As soon as he entered, he understood instantly that this summons had nothing to do with the statue. It was much more serious.
There were only three people in the room. The director sat behind his desk, radiating rage. In one corner sat Agnes, staring hard at the floor. And in front of the desk sat a man Anders did not know, looking at him with poorly concealed curiosity.
Unsure of how to act, Anders stepped about a meter into the room and took up an almost military stance. No matter what was to come, he would take it like a man. He had planned, sooner or later, to face her father; he just wished he could have chosen the circumstances.
He sought Agnes’s eyes, but she stubbornly refused to look up and kept staring at her shoes. His heart ached for her. She must find all this incredibly difficult. But they still had each other, and after the worst of the storm subsided they could begin building their life together.
Anders turned his gaze from Agnes and calmly regarded the man behind the desk. He waited for Agnes’s father to speak. It took a very long time before that happened, and the hands of the clock seemed to move unbearably slowly. When August Stjernkvist finally spoke, his voice was cool, metallic.
‘I understand that you and my daughter have been meeting in secret.’
‘Circumstances have forced us to it, yes,’ replied Anders calmly. ‘But I have never had anything but honorable intentions with respect to Agnes,’ he went on, looking Stjernkvist in the eye. For a second he thought he saw surprise in the director’s face. This was apparently not the reply he had anticipated.
‘I see, well.’ Stjernkvist cleared his throat, stalling a moment before his anger returned.
‘And how had you intended to do that? My daughter and a poor stonecutter. Are you so stupid that you believed that was even possible?’
Anders reeled at the scorn in the man’s voice. Had he acted stupidly? All his decisiveness started to give way before the contempt bombarding him, and he realized at once how absurd the idea sounded when said aloud. Obviously that could never be possible. He felt his heart slowly breaking into bits and desperately sought out Agnes’s glance. Was this going to be the end? Would he never see her again? She still didn’t look up.
‘Agnes and I love each other,’ he said quietly, hearing how he sounded like a condemned man offering his last words of defense.
‘I know my daughter considerably better than you do, boy. And I know her considerably better than she thinks I do. Of course, I did spoil her and allowed her greater freedom than she probably should have had, but I also know that she’s a girl with ambitions. She never would have sacrificed everything for a future with a laborer.’
The words stung like fire, and Anders wanted to scream that he was wrong. Her father was not describing the Agnes he knew, not at all. She was good and kind, and above all she loved him just as passionately as he loved her. She was certainly prepared to make the sacrifices necessary for them to be able to live together. With sheer force of will he tried to make her look up and tell her father how things really stood, but she remained silent. Gradually the ground began to give way beneath him. Not only was he about to lose Agnes, he understood quite well that given these conditions he wouldn’t be allowed to keep his job either.
Stjernkvist spoke again, and now Anders thought he could sense pain behind the anger. ‘But things have suddenly taken on a new light. Under normal circumstances I would have done everything I could to stop my daughter from ending up with a stonecutter. But the two of you have already seen to that by presenting me with an accomplished fact.’
In bewilderment Anders wondered what he was talking about.
Stjernkvist saw his surprise and continued. ‘She’s expecting a child. Are you two such complete idiots that you hadn’t thought of that eventuality?’
Anders gasped for breath. He was inclined to agree with Agnes’s father. They had indeed been idiots. He had been just as convinced as Agnes was that the precautions they had taken were fully sufficient. This changed everything. His feelings were swirling about, making him even more confused. On the one hand, he was overjoyed to think of his beloved Agnes bearing his child; on the other hand he was ashamed before her father and understood his rage. He too would have been furious if anyone had done such a thing to his daughter. Anders waited tensely for the director to go on.
Mournfully, August Stjernkvist said, still refusing to look at his daughter, ‘Naturally there is only one solution. You are getting married. To that end I have called in Judge Flemming today. He will marry you at once, and we will deal with the formalities afterwards.’
