Buried Lies

by Kristina Ohlsson

  FO: So what happened? You called Bobby T. and said you were going to help him?

  MB: I called him. Then we had another meeting. And by then . . .

  FO: By then?

  MB (Whispering): By then, without even knowing it, I’d already started to dig my own grave.

  9

  Brunch with Belle. A sacred element in an otherwise relatively unstructured day. It was Sunday, and I needed to meet Bobby to tell him what I wanted to do with his sister’s case. I called him that morning and said I wanted to see him.

  ‘So you’ll help Sara?’

  As if she were still alive.

  His voice was even, gave no hint of either happiness or excitement. Bobby T. was like a glass of lager that had gone flat.

  ‘I’ll explain when we meet,’ I said. ‘Come to my office at four o’clock this afternoon.’

  Then I called Lucy and asked if Belle could stay with her while I met Bobby. She agreed.

  Belle chose her dress for our brunch with care. I’ve nurtured that in her, encouraging her to develop a feminine side. God knows the number of times I’ve been condemned for that. Defining certain things as feminine and others as masculine is evidently wrong. But not to me. And there the discussion stops, because I’m the one raising Belle, no one else.

  ‘What are you going to wear?’ Belle said, creeping into the bathroom where I was standing shaving.

  She was dressed in just her black pants.

  ‘I thought I’d wear my black chinos with a blue shirt,’ I said.

  I made sure I sounded serious, so she’d understand that the business of clothes was important, and not the sort of thing you decided on a whim.

  ‘What are you going to wear?’

  She tilted her head to one side.

  ‘The pink London dress.’

  I smiled. The London dress had actually been bought in Copenhagen, but from a British boutique.

  ‘That’s lovely,’ I said. ‘Yes, wear that.’

  Belle ran out of the bathroom. I heard her rummaging about in her bedroom, then she came back a little while later.

  ‘Help me,’ she said, pointing behind her head with her hand.

  I put the razor down and buttoned her dress.

  ‘Do you want me to tie your hair up?’ I said.

  She shook her head.

  ‘No, thanks, it should be long.’

  ‘You mean loose.’

  ‘No, long. Are we going now?’

  ‘Soon.’

  A short while later we walked out of the house, hand in hand. We took a taxi to Haga Forum, with Belle commenting excitedly about all the things she saw along the way.

  ‘Are you going to a party?’ the taxi driver said.

  ‘We’re going out for brunch,’ Belle said.

  Some people say children can’t sit still. Others say they aren’t interested in food. But I say it’s just a question of planning and having realistic expectations. I’m not expecting her to sit and spend two hours eating brunch like an adult. There’s not enough room in her body for that much food, and besides, she doesn’t understand the value of eating slowly. So I let her eat as quickly as she likes, and then she can sit and draw or listen to stories on my phone. Watching films is out of the question. Not in a restaurant, that just isn’t on.

  I myself eat slowly, and I eat a lot. Then I read a number of magazines that I’ve carefully selected to take with me. Sometimes Belle tries to get my attention, and I let myself be interrupted. Otherwise I let her look after herself on the other side of the table.

  On that particular Sunday I was unable to concentrate on my magazines. My impending meeting with Bobby was monopolising my thoughts. I felt naked and unprepared. I knew I ought to talk the matter through with someone before I went into action. Why should I spend my time trying to clear the name of a dead woman? No one would thank me for it. No one would pay me.

  Yet there was still something about the notorious case that exerted an almost magnetic power over me. It felt like I was staring into a dark pond where someone had hidden some treasure.

  ‘Dive in!’ a ghostly voice whispered inside my head. ‘Dive right in, for fuck’s sake!’

  Of course I was going to dive in.

  How could I resist?

  Stockholm is a seductive city. It’s the water that elevates it. The water lying like an immense mirror at the feet of the buildings. Venice can fuck right off. It’s Stockholm that shows how to make a city look good with water.

  Lucy’s flat was in a narrow street in Birkastan. There was no sign of either water or greenery there. Belle held my hand tight as we walked away from the car.

