The Stonecutter: A Novel (Pegasus Crime)

by Camilla Lackberg

  Monica almost never came to see him at the wrong time in his schedule. She couldn’t recall the last time she had done so. But now she had already disturbed him, so she might as well continue.

  She followed one of the paths through the stacks of magazines and sat down on the edge of the bed.

  ‘I don’t want you to talk to them anymore unless I’m with you.’

  Morgan just nodded. Then he turned all the way around to face her, sitting backwards on the chair with his arms crossed and resting on the back.

  ‘Do you think I could have seen her if I asked to?’

  ‘Seen who?’ asked Monica, surprised.

  ‘Sara.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Monica could feel the room spinning. The stress of the past few days had upset her equilibrium, and Morgan’s question pushed her over the edge.

  ‘Why would you want to see her?’ She couldn’t keep the anger out of her voice, but as usual he didn’t react to it. She wasn’t even sure that he understood that her raised voice meant she was angry.

  ‘To see how she looks now,’ he replied calmly.

  ‘Why?’ Her voice rose even higher, and she could feel her fists clenching. The fear had her in a tight grip, and every word from Morgan felt like another step toward the darkness that terrified her.

  ‘To see how dead she looks,’ he explained, fixing his gaze on her.

  Monica was having a hard time breathing. It felt as though the walls of the little cabin were closing in on her. She couldn’t stand it any longer. She had to get some air.

  Without saying a word she rushed out the door and slammed it behind her. The raw air stung her throat as she took long, deep breaths. After a while she could feel her pulse begin to slow.

  Before returning to the house, she peered through one of the windows. Morgan had turned back around to the computer. His hands were flying over the keyboard. She pressed her face to the glass and looked at the back of his neck. She loved him so much, it hurt.

  There was nothing that gave Lilian as much pleasure as cleaning house. The rest of the family claimed she was manic, but that didn’t particularly bother her. As long as they stayed away and didn’t try to help, she was happy.

  She began with the kitchen, as usual. Every day the same routine. Wipe off all surfaces, vacuum, mop the floor, and once a week take everything out of the cupboards and cabinets and wipe them inside. When she was done with the kitchen, she cleaned the hall, the living room, and the veranda. The only room on the ground floor that she couldn’t clean at the moment was the little guest room where Albin was asleep. She would have to do it later.

  She dragged the vacuum cleaner up the stairs. Stig had wanted to buy her a smaller, more portable model; she had politely but firmly declined. She’d had this one for fifteen years and it still worked like new. Much better than the newer models that broke down every fifteen minutes. But it was definitely heavy. She was panting a bit by the time she reached the upstairs hall. Stig was awake and turned his head toward her.

  ‘You’re going to wear yourself out,’ he said feebly.

  ‘Better than sitting and twiddling my thumbs.’

  It was an old ritual they went through. He would tell her to take it easy, and she would come back with some snappy response. He would certainly change his tune if she stopped taking care of everything in the house and transferred some of the responsibility to the others. Without her, this house would go downhill fast. Everything would just crumble away. She was the glue that kept it all together, and they all knew it. If only they would show a little gratitude sometimes. No, instead they all kept nagging her to take it easy. Lilian could feel the old familiar irritation building up. She went into Stig’s room. He looked a little paler today, she saw.

  ‘You look worse,’ she said, helping him to lift his head far enough off the bed so that she could pull out the pillow. She fluffed it and placed it under his head again.

  ‘I know. Today is not a good day.’

  ‘Where does it hurt the most?’ she asked, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

  ‘Everywhere, it feels like,’ said Stig faintly, attempting a smile.

  ‘Can’t you be more precise than that?’ Lilian said, annoyed. She plucked at the knots on the bedspread and gave him an imperious look.

  ‘My stomach,’ said Stig. ‘It’s churning about somehow, and there’s a sharp pain sometimes.’

