The Gallows Bird

Chapter 10

When the shock of the crash turned everything into a nightmare, he knew that it was all his fault. She had been right. He was a jinx. He hadn’t listened, but nagged and begged and never yielded until she gave up. And now the silence was deafening. The sound when the cars crashed together had been replaced by a terrible stillness, and the pressure from the seat belt was hurting his chest. Out of the corner of his eye he saw sister move; he hardly dared turn to look at her. But when he did he saw that she didn’t seem to be injured either. He fought against the urge to cry as he heard his sister quietly begin to sniffl e, and then give in to terrible, wailing sobs. At first he didn’t dare look in the front seat. The silence there told him what he would find. It felt as though guilt had a strangle-hold on him. He carefully undid his seat belt and then leaned forward slowly, full of dread. What he saw made him flinch, and the quick movement intensified the pain in his chest. Her eyes were staring at him, dead and unseeing. Blood had run out of her mouth and her clothes were soaked in red. He thought he saw accusation in her vacant gaze. Why didn’t you listen to me? Why didn’t you let me take care of you? Why? Why? You jinx. Look at me now.

He sobbed and then gasped for breath, trying to force some air into his throat, which felt so tight. Somebody outside tried the door handle and he saw a woman’s face staring at him in shock. The woman was moving oddly, reeling, and with surprise he recognized the smell of that other woman. The one who existed only in his memory. He smelled the same sharp odour that had come out of her mouth, settling on her skin and clothing. After everything soft had disappeared. Then he felt himself dragged out of the car, and he understood that the woman had come from the other car, the one that had crashed head-on into theirs. She went round to pull sister out, and he studied her closely. He would never forget her face.

Afterwards there had been so many questions. Such strange questions.

‘Where are you from?’ they had asked. ‘From the forest,’ they answered, not understanding why that response had caused such frustrated expressions. ‘Yes, but where did you come from before that, before the house in the forest?’ They had just stared at the people asking, without understanding what they were supposed to say. ‘From the forest’ was the only answer they could give. Of course he had thought about the salty place with the screeching birds. But he never said anything about that. All he really knew was the forest.

He mostly tried not to think about the years that followed those questions. If he’d known how cold and evil the rest of the world was, he never would have nagged her to take them outside the forest. He would have gladly stayed in that little house, with her, with sister, in their own world, which in hindsight seemed so wonderful. In comparison. But that was a guilt he had to bear. He had caused what happened. He hadn’t believed that he was a jinx. Hadn’t believed that he brought misfortune down upon himself and others. He was the one to blame for the dead look in her eyes.

During the years that followed, sister was the only reason he kept going. The two of them were united against all those who tried to break them down and make them just as ugly as the world outside. They were different. Together they were different. In the dark of night they always found consolation in each other and were able to escape the horrors of the day. His skin against hers. Her breath mingled with his.

And finally he also found a way to share the guilt. Sister was always there to help him. Always together. Always. Together.

The first bars of Mendelssohn’s wedding march echoed through the church. Patrik felt his mouth go dry. He looked at Erica standing next to him and fought back tears. He had to draw the line somewhere. He couldn’t very well walk down the aisle sobbing. But he was just so incredibly happy. He squeezed Erica’s hand and got a big smile in return.

He couldn’t believe how beautiful she looked. Or that she was standing next to him. For a second he had a flashback from his first wedding, when he married Karin. But the memory vanished as quickly as it came. As far as he was concerned, this was the first time. This was for real. Everything else had been only a dress rehearsal, a detour, a preparation for the moment when he would get to walk to the altar with Erica, and promise to love her in sickness and in health, for as long as he lived.

Now the doors were opened into the church, and they began walking slowly forward as the organist played and all the smiling faces turned towards them. He looked at Erica again, and his own smile grew even broader. Her dress was cut simply, with small embroidered accents in white on white, and it suited her perfectly. Her hair was done up loosely, with a few locks hanging freely here and there. White flowers were fastened like tiny jewels in her hair, and she wore simple pearl earrings. She was so beautiful. Once again tears welled up in his eyes, but he stubbornly blinked them back. He was determined to get through this without crying, that’s all there was to it.

