The Drowning

20

‘Mamma?’ He tried again to shake her, but she didn’t move. He didn’t know how long she’d been lying there like that. He was only three and didn’t know how to tell time yet. But it had turned dark twice. He didn’t like the dark, and his mamma didn’t either. They always left the lamp on when they went to bed, and he’d turned it on all by himself when it started getting too dark in the flat to see. Then he had crept close to her. That was how they usually slept. Close to each other, very close. He pressed his face against her soft body. There was nothing angular about his mamma, nothing that poked out or felt hard. Nothing but softness, warmth, and security.

But last night she no longer felt warm. He had nudged her and pressed closer, but she didn’t stir. Then he got an extra blanket out of the wardrobe, even though he was afraid to set his feet on the floor when it was dark. He was afraid of the monster under the bed. But he didn’t want Mamma to freeze. He didn’t want to freeze either. Carefully he tucked around her the striped blanket that smelled so strange. She still didn’t get warm. He didn’t either. Shivering, he had lain next to her all night, waiting to wake up so this odd dream would be over.

When it started to get light, he climbed out of bed. Then he pulled the blanket over her again, since it had shifted during the night. Why was she sleeping so long? She never slept this long. Occasionally she might spend all day in bed, but she would wake up now and then. She would talk to him and ask him to get her a glass of water or something else. On those days when she stayed in bed she sometimes said strange things. Things that scared him. She even shouted at him once in a while. But he would have preferred that to this, when she lay in bed so quiet and so cold.

He could feel hunger tearing at his stomach. Maybe Mamma would think he was clever if she woke up to find that he’d made breakfast. The idea made him more cheerful, and he headed for the kitchen. But halfway there, he thought of something and turned back. He wanted Teddy to come too. He didn’t want to be alone. With his teddy bear dragging along the floor, he again headed for the kitchen. Sandwiches. That’s what Mamma used to make for him. Jam sandwiches.

He opened the refrigerator. There was the jar of jam, with a red lid and strawberries on the label. And there was the butter. Carefully he took them out of the fridge and lifted them up on to the counter. Then he fetched a chair and set it in front of the counter so he could climb up on to the seat. This was starting to feel like an adventure. He reached for the bread box and took out two slices of bread. He pulled out a kitchen drawer and found a wooden butter knife. Mamma didn’t let him use the real knives. Slowly he spread butter on one of the pieces of bread, and jam on the other. Then he slapped them together. All right. The sandwich was ready.

He got down from the chair and again opened the fridge. He found a container of juice on a shelf in the door. With an effort he lifted the juice out and placed it on the kitchen table. He knew where the glasses were: in the cupboard above the bread box. Up on the chair again, then he opened the cupboard and took out a glass. He didn’t want to drop it. Mamma would be mad if he broke a glass.

He set the glass on the table, placed the sandwich next to it, and pushed the chair back into place. He climbed on to the chair, kneeling so that he could pour the juice. The container was heavy, and he struggled to hold it over the glass. But just as much juice ended up on the table as in the glass. He had to lean down and slurp up what had spilled on to the oilcloth.

The sandwich tasted wonderful. It was the first sandwich he had ever made all by himself, and he ate the whole thing in a few greedy mouthfuls. Then he noticed that his stomach had room for more, and this time he knew what to do. Mamma was going to be so proud of him when she woke up and discovered that he could make his own sandwiches.

‘Did anyone see anything?’ Patrik was talking to Martin on the phone. ‘No? Okay, I wasn’t really expecting it. But keep knocking on doors. You never know.’

He ended the conversation and bit into his Big Mac. They had stopped at McDonald’s to eat lunch and to discuss how they should proceed.

‘Nothing?’ asked Paula, who had been listening to Patrik while she poked at her chips.

‘Nothing so far. There aren’t many people living in the area now that it’s winter. So it’s not surprising that they haven’t had much luck.’

‘How’s it going at Badholmen?’