Over in her corner, Agnes now looked up for the first time. To Anders’s astonishment, he saw no joy in her eyes, only desperation. She spoke entreatingly to her father. ‘Dear Father, please don’t force me into this. There are other ways to solve the problem, and you can’t force me to marry him. After all, he’s only … a simple worker.’
The words felt like the lash of a whip against Anders’s face. She had metamorphosed into someone else before his eyes.
‘Agnes?’ he said, as if begging her to remain the girl he loved, even though he already sensed that all his dreams were now crashing down around him.
She ignored him and continued her desperate appeal to her father. But August wouldn’t condescend to give her even a glance. He looked only at the judge and said, ‘Do what you need to do.’
‘Please, Father!’ Agnes shrieked, throwing herself to her knees in a dramatic plea.
‘Silence!’ said her father turning his cold eyes on her at last. ‘Don’t make yourself ridiculous. I don’t intend to tolerate any hysterical ploys from you. You’ve made your bed, and now you have to lie in it!’ he shouted. His daughter stared at him in silence.
With a pained look, Agnes slowly got to her feet and let the judge carry out his task. It was an odd wedding, with the bride sullenly standing a few meters from the bridegroom. But the reply to the judge’s question was ‘yes’ from each of them, although with much reluctance from one side and much confusion from the other.
‘So, now that’s done,’ August asserted after the businesslike ceremony was completed. ‘Of course I can’t have you working here any longer,’ he said. Anders merely bowed his head to confirm that he had expected this. His new father-in-law went on, ‘But no matter how badly you have behaved, I can’t leave my daughter penniless; I owe her mother that much.’
Agnes looked at him tensely, still with a small hope that she wouldn’t have to lose everything.
‘I have arranged a position for you at the quarry in Fjällbacka. One of the other cutters can finish the statue. I’ve also paid the first month’s rent for a room with a kitchen in one of the barracks. After that month you’ll have to manage on your own.’
Agnes let out a whimper. She put her hand to her throat as if she were about to choke, and Anders felt as though he were aboard a ship that was slowly sinking. If he still harbored any hopes of building a future with Agnes, they were crushed for good when he saw the contempt with which she regarded her new husband.
‘Dear, beloved Father, please,’ she again entreated. ‘You can’t do this to me. I would rather take my own life than move into a stinking hovel with that man.’
Anders grimaced at her words. Had it not been for the child, he would have turned on his heel and left, but a real man took care of his obligations no matter how difficult the circumstances. That had been imprinted on him since he was a boy. So he remained standing in the room that now felt suffocatingly small and tried to imagine his future with a woman who obviously suddenly found him repulsive. She was now his companion for life.
‘What’s done is done,’ said August to his daughter. ‘You have the afternoon to gather up whatever possessions you can carry, then the carriage leaves for Fjällbacka. Choose your belongings wisely. You probably won’t have much use for your party dresses,’ he added spitefully, showing how deeply his daughter had wounded him. His soul would never recover from this.
When the
door closed behind them, the silence was thundering. Then Agnes looked at Anders with so much hatred that he had to dig in his heels so as not to flinch. An inner voice whispered to him to flee while there was still time, but his feet wouldn’t budge. They felt as if they were nailed to the floor.
A premonition of bad times ahead made him shudder.
Morgan watched the police officers arrive and then leave again. But he didn’t waste time worrying what business they had in his parents’ house. He wasn’t one to brood.
He stretched. It was now late afternoon and he had been sitting almost the whole day at his computer, as usual. His mother worried about what it would do to his back, but he saw no reason to be concerned about that before something actually went wrong. So what if it had started to hunch a little? He felt no pain. As long as the problem was merely cosmetic, it didn’t matter to him.
It was a relief to be able to sit in peace, now that the girl was gone. He had really not liked her. Really. She was always coming in to bother him when he was most engrossed in his work, and she pretended not to hear when he told her to leave. The other children were afraid of him, pointing fingers behind his back the few times he left the house. But not her. She kept intruding, demanding attention and refusing to be scared off when he yelled at her. Sometimes he’d gotten so frustrated that he had stood there screaming with his hands over his ears in the hope that it would make her leave. But she had only laughed. So it was really great that she wouldn’t be coming back. Not ever.
