by Sten, Viveca
And when the search finally did get under way, valuable time had been lost.
A large number of officers had been dispatched to Sandhamn and ordered to comb the island. Several search-and-rescue dogs were also deployed, but the heavy rain had effectively washed away all traces and scents; the island was as clean as if someone had scrubbed it with soap.
Thomas and his colleagues had gone over the whole island in driving rain, together with Lina’s desperate family and their friends and neighbors. Eventually he had managed to persuade the exhausted parents to go home and rest; the pale mother looked like she might collapse at any second. Someone ought to be at home in case Lina turned up, he had argued, and Anders and Marianne Rosén had reluctantly agreed.
Thomas could still remember how the biting wind had found its way inside his clothes, and how his fingers and toes had turned to ice. The temperature had hovered around freezing, and the sea air was raw and damp. The tops of the tall pine trees swayed alarmingly in the storm, their old branches creaking and complaining.
Slowly and methodically, they had covered the beaches. With the help of the volunteers, they had searched the forest inch by inch, from Västerudd to Trouville. Every World War II bunker had been unsealed and checked out, along with the exterior of the summer cottages closed up for the winter. The least reason for suspicion made them stop; no effort was spared.
At last, one of the dog handlers had looked at Thomas, shaking his head. “This is pointless. She could be at the bottom of the sea for all we know. The dogs need to rest; they’re exhausted.”
Thomas knew he was right, and yet he didn’t want to give up. He had seen the desperation in Marianne Rosén’s eyes, and he knew exactly how she felt. He had felt that same desperation the morning he found his three-month-old daughter cold and lifeless in her bed. All attempts to revive her had been in vain.
After another day or so, though, the search was called off. They had turned over every stone, examined every tuft of grass on the island. Lina Rosén had disappeared without a trace.
Time passed, and the investigation was shelved. The general view among the officers was that the poor kid had committed suicide by drowning herself, and that the body had been carried out to sea. There was no other reasonable explanation. Certain comments made by Lina’s friend Louise supported this theory.
Thomas had done his best, but to no avail.
With a sigh he sat up and stretched. It was late; he should have been in bed long ago.
Taking part in a program like Crimewatch was a big step, but no doubt Lina’s parents were prepared to do anything to find their daughter. Who could blame them, Thomas thought as he reached for the remote and switched off the TV.
CHAPTER 4
As soon as they got home and the babysitter left, Nora exploded. She had managed to keep her mask in place during the party, but she couldn’t do it a second longer.
“A nurse in your department. How fucking banal can you get? Couldn’t you come up with something better than that?”
Arms folded, she glared at her husband. They were standing in the hallway of the house in Saltsjöbaden. They’d hung the lovely wallpaper themselves, Nora pregnant with Adam and wearing a pair of cutoff overalls that accommodated her enormous belly. She remembered how happy she had been when they’d found the top-quality paper in a summer sale.
Henrik didn’t say a word. He looked like a child who had been caught doing something naughty.
Nora couldn’t control herself. The words came spilling out, coarse and harsh, not at all the kind of language she normally used.
“How could you? After everything that’s happened! I’ve gritted my teeth, tried to make this marriage work. I fought for us like a total idiot, and you threw it all away to fuck a pretty girl!”
“I’m sorry; you were never meant to find out this way.” Henrik couldn’t look her in the eye.
“So how was I meant to find out?” Nora spat. “Were you eventually going to mention that you were leaving me, or was the plan just to screw around behind my back?”
Henrik didn’t answer. He loosened his tie with one hand and dropped it on the hall table. Slowly he took off his jacket and draped it neatly on a hanger.
With a stab of bitterness, Nora noticed how good-looking he still was. With his dark hair and his classic profile, he looked just the same as when they met all those years ago. A handsome married man and a doctor. A real catch, as her informant at the party had put it.
“Answer me, for fuck’s sake!” Nora hissed. “How did you imagine this was going to play out?”
Her voice broke as she sat down on the stairs and buried her face in her hands.
“You’re not sleeping in the bed tonight, just so you know,” she said after a long silence. “You can take the sofa.”
Henrik didn’t protest; he just gazed wearily at her.
“I’m so sorry this happened. I never wanted to hurt you.”
“I’m going to Sandhamn tomorrow with the boys,” Nora said after a moment. “They’ve got midsemester break, and I can take a few days off. I expect you to have moved out by the time we get back. I don’t want you here anymore. Do you understand?”
“You can’t just kick me out!” Henrik looked genuinely surprised. “I have the right to live here—it’s my house, too!”
“You forfeited that right. There’s nothing here for you.”
Nora moistened her lips with her tongue. Her mouth was so dry she could barely get out the words she wanted to say.
“You can move in with your new girlfriend; I’m sure she’ll be delighted. Then again, she’s probably been waiting to move into your fabulous house on Sandhamn, huh?”
She took a deep breath and stared straight at him.
“I want a divorce. As soon as possible.”
She let out an impotent little laugh, then buried her face in her hands once more.
“Get out,” she said, her voice muffled.
“But what about the boys—you could at least think about Adam and Simon!”