‘They’ve taken the body away,’ said Patrik as he took another bite. ‘That means Torbjörn and his men will probably be done soon. He promised to call if they found anything.’

‘So what should we do now?’

Before getting their food, they had glanced through the copies of the documents that they’d been given at the social welfare office. Everything seemed to match with what Sanna had told Erica.

‘We keep moving forward. We know that Christian was placed with a couple named Lissander shortly afterwards. Here in Trollhättan.’

‘I wonder if they still live here,’ said Paula.

Patrik carefully wiped off his hands before looking through the file to find the right page. Then he memorized the information and phoned directory assistance.

‘Hi, I wonder if you have a listing for Ragnar and Iréne Lissander in Trollhättan. Okay, thanks.’ His face lit up, and he nodded to Paula that he was in luck. ‘Could you text me the address?’

‘They still live here?’ Paula stuffed a few more chips into her mouth.

‘It seems so. What do you say we go over there and have a little chat with them?’ Patrik stood up, looking at Paula impatiently.

‘Shouldn’t we phone them first?’

‘No, I want to see what happens if we turn up un announced. There must be some reason why Christian changed his last name back to the name of his biological mother, and never mentioned their existence to anyone, not even his wife.’

‘Maybe he didn’t live with them for very long.’

‘That’s possible, but I don’t think so.’ Patrik tried to formulate why he had such a strong feeling that this was a lead worth following. ‘Because he didn’t change his name until he turned eighteen. Why wait? Why keep the name at all if he didn’t live with them for very long?’

‘I suppose you’re right about that,’ said Paula, though she still didn’t sound convinced.

But they would soon find out. In a very short time one of the missing puzzle pieces about Christian Thydell would fall into place. Or rather, Christian Lissander.

Erica hesitated, her hand on the phone. Should she or shouldn’t she? Finally she decided that it would soon be public knowledge anyway. Gaby might as well hear the news from her.

‘Hi, it’s Erica.’

She closed her eyes as Gaby showered her with the usual effusive greetings. But she cut off the publishing director in the middle of the torrent of words.

‘Christian is dead, Gaby.’

There was silence on the phone. Then she heard Gaby take a deep breath.

‘What? How?’ she stammered. ‘Is it the same person who…?’

‘I don’t know.’ Erica closed her eyes again. The words sounded so terrible and final when she said them out loud: ‘He was found hanged this morning. The police aren’t saying anything more at the moment. We don’t know whether it was suicide or whether…’ She couldn’t finish the sentence.

‘Hanged?’ Gaby gasped. ‘That can’t be true!’

Erica didn’t reply at once. She knew that the news had to sink in slowly before it became real. She’d been through the same experience herself when Patrik told her.

‘I’ll let you know if I hear anything else,’ said Erica. ‘But I’d appreciate it if the media could be kept as much out of this as possible. It’s hard enough for his family right now.’

‘Of course, of course,’ said Gaby, sounding as if she actually meant it. ‘But keep me posted about what happens, okay?’

‘I will,’ said Erica, putting down the phone. She knew that even if Gaby could resist ringing the press, it wouldn’t take long before Christian’s death would be on all the front pages. He had become an overnight star, and the papers had quickly realized that he was newsworthy material. His mysterious death would undoubtedly dominate the news placards in the days ahead. Poor Sanna, and those poor boys.

Erica had hardly been able to look at the boys when she was supposed to be taking care of them at Agneta’s house. They were sitting on the floor, playing with a big pile of Lego blocks. Carefree and happy, just squabbling a bit now and then, as siblings do. The terrifying experience with the red paint from the day before seemed to have rolled right off them. But maybe they were just keeping it all in. Maybe they were hurting inside, even though it didn’t show on the outside. And now their father was gone. How was that going to affect their lives?

