Footsteps on the stairs roused her from these weighty thoughts. She looked up and saw Niclas. A glance at the clock showed that there were still a couple of hours left until he was due home from work.
‘Hi, are you home already?’ she said in surprise, starting to get up.
‘Don’t get up, we need to talk.’ Her heart sank. Whatever it was he had to say, it wasn’t going to be good.
20
Fjällbacka 1928
As it turned out, life in the new house wasn’t the big improvement she had hoped for. Her new identity still took precedence over the person she had once been. With each passing year her bitterness grew, and the life she had lived before Anders seemed more like a distant dream. Had she really worn fine dresses, played the piano at elegant parties, and had suitors who competed to dance with her? Above all, was there actually a time when she could eat as much food and sweets as she liked?
She had inquired about her father, and to her satisfaction she heard that he was a broken man. He now lived alone in the big house and went out only to go to work. That pleased Agnes; she harbored a faint hope that he might take her back if his life had turned sufficiently miserable. But the years passed and nothing happened, and that hope was fading.
The boys were now four years old and completely incorrigible. They ran wild around the neighborhood, as small as they were, and Agnes had neither the desire nor the energy to discipline them properly. And Anders had even longer workdays now that he had to travel from town out to the quarry. He left before the boys woke up and came home after they had gone to bed. Only on Sundays could he spend a little time with them, and then they were so happy to have him home that they behaved like little angels.
They hadn’t had any more children, Agnes made sure of that. Anders had made some awkward attempts to rekindle their romance, but she’d had no difficulty saying no. The desire she once felt for him was utterly gone. Now she was merely disgusted, and she shuddered at the thought of feeling his dirty, lacerated fingers anywhere near her skin. Even his failure to protest the enforced celibacy made her contemptuous. What some people would call consideration, she called spinelessness, and the fact that he still did most of the housework only reinforced that image. No real man would wash his children’s clothes or make his own bag lunch, even if he only did so because she refused.
‘Mamma, Johan hit me!’ Karl came running over to where she sat on the front steps smoking a cigarette, a bad habit she had acquired in recent years. She defiantly asked Anders for money to buy cigarettes, always half-hoping that he would object.
Now she cast a cool glance the crying boy before her and then slowly blew a cloud of smoke in his face. He started to cough and rubbed his eyes. He pressed up against her in an attempt to find some solace, but she refused to respond with affection. It was up to Anders to dole out endearments. He spoiled the boys so much that she didn’t need to make them mamma’s boys too. Brusquely she pushed Karl away and gave him a swat on the bottom.
‘Don’t blubber—just hit him back,’ she said calmly, blowing another puff of smoke up into the clear spring air.
Karl gave her a look that contained all the sorrow he felt at being rejected once again. Then he lowered his head and slunk over toward his brother.
Not long ago the neighbor woman had actually had the nerve to come over and tell Agnes that she ought to keep a better eye on her kids. She’d seen them playing alone out on the wharf by the freight dock. Agnes had merely given the ugly little woman a dirty look and then calmly told her to mind her own business. Considering that her oldest daughter had gone to the city and, according to rumor, made her living as a stripper, she was hardly the one to tell Agnes how to take care of her children. Wounded, the old woman walked off muttering about ‘poor boys,’ but she hadn’t dared to come back, which was exactly what Agnes had intended.
She leaned back in the spring sunshine. The rays felt so good on her face, but she reminded herself not to enjoy it for too long. She needed to keep the white complexion that was the mark of an upper-class woman. The only thing she had left from her former life was her looks, and that was something she exploited to the utmost, trying to put a little silver lining on her otherwise dreary existence. It was satisfying to see how much she could glean from the shopkeeper in exchange for acquiescing to an embrace or maybe more, depending on what was being offered. In that way she’d been able to bring home sweets and extra food, though she shared none of it with her family. She’d even secured a bit of silk that she carefully hid from Anders. For the time being she had to be content with touching it occasionally, rubbing it against her cheek to feel its smoothness. The butcher had also dropped a few hints, but there were limits to what she would do just to get extra meat. The shopkeeper was a relatively young man and good-looking, and not half bad when it came to exchanging kisses in the back room, but the butcher was a fat, greasy lout in his sixties. Agnes would need to get considerably more than a piece of rump steak for allowing those blood-crusted, sausage fingers underneath her dress.
She knew that people were talking behind her back. But once she realized that she would never regain her former social status, she no longer cared. Let them talk. If she could find ways to indulge in some of the good things in life, she had no intention of letting the views of a bunch of narrow-minded workers prevent her from doing so. And if it bothered Anders to hear what people were saying about his wife, then all the better. It was all his fault that she had ended up where she was, and it made her happy if she could cause him pain.
But the past few weeks something had been bothering her. She felt as though something was going on, but she wasn’t included. Several times she had come upon Anders lost in thought, contemplating something important. On one occasion she had even asked him about it, but he had—unconvincingly—denied anything was going on. He was involved in something, she was sure of it. The whole thing was driving her crazy, but in this situation she knew her husband well enough to realize that it would do no good to push him. He could be stubborn if he set his mind to it.