“Like you did? I mean, did it ever cross your mind that you had a family when you slept with that girl? Did it?”
“Calm down,” Henrik said, reaching out to touch her. “We need to talk this through.”
Nora flinched. “Don’t touch me! Don’t you ever touch me again!”
She got up, opened one of the hall closets, and pulled out a duffel bag.
“I’ll tell the boys you’re working and can’t come with us to Sandhamn. They won’t be surprised—they’ve heard it so many times before.”
She took out another bag without looking at him.
“They’re used to their father not having time for them,” she said, addressing the room as if Henrik weren’t there. “Get the hell out of here.”
Sandhamn 1899
The thin lips parted, exposing yellowed teeth.
He looks like a skull, Gottfrid thought before he could stop himself, then immediately felt guilty for thinking such a thing about his dying father. But he deserved it, the old bastard.
The emaciated body was propped up on pillows in the four-poster bed. The curtains were drawn, and just a little afternoon light seeped in. In the dark room, shadows deepened and contours blurred, making the dark rings under the man’s eyes stand out.
The covers were pulled up to his chest, with a sheet folded back over the thick bolster, and next to the embroidered flowers, Gottfrid could see a dried patch of something red that didn’t belong there.
“Come here,” his father said. They had moved his bed into the living room so that he would have peace and quiet, but still be close to the kitchen where the rest of the family spent most of their time.
Gottfrid hesitated, but didn’t dare refuse. The fear was rooted deep within him.
He recoiled from his father’s rank breath. The body gave off a sour smell, like seaweed rotting on the shore. His mother had scattered lavender bags around the room, but they had no chance against this alien stench.
/> He swallowed back his revulsion. After all, he was eleven years old—not a child anymore. He pulled off his peaked cap and took a step forward.
“Come here,” his father ordered again. An echo of the old authority lingered in the room. Gottfrid edged closer.
His father started coughing. It sounded different from when Gottfrid had a cold. This was a rattle deep down in the chest, and it scared Gottfrid. His father’s pale face turned bluish as he tried to force air into his diseased lungs, holding on to the bed with one hand as he banged his chest with the other, as if trying to force it to take in the life-giving oxygen.
When the fit was finally over, he spat a huge blood clot into the bucket on the floor, next to the chamber pot.
“How are you getting on with the fishing?”
Gottfrid looked down at his feet. Since his father’s tuberculosis had gotten so bad he could no longer work, the boy had been forced to support the family. In the summer they could rent out rooms to tourists; otherwise, the money he earned fishing was all they had to live on.
His uncle owned the nets and the boat, a small skiff with a sail. He got half the profits and Gottfrid’s family got the other half. From time to time Gottfrid was allowed to keep a few kronor for himself, if the catch was particularly good.
He had to get up at one thirty in the morning to go out with Uncle Olle, and sometimes he was barely awake as he pulled on his clothes. Once they’d hauled in the nets and returned to the island, he’d stand in the harbor selling to the serving girls who came down to buy fresh fish for dinner.
“We laid two bottom nets over by Rörskären last night.”
“Cod?” His father didn’t have enough breath for a full sentence.
Gottfrid nodded and straightened his shoulders, proud of the catch. His worn knee breeches were getting too small, and crept up his thighs when he moved. His sweater was also too small; the sleeves didn’t reach his wrists. Only yesterday his mother had looked at him anxiously, complaining that he was growing too fast.
“Tomorrow we’re going over to Skarprunmaren to try for whitefish.”
There hadn’t been a breath of wind all night, as was often the case in the summer, and they had been forced to row the whole way. At least it was better than last fall, when they’d had high winds almost all season.
“A Sandhamn storm is the very devil incarnate,” Uncle Olle would sometimes mutter as he fought with the sail. Usually, putting stones in the bottom of the boat was enough to steady her, but occasionally they had to head for land in order to bail out when the waves came crashing over the sides.
So Gottfrid never complained about calm nights, even though it meant he had to row for hours. He had learned how to row properly when he was just five years old, keeping his muscles relaxed so that his back and thighs did all the work.
He could smell coffee. His mother had promised him a cup before it was time to go out and lay fresh nets.
“Are you reading your catechism every day?”
“Yes, Father.” It wasn’t true, but he didn’t want to rile the old man unnecessarily.
“Good.”
His father settled back on the pillows. The huge fists, always so ready to deliver a blow, lay helpless on the covers.
Another coughing fit overwhelmed him. When it had passed, he lay there with his eyes closed. Gottfrid crept out of the room; in his peripheral vision he saw his father lean forward and spit into the bucket.
It couldn’t be long now.
CHAPTER 5
Saturday, February 24, 2007
They had stopped in Mölnvik to buy groceries, then caught the Waxholm ferry over to Sandhamn just after lunch.
Henrik hadn’t been home when Nora woke up, which was a relief; she couldn’t have coped with seeing him, pretending everything was fine in front of the children.
In spite of being so upset, she’d slept for seven hours straight, a deep and dreamless slumber. Simon had woken her when he’d crept under the covers, and his warm little body had made her feel calmer. He was almost eight, but he still liked to cuddle, and she had buried her nose in his shoulder, taking deep breaths.
