Buried Lies

by Kristina Ohlsson

  As if she could read my mind, Signe stroked my back as she got up from the table to go home.

  ‘You want the best for her, Martin. I don’t think anyone could ask for more.’

  Was she right?

  Maybe, maybe not.

  Signe went home, leaving me alone with Belle. I remained seated at the kitchen table. I was finding it difficult to sum up the day. Good or bad, that was the question.

  My meeting with Didrik hadn’t given me what I’d been hoping for. I’d felt something shift when I met my client in prison, when I began to see similarities between his situation and Sara Tell’s. Rather naïvely, I had been hoping that feeling would get stronger when I met Didrik. It didn’t. I poured myself a glass of water and went and sat in the library. I pulled my notes from my case. Didrik had confirmed a lot of what I’d already read, and had added several new details. It didn’t help. Because Didrik hadn’t wavered one iota from his original conclusions. Which, of course, was both logical and only to be expected. If he’d started to wobble on the question of guilt, then he really ought to set up a new preliminary investigation to look for the real murderer pretty damn quick. Or murderers. Because who said there was only one perpetrator behind all the killings?

  If you stood back and looked at all five murders more generally, it soon became abundantly clear that there wasn’t much to link them together. Nothing beyond the troublesome detail that Sara Tell had known, or at least met, all of the victims. A detail which, I had to admit, was hard to ignore. Regardless of the whole question of guilt, Sara must have been part of everything that had happened. Somehow or other.

  Fucking hell. If only I’d been on the pitch when the match started. I told myself I could have got her to talk. Just like my client today. It was noble but stupid of him to lie to protect his disabled sister. He’d been prepared to sacrifice a sizeable chunk of his future for his sister’s welfare. I really don’t like that sort of reasoning. Martyrdom has no place in the modern world. I hate self-sacrificial people. Women who abandon their careers for their children’s sake – as if children never grew up – or people who always put the wishes and needs of others above their own. Pathetic. I can’t stand it.

  At least not in large doses. After all, I’d just been sitting at the kitchen table wondering if I was paying enough attention to Belle’s needs. But that was an entirely different matter. It wasn’t about making sacrifices, but about right and wrong. That made it harder.

  I scratched my head, rubbing my fingers through my very short hair. I couldn’t make much sense of anything, personal or professional. Tomorrow I’d be able to read the report of the preliminary investigation, which would give me a much better idea of what had been done and what was missing. Maybe I’d also have to rethink my decision to go into battle for Sara’s sake.

  My notes stared up at me from my desk.

  Was I on the point of making a fool of myself? What if it got out that Martin Benner was chasing ghosts and evil spirits? That wouldn’t look good. Not unless I was certain I’d be able to come up with anything useful at the end of it.

  I had to take another look at the sparse pages of notes I’d made over the previous few days to remind myself what had sparked my interest.

  The diary and the train ticket. Was there anything worth a closer look there? I thought there probably was. The diary was Sara’s; trying to claim anything else was just absurd. But the entries in it needed to be interpreted by someone who knew Sara better than me. Ideally, I needed to get hold of Jenny, her friend in Houston. I wanted to get an idea of who she was, why she was interested in Sara even though Sara didn’t want her help. The train ticket was just as interesting as the diary. Didrik had said that Sara had been able to prove she was in Galveston when the murder there took place. I wanted to see that evidence.

  Something else that bothered me was that there were obviously other suspects. At least in Texas. Jenny’s ex-boyfriend, the Chinese negro, had been a suspect. These were important facts, but they felt hard to get hold of.

  I shuffled on my chair. It wasn’t that I thought it unlikely I’d come to the conclusion that Sara was definitely a killer. To put it bluntly: if she wasn’t, then someone had done a brilliant job of framing her. They’d crossed oceans to kill people in her name.

  Who has enemies like that? I asked myself.

  Not me, at any rate.

