by Viveca Sten
A change in the sound of the engine told him that the boat had docked. Pernilla waved as Thomas made his way ashore. She was holding a flashlight, fortunately; there was no street lighting on the island. It would take around fifteen minutes to walk through the forest to their house on the other side of the village.
Elin was resting on Pernilla’s chest in a sling, tucked in so cozily that only a little button nose beneath a pink woolen hat was visible. She was fast asleep.
Thomas’s heart leaped, as it always did when he saw his family after being away. There was a fleeting moment of surprise, followed by joy and gratitude.
He’d been given a second chance.
“Hi there.” Pernilla kissed him gently on the lips. Her striped scarf was pulled up to her chin. “I didn’t think you’d make it today, but it’s good to see you. It means I won’t have to eat the Christmas leftovers myself!”
Thomas put his arm around her shoulders and drew her close. Her padded jacket was soft and comforting. He rested his forehead on hers, lingering for a few seconds before letting go.
“I should have stayed and kept on working, but I really missed you.”
He patted Elin’s head, being careful not to disturb his baby daughter.
“Both of you,” he clarified. “But I do need to catch the first boat back in the morning, I’m afraid. You know how it is in the early stages of an investigation.”
“In that case we’ll come with you,” Pernilla said. “It’s not much fun being here on our own.” She waved in the direction of the dark forest. “It can feel a little isolated.”
They set off along the snowy pathway, marked by very few footprints. There wasn’t a breath of wind, the tops of the pine trees weren’t moving at all, and it was pitch dark all around them. The beam of Pernilla’s flashlight bounced slightly with every step she took.
It was easy to imagine there was no one else on the island.
“Did you see the item about Jeanette Thiels on the morning news?” Pernilla asked over her shoulder. The track through the snow was too narrow to allow them to walk side by side.
“No, I missed it.”
Thomas had quickly skimmed through a double-page article about the late journalist in the morning paper while he grabbed a meager breakfast. There wasn’t much in the refrigerator, because they’d been planning to stay on Harö for a week.
“It was a pretty lengthy piece,” Pernilla went on. “Apparently she spent several months living with ordinary people in Iraq while she was working on a book about their lives. Did you know she was awarded the Grand Prize for Journalism for that story?”
“Yes, Margit mentioned it.”
“Apparently the book led to threats,” Pernilla said as she stepped onto the little bridge leading to Harö village, the older settlement that they had to pass through in order to reach their house.
“Careful, it’s really slippery,” she added, holding onto the rail for safety with one hand and protecting Elin with the other. The little girl was totally unaffected, still sleeping peacefully.
So Jeanette had been threatened. They had discussed this possibility at the morning meeting, but there was nothing in the database of reported crimes. Margit was going to bring it up when she spoke to Jeanette’s editor.
“Can you believe it—she was accused of portraying the men in a bad light!” Pernilla was about three feet ahead of him now. “I mean, it’s crazy! She was reporting on the situation of women in Iraq, how tightly controlled they were, how little freedom they had. And the men felt insulted!” She stopped and turned around, brushing against some of the tall reeds that grew on either side of the bridge. Snow had landed on the pale-yellow stems, and now the flakes fell onto the ice below like a soft waterfall. “Anyway, it seems she didn’t let it hinder her. She said it was all part of the job. The fact that working as a war correspondent could be dangerous wasn’t exactly news to her or anyone else.” Pernilla set off again. “She was a brave woman.”
Yes, Thomas thought. She was.
In the distance they could hear a dog barking angrily. The sound grew louder, then stopped abruptly. Pernilla’s flashlight illuminated the track ahead, the snow crunching beneath their feet with every step.
CHAPTER 35
Alice was lying in bed, staring up at a cobweb in the corner of the ceiling. A dead fly trapped on the edge of the web had been there forever. The spider itself was long gone.
There was a knock on the door, followed by Dad’s voice.
“Can I come in, honey?”
Alice pushed her earbuds farther in. “Go away!”
“I just want to say good night, sweetheart.”
“I don’t want to talk to you.”
She turned up the volume. She knew it was too loud, but she didn’t care.
There was another knock, and Alice removed one earbud. After a while she heard footsteps on the stairs, then the sound of running water from the kitchen.
Even though she’d thought he was in the garage much earlier, Dad had gotten home really late, around seven. He’d brought takeout from a place near Pernilla’s apartment, which meant he’d been to see her. Alice had eventually come downstairs and eaten quickly, before heading straight to the bathroom. She had barely said a word and ignored how much her brief appearance at the table had upset her dad.
She turned over onto her side and curled up, tucking her hands under her cheek. She remembered Mom’s face the last time they’d met, the new lines on her forehead.
They’d sat at the kitchen table in her apartment, with Mom smoking as usual. Her cough was worse than ever. Alice tried to tell her to put out the cigarette, but Mom hadn’t taken any notice, in spite of the fact that her face had a horrible gray pallor.
I’m never going to smoke, Alice had promised herself when she was a little girl. Mom’s perfume had always been mixed with the smell of cigarettes.
