‘And afterwards? Did she try to get in touch with you?’
‘According to my siblings, she thought that I had treated her terribly. In her words: That’s not how anyone should treat their mother. I refused to phone her. After a month or two she started sending me letters. Long furious tirades in which she described all the things she had done for me and how grateful I ought to be. I read the first couple and then tossed the others out. I didn’t even bother to open them. She had always been on my back, and it was so liberating to break off all ties with her. It’s the smartest thing I ever did. The best present I ever gave to myself and to my husband and children. Even though I know how awful that must sound.’
Mikaela Hammar spoke in a firm voice, but her hand was shaking as she lifted her coffee cup. For a moment no one said a word. Knutas could easily picture the scene in his mind. He sipped his coffee.
‘Considering how long it has been since you communicated with each other, I can understand that it might be hard for you to say anything about possible threats to your mother’s life. If that’s what we’re actually dealing with, that is.’
‘In reality, I think any of us could be pushed so far that we might want to kill her. That’s how hard she has stomped on us, abused us and exploited us. Plus she has always kept certain things secret. Has either of my brothers told you anything about Mats?’
SHE HADN’T SET foot outside the house since coming home from hospital a week ago. She got up every morning, ate breakfast, read the paper, and listened to the local radio station. Then she waited for lunch, which usually consisted of soup or a salad. Around two in the afternoon she had coffee, and she ate dinner in front of the TV, watching the news. The hours in between meals dragged along. She couldn’t concentrate on anything. Had no interest in doing any cleaning or painting or pottering about in her little garden, which was what she usually did at this time of year. She felt frozen. As if waiting for something, but she had no idea what it might be. The days passed, and she longed for the cabin that no longer existed. The realization that it was gone had hit her suddenly, making her sob for hours. She lay on her bed like a child, shaking all over. She felt overwhelmed by fear, but no one came to her rescue. Viktor was dead, and none of her children answered the phone when she rang. She was utterly alone.
The fact that she couldn’t get hold of Simon was something she’d grown accustomed to over the past few months. But what about Andreas? He had changed lately. His tone of voice was harsher, less amenable. And he wasn’t as easy to reach as he had been before. Maybe because he’d met someone. There were clear signs in his house. She’d found an eyeliner pencil in the bathroom, a hair clip on the hall table. All of a sudden he had plain yoghurt in his refrigerator. And he never picked up the phone when she called.
* * *
This morning she was feeling even more anxious than usual. She got up and went through her usual morning routine, but she was filled with nervous energy. She wandered through the rooms of her small house, then went out in the courtyard and tried to read the paper. But she couldn’t sit still. She washed her hair, but that kept the anguish at bay for only a brief time. She tried to do a crossword puzzle but her thoughts kept drifting in different directions. She couldn’t focus. Nothing held her attention for long. When she decided to have her afternoon coffee, she was dismayed to discover that there were only a few grounds left in the bottom of the tin. And there wasn’t another one in the cupboard. Andreas still wasn’t answering his phone. She was going to have to go out. She gave a start when she saw her own reflection in the mirror. She needed to do something about her appearance.
She spent almost an hour fixing herself up. She chose an elegant white trouser suit that was probably a bit excessive for a walk to the ICA supermarket, but what the hell. She carefully put on her make-up and then spent time blow-drying her hair, which was getting too long. And the roots were showing. She needed to get her hair coloured and cut.
When she studied her transformation in the mirror before leaving the house, she was definitely satisfied. She looked almost like her old self.
The pressure in her chest returned the minute she stepped out on to the street. She cast a surreptitious glance in both directions. Not a soul in sight. No police car either. The surveillance had been stopped. The police chief had explained that they just didn’t have the resources to continue it. No resources. The thought was appalling. Viktor had been murdered, and she herself had almost been killed by an arsonist. Was the threat really over? On the other hand, she couldn’t very well spend the rest of her life locked inside her house. The situation was both incomprehensible and frightening. She simply couldn’t imagine who would want to harm her; she had never hurt a fly. She’d spent her whole life helping others and standing up for her fellow human beings, without giving a thought to herself. She had devoted herself to her children, colleagues, neighbours, friends and acquaintances – and received nothing but ingratitude in return. That was the bitter lesson she’d learned. But who on earth would want to kill her? She could think of only one person, and that was Viktor’s widow, Elisabeth Algård. Who else could it possibly be? Elisabeth had gone completely berserk when he told her that he wanted a divorce. Later he’d also said that his wife was crazy with jealousy.
Veronika couldn’t understand why the police hadn’t arrested her. She hoped they were at least keeping an eye on her and it was just a matter of time. Maybe Elisabeth was being escorted over to the station at this very moment. The idea gave her renewed strength as she walked along the deserted street. So far there were still very few people in Visby, but soon the hordes of tourists would invade the town. She wouldn’t be able to retreat to the cabin this summer, but eventually it would be rebuilt. For now she would have to make do with staying at Andreas’s farm for the summer holiday. At least it was out in the country, even though it was rather far from the sea.
