show that they were proper Svenssons, with a house, a Volvo, and even a fucking house trailer. The guys 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 neighbors. That they needed to have a kid of their own. Naturally he loved Sebastian, he said, but then added in a serious tone that it wasn’t the same as having his own kid. So when Rune and Mom never managed to have a baby, Rune took the frustration out on his stepson. And when Mom 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 a foster home. Rune had 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 Mom 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 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 suddenly understood something: 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 ready to rush over to the neighbors’ house and kill Lilian with his bare hands. Patrik discreetly blocked his way off the porch and raised his hands in a calming gesture.

  ‘Could we just come inside, sit down, and talk this over in peace and quiet?’

  The words didn’t seem to register in Kaj’s brain, stopped by the shield of his fury. Patrik and Gösta exchanged a glance. Suddenly it didn’t seem so unbelievable that he might have attacked Lilian. But as professionals, they knew it was dangerous to get stuck thinking along certain lines, so they waited to hear Kaj’s version of the encounter.

  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 perfunctorily 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 color 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, small drops of sweat appearing at his graying temples.

  ‘Officially, Lilian has not filed a complaint—not yet,’ Patrik added. ‘We’d like to have a chance to talk to you in peace and quiet first, so we can 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 …’ Sweat was beginning to roll down the sides of his face, 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 what 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?’

  ‘Sure I wanted to punch her, 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 waited to go over there until Charlotte had left with the little boy in the stroller.’ He wiped his brow with one hand and rubbed his hand 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 h
er 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. He would have heard the whole thing.’

  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 stroller. 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. What if it happened 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, though 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, 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 fled off to work. It was only three days since their daughter had been 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 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 chores that shaped most people’s daily lives? 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 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. 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 toward 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 the 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, like her mother, just lecture her on what she should have done.

  Albin had begun to squirm, and she lifted him gently out of the stroller. Still half asleep, he gave a start when Charlotte knocked on the front door. A middle-aged woman she didn’t know opened the door.

  ‘Hello?’ said Charlotte uncertainly, before realizing that this must be Patrik’s mother. A vague memory from the distant time before Sara’s death floated up to the surface and reminded her that Erica had mentioned that her mother-in-law was coming to visit.

  ‘Hello, are you looking for Erica?’ said Patrik’s mother. Without waiting for a reply, she stepped aside to let Charlotte into the hall.

  ‘Is she awake?’ Charlotte asked.

  ‘Yes, she’s nursing Maja. I’ve stopped counting how many times she’s done that today. Well, I suppose I don’t really understand modern customs. In my day children were fed every four hours, and never more often, and that generation certainly has nothing to complain about.’ Patrik’s mother babbled on, and Charlotte nervously followed her. After people had been tiptoeing around her for several days, it felt odd to hear someone speaking in a normal tone of voice. Just as she was thinking that, she saw it dawn on Erica’s mother-in-law who she must be, and the ease vanished from both her voice and her movements as she turned to face her. She clapped her hand to her mouth and said, ‘Forgive me, are you …? I didn’t realize who you were.’

  Charlotte didn’t know how to reply to that. Her only response was to hold Albin closer.

  ‘I’m very sorry …’ Erica’s mother-in-law was shifting anxiously from one foot to another, and she seemed to want to be anywhere else but in Charlotte’s presence.

  Was this how it was going to be from now on? thought Charlotte. People shrinking away as if she had the plague, whispering and pointing behind her back and saying, ‘There’s the woman whose daughter was murdered,’ but without daring to look her in the eye. Maybe it was out of nervousness, because they had no idea what to say, or maybe it was from some sort of irrational fear that tragedies were contagious and might spread to their own lives if they got too close.

  ‘Charlotte?’ Erica called from the living room, and the older woman was obviously relieved to have an excuse to end the conversation. Slowly Charlotte stepped through the door to see Erica, sitting in her easy chair breast-feeding Maja. The scene felt both familiar and yet oddly remote. How many times in the past two months had she come in and encountered the same scene? But that thought also conjured up an image of Sara playing here on the rug. The last time Charlotte was here, Sara had come along. Rationally, she knew that it was only last Sunday, but she still had a hard time believing it. She saw before her how Sara had bounced up and down on the white sofa, with her long red hair flying about her face. She remembered admonishing her, telling her sharply to stop. It all felt so petty now. What harm would it have done if she jumped on the cushions a bit? The thought made her suddenly dizzy, and Erica had to jump up and help her sit down in the nearest arm chair. Maja shrieked when Erica’s breast was so brusquely snatched out of her mouth, but Erica ignored her daughter’s protests and put her in the bouncing cradle.

  With Erica’s arms around her, Charlotte dared to voice the question that had nagged at her subconscious ever since the police arrived with the news of Sara’s death on Monday. She said, ‘Why couldn’t they get ahold of Niclas?’

  13

  Strömstad 1924

  Anders had just finished work on the plinth of the s
tatue when the foreman called to him from the quarry. He sighed and frowned; he didn’t like having his concentration disturbed. But of course he obeyed. Carefully he put his tools away and went to hear what the foreman wanted.

  The fat man was nervously twirling his moustache.

  ‘What have you gone and done now, Andersson?’ he said, half in jest, half concerned.

  ‘Me? What is it?’ said Anders, bewildered.

  ‘The front office is calling for you. You have to go down there. Right now.’

  Damn it all, Anders swore silently. Was there something else that had to be changed on the statue now, at the eleventh hour? Those architects, or ‘artists,’ or whatever they chose to call themselves, had no idea what they were doing when they sat in their studios and redrew their sketches. Then they expected the stonecutter to be able to make the changes just as easily in stone. They didn’t understand that from the beginning he had to plan the directions of the cleavages and mark the cuts based on the original drawing. A change in the sketch would change his entire starting point, and in the worst case the stone might crack, rendering all their work useless.

  But Anders also knew that it was no use to protest. It was the client who made the decisions. He was merely a faceless slave who was expected to perform all the hard work that the designer could not or would not do himself.

  ‘Well, I suppose I’ll have to go down there and hear what they want,’ said Anders with a sigh.

  ‘Maybe it won’t be anything major,’ offered the foreman, who knew precisely what Anders feared and was showing some sympathy for a change.

  ‘Well, no use putting it off,’ replied Anders as he slouched off toward the road.

  A few minutes later he knocked on the door of the office and stepped inside. He wiped off his shoes as best he could, but it didn’t make much difference, since his clothes were full of granite dust and chips, and his hands and face were dirty. But they’d asked him to come down here on short notice, so they would have to take him as he was. He plucked up his courage and followed the man from the front office into the director’s private rooms.