The Drowning

9

He held his hands over his ears. He couldn’t understand how something so tiny could produce such a racket, and how something so ugly could attract so much attention.

Everything had changed after those holiday weeks spent at the campground. Mother got fatter and fatter until she disappeared for a week and then came home with little sister. He’d wondered a bit about that, but no one had bothered to answer his questions.

Nobody paid the slightest attention to him any more. Father was the same as always. And Mother only had eyes for the wrinkled little bundle. She was always walking about, carrying little sister, who never stopped crying. She was always holding her and feeding her and changing her and cuddling her and cooing to her. He was just in the way. The only time he caught his mother’s attention was when she scolded him. He didn’t like it when she did that, but anything was better than when she looked right through him, as if he were nothing but air.

What angered her the most was when he ate too much. She was very finicky about food. ‘You need to pay attention to your weight,’ she always said when Father asked for another helping of gravy.

Nowadays he always helped himself to more food. Not just once, but two or three times. At first Mother had tried to stop him. But he simply stared at her as he slowly and deliberately poured himself more gravy or shovelled more mashed potatoes on to his plate. Finally she’d given up and merely glared at him angrily. And the servings got bigger and bigger. Part of him enjoyed the disgust he saw in her eyes whenever he opened his mouth wide and stuffed in the food. At least she was looking at him. But nobody called him ‘my handsome little boy’ any more. He was no longer handsome. He was ugly. Both inside and out. But at least she didn’t ignore him.

After putting the baby in her cot, Mother often lay down to take a nap. Then he would go over to look at little sister. Otherwise he wasn’t allowed to touch her, not when Mother was looking. ‘Take your hands away, they might be dirty.’ But when Mother was asleep, he could look at the baby. And touch her.

He tilted his head to one side and studied her. Her face looked like an old woman’s. Slightly chapped and red. As she slept, she clenched her hands into little fists and moved about a bit. She had kicked off the blanket. He didn’t pull it back over her. Why should he do that? She’d taken everything away from him.

Alice. Even her name filled him with disgust. He hated Alice.

‘I want you to give my jewellery to Laila’s girls.’

‘Lisbet, sweetheart, can’t this wait?’ He took her hand, which was lying on top of the covers. He squeezed it gently, feeling how fragile her bones were. Like bird bones.

‘No, Kenneth, it can’t wait. I can’t rest until I know that everything is in order. I’ll never find peace if I know that I’ve left you with a big mess.’ She smiled.

‘But…’ He cleared his throat and tried again. ‘It’s so…’ Again his voice broke, and he could feel tears filling his eyes. He quickly wiped them away. He needed to remain in control, he had to be strong. But the tears fell on to the flowered duvet cover, which they’d had from the very beginning. By now it was faded from being laundered so many times. He always put it on her bed, because he knew how much she loved it.

‘You don’t need to pretend in front of me,’ she said, stroking his head.

‘Are you rubbing my bald spot again?’ he said, attempting to smile. She gave him a wink.

‘I’ve always thought that hair on the head is overrated. You know that. A nice, shiny head is much more attractive.’

He laughed. She’d always been able to make him laugh. Who was going to do that now? Who would stroke his head and say that it was lucky God had made a landing strip for her caresses in the middle of his head? Kenneth knew that he wasn’t the most attractive man in the world. But in Lisbet’s eyes he was. And he still marvelled at the fact that he had such a beautiful wife. Even now, after the cancer had stripped her of everything it could take, and eaten away at every part of her body. She had been so unhappy to lose her hair, and he’d tried to make the same joke about her. Telling her that God had now made a landing strip for his caresses. But her smile had not reached her eyes.

Her hair had always been her pride and joy. Blonde and curly. He saw her eyes fill with tears when she stood in front of the mirror and slowly ran her hand over the sparse wisps that remained after the treatment. He still found her beautiful, but he knew that it made her sad. So the first thing he did when he had occasion to drive to Göteborg was to go into a shop and buy her a Hermès scarf. She had been longing for a scarf like that, but had always objected when he wanted to buy her one. ‘It’s not right to pay so much money for a small piece of fabric,’ she had told him when he tried to insist.