What if she stopped for coffee at Rosengården before she did her shopping? It was her favourite café, and she hadn’t been there in weeks. Besides, she was desperate for a cup of coffee, and they had the best espresso. She came to the entrance and, without further hesitation, went inside.
The usual waitress smiled at her, saying how nice it was to see her. ‘How are you?’
‘Fine, thanks,’ replied Veronika. She ordered her coffee and a piece of carrot cake. A few customers had taken seats on the outdoor patio. A couple of tables were occupied, but she avoided looking at the people sitting there.
She chose her favourite table at the very back, close to the garden. It stood next to a small lilac bower, which was already starting to bloom. From there she had a good view of the Botanical Gardens and all the flowers. This was an oasis and one of the few places in town where she could relax, even when she was alone.
A few minutes later the waitress came back carrying a tray, clinking and clattering. Veronika thanked her and then took a sip of the strong coffee, feeling her energy level revive. Everything was going to be fine. She refused to give up. The birds were chirping, having a calming effect on her. The carrot cake she’d ordered was big and moist. As she raised the fork to her mouth, a man entered the restaurant. She thought he looked familiar.
But she just couldn’t place him.
THE CAFÉ WAS on the outskirts of Visby, with a view of the Botanical Gardens. The sun was shining and it was a warm day. Emma wanted to go someplace where she could sit in peace and think. And it had to be outdoors so she could smoke. Over the past few years she had sometimes smoked a lot, sometimes not at all. She had stopped when she was pregnant with Sara and Filip and while she was breastfeeding. But afterwards she had started smoking again. The same thing had happened with Elin. As soon as she stopped breastfeeding, Emma had resumed smoking even though she had actually weaned herself of the habit. Lots of her friends and acquaintances thought it was odd for her to be so addicted to nicotine. She worked out several times a week, taught young children and loved to take walks in the woods. In fact, she was considered a real ou
tdoors person. Emma couldn’t explain why she smoked. Right now she needed to think, and that meant being able to light up a cigarette.
She walked through the gate in the ring wall to the garden café and looked around. A dozen or so tables had been placed outside among the blossoming apple trees and lilacs. Here anyone wanting both shade and solitude could find a place. Three tables were occupied. At one of them sat an elderly man working on the crossword puzzle in the newspaper, with a cup of coffee and a piece of marzipan cake in front of him. At another table sat two teenage girls drinking lattes from oversize cups. They had their heads together, deep in conversation. At the third table sat a young man with a salad and a book. Emma couldn’t see the title. He was the only one who looked up as she went over to the counter to place her order. She asked for a double macchiato and her favourite dessert: Italian almond biscotti dipped in chocolate. She chose a table at the far end of the garden where she could sit in peace without being disturbed. The sun was so warm that she took off her jacket and draped it over the back of the chair next to her. Then she sipped her coffee and lit a cigarette.
She didn’t think it would do any harm, this early in the pregnancy. And besides, she wasn’t positive that she wanted to go through with it. She wasn’t going to tell Johan yet. Another child. What would that mean? When she saw the results on the pregnancy test she’d done at home this morning, she was seized with panic. To make things worse, her ex-husband Olle had rung the doorbell thirty seconds later. It was his turn to take care of the children. She had tossed the test in the waste-paper basket, covered it with some toilet paper, and then splashed some water on her face before going to the door. She had managed to pull herself together enough to send Sara and Filip off with the usual hugs and kisses, reminding them to phone her to say goodnight before they went to bed. But the test results had shocked her. She had to get out of the house and have time alone to think about the unexpected situation she now found herself in. Her friend Viveka was willing, as usual, to take care of Elin for a few hours. Emma hadn’t even dared tell Viveka about her condition. Not yet.
As she drove to town, her head was a whirl of contradictory thoughts. The idea of yet another pregnancy, yet another child, made her feel sick. The next instant she was ashamed of herself. Shouldn’t this kind of news make her happy? She was thirty-eight years old, married, with a good job and a wonderful husband who loved her. They had all the prerequisites for welcoming another child into their lives, and she assumed that Johan would be overjoyed.
Feeling dejected, she had parked the car near Stora Torget, bought a pack of cigarettes and the evening paper at ICA, and then walked over to the Botanical Gardens.
Now she was sitting here in the shade under the apple trees with the newspaper open in front of her so it would look as if she was reading. Silently she cursed herself. How could she have been so careless? Birth-control pills made her feel sick, and using an IUD didn’t work for her, so they had used condoms, but a few times they’d forgotten and had unprotected sex. Which was irresponsible, of course, since she got pregnant so easily. She had been foolish enough to think that it wouldn’t happen this time because she was getting older. She was almost forty.
