The Stonecutter: A Novel (Pegasus Crime)

by Camilla Lackberg

  He poked at him with his toe. ‘Hey, Simon, time to wake up.’

  The boy ignored him and turned over on his side with his face to the back of the sofa.

  Mellberg kept poking him mercilessly. Naturally he also appreciated a chance to sleep in, but this wasn’t supposed to be some holiday camp.

  ‘Do you hear me? Get up, I said.’

  Still no reaction, and Mellberg sighed. Well, he’d have to bring up the heavy artillery.

  He went out to the kitchen, let the water run in the tap until it was ice-cold, filled a pitcher full of water and then walked calmly into the living room. With a cheerful smile on his lips he poured the ice-cold water over his son’s uncovered body and got precisely the effect he wanted.

  ‘What the fuck!’ yelled Simon, and was off the sofa in a flash. He shivered and grabbed a towel from the floor to dry himself off.

  ‘What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?’ he said sullenly and pulled on a T-shirt with a skull on it and the name of a heavy metal band.

  ‘Breakfast is served in five minutes,’ said Mellberg as he went out to the kitchen whistling. For a brief moment he had forgotten his career-related worries and was instead extremely pleased with the plan he’d worked out for their future father-and-son activities. Lacking porn clubs and casinos, they would have to take what there was, and in Tanumshede that meant the petroglyph museum. Not because he was particularly interested in ancient doodles, but it was at least something that they could do together. Because he had decided that would be the new theme of their relationship—together. No more playing video games hour after hour, no more TV-watching until late in the evening since it effectively killed all communication. Instead they would have dinner together with fruitful discussions and afterwards possibly a game of Monopoly to round out the evening.

  He enthusiastically presented his plans to Simon over breakfast but had to admit that he was a bit disappointed at the boy’s reaction. Here he was taking great pains to do everything so that they could get to know each other. He was renouncing the activities he personally enjoyed and sacrificing himself by going to the museum with the boy. Simon’s response was to sit there staring morosely into his bowl of Rice Krispies. Spoiled, that’s what he was. His mother had sent him to Mellberg in the nick of time. The boy clearly needed discipline and guidance.

  Mellberg sighed as he headed off to work. Being a parent was a heavy responsibility.

  Patrik was at work by eight o’clock. He too had slept poorly, more or less simply waiting for it to be morning so he could get going on what had to be done. The first thing was to check whether last night’s conversation had made any difference. His finger trembled a little as he dialed the number that he now knew by heart.

  ‘Uddevalla Hospital.’

  He gave the name of the doctor he wanted to speak with and waited impatiently as he was paged. After what seemed like an eternity, the call was put through.

  ‘Yes, hello, this is Patrik Hedström. We spoke last night. I wonder whether my information has been of any use.’

  He listened tensely and then made a gesture of victory with his clenched fist. Yes! He’d been right!

  After he hung up, he began whistling. Now that his hunch had proved correct, they would have a lot to do today.

  His second call was to the prosecutor. He had phoned him with an identical request less than a year ago, and since what he had asked was so unusual, he hoped that the prosecutor wouldn’t have a fit.

  ‘Yes, you heard correctly. I need to get permission for an exhumation. Again, yes. No, not the same grave. We’ve already opened that one, haven’t we?’ He spoke slowly and clearly and tried not to sound impatient. ‘Yes, it’s urgent this time as well, and I’d be grateful if the request could be processed immediately. All the required documents are on the way by fax. You’ve probably received them already. And the documents refer to two requests, both the exhumation order and another search warrant.’

  The prosecutor still seemed dubious, and Patrik felt irritation creeping over him. With a hint of sharpness in his voice, he said, ‘We’re investigating the homicide of a child, and another person’s life may be at risk. This is not a request that I make lightly. I’m doing so after careful consideration and only because the continued progress of the investigation requires it. So I’m counting on your office to pull out all the stops to process this as fast as humanly possible. I would like a reply before lunch. Regarding both matters.’

  Then he hung up and hoped that his little outburst wouldn’t have the opposite effect and put the brakes on the whole thing. But that was the chance he had to take.