Nonetheless, when he went to Göteborg he bought her a scarf. The most expensive one in the shop. With an effort she had climbed out of bed and opened the package, taking out the scarf and carrying it over to the mirror. With her eyes fixed on her own face she had wrapped the glossy silk square with the yellow and gold pattern around her head. It had hidden the hair loss and dulled the cold. And it had brought back the gleam in her eye, which the harsh treatment had taken away, along with her hair.

She hadn’t said a word, just walked over to him as he sat on her bed, leaned down, and kissed him on the top of his head. Then she had crawled back into bed. Ever since, she had always worn that scarf wrapped around her head.

‘I want Annette to have that heavy gold necklace, and give Josefine the pearls. They can divide up the rest as they see fit. Let’s just hope that they don’t end up fighting as a result.’ Lisbet laughed, certain that her sister’s daughters would be able to agree on how to share the jewellery she was leaving behind.

Kenneth gave a start. He’d been lost in his own memories, and her words came as a cruel awakening. He understood his wife and her need to make arrangements for everything before she died. At the same time, he couldn’t bear being reminded of the inevitable, which was no longer very far away, according to those who knew about such things. He would have given anything not to be sitting here, holding her frail hand in his own and listening to his beloved wife dividing up her earthly goods.

‘And I don’t want you to live alone for the rest of your life. Get out once in a while so you have a chance to see what’s available. But stay away from those Internet dating services, because I think that -’

‘Okay, that’s enough of that,’ he said, stroking her cheek. ‘Do you really think that any other woman could ever measure up to you? It’s better not even to go looking.’

‘I don’t want you to be alone,’ she said solemnly, gripping his hand as hard as she could. ‘Do you hear me? You have to go on with your life.’ Beads of sweat appeared on her forehead, and he gently wiped them away with the handkerchief lying on the bedside table.

‘You’re here with me right now. And that’s the only thing that matters.’

They sat in silence for a while, gazing into each other’s eyes and seeing their whole life together. The great passion in the beginning, which had never really disappeared, even though daily life sometimes nibbled away at the edges. All the laughter, all the friendship, all the companionship. All the nights they had lain close, so close to each other as she rested her cheek on his chest. All the years of yearning for children that never came, their hopes flushed away in torrents of red, until finally they had reached a stage of calm acceptance. Their lives filled with friends, shared interests, and love for one another.

His mobile was ringing out in the front hall. He didn’t get up, though he let go of her hand. But the phone kept ringing, and finally she nodded at him.

‘You might as well take the call. It sounds like someone is really trying to get hold of you.’

Kenneth reluctantly stood up, went out to the hall, and picked up his mobile from the bureau. ‘Erik’, it said on the display. Again he felt annoyance wash over him. Even now he insisted on intruding.

‘Yes?’ he said, making no effort to hide his feelings. But his mood changed as he listened to what Erik had to say. He asked a few, brief questions and then ended the conversation before going back into Lisbet’s room. He took a deep breath as he fixed his gaze on her face, so ravaged by illness but in his eyes so beautiful, framed by a halo of yellow and gold.

‘It seems that they’ve found Magnus. And he’s dead.’

Erica had tried to ring Patrik several times, but there was no answer. He must be really busy down at the station.

She was at home, sitting in front of her computer and doing a search on the Internet. Though she stubbornly tried to focus on the task, there was no denying that it was distracting to have two sets of feet kicking inside her stomach. It was hard to keep her thoughts in check. And her worries. She recalled the early days with Maja, which hadn’t been anything like the rosy visions of baby bliss that she’d imagined. That period was like a black hole, when she thought back on it, and now it was going to be doubled. Two to feed, two babies waking up in the middle of the night, two demanding all her attention, all her time. Maybe she was selfish, maybe that was why she had such a hard time placing her very existence, her whole life in someone else’s hands. The hands of her children. She cringed at the idea, and then instantly felt guilty. Why on earth did she feel so anxious about something as incredible as having two more children, two gifts at one time? But she did. She was so worried that it was practically tearing her apart. Yet this time she knew the result. Maja was such a joy that Erica didn’t regret for one second the difficult period she’d been through. But she still had the memories of what it had been like, and they continued to bother her.