They saw friends and relatives sitting in the pews. Everyone from the station was there. Even Mellberg had squeezed into a suit and coiled up his hair with a bit more flair. Neither he nor Gösta had brought dates, while Martin, who was Patrik’s best man, had his Pia with him and Annika had her Lennart. Patrik was glad to see all of them there. Together. The day before yesterday he hadn’t thought he’d be able to go through with the ceremony. When he saw Hanna and Lars disappear into the deep, he was overwhelmed by a sorrow and a weariness that were so painful that he couldn’t even imagine celebrating a wedding. But when he came home, Erica put him to bed, and he had slept for twenty-four hours straight. And when Erica told him a bit timidly that they’d been offered a night with dinner at Stora Hotellet and asked whether he felt up to it, he decided that was exactly what he needed. To spend time alone with Erica, have a good meal, sleep next to her, and just talk and talk.

By today he felt more than ready. The blackness, the evil, now seemed far away, banished from a place like this. From a day like this.

They reached the altar rails and the ceremony began. Pastor Harald spoke about love as requiring patience and kindness, he spoke about Maja and about how Patrik and Erica had found each other. He succeeded in finding just the right words to describe both of them and the way they viewed their life together.

Maja heard her name mentioned and decided she didn’t want to sit on her grandpa’s knee anymore; she wanted to be with Mamma and Pappa, who for some strange reason were standing up in front in this unfamiliar house wearing funny clothes. Kristina struggled for a moment to make Maja sit still, but after a nod from Patrik she released her into the aisle and let her crawl forward. Patrik picked her up, and with Maja on his arm he put the wedding ring on Erica’s finger. When they finally kissed each other for the first time as husband and wife, Maja pressed her face against theirs with a laugh, enchanted by this amusing game. At that moment Patrik felt like the richest man in the world. The tears came again, and this time he couldn’t stop them. He pretended to cuddle Maja so he could discreetly wipe off the tears on her clothes, but he quickly realized that he wasn’t fooling anyone. And what did it matter anyway? When Maja was born he had cried without restraint, so he ought to be able to allow himself a few tears on his wedding day as well.

Martin held Maja as Patrik and Erica slowly walked out of the church. After waiting in a side room for everyone to pass by, they went out on the church steps and were showered with rice, while the cameras clicked and flashed. The tears came again. Patrik let them flow.

Erica rested her feet for a bit, wiggling her toes now that they had been mercifully freed from the white high-heeled shoes. Darn it, how her feet hurt. But she felt incredibly pleased with the day. The wedding had been wonderful. The dinner at the hotel had been superb, and there had been plenty of solemn speeches. What had moved her most was the speech that Anna made. Her sister had to pause several times because her voice broke and the tears fell. She had talked about how much she loved her sister, and she wove the serious bits of her speech together with funny anecdotes from their childhood. Then she had touched on the difficult time just past, and concluded by saying that Erica had always been both sister and mother to her, but now she had also become her best friend. Those words had warmed Erica’s heart, and she had to wipe her eyes with the serviette.

But now the dinner was over and the dancing had been going on for a couple of hours. Erica had worried about Kristina’s verdict, considering all the objections she’d had to their wedding plans. But her mother-in-law had surprised her. She had really cut a rug on the dance floor, including with Patrik’s pappa Lars, and now she was drinking liqueur and talking to Bittan, his girlfriend. Erica was baffled.

When her feet had recovered a bit, Erica decided to go out and get some fresh air. Inside the hall the air had grown hot and stuffy from all the dancing and warm bodies, and she longed to feel a cool breeze against her skin. With a grimace she put her shoes back on. Just as she was about to get up she felt a warm hand on her shoulder.

‘And how is my dear wife doing?’

Erica looked up at Patrik and grabbed his hand. He looked happy but dishevelled. His suit no longer fitted properly after a couple of rounds of the jive with Bittan. Erica had noted that her husband wasn’t the best dancer when it came to the jive. But he got points for enthusiasm.

‘I thought I’d go out and get some air, are you coming?’ said Erica, leaning on him, as the pain stabbed through her feet.

‘Whither thou goest, I will go,’ Patrik intoned, and Erica noted with amusement that he was a little tipsy. Good thing they only had to walk up one flight of stairs later on.