  ‘Why does she have to live where it’s so dark?’ she said.

  I often wondered the same thing.

  ‘You’ll have to ask her,’ I said.

  Lucy looked worried when I dropped Belle off.

  ‘Martin, what are you thinking of saying to him?’

  It was much harder to cut off Lucy than it was Marianne.

  ‘Can we talk about it when I come back?’ I said, already halfway out into the stairwell.

  ‘I think we should talk now,’ Lucy said.

  I sighed and slid back inside the flat.

  ‘I’m going to say that I can’t bring the dead back to life, but that I might be able to grant her a bit of peace.’

  Lucy looked like she wasn’t sure if she should laugh or cry.

  ‘I knew you wouldn’t be able to say no,’ she said.

  I squirmed. Felt like a schoolboy.

  ‘It’s too good, Lucy. It’s just too good.’

  ‘What’s he offering you in return?’

  ‘Nothing. Not money, anyway.’

  ‘I don’t like this,’ Lucy said. ‘You barely know who this Bobby is.’

  ‘Stop it,’ I said, and laughed. ‘Okay, I’m going now, see you later.’

  I opened the front door again. Belle had already run off into the flat and was nowhere in sight.

  ‘I’m serious, Martin. People are going to think you’re doing the bidding of a madman.’

  I wondered for a moment if there was something in that. I didn’t think there was. Who was really going to care if I had a bit of a poke about in an old police investigation? I wasn’t exactly thinking of going to the media with my dilemma.

  ‘I’ll be back soon to pick up Belle,’ I said.

  ‘Promise you’ll call if anything happens.’

  ‘Sure,’ I said.

  When I walked into the office I wondered what she’d meant. If ‘anything happened’, it was likely to be an emergency, and then Lucy would be the last person I turned to. A couple of solidly built cops would feel more reassuring.

  Or Boris, I thought.

  Boris was a man who had once come to my office to ask for help. A man with not one but both feet on the wrong side of the law. Boris was the sort of man who couldn’t handle daylight. A man of darkness who had to stick to the realm of shadows so he didn’t get spotted by the police or other sworn enemies. We both knew that he couldn’t have got the sort of help he’d had from me from many other places. Not that I’d done anything criminal. I’d never do that. But you could say that I’d done all I could for him. Partly out of curiosity, but also out of fear. I wasn’t sure how safe I’d feel if I turned down a guy like Boris. So I helped him. Which meant that we were connected by an unspecified bond of gratitude. His number was still in my phone. It made me feel safe.

  I was ten minutes early. I got up from my desk twice to adjust the lighting in the room. It was evidently summer outside, but you wouldn’t know it from the light. It was as dark as November.

  I ought to have done something else with those ten minutes instead of playing with the lamps. I ought to have thought through my decision one more time, re-examined it really thoroughly. Too much eagerness, too little reflection.

  He showed up right on time. His jeans came from a bygone age, his t-shirt was filthy. If anything, he smelled even more strongly of cigarette smoke than bef
ore.

  This time I stood up when Bobby came into the room. I shook his hand and invited him to sit down on one of the visitor’s chairs. Black wooden chairs that I’d had upholstered with zebra-skin. A souvenir from Tanzania.

  ‘Have you made up your mind?’ Bobby asked before his grubby denim backside landed on the zebra for the second time in a week.

  ‘I have,’ I said.

  I left a theatrical pause. It’s important to keep the upper hand in negotiations and ordinary conversations alike. Otherwise you never get anywhere.

  Bobby shuffled uncomfortably and I started to worry that the studs in his jeans would spoil my lovely chair. Maybe it would be best to get to the point.

  ‘I’ve decided to help your sister,’ I said.

  Bobby’s expression didn’t change.

  I waited.

  Bobby still didn’t say anything.

  Hadn’t he heard what I said?

  ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ I said. ‘I mean, I can’t promise you anything. Not a damn thing, actually. But I’ve got a bit of spare time, and it looks like you were right about Sara’s defence not being handled particularly well.’