Suddenly she felt a kick that was so hard she had to gasp for breath. One of the babies, or maybe both of them, seemed to have a talent for football. The pain brought her back to the present. She was well aware that she was preoccupied with her speculations about Christian and the letters because it kept other thoughts and worries away. But she didn’t see anything wrong with that.

She opened Google and typed in his name: Christian Thydell. She got several pages of hits. All of them had to do with his book; none of them mentioned anything about his past. She tried adding ‘Trollhättan’. No hits. But if he had lived there, he must have left some traces behind. And she should be able to find out more about him. She chewed on her thumbnail as she thought. Could it be that she was off on the wrong track? There was really nothing in the letters to indicate that they’d come from someone Christian had known before he moved to Fjällbacka.

She kept coming back to the question: why was he so secretive about his past? It felt as though Christian had erased the life he’d lived before he arrived in Fjällbacka. Or was she the only one he refused to talk to? The thought stung, but she couldn’t get it out of her mind. Of course he hadn’t been particularly open with his colleague at work either, but that was a whole different matter. Erica felt that she and Christian had become friends when they worked on his manuscript, tossing around thoughts and ideas, discussing tone and nuances in his writing. But maybe that wasn’t the case after all.

Erica realized that she ought to talk to more of Christian’s friends before she let her imagination run wild. But who? She had only a vague notion of who belonged to Christian’s circle of friends. Magnus Kjellner was the first person who came to mind, but unless some sort of miracle occurred, that wasn’t an option. Christian and Sanna also seemed to socialize with Erik Lind, the man who owned that construction company, and his partner, Kenneth Bengtsson. Erica had no idea how close they were to Christian, or which of them she should talk to in order to obtain the most information. And besides, how would Christian react if he found out that she was going around questioning everyone he knew?

She decided to ignore any such scruples, which were far outweighed by her curiosity. And it was in Christian’s own best interest, after all. If he refused to get to the bottom of who was sending those threatening letters, then she would just have to do it for him.

Suddenly she knew who she would talk to first.

Ludvig glanced at the clock again. It would soon be time for break. Maths was his absolute worst subject, and the hour was dragging along, as usual. Five more minutes. Today his class had break-time together with 7A, which meant the same time as Sussie. Her locker was in the next row over, and if he was lucky, they’d arrive there at the same time to put their books away after class. He’d had a crush on her for more than six months now. Nobody knew about it, except for his best friend Tom. And Tom knew that he would die a slow and painful death if he ever told anyone.

The bell rang, and Ludvig gratefully picked up his maths book and dashed out of the classroom. He kept looking around as he walked towards his locker, but Sussie was nowhere in sight. Maybe her class wasn’t over yet.

Soon he was going to get up the courage to talk to her. That’s what he’d decided. He just wasn’t sure how to begin or what he would say. He’d tried to get Tom to run into one of her friends, so that he could approach her that way. But Tom had refused, so Ludvig was forced to come up with some other plan.

The area around his locker was deserted. He opened the padlock, put his books inside, and carefully locked it again. Maybe she wasn’t in school today. He hadn’t seen her earlier either, so maybe she was sick or had the day off. The thought made him feel so depressed that he considered cutting his last class. He jumped when someone tapped him on the shoulder.

‘Sorry, Ludvig. I didn’t mean to scare you.’

The principal was standing behind him. She looked pale and tense, and in a fraction of a second, Ludvig knew why she wanted to talk to him. His thoughts of Sussie and everything else, which only a moment ago had seemed so important, instantly vanished, to be replaced by a pain so strong that he felt it would never let him go.

‘I’d like you to come with me to my office. Elin is waiting for us there.’

He nodded. There was no reason to ask what this was all about, since he already knew. The pain seemed to radiate from his fingertips, and he couldn’t feel his feet as he followed the principal. He was moving his feet forward, as he knew he had to, but they were completely numb.

In the corridor, halfway to the principal’s office, he saw Sussie. She looked at him, staring him right in the eye. But it felt like an eternity ago that such an encounter had meant anything to him, and he looked right through her. Nothing existed but the pain. Everything else was a reverberating void.

Elin burst into tears when she saw him. She had probably been sitting there, fighting back the sobs, and when he entered the room she rushed into his arms. He hugged her tight, stroking her back as she cried.

