Instead, she sat down in the easy chair by the window and looked out over the courtyard. She let the dusk slowly descend over her life.
18
Fjällbacka 1925
He whistled as his sledgehammer struck the chisel. After the boys were born, he regained the joy he used to feel in his work, and each day he went to the quarry with the certainty that his life once again had meaning. The twins were everything he had ever dreamed of. They were only six months old, but already they controlled his world and comprised his whole universe. The image of their bald little heads and toothless smiles kept coming back to him as he worked. It made him long for evening so he could go home to them.
The thought of his wife, though, made his otherwise even-handed blows on the granite lose their rhythm for a moment. She still hadn’t bonded with the boys. The doctor had assured him that for some women it could take a long time to recover from such a difficult labor, and that in those cases months could go by before they bonded with their children. But by now half a year had passed. And Anders had tried his best to make things easier for Agnes. Despite his long workdays, he always tended to the boys when they woke up at night, and since she refused to nurse them, he could also help with feeding them. And he was happy to change their diapers and play with them. At the same time, he had to spend long hours at the quarry, so Agnes was alone with them while he was away. This worried him. When he came home, he often found that they hadn’t been changed all day and they were crying desperately from hunger. He had tried to talk to his wife about it, but she just turned her head away and refused to listen.
Sometimes he thought he saw a strange, dangerous gleam in Agnes’s eyes, but it always vanished too quickly for him to be sure. But sometimes he would remember that look as he worked, and those times he had to stop himself from throwing down his sledgehammer and running home, just to make sure that the boys were sitting there on the floor and playing, rosy-cheeked and healthy.
Finally he had gone over to the Janssons’ and asked Karin, Jansson’s wife, if she’d consider coming over occasionally to see how his family was doing while he was at work. She’d given him a searching look, but although her eight kids took up almost all her time, she promised without hesitation to look in on his two as often as she could. Anders was eternally grateful to her for this. A stone had been lifted from his heart with that promise.
Lately he had taken on even more work than usual. Somehow he had to find a way to make Agnes more satisfied with their life, otherwise she would make all of them miserable. Ever since they moved to the company compound, she had nagged him to rent a place somewhere in town instead, and Anders had decided to do all he could to grant that wish. If it would make her even a bit more kindly disposed to him and the boys, his long hours of work would be more than worth it. He put aside every extra öre he could spare. Now that he had control of the household funds, it was possible to save, even though it meant that their meals became rather monotonous. His mother hadn’t taught him how to cook many dishes, and he always bought the cheapest ingredients he could find. Agnes reluctantly began to take on some of a wife’s duties and, after some practice, what she cooked began to be actually edible, so Anders had some hope that he could give up responsibility for making dinner in the near future.
If they could only move into the town of Fjällbacka, where things were a little more lively, the situation might get brighter. Maybe they could even have a real married life again, something she had denied him for over a year.
Before him, the stone parted in a perfect cleavage right down the middle. He took it as a good omen—his plan was leading him in the right direction.
At precisely ten past ten o’clock, the train rolled in. Mellberg had already been waiting for half an hour. Several times he had been on the verge of turning the car around and driving back home. But that would have been worse. His visitor would simply ask around about how to find Mellberg, which would instantly start the gossip. He just needed to confront this entire disagreeable situation head on. Still, he had to admit to a certain excitement, too, thought it had taken him a while to identify it as such. It was so foreign to him to feel anticipation for something, anything.
Sheer nervousness made it impossible for him to stand still on the platform. He shifted and paced as he awaited the train’s arrival, wishing for the first time that he was a smoker, so that he could have calmed his nerves with a cigarette. Before he left the house he had cast a wistful glance at the bottle of Absolut vodka, but resisted. He didn’t want to smell of liquor the first time they met. First impressions were important.
As he waited, he caught himself wondering again if it was even true, what she’d written. He didn’t know whether he wanted it to be true or not. Right now he was leaning toward hoping that the letter was true, no matter how strange that felt.