She ran her hand over her stomach. A new life had taken root inside. What should she do? She was on the verge of tears, and that made her feel even more ashamed. She was a grown woman, after all.
The teenage girls had apparently finished their conversation, because they got up and left. The man reading the book followed close behind. The elderly man doing the crossword puzzle was still there, deeply engrossed in trying to find the right word, which he entered with a trembling hand. Then he took a sip of his coffee. Emma was grateful that the café was so empty. There weren’t many places she could go for some peace and quiet. As a teacher, she knew so many people, and wherever she went, she ran into parents and students.
An elegant woman came into the restaurant and paused for a moment to take a look around. She was in her sixties, petite and slender, wearing a white trouser suit. Her blond hair was cut in a pageboy style, and her lips were painted bright red. There was something glamorous about her, and Emma guessed that she must be a celebrity whose name she ought to know.
The woman sat down at an out-of-the-way table, half hidden by a lilac bower at the far end of the garden. Emma lost interest and absently leafed through the newspaper.
After a while someone joined the woman at her table. A man who looked about the same age as Emma came in and strode over to the woman sitting in the bower. He was tall and well built, wearing jeans and a shirt. Blond with a beard and dark sunglasses. He seemed very tense and somehow unpleasant. Emma forgot about her own problems for the moment as she surreptitiously studied the man and woman while she pretended to read the newspaper. Something had stirred her curiosity. She had the feeling they weren’t there to drink coffee and share a friendly conversation. There was something strained about them. In spite of the obvious age difference, she thought they might be lovers who had quarrelled.
The old man with the crossword puzzle finished his coffee, slowly got to his feet and left the café. Now Emma and the odd couple were the only customers. She could see the man only from the side, and his body practically hid the woman from view. He was leaning forward, speaking in a low voice. It was clear that they were talking about something important. She couldn’t make out any words, but she could hear the urgency in the man’s voice. Maybe the woman wanted to end the relationship, and he was trying to convince her to stay? Or was he the one who wanted to call it quits, and he was an offering a lengthy explanation? Wanting her to understand his decision? The woman said very little. Emma lost interest and went back to brooding over her own thoughts. Suddenly the woman stood up. She went over to the waitress and apparently asked for a key to the toilet, which the girl handed to her. The man remained sitting at the table, barely visible behind the lilac bushes. He must have changed position because now Emma could no longer see him clearly. Her mobile was ringing. It was Johan.
‘Hi, sweetheart. Where are you?’ he asked.
‘I’m in town, running some errands.’
‘Oh. Because I called the house and nobody answered.’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘How’s Elin?’
‘She was tired, so Viveka is babysitting her. I thought it was best for her to stay at home in peace and quiet. So I left her with Viveka.’
‘Really?’ Johan sounded surprised. ‘Is anything wrong?’
‘No, not at all. I just needed to take care of a few things. It’s nice to have a little time to myself.’
‘I know what you mean. It was a rough night, but it won’t last much longer, sweetheart. And she’ll never have whooping cough again. At least that’s a relief.’
‘Yes.’
Emma thought about the child inside of her, and all sorts of images raced through her mind. Another birth, more breastfeeding, getting the child used to the day-care centre, dirty nappies and more illnesses. Just the thought of all that made her panic.
Suddenly she heard a clattering sound from the table where the man and woman sat. Or had been sitting. At first she couldn’t see either of them. Then she heard a whimper and caught sight of an arm flailing about, chopping at the air. The younger man had left the table. Their eyes met as he passed Emma.
The older woman was also on her feet. But there was something odd about her. She looked as if she felt sick.
‘Johan, I have to go. I’ll call you later.’
MIKAELA HAMMAR POURED HERSELF more water and drank half of it.
‘None of us had a clue that we had a half-brother until Mats contacted us. Mamma had never said a word about him. Then one day the phone rang, and it was a man named Mats Andersson. He said that he was my half-brother, and he wanted to see me, so we agreed to meet at a café in Norrtälje. Of course I didn’t know whether he was telling the truth. Yet I had no reason to doubt what he said.’
‘How long ago was this?’ asked Knutas.
‘Who was his father?’ asked Jacobsson.
‘It didn’t say. Mats doesn’t know who his father is, and Mamma refuses to tell him.’
‘So he’s been in contact with her?’
Mikaela sighed bitterly.
‘He’s tried to meet her several times, but she doesn’t want anything to do with him. She pretends that he doesn’t exist. The first time she refused to see him, he was only thirteen. Can you imagine anyone doing such a thing? Giving away her child and then refusing to see him?’
Knutas cast a quick glance at Jacobsson. He put his hand on her arm.
Inspector Anders Knutas 6 - Dark Angel Page 22