  Bobby nodded slowly.

  ‘Good,’ he said, without showing any trace of the enthusiasm I’d been expecting. ‘I think I understand what you’re saying. You’ll look into the case, but you’re not promising anything. I’ll buy that. When do you start?’

  I felt slightly confused, affronted even, by his reaction. Why wasn’t he more excited? A bit of gratitude wouldn’t have done any harm.

  ‘I suppose I’ve already started,’ I said. ‘I’m going to try to get hold of the report of the preliminary police investigation tomorrow, and I’ll see if I can get any help from the original detectives.’

  ‘Texas,’ Bobby said.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘You ought to go to Texas.’

  I was astonished.

  ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t think that’s going to happen.’

  Texas. Was he mad? What would I do there?

  ‘Then you won’t be able to help Sara,’ Bobby said simply.

  I swallowed. This was getting out of control before it had even started.

  ‘It’s important that you have realistic expectations of what I can achieve,’ I said brusquely. ‘This is something I’m going to have to do in my spare time, when I haven’t got other work to be getting on with. Believe me, I’m upset about what happened to your sister, I really am, but the fact is that she’s no longer alive, and . . . well, that can make it hard to motivate people to cooperate in getting her name cleared. And as for going to Texas . . . I don’t think that’s anywhere near the agenda.’

  I’d been to Texas twice. I saw my father on both occasions. I preferred not to think about him. He used to live in Houston. The same city where Sara had been an au pair.

  Bobby looked at me with his dark eyes. Eyes I suspected had seen far too much crap to belong to such a young person.

  ‘Naturally, I’ll pay you,’ he said.

  I looked at him sceptically. With what? it was tempting to wonder. Bobby didn’t strike me as the sort of person who had much in the bank.

  ‘I had an inheritance,’ he said. ‘Money from my grandmother. So I can pay. If you have expenses. Like when you go to Texas, for instance.’

  I leaned across the desk. Clasped my hands together and tilted my head to one side.

  ‘Bobby, read my lips. There’s not going to be any Texas trip.’

  Was I imagining things, or was he smirking at me?

  ‘We’ll see,’ he murmured.

  We sat without speaking for a while. I glanced at my watch. Damn fine watch, come to that. A 2010 Breitling Bentley. It had been something of a bargain, I got it in Switzerland, last one in the shop, 85,000 kronor.

  ‘Either way,’ I said, trying to wrest back the initiative in our conversation. ‘I’ll work at the pace I’ve got time for, and I’ll contact you when I’ve got anything I want to share with you. Or, of course, if I need your help.’

  I forced myself to smile.

  ‘Does that sound okay?’

  Bobby shook his head.

  ‘You seem to think that this is just a game,’ he said. ‘It isn’t. Not for me. And not for Sara. If you aren’t going to take this seriously, then . . .’

  He stopped himself and I seized the opportunity to take over.

  ‘Tell me, Bobby,’ I said gently. ‘If I don’t take this as seriously as you, what are you going to do? Go to another law firm? Please, be my guest. Because you see, this isn’t a case I feel I have to take on. In fact, it doesn’t even feel like a case at all. Not remotely. So shall I explain it to you one last time? Your sister confessed to murdering five people. She helped the police find enough evidence for five murder convictions. Then she escaped the day before the trial was due to start. In all likelihood, she found and abducted her son, Mio. Then she killed first her son, then herself. That, my friend, isn’t a case. It’s a tragic fucking mess.’

  As I spoke those last words I raised my voice and sounded properly angry.

  Bobby responded with all guns blazing.

  ‘But you still can’t keep away from it,’ he said. ‘Can you? Because you know I’m right. You know Sara didn’t carry out those murders. And you want to be the one who uncovers the miscarriage of justice. The guy who shows where the line between right and wrong runs.’

  He nodded to himself.

  ‘I know your sort,’ he said. ‘That’s why I’m here. Because I know you can’t turn it down.’