  With the worst task behind him, he made a third call. Pedersen sounded tired when he answered. ‘Hello, Hedström,’ he said.

  ‘Good morning, good morning. Sounds like you had to work last night.’

  ‘Yes, things really piled up here in the wee hours. But we’re about to see the end of it, just some paperwork left and then I’m out of here.’

  ‘Sounds like a rough night,’ said Patrik and felt a little guilty because he’d rung the M.E. to nag him after what had obviously been a really tough shift.

  ‘I assume you want the test results from the ashes on the shirt and overalls. I actually got them in late yesterday afternoon, but then things got crazy here.’ He gave an exhausted sigh. ‘Did I hear right that the overalls belong to your daughter?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right,’ said Patrik. ‘We had a nasty incident at home the other day, but thank goodness she wasn’t hurt.’

  ‘That’s good to hear,’ said Pedersen. ‘I can understand why you’re on pins and needles waiting for the result.’

  ‘I won’t deny it. But I actually didn’t think that you’d have the results back already. So, what did you find out?’

  Pedersen cleared his throat. ‘Let’s see … Yes, there doesn’t seem to be any doubt. The composition of the ashes is identical with those we found in the girl’s lungs.’

  Patrik exhaled and then realized how tense he had been. ‘So that’s it, then.’

  ‘That’s it,’ said Pedersen.

  ‘Were you able to confirm the origin of the ashes? Are they from an animal or a human being?’

  ‘Unfortunately we’re not able to determine that. The remains have decayed too much, and the ash is too fine. With a bigger sample we might be able to trace it, but …’

  ‘I’ll wait for the news from a house search we’re doing. Looking for the ashes is at the top of our list. If we find them, I’ll send some over at once for analysis. Maybe you can find some larger particles,’ Patrik said hopefully.

  ‘Sure, but don’t count on it,’ said Pedersen.

  ‘I don’t count on anything any longer. But I can always hope.’

  With the formalities taken care of, Patrik drummed his feet impatiently on the floor. Before the decision arrived from the prosecutor, there wasn’t much of a practical nature he could accomplish. But he knew that he wouldn’t be able to sit in his office for a couple of hours twiddling his thumbs.

  He’d heard the others show up at work one by one, so he decided to call a meeting. They all had to be brought up to date, and he realized that more than one of his colleagues would probably raise an eyebrow at what he had set in motion last night and this morning.

  He was right. He got a lot of questions. Patrik replied as best he could, but there was still so much he couldn’t explain. Way too much.

  Charlotte rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. She and Lilian had each been given a bed in a little room near the intensive care unit, but neither of them got much sleep. Since Charlotte hadn’t brought anything with her from home, she’d slept in her clothes, and she felt incredibly rumpled and grubby when she sat up and began to stretch.

  ‘Have you got a comb?’ she asked her mother, who had also sat up.

  ‘Yes, I think so,’ said Lilian, digging in her worn handbag. She found one in the very bottom and handed it to Charlotte.

  In the bathroom Charlotte
stood in front of the mirror and studied herself critically. The light was mercilessly bright, clearly showing the dark circles under her eyes, and her hair stood on end in an odd, psychedelic hairdo. She carefully combed out the tangles until her hair had more or less regained her normal style. Not that her appearance mattered much now. Sara kept hovering in the periphery of her vision, holding her heart in an iron grip.

  Her stomach growled, but before she went down to the cafeteria she wanted to get hold of a doctor who could tell her how Stig was doing. Every time she heard footsteps outside the door during the night, she had woken up, prepared to see a doctor come in with a serious expression on his face. No one had disturbed them, so she assumed that no news was good news in this case. But she still wanted to hear something, so she went out in the corridor, wondering which way to go. A nurse who passed by showed her the way to the staff lounge.

  She pondered whether she should turn on her mobile and call home to Niclas first, but decided to wait until after she talked to the doctor. He and Albin were probably still asleep, and she didn’t want to risk waking them too early. Then Albin would be in a grumpy mood the rest of the day.