She had sat on the sofa without saying a word until she finally forced herself to look at them. With their heads close together, the two little boys were discussing where to put the siren on the toy ambulance. They looked so much like both Christian and Sanna. And now they were the only thing left of him. Aside from his book, of course. The Mermaid.

Erica suddenly had a strong urge to read the story again. Read it as a form of memorial for Christian. First she looked in on Maja, who was sleeping soundly in her cot. Maja had been allowed to stay home from the day-care centre today, since the morning had been filled with so much commotion. Gently Erica stroked Maja’s blonde head lying on the pillow. Then she went to get the book, settled herself comfortably, and opened the novel to the first page.

They were going to bury Magnus in two days. In two days he would be put in the ground. Into a hole in the ground.

Cia hadn’t left the house since receiving the news that they’d found him. She couldn’t stand the thought of people staring at her, couldn’t bear to see their eyes filled with sympathy as they wondered what Magnus could have done to deserve such a death. Everyone was probably speculating about what he might have done to bring this misfortune down on himself.

She knew that people were talking; over the years she’d participated in the gossiping too. Not contributing much, she was glad to say, but all the same she had listened without offering any protests.

‘There’s no smoke without fire.’

‘I wonder how they could afford a trip to Thailand. He must be getting paid under the table.’

‘You wouldn’t believe the plunging necklines she’s suddenly taken to wearing. I wonder who she’s trying to impress.’

Scattered rumours taken out of context and then patiently piled up to form a mixture of fact and fiction. Until finally it became the truth.

She could just imagine what stories were circulating through town. But as long as she could stay at home, it didn’t matter. She could hardly bear to think about the video that Ludvig had shown the police yesterday. She hadn’t lied when she said that she didn’t know about it. At the same time, it had got her thinking. She had occasionally sensed that there was something Magnus wasn’t telling her. Or had she just made that up after the fact, now that her whole life had been turned upside down in such a bewildering way? But she thought she could recall sometimes wondering what was behind the strange melancholy that occasionally came over her husband, who was otherwise such a happy person. It would fall over him like a shadow, a solar eclipse. A few times she had actually asked him about it. Yes, now she remembered. She had patted his cheek and asked him what he was thinking about. And it was always as if he switched on the light again, chasing away the shadow before she could see any more of it.

‘I’m thinking about you, of course, sweetheart,’ Magnus had answered, leaning forward to give her a kiss.

Sometimes Cia had noticed the shadow even when there was no outward sign of it. Each time she had quickly dismissed the whole thing, since it occurred so seldom, and she had nothing more to go on.

But ever since yesterday, she hadn’t been able to get it out of her mind. The shadow. Was that the reason Magnus was no longer alive? Where had it come from? Why hadn’t he ever said anything to her? She had thought they told each other everything, that she knew everything about him, just as he knew everything about her. What if she was mistaken? What if she actually knew nothing about her husband?

In her mind the shadow kept getting bigger. She pictured his face. Not the happy, warm, and loving man that she’d been lucky enough to wake up next to each morning for the past twenty years. Instead, she saw his face as it had looked in the video. Desperate and contorted.

Cia covered her face with her hands and wept. She wasn’t sure about anything any more. It felt as if Magnus had died a second time, and she didn’t think she could survive losing him again.

Patrik rang the bell, and after a moment the door opened. A short, skinny old man peered out.

‘Yes?’

‘Patrik Hedström. From the Tanum police force. And this is my colleague, Paula Morales.’

The man studied their faces.

‘That’s a long way to come. How can I be of service?’ he said lightly, although there was a guarded edge to his voice.

‘Are you Ragnar Lissander?’

‘Yes, that’s right.’

‘We’d like to come inside and have a few words with you. Preferably with your wife as well, if she’s at home,’ said Patrik. Even though he spoke politely, it was clear that he wasn’t prepared to take no for an answer.

The man seemed to hesitate for a moment. Then he stepped aside and let them in.

‘My wife is a bit under the weather, so she’s having a rest. I’ll go and find out if she can come downstairs for a moment.’