The police officers, whom he’d met a few times before, were standing nearby, giving the two siblings a moment to comfort each other. He still hadn’t uttered a word.

‘Where did you find him?’ Ludvig asked at last, even though he wasn’t aware of having formulated the question. He wasn’t even sure that he wanted to hear the answer.

‘Down by Sälvik,’ said the officer whose name was apparently Patrik. His colleague took a couple of steps back. She seemed at a loss for words. Ludvig understood how she felt. He didn’t know what to say either. Or what to do.

‘We thought we’d drive you home now.’ Patrik nodded at Paula to lead the way. Elin and Ludvig followed. In the doorway Elin stopped and turned towards Patrik.

‘Did Pappa drown?’

Ludvig stopped too, but he could see that the officer had no intention of saying anything more at the moment.

‘Let’s go home, Elin. We’ll find out all the details later,’ he said quietly, taking his sister’s hand. At first she resisted. She didn’t want to leave. She wanted to know what happened. But then she turned again to follow Paula.

‘All right. Let’s have a look…’ Mellberg paused for effect. He pointed at the corkboard where Patrik had carefully pinned up all the material they’d collected pertaining to Magnus Kjellner’s disappearance. ‘I’ve gathered here what we know so far, and there’s not much to write home about. Three months on the case, and this is all you’ve managed to dig up? It’s just as well you’re all out here in the sticks – back in Göteborg we knew what it was to work in a pressure-cooker environment. We would have solved a case like this in a week!’

Patrik and Annika exchanged glances. As the police chief in Tanumshede, Mellberg was constantly reminding his colleagues of the time he’d spent working in Göteborg. Although by now it seemed he’d given up any hopes of being transferred back to the city. He was the only one who had ever believed that might happen.

‘We’ve done everything we could,’ said Patrik wearily. He was aware how pointless it was to try to counter Mellberg’s accusations. ‘Besides, it wasn’t until today that it became a murder investigation. We’ve been treating it as a missing persons case.’

‘Okay, okay. Would you mind reviewing what exactly happened? Where was his body found, who found it, and what has Pedersen told you so far? I’ll give him a ring later, of course. I just haven’t had time yet. So we’ll have to make do with the information you have at the moment.’

Patrik reported on the events of the day.

‘Was he really stuck in the ice?’ Martin Molin shuddered as he looked at Patrik.

‘We’ll have photographs of the crime scene later, but yes, he was frozen solid. If the dog hadn’t gone out on the ice, it would have taken a long time before we found Magnus Kjellner. If ever. As soon as the ice thawed, his body would have come loose and then drifted away. He could have ended up anywhere.’ Patrik shook his head.

‘So I suppose that means we won’t be able to work out where or when he was tossed into the water, right?’ Gösta had a gloomy look on his face as he absentmindedly patted Ernst, who was pressed against his leg.

‘The ice didn’t set in until December. We’ll have to wait for Pedersen’s report to hear how long he thinks Magnus has been dead, but my guess is that he died right after he went missing.’ Patrik raised an admonitory finger. ‘But as I said, we have no facts to support that theory, so we can’t really use it as a basis for our investigation.’

‘But it does sound like a reasonable assumption,’ said Gösta.

‘You mentioned stab wounds. What do we know about that?’ Paula’s brown eyes narrowed as she impatiently tapped her pen on the notepad lying on the table in front of her.

‘I didn’t find out a lot about that either. You know how Pedersen is. He doesn’t really like to say anything until he’s done a thorough examination. The only thing he told me was that Kjellner had been assaulted and multiple stab wounds had been inflicted.’

‘Which seems to indicate that he’d been stabbed with a knife,’ Gösta added.

‘Most likely, yes.’

‘When are we going to get more information from Pedersen?’ Mellberg now sat at the head of the table and snapped his fingers to summon Ernst to his side. The dog instantly left Gösta and trotted over to place his head on his master’s knee.

‘He said he’d get to the post-mortem at the end of the week. So we might know more by the weekend, if we’re lucky. Otherwise early next week.’ Patrik sighed. Sometimes the constraints of the job taxed his patience. He wanted answers now, not in a week.