  She stuck her head in the doorway that the nurse pointed out and cleared her throat quietly. A tall man sat drinking coffee and leafing through a magazine. From what Niclas had said, it was unusual for a doctor to be able to sit down even for a moment, and she felt almost embarrassed at bothering him. Then Charlotte reminded herself why she was here and cleared her throat a little louder. This time he heard her and turned with an inquiring glance.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Excuse me, but my stepfather, Stig Florin, was admitted yesterday and we haven’t heard anything since late last night. Do you know how he’s doing?’ She thought she must have imagined the strange look the doctor gave her

  ‘Stig Florin? Oh yes, we stabilized his vital signs during the night and he’s awake now.’

  ‘He is?’ said Charlotte, beaming with joy. ‘Could we go in and see him? My mother’s here too.’

  Once again that strange expression. Charlotte was starting to get uneasy despite the good news. Was there something he wasn’t telling her?

  The reply came hesitantly. ‘I … I don’t think it’s a very good idea just yet. He’s still weak and needs to rest.’

  ‘Yes, but you could let my mother in for a moment, couldn’t you? It couldn’t hurt, and it might even help. They’re very close.’

  ‘I can imagine,’ said the doctor. ‘But I’m afraid you’ll have to wait. Right now nobody is being let in to see Mr. Florin.’

  ‘But why …?’

  ‘You’ll just have to wait,’ the doctor said brusquely, and she began to get really annoyed with him. Didn’t they have to undergo some sort of training in medical school about how to handle relatives? He was on the verge of being rude. Lucky for him she was the one who had come to talk to him and not Lilian. She could only imagine if he’d treated her mother like this. Charlotte knew that she herself was altogether too compliant in these types of situations, so she merely muttered something and then retreated to the corridor.

  As she returned to report back to Lilian, she wondered what to say. Something had felt very odd about that conversation. Things weren’t as they should be, but she couldn’t for the life of her understand what was wrong. Maybe Niclas could explain. She decided to take the risk and wake them up at home. She dialed the number on her mobile. Hopefully he’d be able to reassure her. She already sensed that she was probably imagining things.

  After the meeting, Patrik got into his car and drove to Uddevalla. It had felt impossible just to sit and wait; he had to do something. The whole way there, he kept turning over his options in his mind. They were all equally unpleasant.

  He’d been given directions to the ICU, but still got lost a couple of times before he found it. Why should it be so damned hard to find his way in a hospital? It must have to do with his unusually lousy sense of direction. Erica was the navigator in the family. Sometimes he thought she had some kind of sixth sense for steering them in the right direction.

  He stopped a nurse. ‘I’m looking for Rolf Wiesel. Where can I find him?’

  She pointed down the corridor. A tall man in a white coat was walking away from him, and he called out, ‘Doctor Wiesel?’

  The man turned round. ‘Yes?’

  Patrik hurried up to him and held out his hand. ‘Patrik Hedström, Tanumshede Police. We spoke last night.’

  ‘Ah, yes,’ said the doctor, pumping Patrik’s hand. ‘You called in the nick of time, I have to say. We wouldn’t have had any idea what sort of treatment to use otherwise, and without the right treatment we probably would have lost him.’

  ‘I’m so glad I could help,’ said Patrik, feeling embarrassed by the man’s enthusiasm. But a little proud too. It wasn’t every day he saved somebody’s life.

  ‘Come with me,’ said Dr. Wiesel, gesturing toward a door that led to the staff lounge. The doctor went first and Patrik followed.

  ‘Would you like some coffee?’

  ‘Yes, please,’ said Patrik, realizing that he’d forgotten to get a cup at the station. There had been so many thoughts buzzing round in his head that he’d even missed such a crucial part of his morning routine.

  They sat down at the sticky kitchen table and sipped their coffee, which was almost as bad as the coffee at the station.

  ‘Sorry, I think it’s been sitting in the pot too long,’ said Dr. Wiesel, but Patrik raised his hand as a sign that it didn’t matter.