Pensively, she picked up her packet of cigarettes and got up to go inside. She wondered briefly where the boys could have run off to, but figured they could take care of themselves. For her part, she intended to take a little midday nap.
The afternoon passed slowly. Patrik had spent far too much time poring over Albin’s medical records. He wondered if he was right in waiting to bring in the social welfare authorities, but something told him that he had to know more before he did that. Once the bureaucratic wheels began to turn, it would be hard to stop the process. There was always a chance that there was a natural explanation, and no one would be willing to consider that possibility after social welfare stepped in. Besides, there hadn’t been any incidents since the Klinga family had moved to Fjällbacka. Apparently the situation had stabilized. But he couldn’t be entirely sure, and if Albin was hurt again the responsibility would be on his shoulders.
The ring of the telephone interrupted his gloomy thoughts.
‘Patrik Hedström.’
‘Hello, this is Lars Kalfors from the Göteborg police.’
‘Yes?’ said Patrik. The man sounded as though he was supposed to recognize his name, but he couldn’t recall hearing it before. And he had no idea why someone from Göteborg would be calling him.
‘We just sent over some information regarding an ongoing matter to you. It was sent to your attention, as I understood.’
‘Oh, yes?’ said Patrik, even more puzzled. ‘Offhand I can’t recall seeing any message from Göteborg. When was it sent, and what was it about?’
‘I got in touch with you over three weeks ago. I work in the division dealing with the sexual exploitation of children, and we’re tracking a child pornography ring. We stumbled on a person from your district, and that’s why I contacted you.’
Patrik felt like an idiot, but he had no idea what the man was talking about. ‘Who did you talk to here?’
‘Well, you seemed to be on par
ental leave that day, so I was referred to a … let me see …’ It sounded like the man was paging through his notes. ‘Here it is. I talked with an Ernst Lundgren.’
Patrik felt anger clouding his vision. He would strangle Ernst for this. With forced calm he said, ‘We must have had a communications glitch here at the station. Maybe you should give me the information instead. Then I can look into what’s happened.’
‘Of course, I can do that.’
Kalfors gave him a broad outline of what their work had involved, and how they came to be working on the child pornography ring that had now been given high priority. When he came to the bit where the Tanumshede police station might be able to contribute something, Patrik gasped. He forced himself to listen to the whole account, then promised they’d give the matter immediate attention. After that, he offered the usual polite phrases. But as soon as he hung up he was on his feet. He crossed his office in two strides and yelled out into the corridor, ‘ERNST!’
Erica was sitting on the sofa, trying to sort out her thoughts, when a knock on the door made her jump again. She guessed who it was and went to open the door. Charlotte stood outside. She had no coat on and looked like she’d run the whole way from her house. Sweat was running down her forehead, and she was shaking uncontrollably.
‘My God, you look awful,’ said Erica, but instantly regretted her choice of words and swept Charlotte into the warmth of the house.
‘Is this a bad time?’ Charlotte asked pitifully, and Erica shook her head.
‘Of course not. You’re welcome here any time, you know that.’
Charlotte just nodded, still shivering, her arms hugging her body. Her hair was plastered to her head from sweat and the damp air, and a stray lock hung into her eyes. She looked like a stray puppy.
‘Would you like some tea?’ asked Erica.
Charlotte nodded gratefully. She had a frantic look in her eye, which mixed disturbingly with the haunted expression that had been there ever since she got the news about Sara.
‘Have a seat, I’ll be right back,’ Erica said and went into the kitchen. She checked on Maja in the living room, who seemed content in her bouncer and merely cast an interested glance at Charlotte as she walked past.
‘I’ll get your sofa wet if I sit down,’ said Charlotte, as if that would be the end of the world.
‘Doesn’t matter, it’ll dry,’ said Erica. ‘Look, I only have wild strawberry tea, is that all right? Or do you think it’s too sweet?’
‘That’ll be fine,’ said Charlotte. Erica suspected she could have offered horse-flavored tea and Charlotte would have said the same thing.
Erica soon returned carrying a tray with two big cups of tea, a jar of honey, and two spoons. She set it on the table in front of the sofa and sat down next to Charlotte.
Charlotte cautiously raised her cup and sipped the tea. Erica sat quietly next to her and did the same. She didn’t want to force Charlotte into talking, but she felt an almost physical need for her friend to confide in her. Maybe she just didn’t know where to start. Erica wondered whether Niclas had told Charlotte that he’d been over to see her. After another long silence when Maja’s babble was the only sound, Charlotte answered that question.
‘I know that he’s been here. He told me. So you already know that he’s been seeing someone else. Again.’ A bitter laugh escaped Charlotte’s lips, and the tears that she had been holding back finally poured out.
‘Yes, I know,’ said Erica. Charlotte had told her about Niclas’s recurring affairs. But she’d also believed they’d stopped since they decided to start over in Fjällbacka. He had promised that it would be a new start, in all respects.