Death fascinated him. There was something about the finality of it that kept his brain preoccupied with death in all its forms. The games he most enjoyed were the ones that had a lot of death in them. Blood and death.
Occasionally he had considered taking his own life. Not so much because he no longer wanted to live, but because he wanted to see what it was like to be dead. He’d once said straight out to his parents that he was thinking of killing himself, just as a matter of sharing information. But their reaction had taught him to keep such thoughts to himself. There had been a tremendous row, followed by more visits to the psychologist, and they, or rather his mother, had begun to watch him around the clock. Morgan had not liked that.
He didn’t understand why everyone was so afraid of death. All the incomprehensible emotions that other people seemed to possess became more intense and numerous as soon as the talk turned to death. He really couldn’t understand it. Death was a state of being, just like life. Why should one be better than the other?
Most of all he would have liked to be present when they cut into the girl at the post-mortem, be allowed to stand by and watch. See what it was that other people found so terrifying. Maybe the answer would be there when they opened her up. Maybe the answer would be in the faces of the people who cut her open.
Sometimes he dreamed that he was lying in a morgue himself. On a cold metal table, with nothing to hide his naked body. In his dreams he saw the steel gleaming just before the pathologist made the straight cut along his thorax.
But he knew not to tell anyone about these thoughts. Then they might think he was truly crazy, instead of just different, which was a label he’d learned to live with over the years.
Morgan went back to the code on the computer screen. He enjoyed the calm and the silence. It was really great that she was gone.
Lilian opened the door before they had a chance to knock. Patrik suspected that she had been watching for them ever since they’d left. In the hall stood a pair of shoes that hadn’t been there before, and Patrik assumed they belonged to Lilian’s friend Eva, who’d come over to lend her moral support.
‘So,’ said Lilian. ‘What did he have to say in his defense? Can we finish that report now, so that you can take him in?’
Patrik took a deep breath. ‘We’d just like to have a little talk with your husband first, before we proceed with a report. There are still a few things that seem unclear.’
For a second he saw uncertainty flit across her face, but she regained her belligerent expression at once.
‘That’s absolutely out of the question. Stig is ill. He’s upstairs in bed resting and can’t be disturbed under any circumstances.’ Her voice sounded strained and nervous. Patrik could see that Lilian had also forgotten about Stig as a potential witness. Which meant it was even more important that they be allowed to talk with him.
‘Unfortunately it can’t be helped. I’m sure he could see us for a minute or two,’ said Patrik in the most authoritative voice he could muster, taking off his jacket at the same time to emphasize his intent.
Lilian was opening her mouth to protest again when Gösta interrupted in his most official police voice. ‘If we aren’t allowed to speak to Stig, it might be considered a matter of obstruction of justice. It wouldn’t look good in the official report.’
Patrik was doubtful whether his colleague’s assertion would hold up in the long run, but it seemed to have the desired effect on Lilian, who furiously strode toward the stairs. When it looked as though she planned to go upstairs with them, Gösta placed a firm hand on her shoulder.
‘We can find our way, thanks.’
‘But …’ Her eyes flickered, searching for some other valid protests, but she finally had to give up.
‘Well, don’t say that I didn’t warn you. Stig is not doing well, and if he gets worse because you go stomping in and asking a lot of questions, then …’
They ignored her and headed up the stairs. The guest room lay directly to the left, and since Lilian had left the door open, it wasn’t hard to locate her spouse. Stig was ensconced in the bed, but he was awake and had turned his head toward the door in anticipation. Judging by how well Lilian’s shrill voice was now carrying up from the kitchen, he had no doubt heard that they were on their way up. Patrik entered the room before Gösta and had to force himself not to gasp. The man lying in bed was so frail and emaciated that his bones under the covers seemed to jut out in relief. His cheeks were sunken, and his skin had a gray, unhealthy color. His hair had turned prematurely white, making him look considerably older than he was. There was a nauseating odor of illness in the room, and Patrik had to suppress a desire to breathe only through his mouth.