‘All right. What do you know about his disappearance?’ Mellberg made a show of holding up his empty coffee cup towards Annika, who pretended not to notice. Next he tried Martin, with better results. Martin hadn’t yet achieved the status required to ignore his boss. Mellberg leaned back with satisfaction as his youngest colleague got up and headed for the kitchen.

‘We know that Kjellner left home just after eight in the morning. Cia had already left at seven thirty to drive to her job in Grebbestad. She works part-time in an estate agents office there. The children had to leave by seven to catch the bus to school.’ Patrik paused to take a sip of his coffee after Martin had refilled everyone’s cups. Paula took the opportunity to jump in with a question.

‘How do you know that Magnus Kjellner left just after eight?’

‘That’s when a neighbour saw him leaving the house.’

‘Did he drive off?’

‘No, Cia had taken the family’s only car, and according to her, Magnus usually walked.’

‘But he didn’t walk all the way to Tanum, did he?’ asked Martin.

‘No, he rode to work with a colleague of his, Ulf Rosander, who lives over by the mini-golf course. That was where he walked. But on that particular morning, he phoned Rosander to say he’d be late. And he never showed up.’

‘Do we know that?’ asked Mellberg. ‘Have we taken a proper look at this Rosander? After all, we have only his word that Magnus never turned up.’

‘Gösta went out to interview Rosander, and there’s nothing to indicate that he’s lying, either from what he said or the way he acted,’ said Patrik.

‘Maybe you haven’t pressured him enough,’ said Mellberg, writing something on his notepad. He glanced up and fixed his gaze on Patrik. ‘Let’s bring him in and grill him a little more.’

‘Isn’t that a bit drastic? People might hesitate to talk to the police in future if they hear that we’ve started hauling witnesses down to the station,’ Paula objected. ‘How about if you and Patrik drive out to his place in Fjällbacka? Of course, I know that you’re extremely busy at the moment, so I could go with Patrik instead, if you like.’ She gave Patrik a discreet wink.

‘Hmmm, that’s true. I do have quite a lot on my plate right now. That’s a good idea, Paula. You and Patrik can drive over there and have another chat with… Rosell.’

‘Rosander,’ Patrik corrected him.

‘Right. That’s what I said.’ Mellberg glared at Patrik. ‘At any rate, I want you and Paula to talk to him. I think that could be productive.’ He waved his hand impatiently. ‘So, what else? What more do we know?’

‘We’ve knocked on doors all along the route that Magnus used to take when he walked over to Rosander’s house. Nobody saw anything, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. People are always busy with their own morning routines,’ said Patrik.

‘It seems Magnus just disappeared in a puff of smoke the minute he stepped out the front door. Until we found him in the ice, that is.’ Martin had a resigned expression on his face as he looked at Patrik, who made an effort to sound more positive than he actually felt.

‘No one just disappears. Somewhere there are traces of what happened. We just have to find them.’

Patrik could hear the platitudes rolling a bit too glibly from his lips, but he had nothing else to offer.

‘What about his personal life? Have we dug deep enough? Pulled all the skeletons out of the wardrobe?’ Mellberg laughed at his own joke, but no one joined in.

‘Magnus and Cia’s closest friends are Erik Lind, Kenneth Bengtsson, and Christian Thydell. And their wives. We’ve talked to all of them, along with Magnus’s family members. But the only thing we’ve learned is that Magnus was a devoted father and a good friend. No gossip, no secrets, no rumours.’

‘Rubbish!’ Mellberg snorted. ‘Everybody has something to hide. It’s just a matter of digging it out. You clearly haven’t tried hard enough.’

‘Of course…’ Patrik began. But then he fell silent as he realized that Mellberg might actually be right, for a change. Maybe they hadn’t dug deep enough, maybe they hadn’t asked the right questions. ‘Of course we’ll do another round of interviews with his family and friends,’ he went on. He suddenly pictured Christian Thydell, and the letter that lay in the top drawer of his desk. But Patrik didn’t want to say anything about that yet, not until he had something more concrete to go on. So far it was just a gut feeling.

‘Okay then. Let’s do it over, and do it right!’ Mellberg stood up so fast that Ernst, who had been resting his head on his master’s knee, almost toppled over. The police chief was halfway out of the door when he turned and gave his subordinates a stern look as they sat around the table. ‘And let’s pick up the pace a bit too.’