  ‘So, how did you know our patient had arsenic poisoning?’ the doctor asked with curiosity. Patrik told him how he’d been watching a program on the Discovery Channel and then put it together with certain information he’d received earlier.

  ‘Well, it’s not the most common toxin, which is why we had a hard time identifying it,’ said Dr. Wiesel, shaking his head.

  ‘How does the prognosis look now?’

  “He’ll survive. But he’ll suffer the after-effects for the rest of his life. He’s probably been ingesting arsenic for a long time, and it seems as though the last dose he got was massive. But we’ll be able to determine that later.’

  ‘By analyzing his hair and nails?’ said Patrik, who had gleaned that much from the program last night.

  ‘Yes, precisely. Arsenic remains in the body in the hair and nails. By analyzing the quantity and comparing it with the speed at which hair and nails grow, we can see almost exactly when he received the doses of arsenic and even how big they were.’

  ‘And you’ve seen to it that he has no visitors?’

  ‘Yes, we did that last night when we confirmed that it was indeed arsenic poisoning. No visitors are allowed at all, except the relevant medical personnel. His stepdaughter was just here and asked after him. I told her only that his condition was stable and that they couldn’t see him yet.’

  ‘Good,’ said Patrik.

  ‘Do you know who did it?’ the doctor asked cautiously.

  Patrik thought for a moment before he replied. ‘We have our suspicions. Hopefully we’ll have them confirmed today.’

  ‘I hope so. Anyone capable of something like this shouldn’t be on the loose. Arsenic poisoning causes particularly painful symptoms before the onset of death. The victim goes through terrible suffering.’

  ‘So I understand,’ said Patrik grimly. ‘I hear there’s a disease that can be mistaken for arsenic poisoning.’

  The doctor nodded. ‘Guillain-Barré, yes. The body’s own immune system begins to attack the nerves and destroys the myelin sheath. That produces very similar symptoms to arsenic poisoning. If you hadn’t phoned us, it’s not too far-fetched to believe that we might have come up with that diagnosis.’

  Patrik smiled. ‘Well, it’s nice to get lucky sometimes.’ Then he turned serious again. ‘But as I said, make sure that no one is allowed in his room. Then we’ll do our job as best we can this afternoon.’

  They shook hands, and Patrik went back out to th
e corridor. He thought he glimpsed Charlotte in the distance, but then the door closed behind him.

  33

  Göteborg 1958

  It was on a Tuesday when her life reached its absolute nadir. A cold, gray, foggy Tuesday in November that would be eternally imprinted in her memory. Although actually she didn’t remember very many details. She mostly recalled that friends of her father came and told her that Mother had done something terrible and that Mary would have to go with the lady from social welfare. She had seen in their faces that they felt qualms of conscience that they couldn’t take her home with them at least for a few days. But none of Father’s snooty friends probably wanted to have such a fat, disgusting girl in their homes. So in the absence of any relatives, she’d had to pack a bag with the bare necessities and go with the little old lady who came to collect her.

  The years that followed she later remembered only in her dreams. Not really nightmares; she actually had no real reason to complain about the three foster homes she lived in over the next four years. But they left her with an all-consuming feeling that she meant nothing to anyone, other than as a curiosity. For that was what a girl became if she was fourteen, obscenely fat, and the daughter of a murderess. Her various foster parents had neither the desire nor the energy to get to know her, although they had nothing against gossiping about her mother when their curiosity-seeking friends and acquaintances came to visit to gawk at Mary. She hated every last one of them.

  Most of all she hated Mother. Hated her because she had abandoned her only daughter. Hated her because Mary had meant so little to her compared with a man; she was prepared to sacrifice everything for him, but nothing for her daughter. When she thought about what she’d sacrificed for Mother, the humiliation felt even greater. Mother had merely been using her, she saw that now. During her fourteenth year, she also understood what she should have realized long ago. That Mother had never loved her. She had tried to convince herself that what Mother said was true. That she did what she did because she loved Mary. The beatings, the cellar, and the spoonfuls of Humility. But it wasn’t true. Mother had enjoyed hurting Mary while she laughed behind her back.