Dubiously he reached out a hand to Stig to introduce himself. Gösta did the same, and then they looked around the tiny room for a place to sit down. It felt altogether too officious to stand towering over Stig as he lay there in his sickbed. Stig raised a grayish hand and pointed to the edge of the bed.
‘Unfortunately this is all I can offer you.’ His voice was dry and feeble, and Patrik was again shocked at how utterly exhausted he looked. This man looked far too ill to be at home. He should be in the hospital. But it was none of his business, and they did have a doctor living in the house, after all.
Patrik and Gösta sat down cautiously on the edge of the bed. Stig grimaced a little when the bed bounced, and Patrik hurried to apologize, afraid that they had caused him pain. Stig waved off the apology.
Patrik cleared his throat. ‘First of all, I’d like to start by offering my condolences for the loss of your granddaughter.’ Again he heard how formal his voice sounded, a tone that he himself despised.
Stig closed his eyes and seemed to collect himself to reply. The words had obviously stirred up emotions that he was struggling to overcome.
‘Technically, Sara was not really my grandchild—her grandfather, Charlotte’s father, died eight years ago—but in my heart she always was. I’ve cared about her ever since she was a little baby until …’ he paused, ‘now at the end.’ He closed his eyes again, but when he opened them he seemed to have regained his composure.
‘We’ve talked a bit with the rest of the family,’ said Patrik, ‘to find out exactly what happened that morning. I wonder whether you might have heard anything in particular. For example, do you know what time Sara left the house?’
Stig shook his head. ‘I take strong sleeping pills and don’t usually wake up before around ten. And by then she was already … gone.�
� He closed his eyes once more.
‘When we asked your wife whether she could think of anyone who may have wanted to harm Sara, she named your neighbor, Kaj Wiberg. Do you agree with that assessment?’
‘Did Lilian say that Kaj murdered Sara?’ Stig looked at them skeptically.
‘Well, not in so many words, but she hinted that there were reasons why your neighbor might wish your family ill.’
Stig let out a long sigh. ‘Well, I’ve never understood what it is with those two. The feud was already going on before I came into the picture, before Lennart died. To be honest, I don’t know who cast the first stone, and I daresay that Lilian is just as capable of keeping the feud going as Kaj is. I’ve tried to stay out of it as much as possible, but it’s not easy.’ He shook his head. ‘No, I don’t really understand why they carry on the way they do. I know my wife as a warm, sympathetic woman, but when it comes to Kaj and his family she seems to have a blind spot. You know, sometimes I think that she and Kaj actually enjoy the whole thing. That they live for the sake of the battle. But that sounds absurd. Why would anyone voluntarily keep it up the way they do, with legal action and everything? And it’s cost us plenty of money. Kaj can afford it, but we’re not as well off, retired as we both are. Why would anyone want to keep on fighting like this?’
The question was purely rhetorical. Stig wasn’t expecting an answer.
‘Have they ever come to blows?’ Patrik asked with interest.
‘Good Lord, no,’ Stig said emphatically. ‘They aren’t that crazy.’ He laughed.
Patrik and Gösta exchanged a glance. ‘Did you hear that Kaj was over here earlier today?’
‘Yes, I could hardly avoid hearing it,’ said Stig. ‘There was a frightful commotion down in the kitchen, and he was shouting and carrying on. But Lilian threw him out with his tail between his legs.’ He looked at Patrik. ‘I don’t really understand some people. I mean, regardless of what problems they’ve had with each other, one would think that he’d show a little sympathy, considering what’s happened. With Sara, I mean.’
The Stonecutter: A Novel (Pegasus Crime) Page 14