The train’s horn sounded in the distance, and Mellberg gave a start, sending the hair he had combed over the top of his scalp sliding down over one ear. With a swift and practiced motion, he flipped the strands of hair back into place and repositioned them. He didn’t want to disgrace himself right from the start.
The train came rolling in at such speed that at first Mellberg didn’t think it was going to stop. Maybe it would keep on going into the unknown and leave him standing there, alone with his feelings of eagerness and uncertainty. But at last the train slowed and with much screeching and general racket it came to a stop. He swept his eyes across the doors, realizing he had no idea if he would even recognize him. Shouldn’t he have put a carnation in his buttonhole or something? At least there wasn’t anyone else waiting on the platform, so he would be able to find Mellberg.
The door furthest back opened, and Mellberg felt his heart stop beating for a second. But it was just an elderly lady who climbed gingerly down the steps. But then his visitor emerged. And as soon as Mellberg saw him, all doubt was erased. He was filled with a quiet, strange, aching joy.
The weekends went by so fast, but Erica enjoyed having Patrik at home. Saturday and Sunday were the days she focused on. Then Patrik could take care of Maja in the mornings, and one of the nights she usually pumped milk so he could feed Maja when she woke. That meant that Erica got a whole night of blessed sleep, even though she paid a price by waking up with two aching, leaking breasts that felt like cannonballs. But it was worth it. She never would have imagined that nirvana was being allowed to sleep a whole night undisturbed.
But this weekend had felt different. Patrik had gone in to work a few hours on Saturday, and even at home he was silent and tense. Even though she understood why, it annoyed her that he was unable to devote himself completely to her and Maja. Her disappointment in turn gave her a guilty conscience and made her feel like a bad person. If Patrik’s brooding might help solve Sara’s murder and give Charlotte and Niclas some peace, then Erica ought to be generous enough to excuse his lack of attention. But logic and rationality didn’t seem to be her strong suit these days.
On Sunday afternoon the overcast weather that had lasted all week finally broke, and they took Maja for a long walk in town. Erica couldn’t help being amazed at how the appearance of the sun could suddenly transform their surroundings so completely. In the storm and rain Fjällbacka had looked so barren, so implacable and gray, but now the town sparkled once again, wedged in at the base of the hill. No trace remained of the waves that had crashed against the docks and temporarily flooded Ingrid Bergman Square. Now the air was clear and fresh, and the water lay placid and gleaming as if it had never looked any other way.
Patrik pushed the stroller, and Maja for once had fallen asleep in it.
‘How are you doing, actually?’ Erica asked, and Patrik jumped, as if he were far, far away.
‘I’m the one who should be asking you that question,’ Patrik said, sounding guilty. ‘You have a hard enough time without worrying about me too.’
Erica stuck her arm in under his and leaned her head on his shoulder. ‘We both worry about each other, okay? And to answ
er your question first, things have been better, I have to admit. But they’ve been worse too. So now answer my question.’
She recognized Patrik’s state of mind. It had been the same during the last murder investigation he’d handled, and this time it was a child who was the victim. A child they had known personally.
‘I just don’t know how to proceed anymore. I’ve felt that way ever since we began this investigation. I went over everything again and again when I drove in to the station yesterday, but I’ve run out of ideas.’
‘Is it true that nobody saw anything?’
He sighed. ‘Yes, all they saw was Sara leaving the house. After that, there was no trace of her. It’s as if she vanished in a puff of smoke and then suddenly turned up in the sea.’
‘I tried to call Charlotte a while ago, and Lilian answered,’ Erica said cautiously. ‘She sounded unusually curt, even for her. Is there something I should know about?’
Patrik hesitated, but finally decided to tell her. ‘We did a crime-scene search at their house on Friday. Lilian was a bit upset about it …’
Erica raised her eyebrows. ‘I can imagine. But why did you do that? I mean, someone outside the family must have done it, don’t you think?’