  But Sara Texas did. Well, it looked like it, anyway. What I had to do now was find someone who could tell me more about her life. Preferably in Stockholm, because I had no plans to go to Texas.

  Or did I?

  The thought made my mouth dry. I’d promised myself I’d never go back to the States. Besides, I didn’t feel particularly inclined to do what Bobby wanted, even though he had a point when he said that a trip to Texas would be inevitable.

  I sighed. Even if I put all the objections to one side, one big problem remained: how could I persuade Lucy to swap Nice for Texas?

  16

  ‘You can’t be serious.’

  Lucy was looking at me as if I’d lost my mind. It occurred to me that maybe I had. Was I seriously standing there suggesting that we go to Texas instead of Nice?

  ‘I mean, it must be about a hundred degrees there in the summer,’ she said.

  Ah, an opening. If the temperature was her only objection, I’d soon be able to deal with that. But it wasn’t quite as simple as that, as it turned out.

  ‘Baby, we’d stay in the best hotels, drive the most comfortable cars. You wouldn’t even notice the heat.’

  ‘How lovely. Might as well stay at home, then.’

  Not a chance. I was going abroad if it was the last thing I did. That endless Swedish rain was already way too much for me.

  ‘You win,’ I said. ‘We’ll go to Nice.’

  Lucy looked at me incredulously.

  ‘Martin, you do know what you’re doing, don’t you?’ she said. ‘What did Didrik manage to get into your head yesterday? Did he think it was a good idea to carry on looking into Sara’s case?’

  ‘Not exactly.’

  I didn’t like her mentioning the previous evening. Even if we weren’t a couple, it would be unfortunate if she managed to find out what I got up to before I went home. As if she suspected that something was wrong, she went on breezily: ‘I tried to call you, actually. Yesterday evening. But you didn’t answer.’

  ‘I wanted to spend some time concentrating on the material,’ I said. ‘You know, I got quite a bit more from Didrik. Sorry, I had my phone on silent.’

  Lucy flashed me a teasing smile.

  ‘A date with Sara Texas, then. Lovely.’

  If only she knew the thoughts she triggered by using the word date. I managed to force a stiff smile.

  ‘Do you fancy lunch later?’ Lucy said when I didn’t respond to her joke.

  ‘Sure,’ I said. ‘How about Texas Longhorn on Fleminggatan? It’s been ages since I had one of their burgers.’

  ‘But we had hamburgers at Bebe on Sunday.’

  ‘That’s not the same thing at all. Bebe is Bebe. Texas is completely different.’

  ‘Wow. Lots of Texas today.’

  Lucy didn’t look at all enthusiastic, but agreed to the suggestion. Regarding hamburgers. Definitely not the trip to Texas.

  The doorbell rang and I went and answered it.

  A young guy in jeans and a tennis shirt was standing in the stairwell.

  ‘Martin Benner?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Delivery for you.’

  He carried a number of cardboard boxes into the hall and asked me to sign for them.

  It was the records from the preliminary investigation into the case against Sara.

  At first Lucy didn’t want anything to do with the material. But once she’d stuck her beautiful hands in the shit it was like she’d been struck by the same curse as me.

  We sat on the floor like a couple of teenagers, reading document after document. The interviews with Sara basically contained little m
ore than her unambiguous confession and her description of where they could find the evidence. With the exception of the first session, the one conducted because the Americans had asked for help. I read it through once, then a second time.

  ‘Look at this,’ I said, handing Lucy the sheaf of papers. ‘Then compare it with the others.’

  Lucy read through it while I made coffee. I don’t remember if it was raining. But it certainly wasn’t nice weather.

  ‘Strange,’ Lucy said when she’d finished reading. ‘You almost wouldn’t think they were talking to the same person.’

