The Drowning

14

Alice still demanded so much. Mother devoted hours to training her, bending her joints, doing exercises with pictures and music. She had moved heaven and earth before she finally accepted the situation. Things were not as they should be with Alice.

But he no longer got so angry. He didn’t hate his sister, in spite of all the time she required from Mother. Because the look of triumph in her eyes was gone. She was calm and quiet. She mostly sat by herself, plucking at something, repeating the same movement for hours, staring out of the window or straight at the wall, looking at something only she could see.

And she did learn things. First how to sit up, then how to wriggle forward, finally how to walk. The same as other children. It just took longer for Alice.

Now and then Father would happen to look at him over her head. For a moment, just an instant, their eyes would meet, and there was something in Father’s expression that he couldn’t decipher. But he understood that Father was keeping watch over him, keeping watch over Alice. He wanted to tell Father that it wasn’t necessary. Why would he do anything to her, now that she was so nice?

He didn’t love her. He loved only Mother. But he tolerated her. Alice was now part of his world, a small part of his reality, in the same way as the TV set with its noise, the bed he crawled into at night, or the rustling of the newspapers that Father read. She was just as much a natural part of daily life, and she meant just as little.

Alice, on the other hand, adored him. He couldn’t understand it. Why had she chosen him instead of their beautiful mother? Alice’s face lit up whenever she saw him, and she would stretch out her arms to him, wanting to be picked up. Otherwise she didn’t like to be touched. She often recoiled and pulled away when Mother came near, wanting to caress her and hold her. He didn’t understand it. If Mother had wanted to touch him and caress him in that way, he would have crept into her embrace and closed his eyes, never wanting to leave.

Alice’s unconditional love for him was surprising. And yet it gave him a certain feeling of satisfaction that at least somebody wanted him. Sometimes he would test her love. On those few occasions when Father forgot to keep an eye on them and went to the toilet or out to the kitchen to get something, he would test how far her love extended. He would see how far he could go before the light in her eyes was extinguished. Sometimes he would pinch her, sometimes he would pull her hair. Once he had cautiously removed her shoe and scratched the sole of her foot with the little pocket knife he had found and always carried in his pocket.

He didn’t really like hurting her, but he knew how shallow love could be, and how easily it could be blown away. To his great amazement, Alice never cried; she didn’t even give him a reproachful look. She simply put up with whatever he did. Silently, with those bright eyes staring at him.

And no one ever took any notice of the little black and blue marks or the tiny cuts on her body. She was constantly getting bumps and bruises, toppling over, running into things, and cutting herself. It was as if she moved about with a couple of seconds’ time lag in her awareness, and she often didn’t react until she was already knocking into something. But she never cried, even then.

There were no signs on the outside, nothing that was visible. Even he had to admit that she looked like an angel. If Mother took Alice out in her pushchair – and she was really too big for it by now, but she was still allowed to ride in it because she took so long to walk anywhere on her own – strangers would always comment on the way Alice looked.

‘What a lovely child,’ they would chirp. Leaning over her, they would look at Alice with hungry eyes, as if they wanted to inhale all her sweetness. And he used to glance up at Mother, noticing how for a second she would beam with pride as she nodded.

Then everything would be destroyed in an instant. Alice would reach out towards her admirers with drool hanging from her lips. Then they would abruptly step back, casting first a shocked and then a sympathetic glance at Mother, while her proud expression vanished.

They never looked at him at all. He was just somebody walking behind Mother and Alice, if he was even allowed to go along. A fat, shapeless mass, and no one gave him a thought. But he didn’t care. It was as if the anger that had burned inside his chest had died the moment the water had covered Alice’s face. He never noticed the smell in his nostrils any more. That sweet smell had disappeared, as if it had never existed. That too the water had washed away. Although the memory was still there. Not like a memory of something real, but more like a feeling of something displaced. He was someone else now. Someone who knew that Mother no longer loved him.

They got started early. Patrik had refused to listen to any protests about holding the meeting at seven o’clock sharp.

‘I have a very ambiguous picture of who’s behind all of this,’ he said after having summarized the case. ‘We seem to be dealing with an individual who is seriously mentally unbalanced, but at the same time extremely cautious and well organized. And that’s a dangerous combination.’

‘We don’t know for sure that the same person who killed Magnus is also responsible for the letters and the break-in at Kenneth’s house,’ said Martin.

‘No, but there’s nothing to contradict that theory either. I suggest that for the present we assume there’s a connection.’ Patrik rubbed his face with his hand. He’d lain in bed tossing and turning most of the night, and he felt more tired than ever. ‘I’ll phone Pedersen after we’re done here and find out if we can get a definitive answer about the cause of death for Magnus.’

‘It’s probably going to take a few more days to get Pedersen’s report,’ said Paula.