Patrik shrugged. ‘Yes, more than likely. But we can’t just assume that’s true. We have to investigate everything.’ He was starting to get irritated that everyone was questioning the way he did his job. With no clues leading in a specific direction, all directions were equally important.
Erica could hear his irritation, and she patted him on the arm to show that she meant no offense. She felt him relax.
‘Do we need to get something for dinner?’ They were walking past the old clinic that was now a day-care center, and saw the Konsum supermarket sign up ahead.
‘Something good.’
‘Do you mean dinner or dessert?’ said Patrik, turning down the little hill toward the Konsum car park. Erica shot him a look, and Patrik laughed.
‘Both,’ she said. ‘What I was thinking …’
When they emerged from the market with plenty of goodies loaded onto the stroller’s undercarriage, Patrik asked in surprise, ‘Did I imagine it, or was the woman behind us in the queue giving me a funny look?’
‘No, you weren’t imagining it. That was Monica Wiberg, the Florins’ neighbor. Lilian has been feuding with her husband, Kaj. They have a son named Morgan, who I hear is a little strange.’
Now Patrik understood why the woman had been staring at him with such anger. He wasn’t the officer who had questioned her son, but she may not have known that.
‘He has Asperger’s,’ said Patrik.
‘Who?’ said Erica, who had already forgotten what they were talking about and was fully engrossed in arranging Maja’s cap, which had twisted to one side as she slept, exposing her ear to the autumn chill.
‘Morgan Wiberg,’ said Patrik. ‘Gösta and Martin went over to talk to him, and he told them himself that he has something called Asperger’s.’
‘What’s that?’ said Erica curiously, letting Patrik push the stroller once Maja’s ears were both properly covered.
Patrik told her some of what he’d learned from Martin on Friday. It had been a good idea to go out and meet the psychologist.
‘Is he a suspect?’ Erica asked.
‘No, not the way things look at the moment. But he seems to be one of the last people who saw Sara, so it doesn’t hurt to know as much about him as possible.’
‘Just so that you’re not targeting him because he’s a little odd.’ She bit her tongue as soon as she said that. ‘Sorry, I know that you’re more professional than that. It’s just that in small towns like this, people who are different are always the ones singled out whenever something bad happens. Blame it on the village idiot, that sort of thing.’
‘On the other hand, deviant individuals always receive greater respect in small communities than in the big cities. Here at least an eccentric character is just another part of the daily scene and is accepted as he is. In the big city, he would end up considerably more isolated.’
‘You’re right, but that kind of tolerance has always rested on shaky ground. That’s all I’m saying.’
‘Yeah, well, in any case Morgan isn’t being treated any differently from anyone else, I can assure you of that.’
Erica didn’t reply but stuck her arm under Patrik’s again. The rest of the walk home, they talked about other things. But she could sense that his thoughts were somewhere else the whole time.
By Monday the fine weather was gone again. Now it was just as gray and bitterly cold as before, and Patrik huddled up in a big, thick woolen sweater as he sat at his desk. This office was never comfortable, it seemed. Last summer the air conditioning hadn’t worked, making it feel like a sauna. Now the raw damp seeped through the walls, and he shivered. The telephone rang.
‘You have a visitor,’ Annika told him.
‘I’m not expecting anyone.’
‘A Jeanette Lind says she wants to see you.’
Patrik wondered what she wanted.
‘Send her in,’ he said, getting up to greet the curvaceous little brunette. They shook hands politely in the corridor outside his office. Jeanette looked haggard, and he wondered what had happened since last Friday when he’d last seen her. Too many evening shifts at the restaurant, or something more personal?
‘Would you like a cup of coffee?’ he asked, and she nodded.
‘Have a seat, and I’ll bring you some.’ He pointed to one of his guest chairs.
A moment later, he set two cups on his desk.
‘So, how can I help you?’ He put his forearms on the desk and leaned forward.
It took a few seconds before she replied. With her eyes lowered, she warmed her hands on the coffee cup and seemed to be pondering how to begin. Then she tossed back her thick, dark hair and looked him straight in the eye.