  ‘Exactly,’ I said, remembering what Didrik had said. First they take her in for questioning and get nothing. She doesn’t know what they’re talking about and says clearly that she’s upset at having been brought in by the police. She says she’s never heard of the murders in Galveston and Houston. Or at least she doesn’t remember anything about them. Then a few weeks pass. The Yanks receive an anonymous email and that leads to further questioning and a search. The second time round there’s a completely different atmosphere. Suddenly she’s talking both more and less at the same time.

  I was talking so much, and so quickly, that I forgot I had a cup of coffee in each hand. Lucy relieved me of one of them and took a sip.

  ‘It’s bloody weird. But we can’t be the only ones to think that, about the fact that she changes her story all of a sudden and for some reason starts saying stuff that’s every policeman’s wet dream.’

  ‘It obviously took them by surprise,’ I said. ‘But . . . in the end the story held together. They made some pretty remarkable discoveries in her attic, and when she started to talk, everything made sense. I presume they must have checked her phone records for the weeks between the interviews. And if they couldn’t find any sign of an accomplice, they probably found themselves in a position where they had to buy her story.’

  Lucy rummaged through the documents.

  ‘I’m not giving up that easily, though,’ she said. ‘Just so you don’t start to think I’m on your side. The woman was guilty – the question is whether or not she was mentally ill. She almost must have been. What did the psychiatric evaluation say?’

  ‘They didn’t have time to do one.’

  Lucy stopped looking.

  ‘Then I think we can agree that she was ill.’

  ‘Does that make it feel better?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Lucy looked at the heaps of paper which by now were covering most of the floor.

  ‘We’ve got our work cut out for the whole summer, if we want it,’ she said.

  She ran her finger across the heap closest to her. The same nail-varnish she had on Sunday. Bright red. I felt the all too familiar desire come to life again. I wanted her. Ideally immediately.

  But Lucy’s radar was far too sophisticated for me to be able to mount any sort of surprise attack.

  I didn’t manage to get any further than putting one hand on her thigh before she was on her feet.

  ‘I’m hungry,’ she said. ‘Let’s go and have that hamburger.’

  ‘Are you going to play hard to get again?’ I said.

  ‘Damn right I am.’

  She went into her office to fetch her handbag. My mobile rang. It was Marianne, wanting to talk about the leak in her cellar.

  ‘Those fans, do they have to be on at full blast?’

  ‘How the fuck am I supposed to know?’

  ‘Martin, don’t swear like that.’

  I don’t understand this idea of saying some words are rude and others aren’t. Words are just words. And I’ve been swearing ever since I first learned to talk.

  ‘It’s lunchtime now,’ I said. ‘Lucy and I are heading out for something to eat. I’ll have to call you later.’

  We ended the call and I put my mobile away.

  ‘We need to work through the murders systematically,’ Lucy said. ‘I haven’t really got much of an idea about the three she committed here in Sweden.’

  ‘You mean the three she was charged with but never convicted of? The three she confessed to without actually committing?’

  Lucy held the door open for me.

  ‘Exactly,’ she said wearily.

  We emerged onto the street and headed down Sankt Eriksgatan. The leaden clouds hung heavily in the sky. I realised that I was walking slightly hunched over, as if I thought they were going to fall. We swung into Fleminggatan. The most boring street in the whole of Stockholm. There wasn’t a single building I could imagine living in. You almost feel like closing your eyes when you’re walking down it.

  We passed a succession of plate-glass windows. I watched our reflections in the dirty glass. She was in high heels, sand-coloured trousers and a white blouse, with red hair that could make even Julia Roberts scream with envy. I was wearing my favourite chinos and a blue shirt. We looked bloody good. I put my arm round Lucy’s shoulders.

  ‘What are you thinking of doing next?’ Lucy said. ‘You go through everything from the preliminary investigation, and then what?’

  ‘I need to start talking to people.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘I’ve already had the pleasure of meeting Sara’s brother, but it would be good to talk to her mother as well. It would make things easier if I could get in touch with other people who knew her, friends and so on. I’d really like to have had a conversation with that friend of hers in Houston, Jenny. And if she’s got any other relatives left in Stockholm. Sara, I mean.’