  ‘Well, Niclas is going to have to take a look at you tonight when he comes home. You can’t lie here in this condition.’

  ‘Just no hospital.’ Stig waved his hand to fend off the idea.

  ‘That’s for Niclas to decide, not you.’ Lilian plucked little bits of lint from the bedspread and scanned the room. ‘Where’s the breakfast tray?’

  He pointed to the floor. Lilian leaned over him and looked.

  ‘You haven’t eaten a thing,’ she said crossly.

  ‘Couldn’t face it.’

  ‘You’ve got to eat or you’ll never get well, you know that. Now I’m going downstairs to fix you some tomato soup. You have to get some nourishment inside you.’

  He merely nodded. There was no point in arguing with Lilian when she was in this mood.

  Annoyed, she stomped down the stairs. Why did she always have to do everything?

  The reception desk was empty when Martin and Gösta came back to the station. Annika must have taken an early lunch. Martin noticed a big pile of note papers in Annika’s handwriting on the desk. Probably tips that had started coming in from the public.

  ‘Are you going to lunch soon?’ Gösta asked.

  ‘Not quite yet,’ said Martin. ‘Can we eat at noon?’

  ‘I’ll probably starve to death by then, but it beats eating alone.’

  “Okay, it’s a deal,’ said Martin and went into his office. He’d had a brainstorm on the way back from Fjällbacka; he flipped through the telephone book until he found what he needed.

  ‘I’m looking for Eva Nestler,’ he told the receptionist who answered. He was told that there were calls ahead of him, and he waited patiently in the phone queue. As usual, some disgusting canned music was playing, but after a while he started thinking that it sounded pretty good. Martin glanced at the clock. He’d been waiting for almost a quarter of an hour. He decided to give it five more minutes, then he’d hang up and try again later. Just then he heard Eva’s voice in the receiver.

  ‘Eva Nestler.’

  ‘Hello, my name is Martin Molin. I don’t know if you remember me, but we met a couple of months ago in connection with an investigation of suspected child abuse. I’m calling from the Tanumshede police station,’ he hastened to add.

  ‘Yes, I remember. You work with Patrik Hedström,’ said Eva. ‘I’ve mostly been in contact with Patrik, but I recall meeting you as well.’ There was a moment’s silence. ‘What can I help you with?’

  Martin cleared his throat. ‘Are you familiar with a condition called Asperger’s?’

  ‘Asperger’s syndrome. Yes, I’m familiar with it.’

  ‘We have a …’ he fell silent and wondered how to express himself. Morgan wasn’t quite classifiable as a suspect, rather as a person of interest. He started over. ‘We’ve encountered Asperger’s in a case we’re working on right now, and I’d like a little more information about what it involves. Do you think you could help me?’

  ‘Well,’ said Eva hesitantly, ‘I think I’d need a little time to refresh my knowledge.’ Martin could hear her paging through something that must be an appointment diary. ‘I’d actually set aside an hour after lunch to do some errands today, but for the police …’ She paged further. ‘Otherwise I don’t have a slot free until Tuesday.’

  ‘Right now would be fine,’ Martin hurried to say. He’d actually hoped to be able to do it on the phone, but it wasn’t much trouble to drive over to Strömstad.

  ‘So I’ll see you in about forty-five minutes then?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Martin. Then a thought occurred to him. ‘Should I bring
you some lunch?’

  ‘Sure, why not? A little return on my tax money won’t hurt. I’m just joking,’ she added quickly, worried that her joke might be misunderstood.

  ‘No problem,’ Martin laughed. ‘Any special requests for what sort of food your tax money should generate?’

  ‘Something light would be good, maybe a salad. Most people try to slim down for summertime, but I seem to be doing the opposite. I’m trying to lose weight for winter instead.’

  ‘A salad it is,’ said Martin and hung up.

  He took his jacket and stopped outside Gösta’s door.