‘I lied about Niclas being with me last Monday,’ she said.
Patrik’s kept his expression steady, but inside he felt something leap in his chest.
‘Tell me more,’ he said calmly.
‘I just told you what Niclas had asked me to say. He gave me the times and asked me to say that he’d been with me then.’
‘And did he say why he wanted you to lie on his behalf?’
‘All he said was that everything would be complicated otherwise. That it was much simpler for everyone if I gave him an alibi.’
‘And you didn’t question that?’
She shrugged. ‘No, I had no reason to do so.’
‘Even though a child had been murdered, you didn’t think there was anything remarkable in him asking you to give him an alibi?’ Patrik said incredulously.
Jeanette shrugged again. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I mean, Niclas would hardly have killed his own daughter.’
Patrik didn’t reply. After a moment he asked, ‘Niclas hasn’t said anything about what he was actually doing that morning?’
‘No.’
‘And you have no theory?’
Once again the impassive shrug of her shoulders. ‘I just assumed he took the morning off. He works hard, and his wife is always nagging him about how he should help around the house, although she’s at home all day long. He probably needed a little free time.’
‘And why would he risk his marriage by asking you to give him an alibi?’ said Patrik, trying to read something in Jeanette’s aloof expression. But in vain. The only thing that revealed any emotion was the way she was nervously drumming her long nails on her coffee cup.
‘I have no idea,’ she said impatiently. ‘He probably thought that it was better to be discovered with a lover than to be suspected of the murder of his own daughter.’
Patrik thought that sounded far-fetched, but it was true that people reacted strangely under stress.
‘If you thought it was okay to give him an alibi as late as last Friday, why have you changed your mind now?’
Her nails kept drumming on t
he coffee cup. They were extremely well manicured, even Patrik could see that.
‘I … I thought about it all weekend, and it doesn’t feel right. I mean, a child is dead, isn’t she? I mean, police should be told everything.’
‘Yes, we should,’ said Patrik. He wasn’t sure that he believed her explanation, but it didn’t matter. Niclas no longer had an alibi for Monday morning, and even worse, he’d asked someone to give him a phony one. That was enough to send a number of warning flags to the top of the mast.
‘Well, I must thank you for coming here to tell me this,’ Patrik said, getting to his feet. Jeanette held out a dainty little hand and held on to his a bit too long as they said goodbye. Unconsciously Patrik wiped his hand on his jeans as soon as she was outside the door. There was something about that young woman that made him really dislike her. But thanks to Jeanette, they now had a solid lead to go on. It was time to look more closely at Niclas Klinga.
All at once Patrik remembered the note that Annika had given him. In a slight panic, he felt in his back pocket. When he fished out the little piece of paper, he was extremely grateful that they hadn’t gotten around to washing clothes this weekend. He read the note and then sat down to make some phone calls.
19
Fjällbacka 1926
The two-year-olds were shouting noisily behind her, and Agnes hushed them in annoyance. They were always making such a racket. She was convinced they were spending too much time over at the Janssons’, picking up things from their snotty kids. So what if the neighbor woman had pretty much brought up her sons as her own ever since they were six months old? Things were going to change, now that they were moving into town. Agnes looked back with pleasure from her seat on the moving cart. She hoped she would never have to see that miserable shack again. Things were finally moving in the right direction, back to the life she deserved. She was at least going to live among sensible people in surroundings that were bustling and lively. The house they were renting wasn’t really much to brag about, even though the rooms were cleaner and brighter, and even a few square meters bigger, than those in the shack. But at least the house was located in Fjällbacka. She could step off the front porch without sinking to her ankles in mud, and she could meet people who were considerably more stimulating than these working-class wives who did nothing but produce one kid after another. Finally she would be back among her own kind. It didn’t occur to Agnes that, for the women in town, she now belonged to the same crowd of cutter wives she scorned. Or perhaps she thought they would see that she was different.
The Stonecutter: A Novel (Pegasus Crime) Page 22