  Lucy nodded to herself.

  ‘Sounds a lot like police work,’ she said.

  ‘Come on, it’s just a way of getting my bearings.’

  I didn’t really believe that myself. Once a police officer, always a police officer. Who was it who said that? One of my colleagues in Texas, maybe? As usual, thinking about Texas dredged up memories of my dad. Who ran away but still didn’t understand what he could have done differently.

  I held Lucy tighter. She felt the change and slipped her arm round my waist.

  ‘Is there a reason why you don’t want to talk to Sara Texas’s sister?’ Lucy said.

  I stopped dead on the pavement. We were less than a block from Texas Longhorn.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Her sister. There was a brief mention of her in one of the articles I read.’

  So Sara had had a sister too. A sister I had missed when I did my research, which was sloppy of me. But it was even weirder that my good friend Bobby hadn’t said a word about her.

  I decided there and then to talk to her as well.

  If I could find her.

  17

  Before I could start arranging any meetings I needed to do more research. Much more. Otherwise I risked making a complete fool of myself. There was no good reason to sit in the office going through all the material, so Lucy and I put the boxes we wanted to look at in the car and drove back to mine as soon as we’d finished lunch.

  We settled down in the study. I was confident I would make a big breakthrough once I’d looked at everything in detail. That wasn’t what happened.

  The hamburger left me in a post-lunch coma and I wasn’t the slightest bit horny any more. Nor was Lucy. But we did work hard to get a better idea of the timeline, and understand the crimes more clearly. I didn’t even ask if Lucy wanted to help; somehow I had taken it for granted that she was reluctantly complicit in what I was doing.

  ‘This isn’t a pretty story,’ Lucy said once we started to get a clearer idea of the chain of events that had led to Sara’s arrest. The fact that she was let out on licence seemed incredible.

  That had been one of the big scandals of the case. That Sara Texas, suspected of having murdered five people, was allowed out from the prison where she was being held under specific conditions. Her father, ironically, had been the victim of a violent mugging while Sara was being held in custody. He was still unconscious in hospital when she was charged, and the doctors were saying it would take a miracle for him to survive. So Sara was let out for an afternoon
, and was escorted to the hospital by armed guards. To say goodbye to a man who used to sell her body to his friends, who went all the way to Houston to cause trouble for her, and was known as Lucifer.

  It wasn’t easy to understand how she had escaped, but somehow she managed to disappear. Later the police reluctantly admitted that she had asked for five minutes alone with her dad, and that was evidently all she needed to make her escape through the window. On the fifth floor.

  ‘She’s the most famous criminal in Sweden right now,’ the lead detective said in a television interview. ‘She’s not going to get far.’

  A ring of steel was set up around Stockholm. Surveillance at airports, railway stations and harbours was stepped up. Completely unnecessarily. Sara appeared to have gone straight to her son’s preschool and picked him up. That was another scandal. None of the staff had been able to explain how it had happened. The boy, Mio, was only four years old. At the time he went missing the children were all playing outside. One moment he was there, the next he was gone.

  The police had believed she would be easier to find when she had the boy with her. With that, they probably broke some sort of record in the number of wrong judgements made in a single day. Because it looked like Sara never had any interest in leaving Stockholm, and wasn’t planning to travel any great distance. That evening she jumped off Västerbron. Her body was picked up by the coastguard. The boy’s body was never found. As Didrik had confirmed the previous evening, the witness who saw her jump said she was alone.

  I found the name of the witness. Magnus Krusberg.

  ‘Gooseberry?’ Lucy said.

  ‘Krusberg,’ I said.

  ‘Pretty unusual name.’

  ‘This whole story feels pretty unusual.’

  ‘I don’t understand why she had to take her son with her,’ Lucy said.

  I thought about that. If for some reason I had no choice but to commit suicide, would I take Belle with me? Not a chance.