‘He’s been seeing her for several months. Can you imagine? For several months. Here, in Fjällbacka. And nobody caught them. He must have incredible damn luck.’ Her laugh now had a hint of hysteria to it, and Erica put a consoling hand on her knee.
‘Who is it?’ Erica said quietly.
‘Didn’t Niclas tell you?’
Erica shook her head, so Charlotte said, ‘Some little twenty-five year-old bitch. I don’t know her. Jeanette something.’ Charlotte waved her hand. The subject had shifted; it was Niclas’s betrayal that mattered.
‘I can’t tell you all the shit I’ve taken over the years. All the times I’ve forgiven him, hoping he would change. And this time it was really going to be different. We would get away from all the stuff that had happened, go live in a different town, become new people, or so I assumed.’ Then that ominous laugh again. But the tears kept pouring out.
‘I’m terribly sorry, Charlotte.’ Erica stroked her back.
‘We’ve been together so many years. We’ve had two children, we’ve gone through more than anyone could imagine. We’ve lost Sara, and now this.’
‘Why is he telling you now?’ said Erica, taking a sip of tea.
‘Didn’t he say?’ Charlotte asked in surprise. ‘You’re not going to believe this. But he told me it was because the police took him in for questioning today.’
‘They did?’ Not that Patrik told her everything about his work, but she had no clue that they were particularly interested in Niclas. ‘Why was that?’
‘He said he didn’t really know. But they’d found out about his affair with this girl, and that may have been why they wanted to check him out. But it’s all cleared up now, he said. They know he’d never hurt his own daughter; they just wanted him to answer a few questions.’
‘Are you sure that’s the only reason?’ Erica couldn’t resist asking. She knew enough about Patrik’s job to realize that it seemed like a rather thin excuse for bringing somebody in for questioning. Especially the victim’s father. At the same time she began to question Niclas’s motive for visiting her. After all, she was not only his wife’s friend, she was also living with the detective in charge of the investigation.
Charlotte looked confused. ‘Well, that was what he said, at any rate. But there was something …’
‘Yes?’
‘Oh, I don’t know, except it feels like he didn’t tell me everything, now that you mention it. But I was so focused on what he said about his lover that I was probably blind and deaf to everything else.’
Charlotte sounded so bitter that Erica wanted to take her in her arms and rock her like she did with Maja. But too much physicality always made her uncomfortable, so she just continued to stroke Charlotte’s back.
‘And you have no idea what other reasons there could be?’ Was she imagining things, or did a shadow suddenly cross Charlotte’s face?
Her reply at least was swift and confident. ‘No, I have no idea what it could be.’ Then she fell silent and took a little sip of tea. She was calmer than when she arrived, and wasn’t crying anymore. But the expression in her eyes was bleak, as if her broken heart was visible on her face.
‘How did you and Niclas actually meet?’ Erica asked, more out of curiosity than for any therapeutic reason.
‘Well, that’s a fine mess of a story, I have to say.’ For the first time her laugh sounded almost genuine. ‘He was in the class ahead of me in high school. I hadn’t really paid too much attention to him, because I had a crush on one of his friends. But for some reason Niclas got interested in me and started to show it, so gradually I began to like him too. We ended up going steady for a month or two, and then I got bored.’
‘You broke up with him?’
‘Don’t sound so surprised, you might offend me.’ She laughed and Erica joined in.
‘Unfortunately I didn’t stick to my decision for more than a couple of months. Then I went over to see him one evening, and the whole merry-go-round started up again. This time we were together all summer, and then he went off on a drinking trip with his buddies. When he returned, he first came up with a story, saying I might hear from the others that he’d disappeared on the last night. But he explained that he’d drunk a little too much and passed out behind a bar. That story didn’t hold up for long, and when the truth came out, our relation
ship was finished for the second time. After that, I was honestly relieved that I got away with just a few tears. Niclas started going through all the girls in Uddevalla as if every day was his last, and you wouldn’t believe some of the stories I heard. I’m ashamed to admit we slept together a few more times, but those episodes only made me feel worse. Looking back, it probably would have been better if the story had ended there, and Niclas had remained a simple teenage mistake. But even though I loathed so much of what he had done and who he had become, he stayed in the back of my mind for a long time. A couple of years later, we met by accident, and the rest is history, as they say. I suppose I should have known what I was getting myself into.’
‘People change. The fact that he cheated on you as a teenager doesn’t mean you should automatically assume he would do the same as an adult. Most people mature with time.’
‘Not Niclas, apparently,’ said Charlotte, bitterly. ‘But I can’t really bring myself to hate him. As I said, we’ve been through too much together, and sometimes I see glimpses of his true self. On some occasions I’ve seen him vulnerable and open, and that’s what I love about him. I also know about his family life, and what happened with his father when he was seventeen, so it felt like there were all sorts of mitigating circumstances. I just don’t understand why he would want to hurt me so badly.’
The Stonecutter: A Novel (Pegasus Crime) Page 25