  I’m very, very good at showdowns. I almost always win. Apart from the odd occasion when I have a bust-up with Lucy or Belle. I didn’t know if I dared go up against Bobby. Earlier on I’d already picked up a definite sense that he was one step ahead of me, that he knew something I didn’t. Something decisive. Maybe he was keeping it to himself because this was a test. He wanted to see how quickly I could find the information on my own. Or else he was playing a game that I didn’t understand. In which case I could be on shaky ground.

  I rubbed my chin.

  There was one thing he needed to be very fucking clear about. If he thought I was interested in playing some ridiculous game, he could find another lawyer. As a player I really only have one fundamental principle, and I never break it: I only play games where the rules are known and agreed in advance.

  ‘Listen, Bobby,’ I said. ‘I think you’ve misunderstood one rather important detail.’

  He looked at me attentively, almost curiously.

  ‘This,’ I said, sweeping my right hand through the air. ‘This is an office. Not a film studio in Hollywood. And what you and I are doing right now, this is a perfectly ordinary meeting. Not some Italian sit-down where everyone gathers round and starts by putting their guns on the table. If you want to find someone to play with, you’re going to have to go elsewhere, because there’s no one else like you in this room. No one remotely like you. Is that understood?’

  Lucy would have been furious if she’d heard me. She hates it when I start acting all superior towards people at a disadvantage. She says it’s because I haven’t dealt with my shitty childhood. That I can’t stand anyone who reminds of the people around me when I was growing up. She could be right. Either way, Bobby seemed to understand what I was getting at.

  ‘I get it,’ he said. ‘I just want to reassure myself that you’re going to do a good job. A proper job. That’s why I want to pay you. So that I know we’ve got an agreement.’

  ‘I don’t want to be rude, but do you realise how much I cost to employ? I don’t know how much you inherited from your grandmother, but . . .’

  Bobby interrupted me there: ‘No, you don’t. But I do. I inherited enough. You’ll get your money. As long as you do what I’ve asked you to.’

  I was forced to think. What had he actually asked me to do? I was supposed to get justice for his sister. Demonstrate that she was innocent of the murders she had confessed to. And then he had asked me for on
e other thing.

  ‘The boy,’ I said. ‘Mio. Your nephew. I’m afraid I have to repeat what I said to you last time we met. I’m not going to find him, because I’m not actually going to look for him, I’m afraid. Not as long as I don’t have good reason to think that his death has anything to do with the five murders. And as things stand, I don’t.’

  Bobby swallowed, hard. He ran one hand through his filthy hair.

  ‘Okay, you can say that. But you’ll change your mind. Because like I said, it’s all connected.’

  I decided not to continue the discussion. I’d said what I needed to, and I knew he’d understood. That would have to do.

  For the first time, Bobby looked uncertain.

  ‘So what happens now? How do you start?’

  ‘I start the way I mentioned a short while ago,’ I said. ‘I’ll contact the police and go through their material. Talk to the officers who conducted the interviews if possible.’

  ‘Good,’ Bobby said, mostly for the sake of saying something. ‘Good.’

  I thought of something else. ‘You haven’t made any inquiries of your own? If you have, it would be a good idea to tell me what you found out. To save any duplication of effort.’

  Bobby looked at me through almost closed eyes. It was impossible to read what was going through his mind just then.

  ‘Obviously I’ve had a bit of a look,’ he said. ‘Spoken to a few people. There was one guy I got quite interested in.’

  ‘A guy?’

  ‘A boyfriend. My sister had a bloke she used to spend a lot of time with, but she dumped him when she went off to Texas. He never got over it, apparently. I think he went all the way to Houston to get her back.’

  This was interesting. A problematic ex appeared in the diary. But it also gave me an idea of what I was facing. I’d already told anyone who was prepared to listen that I wasn’t thinking of doing the police’s job for them. Even so, that seemed to be the direction I was moving inexorably towards.

  ‘What was his name?’ I said, reaching for a pen.

  ‘Ed, I think.’

  ‘Surname?’

  ‘No idea.’

  I raised my eyebrows.

  ‘You never met him?’