They went out on the steps leading down to the flagstone courtyard, and Patrik was just about to open his mouth to say something when Erica shushed him. Something had caught her eye.

She motioned to Patrik to follow her. They moved cautiously towards the people Erica had seen. Nobody could claim that they moved noiselessly. Patrik giggled and was about to stumble over an urn full of flowers, but the man and woman who stood embracing in a dark corner of the garden didn’t seem aware of the noise.

‘Who’s that over there making out?’ Patrik said in a stage whisper.

‘Shh,’ Erica said again, but she too had a hard time not laughing. All the champagne and all the good wine with dinner had gone straight to her head. She crept forward another step. Then she stopped short and turned to Patrik, who abruptly bumped into her. Both of them stifled a giggle.

‘Let’s go back,’ said Erica.

‘Why? Who is it?’ said Patrik, craning his neck to try and see. But the couple was so tightly entwined that it was hard to make out either face.

‘You idiot, it’s Dan. And Anna.’

‘Dan and Anna?’ said Patrik with a sheepish look on his face. ‘I didn’t know they were interested in each other.’

‘Men,’ Erica snorted scornfully. ‘How could you avoid noticing? I knew something was going on even before they did!’

‘Is that okay then? I mean, your sister and your ex?’ said Patrik nervously, swaying a little as they went back inside the hotel.

Erica cast a glance over her shoulder at the couple who seemed oblivious of the rest of the world.

‘Okay?’ Erica laughed. ‘It’s more than okay. It’s fantastic.’

Then she dragged her new husband to the dance floor, kicked off her shoes, and rocked away in a barefoot boogie. Much later that night, Garage played ‘Wonderful Tonight’, the ballad that was always their last song, dedicated to the happy couple. Erica pressed close to Patrik, rested her cheek on his shoulder, and closed her eyes.

Patrik’s wedding had been a fun party. Good food, free booze, and Mellberg was sure he had made a good impression on the dance floor. Showed the young bucks a thing or two. Although none of the ladies at the party could hold a candle to Rose-Marie. He had missed her, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask Patrik if it was all right to invite a date on such short notice. But they were seeing each other again this evening.

He’d made a new attempt to spruce up the kitchen and was pleased with his efforts. He’d set the table with the fine china, and the candles were lit. It was with tense anticipation that he had prepared everything for this dinner. The idea that had occurred to him when he stood in the bank and transferred the money for the time-share apartment in Spain still pleased him. Of course it was all a little sudden, but they weren’t spring chickens anymore, he and RoseMarie. Since they’d found love at their age, there was no sense in wasting time.

He had given a lot of thought to how he would do it. When she saw the elegant place settings and the food, he intended to say that he wanted everything to be extra nice because they had to celebrate their purchase of the condo together. That should work. He didn’t think she would suspect anything. Then, after much anguish, he had decided to use the dessert, a chocolate mousse, as the hiding place for his big surprise. The ring. The one he’d bought on Friday and planned to give her as he asked the question he had never before asked any woman. Mellberg could hardly contain himself; he longed to see the expression on her face. He hadn’t stinted. Only the best was good enough for his future wife, and he knew that she would be thrilled when she saw the ring.

He looked at the clock. Five minutes to seven. Five minutes left until she would ring the doorbell. In fact, he ought to have a copy of his key made for her straight away. He couldn’t let his fiancée stand there ringing the bell like a guest.

At five past seven Mellberg was starting to get nervous. Rose-Marie was always punctual. He fidgeted with the place settings, adjusted the serviettes in the glasses, moved the silverware half an inch to the right, then moved it back again.

By seven thirty he was convinced that she must be lying dead in a ditch somewhere. He could see in his mind’s eye her car slamming into a truck, or one of those monster Jeeps that people insisted on driving, which could demolish everything in their path. Maybe he should ring the hospital. He vacillated back and forth, but then realized that perhaps he ought to try ringing her on her mobile first. Mellberg slapped his forehead. Why hadn’t he thought of that sooner? He punched in the number of her mobile from memory, but frowned when he heard the recorded announcement. ‘This number is no longer in service.’ He touched the number once more; he must have missed a digit. But the same message came up again. Odd. He would have to ring her sister to find out whether she’d been delayed there for some reason. Suddenly he realized that she’d never given him her sister’s number. And he had no idea what her name was. All he knew was that she lived in Munkedal. Or did she?