‘I know, but it doesn’t hurt to lean on him a bit.’ Patrik pointed at the corkboard on the wall. ‘We’ve wasted far too much time already. It’s been three months since Magnus disappeared, but only in the past few days did we find out about the threats to other individuals.’

Everyone’s eyes were fixed on the photographs that were pinned up next to each other.

‘We have four friends: Magnus Kjellner, Christian Thydell, Kenneth Bengtsson, and Erik Lind. One is dead. The other three have received threatening letters from someone who we believe to be a woman. Unfortunately we don’t know whether Magnus received similar letters. At any rate his wife, Cia, isn’t aware of any. So it’s unlikely we’ll ever know for sure.’

‘But why these four?’ Paula squinted her eyes at the photos.

‘If we knew that, we’d probably know who’s behind everything,’ said Patrik. ‘Annika, have you found out anything interesting about their backgrounds?’

‘Not really. At least not yet. No surprises when it comes to Kenneth Bengtsson. There’s a lot about Erik Lind, but nothing that seems relevant for us. Mostly suspicions regarding shady financial dealings and that sort of thing.’

‘I’ll bet that Erik is involved in some way,’ said Mellberg. ‘He’s a slippery devil. I’ve heard plenty of rumours about his business enterprises. He’s also a real ladies’ man. So obviously we ought to take a closer look at him.’ He tapped his finger against the side of his nose.

‘But why was Magnus murdered?’ asked Patrik, receiving an annoyed look in reply.

‘I haven’t found much on Christian so far,’ Annika went on calmly. ‘But I’ll keep at it, and of course I’ll let you know if I find out anything that might be useful.’

‘Don’t forget that he was the first to receive a letter.’ Paula was still staring at the corkboard. ‘They started arriving a year and a half ago. Christian has also received more letters than his friends. At the same time, it seems odd that the others would be dragged into the situation if only one person was the target. I have a strong feeling that there’s something linking all four of them together.’

‘I agree. And it also seems significant that it was Christian who first drew the attention of whoever this person is.’ Patrik wiped his forehead. It was hot and stuffy in the room, and he’d begun to sweat. He turned to Annika. ‘Focus on Christian for now.’

‘I still think we need to concentrate on Erik,’ said Mellberg. He glared at Gösta. ‘What do you say, Flygare? You and I are the ones with the most experience. Don’t you think Erik Lind should be given some extra attention?’

Gösta squirmed. He’d made it through his whole career as a police officer by adopting the policy of always taking the path of least resistance. But after wrestling with himself for a few seconds, he finally shook his head.

‘Well, even though I see your point, I’m afraid I’ll have to agree with Hedström that Christian Thydell seems the most interesting at the moment.’

‘All right, if you want to waste more time, then go ahead,’ said Mellberg, getting up with a hurt expression on his face. ‘I have better things to do than to sit here casting pearls before swine.’ And he left the room.

What Mellberg apparently regarded as ‘better things to do’ involved taking a lengthy nap. But Patrik had no intention of stopping him. The more Mellberg kept out of the investigation, the better.

‘Okay, so you’ll focus on Christian,’ Patrik reiterated, nodding at Annika. ‘When do you think you’ll have something for me?’

‘By tomorrow I should have a much clearer picture of his background.’

‘That’s great. Martin and Gösta, I’d like you to go and see Kenneth at his home. Try to find out more details about what happened yesterday, and about the letters. Eventually we should also have another talk with Erik Lind. For my part, I’m going to phone Pedersen as soon as it’s eight o’clock.’ Patrik cast a glance at his watch. Only another half-hour. ‘Then I think Paula and I should drive over to see Cia.’

Paula nodded. ‘Just let me know when you’re ready, and we’ll head over there.’

‘Good. So now everyone knows what they should be doing.’

Martin raised his hand.

‘Yes?’

‘Shouldn’t we provide some sort of police protection for Christian and the others?’

‘I’ve thought of that, of course. But we just don’t have the resources, and we don’t have much to go on yet. So we’ll wait on that. Anything else?’

No one spoke.

‘Okay, then let’s get busy.’ Patrik wiped the sweat from his brow again. Next time, in spite of the winter weather, they would really need to open one of the windows to let in some air.

After the others had left, Patrik remained seated at the table for a while, studying what was posted on the corkboard. Four men. Four friends. One of them dead.

What was it that linked all of them together?

Sanna felt like she was always tiptoeing around him. Their marriage had never been good, not even in the beginning. It took courage to admit that, but she could no longer ignore the truth. Christian had never let her into his life.

He’d always said what was expected of him, done the things he was supposed to do, courted her and given her compliments. But she had never really believed him, although in the past she refused to admit as much to herself. Because he was more than she had ever allowed herself to dream of. His profession might give the impression of a boring and dusty person, but he was the polar opposite. Unattainable and handsome, with eyes that seemed to have seen everything. And when he looked at her with those eyes, she had done her best to fill in the void herself. He had never loved her, and she realized that she’d known this all along. Yet she had fooled herself, seeing only those things she wanted to see and ignoring whatever had rung false.