Mom had seemed so sad sitting there in the kitchen that Alice asked if she’d like to spend Christmas with them, but she’d shaken her head.
“Your dad and I aren’t getting along too well right now,” she’d mumbled eventually. “It’s not a good idea.”
Alice gave it one last shot. “Dad said you could come.”
Mom smiled wearily, crumbling the saffron bun in her fingers.
“I expect that was for your sake, honey.”
“But you can’t spend Christmas Eve all by yourself! Nobody should have to do that.”
“It’s fine, sweetheart. I’ve bought plenty of Christmas food—see for yourself.”
She made a big point of opening the refrigerator, but Alice didn’t think there was very much in there. At home the refrigerator was always full, but this one was half empty. However, she did notice some meatballs and several packages of cold cuts.
“Don’t you worry about me,” Mom said, closing the door. “And I’m having a visitor, so I won’t be alone all day.”
That made Alice feel better. She hated the thought of Mom not having anyone to spend Christmas Eve with.
“Who’s coming?” she asked.
Mom waved a dismissive hand. “Doesn’t matter.”
Alice had left soon after that.
She thought back to her best Christmas ever, when she was five or six years old. Mom and Dad had probably already split up by then, she couldn’t quite remember, but they had definitely been together on Christmas Eve.
The last present under the tree, beautifully wrapped, had been for Alice. When she opened it, she found a photo album. Mom had filled it with pictures of Alice, along with the loveliest angel bookmarks. Big angels and small angels, angels smiling and laughing, with sparkling gold and silver wings. Mom had said it was Alice’s Angel Book.
Beside each picture was a little verse that Mom had made up, stories about the angels watching over Alice when Mom wasn’t there. In the years that followed, Alice would often leaf through her Angel Book until she fell asleep.
She got up, went over to the desk by the window, and opened th
e bottom drawer. There it was. It was a while since she’d taken it out; somehow she’d forgotten about it when she moved on to high school.
The linden-blossom-colored cover was stained, the corners were bent, but when she looked at the first page, the memories came flooding back. There she was, sitting on Mom’s lap. Mom was leaning back on a lounge chair, her hair long and slightly windblown.
She looks so young, Alice thought. And happy. She was tan, her sunglasses pushed up onto her forehead. The photograph had been taken in the summer, in the archipelago. At Grandma’s house on Sandhamn.
Alice studied the picture, trying to remember what the house was like. They hadn’t been there since Grandma got sick and moved into a nursing home. Mom would never see it again.
Her cell phone buzzed on the bedside table; someone had sent her a text message. She picked it up and read the short question, feeling her body stiffen as she tried to take in the words.
Do you want to know how your mom died?
CHAPTER 36
The light above the closed door of room four at the end of the corridor was flashing.
Tove Fredin sighed and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. They were down two nurses, but no less busy because it was Christmastime. She had scarcely managed a cup of coffee since starting her shift five hours earlier, and she’d taken no more than five minutes to eat a snack.
Thank goodness the ward wasn’t completely full, which would have been impossible to cope with. They were definitely on the edge as it was. There was a constant low-level sense of anxiety in the back of her mind; she mustn’t give anyone the wrong medication or the wrong dose. Tove hated feeling like this all the time, but she didn’t know how to switch off the nerves, when the demands of her job were increasing as staffing levels fell.
She really ought to check the blood pressure of the patient in room three, a woman with pneumonia, but it could wait a few minutes.
Who was in four?
She stood there, trying to think. Oh yes, it was the old guy who’d been brought in yesterday. Bertil . . . Bertil Ahlgren. He’d fallen outside his front door and lain there for several hours. Needless to say he’d broken his hip; she’d seen it so many times before. He’d also suffered a concussion, along with cuts and bruises to his forehead.
Bertil had been unconscious since he arrived. Maybe he’d woken up and was scared, wondering where he was.
Were there any relatives to be contacted when he came round? No children, if she remembered correctly. A brother, maybe? She would check when she got a moment, but her priority right now was to see what he wanted, find out whether he needed anything.
The room was in semidarkness. The bedside light hadn’t been switched on, but the blinds were partially open. Outside it was just possible to glimpse an endless expanse of snow-covered roofs, and the waters of Lake Mälaren. Stockholm in its winter attire beneath a gray sky.
Bertil was lying on his back with his eyes closed. He had the room to himself, and Tove sat down on the empty bed beside him. There was nothing on his bedside table, no personal possessions or flowers from a concerned family member. Had no one been to see him?
She adjusted the pale-yellow hospital blanket at the foot of the bed.
“Bertil?” she said softly. “Did you press your call button just now?”
No reaction. His eyelids flickered; maybe he’d woken briefly and pressed the button before losing consciousness again?
His white hair was ruffled, which made him look unkempt. Tove smoothed it down over his forehead, then took his hand to check his pulse. It was steady, and there was a little more color in his cheeks now, which was a good sign. She hoped he would recover enough to go home soon. That was always their most heartfelt desire, the elderly: to go home as soon as possible.
Bertil whimpered and moved his shoulder, then he opened his eyes and stared in horror at Tove.
“Where am I?”