Dark had fallen outside the train windows. He’d got up so early that morning that it now felt more like evening, even though his watch told him it was only late afternoon. In his pocket his mobile stubbornly buzzed again and again, but he ignored it. No matter who was trying to call, it was bound to be someone who wanted something from him. Someone trying to chase him down and make demands.

Christian stared out of the window. They had just passed Herrljunga. He’d left his car in Uddevalla. From there it was about a forty-five-minute drive home to Fjällbacka. He leaned his forehead on the pane and closed his eyes. The glass felt cold against his skin. The darkness outside seemed to be forcing its way inward, towards him. He gasped for breath, opened his eyes, and moved his head back. His forehead and the tip of his nose had left a visible print on the windowpane. He raised his hand and rubbed it off. He didn’t want to look at that, didn’t want to see any trace of himself.

When the train arrived in Uddevalla, he was so tired that he could barely see straight. He’d tried to doze off during the last hour of the trip, but images kept flickering through his mind, keeping him awake. He stopped at the McDonald’s on the road to Torp and bought a large coffee, which he quickly downed for the sake of the caffeine.

His mobile was buzzing again, but he didn’t feel like taking the phone out of his pocket, much less talking to whoever was so persistently trying to reach him. It was probably Sanna. She would be annoyed with him when he finally got home, but he didn’t care.

He could feel a prickling sensation in his body, and he shifted position in the driver’s seat. The headlamps from the car behind him were shining in his rear-view mirror, and he was temporarily blinded when he shifted his gaze to the road ahead. There was something about those headlamps – the steadily maintained distance, and the glare – that made him glance in the rear-view mirror again. It was the same car that had been behind him ever since he stopped in Torp. Or was it? He rubbed his eyes. He was no longer sure about anything.

The lights stayed with him as he turned off the motorway at the sign for Fjällbacka. Christian squinted, trying to make out what model car was following him. But it was too dark, and the headlamps were too bright. His hands were sweaty as he tightened his grip on the steering wheel. He was holding on so hard that his hands started to ache, and he briefly let go to flex his fingers.

He pictured her in his mind. She was wearing the blue dress, holding the child in her arms. The scent of strawberries, the taste of her lips. The feeling of the dress fabric against his skin. Her hair, long and brown.

Something jumped out in front of his car. Christian braked hard and for several seconds, the tyres lost contact with the road. The car slid towards the ditch, and he could feel that he’d lost control of the vehicle; he just let it happen. But a few centimetres from the edge, the car came to a halt. The white rump of a deer was clearly visible in the light of the headlamps, and he watched the animal leaping with fright across the field.

The engine was still running, but the sound was drowned out by the roar inside his head. In his rear-view mirror he noticed that the car behind him had also stopped, and he knew that he ought to get going. Away from those headlamps shining in the mirror.

A car door opened and someone got out of the other vehicle. Who was that coming towards him? It was so dark outside, and he couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman approaching. A few more steps and the dark figure would reach his door.

Christian’s hands began shaking as he continued to grip the wheel. He looked away from the mirror to stare out across the open field at the edge of the forest, which was vaguely discernible a short distance away. He stared and waited. The door on the passenger side of his car opened.

‘Are you all right? Everything okay? It looks like you almost hit that deer.’

Christian turned his head towards the voice. A white-haired man in his sixties was standing there, looking at him.

‘I’m fine,’ Christian muttered. ‘I was just a bit shocked. That’s all.’

‘I can understand that. It’s awful when something jumps out in front of your car like that. Are you sure you’re all right though?’

‘Absolutely. I’m going to head for home now. I’m on my way to Fjällbacka.’

‘Ah, I see. I’m going to Hamburgsund. Drive carefully.’

The man shut the door, and Christian could feel his pulse begin to slow down. It was only ghosts, memories from the past. Nothing that could harm him.

A little voice in his head tried to talk about the letters. They were not figments of his imagination. But he turned a deaf ear, refusing to listen to the voice. If he started thinking about that, she would be in control again. And that was something he could not allow. He had worked so hard to forget. She wasn’t going to get hold of him again.

He started driving, headed for Fjällbacka. In his jacket pocket his mobile was buzzing.