Nothing is more important than Adam and Simon, she thought. Nothing takes precedence over them.
She was sitting at a small table on the ferry, drinking a cup of coffee as the ship plowed out into the wintry archipelago. It had been bitterly cold ever since the turn of the year. For once, the sea had frozen, and the icebreaker had been deployed to open up a channel to Sandhamn. The rough covering of ice made it possible to walk right off the islands, and the jetties looked like they were sitting on top of the ice. Shining formations hung from every hook and gaff.
The boys had gone to help their friend walk his dog, so she was all alone.
Single mom—the words pounded inside her head. Single mom. Divorce. Custody battle. Division of assets.
The legal terms whirled around in her mind. She glanced at her fellow passengers; she felt as if they could tell by looking at her that she was leaving her husband. That she had failed in her marriage, that the family would be torn apart. Her sons would have to shuttle back and forth between two homes. Pack their little bags, keep pajamas in different places. They wouldn’t feel at home anywhere.
She felt vulnerable, alone, and ashamed, even though she knew she had nothing to be ashamed about. It wasn’t her fault her husband had been unfaithful, and yet a sense of guilt had been simmering away ever since she’d woken up. She picked up her coffee, but her hand was trembling so much that she had to put it down again.
“Are you OK?”
Nora gave a start. She had been so lost in thought that she hadn’t noticed the man standing next to her table. His face was familiar; she couldn’t quite place him, but she thought he probably lived on Sandhamn. He had dark hair, the stubble on his chin peppered with a few hints of gray.
She smiled uncertainly, and he sat down opposite her.
“I didn’t mean to disturb you, but you looked so sad.”
He held out his hand.
“Pelle Forsberg. Nora, isn’t it?”
She nodded.
“I live by the tennis courts. And you’re in Kvarnberget, am I right? We took a sailing class together many years ago.”
She nodded again. It was possible, although she had no recollection of it at the moment.
“Did something happen?”
Nora’s eyes filled with tears. She tried to blink them away, but to no avail; they just kept coming.
“Oh dear,” Pelle said, getting to his feet. He went over to the cafeteria and grabbed a handful of napkins. Nora accepted them gratefully and dried her eyes, then gave her nose a good blow.
“Sorry,” she mumbled. “You must think I’m crazy.”
“Not at all.”
“Things aren’t too good between my husband and me right now . . .”
“I understand.”
“We’re separating.” There, she had said it for the first time. She hated it, but at least now she knew she could say the words.
Pelle waved his hand. “Hey, I’m divorced, too—I know what it’s like.”
“I didn’t mean to start crying, it’s just that everything’s so hard.”
“There’s no need to explain. Would you like another coffee?” His expression was kind.
“Thank you, that would be great.”
Nora had pulled herself together by the time Pelle came back. She blew her nose and sipped the hot drink. She really had to get a grip. She couldn’t start randomly sobbing like this—what if the boys saw her?
“Are you staying on the island for the whole midsemester break?” she asked in an attempt at normal conversation.
Pelle nodded. “I have a few things to fix up in the house, so I thought I’d grab the opportunity. I’m a math teacher, so I’ve got the week off.” He stood up. “I won’t disturb you any longer. It was just that you looked so unhappy, I had to make sure you were all right.”
“That was kind of you.”
> The loudspeaker crackled, and a voice announced that they would shortly arrive in Sandhamn. Nora looked out the window and saw the familiar silhouette. They were passing Fläskberget, approaching Kvarnberget where her house could be seen beyond the impressive façade of the Brand villa.
With an enormous effort she arranged her features, gathered up all her possessions, and went to find the boys. They would be there in a few minutes, and she had to go and pay for their tickets first.
CHAPTER 6
Sunday, February 25, 2007
Nora was sitting on the small, south-facing, glassed-in veranda. She had inherited the house from her maternal grandparents ten years earlier. It was very close to her mom and dad’s house, at the bottom of Kvarnberget. The area was named after the island’s old mill, or kvarn, which had stood there until it was relocated in the 1860s.
Nora had considered moving into the Brand villa for the summer, but hesitated—it still felt like Aunt Signe’s home. Besides, the spacious merchant’s house with its enormous windows and old radiators cost a hell of a lot to heat.
Outside the window the bare branches of the lilac trees were outlined starkly against the sky. In the summer their leafy growth formed a protective frame around the garden, but now she could see straight through. In spite of the cold weather she had chased the boys outside to get some fresh air. At least, that was the excuse; to tell the truth, she needed some time to herself, time to think things over in peace.
Surprisingly, she hadn’t had to ask twice. Simon’s buddy Fabian was on the island with his family, so they had friends close by.
A welcome blessing in the midst of all the misery.
She couldn’t stop thinking about Henrik. Had she driven him into the arms of that nurse? Had she been such a bad wife that he’d been forced to seek consolation elsewhere? It was true she’d put her foot down when it came to the Brand villa, but could her decision to keep the house really have caused him to be unfaithful?
