The Caller

Chapter 33

Snorrason called from the Institute of Forensic Medicine.

The food in the blue Tupperware container was laced with large amounts of a chemical called bromadiolone, he reported.

‘That means nothing to me,’ Sejer said. ‘Put that in layman’s terms.’

‘It’s the same active ingredient that’s found in rat poison. It prevents the blood from coagulating, so you bleed everywhere. Easy to get your hands on too — they sell it at the supermarket. And it doesn’t cost much.’

If you wanted to get rid of somebody.

Trude Beskow was arrested at her house in Askeland, and taken into custody, suspected of poisoning her father, Henry Beskow.

She had never been sober for so many consecutive days, and with her sobriety came a rage she was unable to rein in. Her body broke down; like a motor without oil, it stopped. There was nothing to assist her through the day, and she was trapped, powerless, in each and every shrill second. The officers at the jail called her ‘The Cyclone’. She liked to throw the furniture in her cell, and sometimes she screamed for long stretches at a time. Stubbornly she proclaimed her innocence, asserting that it was the carer, Mai Sinok, who had poisoned her father’s food.

‘No doubt he promised her money,’ she declared. ‘Or he promised her the house. That’s the kind of thing old people do when someone takes pity on them.’

‘We have no reason to believe that,’ Sejer said. ‘She is not a beneficiary in his will. But you are.’

Johnny Beskow was appointed a defence lawyer. Sejer was pleased it was a woman, and he knew she had a son Johnny’s age. Because he was a minor, he could not be held in custody. But he had to report to the police station three times a week, and he was always right on time. After he’d reported to the front desk, he would go straight to Sejer’s office. There they would talk over a glass of mineral water. Johnny Beskow put all his cards on the table, and admitted it had been fun to scare people senseless. But it was a game, he said. ‘I just wanted to stir things up a bit. I never meant to hurt anyone.’

‘But you did hurt people,’ Sejer said sternly. ‘You hurt them badly, perhaps for life. And even if you don’t understand it today, you may understand it later, when you’re older.’ He looked directly into the young man’s eyes. ‘What has your life been like? Your life with your mother at Askeland?’

Johnny grew morose, and his face assumed a bitter expression. ‘She’s never sober. And she takes it out on me. It’s really unfair.’

‘Yes,’ Sejer said, ‘it is unfair. What about you? Have you been fair? I mean, have you been fair to Gunilla? To Astrid and Helge Landmark? To Frances and Evelyn Mold? Have you been fair to Karsten and Lily Sundelin?’

Johnny leapt from his chair and paced the room. Threw angry glances at Sejer over his shoulder. ‘Why should I be fair when nobody else is fair?’

‘Do you know this for a fact?’

Johnny didn’t respond. He continued his irritable pacing.

‘I’ve always been fair,’ Sejer said. ‘Throughout my entire life. It was never difficult.’

‘Aren’t you a saint,’ Johnny said.

‘Let’s talk about Theo,’ Sejer said, ‘and what happened to him. You say you’ve never been up to Bjørn Schillinger’s house. But you know his house is on the top of a hill. How do you know that?’

Johnny stopped pacing. He leaned over the table, grasped Sejer’s burgundy-coloured tie and tugged at it. ‘He lives at Sagatoppen. It’s obvious he lives on top of a hill. You can blame me for everything except the dogs! I will tell you one thing: either way, my life isn’t worth much. If what happened with the dogs was my fault, I would’ve drowned myself.’

He stuck to his story.

As if the truth had given him a special power.

He stared into Sejer’s eyes without wavering; he held his hands out as if to demonstrate how clean they were.

His voice was strong and firm.

Don’t blame me for what happened to Theo.

They came to like each other in a quiet sort of way. Sejer had nothing against being a father figure to the delinquent boy, and Johnny had lost the only person who had ever meant anything to him. Because Johnny had to report so often, they met regularly. Occasionally Sejer bought simple food, which he heated in the microwave.

‘You’ll have to be satisfied with frozen dinners,’ Sejer said apologetically. ‘I’m a terrible cook.’

‘OK, Grandpa,’ Johnny said. ‘But you’re pretty good at warming up meals.’ He shovelled mouthfuls of food and looked at Sejer. ‘All this attention you give me, is it part of your plan? So that I’ll make more confessions? You’re mistaken if you think it will lead to something. I’m not walking into that trap.’ He put his index finger to his temple. ‘I’m not stupid.’

‘You’re too skinny,’ Sejer said. ‘That’s the only reason.’

One day, after they’d talked for a while, Johnny leaned eagerly across the table. ‘What’s going to happen to my mother?’

‘It’s too early to say,’ Sejer said. ‘But it’s not looking good for her.’

‘She’s never going to admit to anything. She’ll deny it until her dying day. But she can’t be trusted, not one damn bit. Will she get life?’ he asked hopefully. ‘Will they give her only bread and water? Will they keep the lights on all night? Cell inspection every hour?’

‘Would you like to see that happen?’

‘I would’ve liked to see her in the electric chair. Or in the gallows. Or in the garrotte.’

‘Such medieval methods are no longer used, thank God,’ Sejer said.

‘Everyone complains about the Middle Ages,’ Johnny said. ‘They say everything was so much worse then. But the garrotte was used right up until 1974.’

‘And where would that be?’

‘In Spain.’

‘How do you know these things?’

‘I know everything about that kind of thing,’ Johnny said. ‘It’s the way I think.’

Sejer sized him up. ‘I want to talk about what happened to your grandfather. We have to get to the bottom of it. Be prepared to have many long conversations. We’ll need to do it right.’

‘If my mother is convicted, she’ll be disinherited, right?’

‘I would imagine so,’ Sejer said. ‘Would that make you happy?’

‘Yes. It would’ve made Grandpa happy too.’