  ‘Hey, we’ll have to skip lunch today. I have to drive up to Strömstad and talk to Eva Nestler, the psychologist we usually consult.’ Gösta’s expression forced him to add, ‘Of course you can come along if you like.’

  For a moment Gösta looked as though he wanted to do just that, until they both heard the rain begin to pour outside the windows. Gösta shook his head.

  ‘Heck, no. I’m staying inside in this weather. I guess I’ll give Patrik and Ernst a call and see if they can bring back something edible.’

  ‘You do that. I’m off now.’

  Gösta didn’t reply. Martin hesitated a moment inside the front doors as he turned up his collar, then jogged over to his car. Even though it wasn’t parked very far away, he managed to get soaked.

  Half an hour later, he parked by the river a stone’s throw from Eva’s office. It was located in the same building as the Strömstad police station, and he assumed the two departments had a good deal to do with each other. The police often had use for a psychologist’s services, often when a victim of abuse needed professional help after an investigation was concluded. There weren’t many practicing psychologists in the county; Eva was one of the few. She had an excellent reputation and was considered highly skilled. Patrik had nothing but good things to say about her, and Martin hoped she could help him.

  In reality, he wasn’t quite sure why he wanted to consult her. Morgan was not a suspect, after all, but Martin’s curiosity had been aroused by what lay behind the man’s strange behavior and character. Asperger’s was something altogether new for Martin, and it couldn’t hurt to know more about it.

  He shook the rain off his jacket before he hung it in the cloakroom. His shirt underneath was also damp, and he shivered a bit. In a paper bag he had two salads that he’d bought at Coffee and Buns, and Eva Nestler’s receptionist had apparently been forewarned of his arrival. She merely nodded in the direction of the door with Eva’s nameplate. He knocked discreetly.

  ‘Hello, that was fast.’ Eva glanced at the clock. ‘I hope you didn’t break any speed limits on the way over here.’ She feigned a disapproving look and he laughed.

  ‘No, no danger of that. Besides, I happen to know that the police are busy with other things today,’ he whispered conspiratorially. He recalled that he’d liked Eva the first time he met her. She had a special talent for making people relax in her company. It must be a gift particular to people in her profession.

  Martin set out the lunch on a little table in her office.

  ‘I hope shrimp salad will do.’

  ‘That’s perfect,’ replied Eva, getting up from her chair behind the desk and sitting down at the table.

  ‘Actually I’m fooling myself,’ she said as she poured the entire contents of the little container of dressing on the salad. ‘After all this liquid fat has covered the veggies, I might as well have ordered a hamburger. But a salad feels better psychologically. That way I might be able to convince myself that I can indulge in a piece of cake tonight.’ She laughed so hard her breasts jiggled.

  From her plump figure Martin guessed that she probably convinced herself of that quite often, but she was elegantly dressed and her gray hair was cut fashionably short.

  ‘So, you wanted to know more about Asperger’s syndrome,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, I encountered it for the first time yesterday, and at this stage I’m mostly just curious,’ said Martin as he impaled a shrimp on his fork.

  ‘Well, I do know something about it, but I’ve never had a patient with that diagnosis, so I had to read up on the subject before you came. What is it you want to know, more specifically? There’s plenty to say.’

  ‘Let’s see,’ Martin said, giving it some thought. ‘Maybe you could tell me a bit about what characterizes someone with Asperger’s, and how you can tell that’s what it is.’

  ‘First of all, it’s a diagnosis that hasn’t been in use until quite recently. It probably appeared about fifteen years ago, but it was first documented back in the forties by Hans Asperger. It’s a functional disorder. Some researchers now claim he may have had the malady himself.’

  Martin nodded and let Eva continue.

  ‘It’s a form of autism, but the person most often has normal to high intelligence.’

  Martin recognized this from what Morgan had said.