Now Sanna had no idea what to do. She didn’t want to leave Christian. Even though her love was not returned, she still loved him and she told herself that would be enough, if only he would stay. At the same time, she felt empty and cold inside at the thought of living with him that way, being the only one who gave any love.

She sat up in bed and looked at her husband. He was sound asleep. Slowly she reached out her hand to touch his hair. His thick, dark hair with the traces of grey. A stray lock had tumbled down over one eye, and she gently pushed it back.

Things had not gone well last night, and that was becoming a more and more frequent occurrence. She never knew when he might explode over something, whether large or small. Yesterday the children had been making too much noise. Then he didn’t like the dinner she’d made, and she’d said something to him in the wrong tone of voice. Things couldn’t continue like this. Everything that had been difficult during their years together had suddenly taken over, and soon there would be nothing good left. It was as if they were rushing at the speed of light towards something unknown, towards the darkness, and she wanted to yell ‘Stop!’ and put an end to it. She wanted their life to be the way it used to be.

Yet, in spite of everything, she understood more now. Christian had given her a small piece of his past. And no matter how terrible the story was, she felt as if she’d received a beautifully wrapped gift. He had told her something about himself, shared something with her that he’d never shared with anyone else. And she treasured that.

But she didn’t really know what to do with the information he had confided in her. She wanted to help him, to talk more about it and find out other things that nobody else knew. But he gave her nothing. She had tried again yesterday, with the result that Christian had left the house, slamming the door behind him so hard that the windows rattled. She had no idea when he finally came home. By eleven o’clock she had cried herself to sleep, and when she woke up a little while ago, there he was in bed next to her. Now it was almost seven. If Christian was going to work today, he should be getting up. She glanced at the alarm clock, but it hadn’t been set for a specific time. Should she wake him?

Sanna hesitated as she sat on the edge of the bed. His eyes were moving rapidly under his eyelids. She would have given anything to know what he was dreaming, what images he saw. His body twitched, and his face looked pained. Slowly she lifted her hand, placing it lightly on his shoulder. He would be angry if he was late for work because she hadn’t woken him. But if he had the day off, he’d be angry that she hadn’t let him sleep. She wished that she knew how to please Christian, how to make him happy.

She jumped at the sound of Nils’s voice coming from the children’s room. He was shouting for her, sounding scared. Sanna stood up and listened. For a second she thought she had imagined it, that Nils’s voice was an echo from her own dreams, in which the kids were always calling her, needing her. But there it was again.

‘Mamma!’

Why did he sound scared? Sanna’s heart began pounding hard, and her feet moved swiftly. She threw on her bathrobe and rushed into the next room, which the boys shared. Nils was sitting up in bed. His eyes were wide as he looked towards the doorway, staring at her. He was holding out his arms, like a little Christ figure on the cross. Sanna felt the shock descend on her like a punch in the stomach. She saw her son’s trembling, splayed fingers, his chest, his teddy-bear pyjamas, which he loved. By now she had washed them so many times that they were beginning to fray at the wrists. She saw the red. Her brain was hardly able to take in the scene. Then she raised her eyes to the opposite wall and a scream rose up inside of her, reaching her throat and then bursting out of her.

‘Christian! CHRISTIAN!’

Kenneth’s lungs were burning. It was a strange feeling in the midst of the haze that enveloped him. Ever since yesterday afternoon, when he’d found Lisbet dead in her bed, his life had seem shrouded in fog. The house was so quiet when he came home after going to the office with the police. They had taken her away. She was gone.

He had considered going somewhere else. It had suddenly felt impossible for him to step inside their home. But where could he have gone? There was no one he could stay with. Besides, it was here in the house that he would find her. In the pictures on the walls and the curtains in the windows, in the handwriting on the little labels on the packets of food in the freezer. In the radio station that he would hear when he switched it on in the kitchen, and in all the strange foodstuffs that filled the pantry: truffle oil, spelt biscuits, and peculiar tinned goods. Items that she had brought home with the greatest satisfaction but then never used. He had teased her so many times about her big culinary plans and ambitious recipes that always gave way to much simpler meals. He wished that he could tease her one more time.

Kenneth took longer strides. Erik had said that he didn’t have to come into work today, but he needed routines. What was he supposed to do with himself at home? He had got up as usual when the alarm clock rang, climbing out of the camp-bed next to his wife’s bed, now empty. He had even welcomed the ache in his back. It was the same sore muscles that he’d had when she was still alive. In an hour he had to be at the office. It took him forty minutes every morning to make his usual run through the woods. He had passed the football pitch a few minutes ago, which meant that he was about halfway. He picked up the pace. His lungs were telling him that he was approaching the limits of his endurance, but his feet continued to pound against the ground. That was good. The pain in his lungs forced out some of the pain in his heart. Enough so that he didn’t simply lie down, curl up in a ball, and let his grief take over.