‘That would be good,’ said Patrik, uncertain whether Ragnar Lissander expected them to stand in the front hall while he went upstairs.

‘Go in and sit down. I’ll be right back,’ he said then, as if in answer to Patrik’s unspoken question.

Patrik and Paula looked in the direction the man was pointing and then entered a living room on the left. They had a look around as they listened to Mr Lissander climbing the stairs.

‘Not exactly a cosy place, is it?’ whispered Paula.

Patrik had to agree. The living room looked more like a display in a furniture store than a room that was actually used. Everything gleamed with polish, and the occupants seemed to have a certain fondness for decorative items. The sofa was brown leather, and in front of it stood the obligatory glass coffee table. Not a fingerprint was visible on the glass, and Patrik shuddered at the thought of how it would look if the table was in his own home, with Maja’s sticky fingers nearby.

The most striking thing was that there were no personal possessions in the room. No photographs, no drawings from grandchildren, no postcards with greetings from family members or friends.

He cautiously sat down on the sofa, and Paula sat down next to him. They could hear voices upstairs, a heated exchange, although they weren’t able to make out any of the words. After a few more minutes they heard footsteps on the stairs, this time from two people.

Ragnar Lissander appeared in the doorway. He truly personifies the term ‘little old man’, thought Patrik. Grey, stooped, and invisible. The woman behind him was a whole different story. She didn’t merely walk towards them – she strode forward, wearing a dressing gown that seemed to consist of a plethora of apricot-coloured flounces. She emitted a deep sigh as she shook hands with Patrik.

‘I certainly hope this is important, since you’re interrupting my nap.’

Patrik felt as if he’d landed in a silent film from the nineteen twenties.

‘We just have a few questions,’ he said, sitting down again.

Iréne Lissander took a seat on the armchair across from him. She hadn’t bothered to say hello to Paula.

‘So, Ragnar says that you’re from…’ She turned to her husband. ‘Was it Tanumshede, you said?’

He mumbled affirmatively, sitting down at the far end of the sofa. His hands hung between his knees, and he fixed his eyes on the shiny glass table.

‘I don’t understand what you could possibly want with us,’ the woman said haughtily.

Patrik couldn’t help casting a glance in Paula’s direction. She discreetly rolled her eyes.

‘We’re investigating a murder,’ he said. ‘And we’ve found some information that points back in time, to an event that occurred here in Trollhättan thirty-seven years ago.’

Out of the corner of his eye, Patrik saw Ragnar give a start.

‘You took in a foster child at that time, is that right?’

‘Christian,’ said Iréne, bobbing one foot up and down. She was wearing high-heeled slippers with open toes. Her toenails were exquisitely painted a fiery red that clashed with the colour of her dressing gown.

‘Exactly. Christian Thydell, who was then given your surname. Lissander.’

‘He changed his name back later on,’ said Ragnar quietly, receiving a murderous look from his wife. He fell silent, his whole body slumping forward again.

‘Did you adopt him?’ asked Paula.

‘No, absolutely not.’ Iréne pushed a lock of her dark hair, obviously dyed, out of her face. ‘He just lived with us. He was allowed to use our last name for… the sake of convenience.’

Patrik was dumbfounded. How many years had Christian spent in this home, treated like some lowly lodger, judging by the coldness with which his foster mother spoke of him?

‘I see. And precisely how long did Christian live with you?’ He could hear the disapproval in his own voice, but Iréne Lissander didn’t seem to notice.

‘Hmm, how long was it, Ragnar? How long was the boy here?’ Her husband didn’t reply, so she turned back to Patrik. She still hadn’t deigned to give Paula a single glance. Patrik had the feeling that other women didn’t exist in Iréne’s world.

‘It should be easy to work out. He was about three when he came to us. And how old was he when he left, Ragnar? He must have been eighteen.’ She smiled apologetically. ‘He wanted to seek his fortune elsewhere. And since then we’ve never heard a word from him. Isn’t that right, Ragnar?’