His voice was hoarse; he’d been unconscious for a long time.
“You’re in the hospital, Bertil. You had a fall and ended up lying outside the door of your apartment, but you’re going to be fine. There’s nothing to worry about.”
Tove leaned forward and patted his wrinkled hand. A network of narrow veins was visible beneath the skin, like a wide-mesh fishing net, blue against the white hospital tag around his wrist.
“Jeanette,” he mumbled, trying to raise his head.
“Who’s Jeanette?”
“Tell Jeanette . . . Be careful . . .”
The words were slurred, not quite formed. The old man’s lips twitched, and a little saliva trickled down from one corner of his mouth.
Tove fetched a tissue and gently wiped it away.
“Be careful, Jeanette,” Bertil said once more before falling back against the pillow.
“Is this important, Bertil? What are you trying to tell me?”
Tove touched his arm, but he had fallen asleep and didn’t react. His breathing slowed and his face relaxed. Tove sat down on the other bed again, keeping an eye on her patient as she thought about the words he’d forced out.
It had sounded as if he was trying to warn someone; should she stay here in case he woke up and wanted to say more? She felt a little uneasy; who was this Jeanette? She needed to check his medical file, see if he had a relative by that name.
She glanced at her watch, unsure of what to do.
She had so much to get through before the end of her shift; she had no idea how she was going to fit it all in. She just didn’t have the time to sit with a patient who was mumbling in his sleep. He’d probably been dreaming, that was all. Nothing to worry about.
Tove got to her feet. She would try to look in on him later, before she went home.
CHAPTER 37
Alice couldn’t take her eyes off her phone. The text message had been sent from an unknown number. She wondered how long she’d been sitting here staring at it.
What should she do?
Do you want to know how your mom died?
The sound of Sushi scratching at the door brought her back to the present moment. She got up and let the cat in, then lay down on the bed. With trembling fingers she keyed in a reply:
Who are you? How do you know what happened?
Her mind was racing; should she send it? The letters seemed to be staring at her with an almost hypnotic effect. After a moment she pressed “Send.”
A minute or so later, another message arrived:
Meet me outside the hotel at midnight. Bring the copy your mom gave you.
Alice swallowed. They’d been standing by the door, she and Mom. Mom had stroked Alice’s hair, given her a little hug. Just as Alice was about to walk away, Mom had stopped her.
“Wait.”
She’d gone into her study and reappeared with something in a white envelope.
“Here,” she’d said. “You can have a copy, too, just to be on the safe side. But you mustn’t open the envelope until I tell you—not under any circumstances.”
Alice went over to the closet. The jeans she’d been wearing that day were on the floor under a pile of dirty laundry. She reached into one of the back pockets and took out the envelope. It was crumpled, but inside she could feel the shape of a USB stick.
The copy.
How did this person know her mom had given it to her? Why did he or she want it?
It was eleven o’clock now—an hour to go until midnight.
Meet me outside the hotel . . . The Vaxholm Hotel was down by the quayside, no more than five minutes from the house. During the daytime the area was always busy, but at this time of night there probably wouldn’t be anyone around.
Alice sank to the floor and wrapped her arms around her body. She rocked back and forth.
What should I do?
It was quarter to midnight when Alice opened her bedroom door and listened.
The television was on in the living room, but with a bit of luck Dad would have fallen asleep on the sofa; that sometimes happened when he
was tired or had drunk too much wine.
She tiptoed down the stairs; the bottom steps creaked if you stood on the middle part. Alice kept to one side, moving as quietly as she could. When she’d almost made it, she stopped. The living room was right next to the stairs; she would have to pass it in order to reach the front door. Dad mustn’t see her.
Was he awake? Alice leaned forward and peeped in.
He was stretched out with his head on the armrest, mouth half-open, eyes closed. The wineglass on the coffee table was empty.
At that moment he let out a snore. Alice stood there in the semidarkness with her back pressed against the wall. After a little while, Dad’s breathing slowed; his eyes were still closed, hands by his sides.
One careful step, then another, and she was in the hallway where Dad wouldn’t be able to see her even if he woke up. She stayed put for a moment, just to make sure.
The kitchen was in darkness, as was the cloakroom. She crouched down on the floor without switching on the light.
Her cell phone felt as if it were burning a hole in her pocket. She took it out and brought up the message once more, the letters glowing in the gloom:
Do you want to know how your mom died?
“Mom,” Alice murmured. There was a buzzing sound in her ears; it had been a long time since she’d brought up the small amount she’d eaten for dinner.
She waited for another minute or so, then fumbled for her jacket and pushed her feet into her boots. She wrapped a scarf around her neck and head so that her face was barely visible.
Ten to twelve.
I need to leave.
Something soft rubbed against her leg. Sushi had followed her into the cloakroom, and Alice gently pushed the white cat aside with her foot.
“Stay here,” she whispered. “You can’t go out, it’s too cold for you.”
She closed the door behind her. There were five steps down to the path; she stopped on the last one, hesitated. She could still change her mind, turn around, and go back into the warmth, creep up the stairs without Dad noticing a thing.