He didn’t know how he was going to live without her. It was like having to live without oxygen. Just as impossible, just as suffocating. His feet moved even faster. Tiny dots of light flickered in front of his eyes, and his field of vision contracted. He fixed his eyes on a spot far away, an opening in the branches where the first glimmer of morning light was filtering through. The harsh light from the lamps that lit up the route still dominated.

The track narrowed to a path, and the ground became more uneven, peppered with hollows and holes. It was also a bit icy, but he was so familiar with the route that he didn’t bother to look down. He was staring at the light, focused on the approaching dawn.

At first Kenneth didn’t understand what was happening. It was as if someone had suddenly put up an invisible wall right in front of him. He was caught in mid-stride, with his feet in the air. Then he toppled forward. Instinctively he put out his hands to break his fall, and the jolt when his palms struck the ground sent pain up through his arms and into his shoulders. After that he felt a different kind of pain. A searing, burning sensation that made him gasp for breath. He looked down at his hands. Both palms were covered with glass. Big and small pieces of clear glass that were slowly coloured red from the blood seeping out of the cuts where the shards had pierced his skin. He didn’t move, and there was not a sound to be heard.

When he finally tried to sit up, he realized his feet were tangled in something. He looked down at his legs. There too the glass had punctured his skin, going right through his trousers. Then he let his gaze wander further over the ground. And that’s when he saw the cord.

‘Come on, you have to help out a little!’ Erica was drenched in sweat. Maja had fought against every garment, from knickers to zip-suit, as her mother tried to get her dressed. By now she was bright red in the face and crying as Erica tried to put mittens on her hands.

‘It’s cold outside. You have to wear mittens,’ she said, even though no amount of verbal persuasion had done any good this morning.

Erica was on the verge of tears herself. She was feeling guilty about all the scolding and arguing, and she would have liked nothing better than to take off Maja’s outdoor clothes and let her stay home from the day-care centre. Then the two of them could spend a cosy day together. But she knew that wasn’t a good idea. She didn’t have the energy to take care of Maja for a whole day on her own, and besides, things would be even worse tomorrow if she gave in right now. If this was what Patrik went through every morning, she could understand why he was looking so worn-out.

With an effort she hauled herself up from a seated position and without further discussion she took her daughter by the hand and led her to the door. She stuffed the mittens in her pocket. Maybe things would be better by the time they got to the day-care centre; at least she hoped that the teachers would have greater success than she’d had.

On their way out to the car, Maja dug in her heels and refused to budge.

‘Come on now, Maja. I can’t carry you.’ Erica took a tighter grip, with the result that Maja toppled over and started to sob. And now Erica was crying too. If anyone had seen her at that moment, they would have phoned the social welfare authorities at once.

Slowly she squatted down, trying to ignore the pinching and squeezing of her intestines. She helped Maja get up and said in a gentler voice:

‘I’m sorry that Mamma was being so stupid. Would you like a hug?’

Maja usually never turned down an opportunity to cuddle, but now she just glared at Erica and cried even louder. She sounded like a fog-horn.

‘Now, now, sweetie,’ said Erica, patting Maja’s cheek. After a few minutes she began to calm down, and the wailing gave way to sniffling. Erica made another attempt:

‘Won’t you give Mamma a hug?’

Maja hesitated for a moment, but then allowed Erica to hug her. She burrowed her face against her mother’s throat, and Erica felt herself getting soaked with snot and tears.

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you fall. Did you hurt yourself?’

‘Um-hmm,’ snuffled Maja, looking pitiful.

‘Shall I blow on it?’ asked Erica. That usually did the trick.

Maja nodded.

‘Where should I blow? Where does it hurt?’

Maja thought for a moment and then started pointing at every part of her body that she could reach. Erica blew on them all and then brushed the snow off Maja’s red zip-suit.

‘Don’t you think your friends are waiting for you at the day-care centre?’ said Erica. And then she played her trump card: ‘I’ll bet Ture is there, hoping to see you soon.’

Maja stopped sniffling. Ture was her great love. He was three months older, with more energy than most kids, and a fondness for Maja that matched her feelings for him.

Erica held her breath. Then Maja suddenly smiled. ‘Go see Ture.’

‘Yes, that’s right,’ said Erica. ‘We’re going to go see Ture. And we’d better hurry up or else Ture might get a job in some foreign country or something like that.’

Maja gave her mother a puzzled look, and Erica couldn’t help laughing.

‘Don’t pay any attention to your silly mamma. Now let’s go see Ture.’