‘Yes, that’s right,’ said Ragnar Lissander quietly. ‘He simply… disappeared.’

Patrik felt sorry for the little man. Had he always been like this? Browbeaten and cowed? Or was it the years that he’d spent with Iréne that had stripped him of all virility?

‘So you don’t know where he went?’

‘No idea. We have absolutely no idea.’ Iréne’s foot was bobbing up and down again.

‘Why are you asking us these questions?’ said Ragnar. ‘How is Christian involved in a murder investigation?’

Patrik hesitated. ‘Unfortunately, I have to tell you that he was found dead this morning.’

Ragnar couldn’t hide his shock. He at least had cared about Christian and hadn’t just thought of him as a lodger.

‘How did he die?’ Ragnar asked, his voice unsteady.

‘He was found hanged. That’s all we know at the moment.’

‘Did he have a family?’

‘Yes, two fine sons and a wife named Sanna. He’s been living in Fjällbacka, working as a librarian. Last week his first novel was published. It’s called The Mermaid. And it’s been getting great reviews.’

‘So that was him,’ said Ragnar. ‘I read about the book in the newspaper because the title caught my attention. But the picture of him was nothing like the Christian who used to live with us.’

‘Who would have thought it possible? That a boy like that could make something of himself,’ said Iréne, her expression as hard as stone.

Patrik bit his tongue so as not to say something negative to her. He needed to be professional and keep his eye on the objective. He could feel that he had started to sweat again, and he tugged at his shirt to get some air.

‘Christian had a rough start. Was that something you could see in his behaviour?’

‘He was so young. Children forget those sorts of things very quickly,’ said Iréne, waving her hand dismissively.

‘Sometimes he had nightmares,’ said Ragnar.

‘But all children do. No, we didn’t notice anything. He was rather an odd child, but with his background, well…’

‘What do you know about his biological mother?’

‘A slut. Lower class. And not quite right in the head.’ Iréne tapped her finger against her temple and sighed. ‘But I really don’t understand what you think we might be able to tell you. So if there’s nothing more, I’d like to go back upstairs and lie down. I’m not feeling well.’

‘Just a few more questions,’ said Patrik. ‘Is there anything else about his childhood that you’d like to mention? We’re looking for a person, most likely a woman, who issued threats towards Christian, and others.’

‘Well, back then the girls weren’t exactly swarming around him,’ said Iréne, indifferently.

‘I’m not just thinking of love affairs. Were there any other women who were close to him?’

‘No. Who would that be? We were all he had.’

Patrik was just about to end the conversation when Paula interjected a question:

‘One last thing. Another man was found dead in Fjällbacka. Magnus Kjellner, one of Christian’s friends. And two other friends seem to have been subjected to the same sort of threats that Christian had received. Erik Lind and Kenneth Bengtsson. Do you recognize those names?’

‘As I said, we haven’t heard a peep from him since he moved,’ said Iréne, abruptly getting to her feet. ‘And now you really must excuse me. I have a weak heart, and this has been such a shock that I simply must go and lie down.’ She left the room, and they heard her climbing the stairs.

‘Do you have any idea who it could be?’ asked Ragnar, with a glance towards the doorway where his wife had just left.

‘No, not at the moment,’ said Patrik. ‘But I think that Christian is the central figure in this whole thing. And I have no intention of giving up until I know how and why. Earlier today it was my job to deliver the bad news to his wife.’

‘I understand,’ said Ragnar softly. He opened his mouth again, as if to say something more, but then pressed his lips together. He stood up and looked at Paula and Patrik. ‘I’ll see you out.’

When they reached the front door, Patrik had a feeling that he shouldn’t leave. He wanted to stay and give the man a good shake until he told them what he had been on the verge of saying. Instead, Patrik merely pressed his business card into Ragnar’s hand, and then he and Paula left.