  Eva went on, ‘What makes it hard to describe Asperger’s syndrome is that the symptoms can vary from one individual to another, and they’re divided into several groups. Some people withdraw inside themselves, more like classic autism, while others are extremely outgoing. And Asperger’s is seldom discovered early. Parents may be concerned that their child’s behavior is abnormal in some way, without being able to say exactly what’s wrong. And as I said, the problem is that it can vary considerably from one child to another. Some Asperger’s children start talking unusually early, some unusually late, and the same is true of starting to walk and lots of other developmental areas. Normally the problem doesn’t show up before school age, but that’s also when it can be wrongly diagnosed as ADHD or DAMP.’

  ‘And how does the problem manifest itself then?’ Martin was so fascinated that he was forgetting to eat his lunch. Before he applied for the police academy he had toyed with the idea of studying psychology, and sometimes he wondered whether he might have made the wrong choice. Nothing was as interesting as the human psyche in its myriad forms.

  ‘The most obvious symptoms are probably the difficulties that arise with social interaction. The children consistently behave in an improper fashion. They don’t understand social rules, and they may have a tendency to blurt out the truth, which obviously makes it hard to get along with other people. There is also a strong egocentricity. They have a hard time relating to other people’s feelings and experiences and care only about themselves. Often they don’t have much need to be with other people. If they do play with other children, they either try to decide everything or they completely submit to the other children’s will. The latter is more common among girls with the syndrome. Another clear indication is if the child develops a special interest that becomes an obsession. Children with Asperger’s have the capacity to become incredibly detail-oriented, and they often learn everything about their special interest. For adults it’s often exciting to watch the child develop his knowledge, but Asperger children have such one-track minds and are so often consumed by their special passion that others soon lose interest. When the children reach school age, obsessive thoughts and actions start becoming noticeable. They have to do things in a certain way, and they also force people around them to do things that way.’

  ‘What about language?’ asked Martin, recalling Morgan’s odd way of expressing himself.

  ‘Yes, language is another strong indicator.’ Eva scraped the last of her salad from the plastic bowl and then continued. ‘It’s one of the big difficulties that people with Asperger’s syndrome encounter in their daily lives. When humans communicate, we usually express much more than what our words say. We use body language and facial expressions, we modify the intonation of a sentence, use different emphasis, and vigorously employ similes and metaphors. All these things present difficulties for someone with Asperger’s. An expression such as “we’ll probably have to skip coffee” could be understood as meaning that one should jump over a coffee cup. When speaking themselves, they also have a hard time hearing how they sound in compariso
n to other people. Their voice could be very soft, almost a whisper, or very loud and shrill. Often it is droning and monotonous.’

  Martin nodded. Morgan’s voice certainly fit with that description.

  ‘The person I met also had an odd way of moving. Is that common?’

  Eva nodded. ‘Motor function is also a distinct sign. It can be awkward, stiff, or extremely minimalistic. Stereotypy also occurs frequently.’

  She could see from Martin’s expression that she needed to explain that last term.

  ‘That means stereotypical movements that are repeated, such as small waves of the hand.’

  ‘If the person with Asperger’s has trouble with motor skills, does it apply to everything he does?’ Martin remembered how Morgan’s fingers flew smoothly over the keyboard.

  ‘No, not really. It’s common that in conjunction with his special interest, or if he’s doing something that particularly fascinates him, he can have very well functioning fine-motor skills.’

  ‘What are the teen years like for kids with this syndrome?’

  ‘Well, that’s a whole other story. But would you like some coffee before we go on? It’s a lot of information to take in. Are you going to take notes, by the way, or is your memory that good?’

  Martin pointed to the little tape recorder he’d placed on the table. ‘My assistant will take care of that. But I won’t say no to a cup of coffee.’ His stomach was grumbling a little. Salad was not what he usually ate for lunch, and he knew he’d have to stop at a hot dog stand on the way back.

  After a while Eva came back with a cup of steaming hot coffee in each hand. She sat down and continued her lecture.