Now a distressing thought began to germinate in Mellberg’s mind. He rejected it, refused to accept it, but suddenly pictured the scene when he stood in the bank, and he imagined it playing back in slow motion. Two hundred thousand kronor. He had transferred that amount over to the Spanish account number that Rose-Marie had given him. Two hundred thousand. Money to buy a time-share apartment. Now he could no longer dismiss the thought. He rang directory assistance and asked whether they had any number or address for her. They found no listing under that name. Desperately he tried to remember whether he had seen any proof, any ID or the like that would confirm that her name was what she said it was. He realized with increasing horror that he had never seen anything of the sort. The grim truth was that he didn’t know what her name was, where she lived, or who she really was. But in an account in Spain she now had two hundred thousand kronor. Of his money.

Like a sleepwalker he went over to the fridge, took out her portion of chocolate mousse, and sat down with it at the dinner table so festively decked out. He slowly stuck his hand into the glass and dug his fingers into the brown mousse. The ring flashed through the chocolate when he pulled it out. Mellberg held it up and looked at it. Then he set it gently on the table and, with tears running down his face, he began stuffing the chocolate mousse into his mouth.

‘It was certainly a fantastic day.’

‘Mmm,’ said Patrik, closing his eyes. They had decided early on not to take off on a honeymoon directly, but instead take a longer trip with Maja when she was a few months older. Thailand was at present high on the wish list. But it felt a little strange to go back to their ordinary life again just like that. They’d spent Sunday sleeping in, drinking a lot of water and talking about all the events of Saturday. By Monday Patrik had decided to take the day off. He wanted them both to have a chance to wind down and digest everything before the daily routines took over again. Considering how much work he’d put in during recent weeks, no one at the station had any objections. So now he and Erica were lying on the sofa in each other’s arms; they had the house to themselves. Adrian and Emma were at kindergarten, and Anna had taken Maja over to Dan’s so that the newlyweds could have a day of peace and quiet. Not that she needed any excuse to spend time with Dan. She and the kids had been at his place all day yesterday as well.

‘ Didn’t you ever have any suspicions?’ Erica said cautiously when she saw Patrik far off in his thoughts.

Patrik understood at once what she meant. He thought about it.

‘No, I actually didn’t. There wasn’t anything… unusual about Hanna. I did notice that something was weighing on her, but I thought it must have been problems at home. And it was, although not in the way we thought.’

‘What about the fact that they lived together? Even though they were sister and brother.’

‘We’re never going to learn all the answers, but Martin rang and told me they’d finally received the reports from social services. Those two went through hell as foster children, after the accident. Imagine how it must have affected them after they were first kidnapped from their mother and then forced to live in such isolation with Sigrid. It must have created some sort of abnormal bond between them.’

‘Hmm,’ said Erica, but she still had a hard time imagining it. The whole thing was beyond comprehension. ‘But how could they keep the two different parts of their lives separate?’ she said after a while.

‘How do you mean?’ said Patrik, kissing the tip of her nose.

‘Well, I mean, how could they live a normal life? Get an education? And even become a cop and a psychologist? But at the same time live with such… evil that they’d done?’

Patrik took his time answering. He didn’t understand the whole situation either, but he had brooded a lot about it since they’d discovered the identity of the murderer, and he thought he had come up with some sort of answer.

‘I think that’s exactly the point. That there were two separate parts. One of them lived a normal life. It seemed to me that Hanna really did want to be a police officer and do something significant. And she was a good cop. Without a doubt. Lars I never met until just before…’ He broke off. ‘Well, the picture I had of him was hazier. But he was obviously intelligent, and I think his intention was also to live a normal life. At the same time the secret they were hiding must have haunted their psyches. So when they happened to run into Elsa Forsell when Hanna joined the police force in Nyköping, it must have triggered something inside them, something that had been festering for a long time. Well, that’s my theory, at any rate. But we’ll never know for sure.’

‘Hmm,’ said Erica thoughtfully. ‘It’s a little like how I felt with Mamma,’ she said at last. ‘As if she were living two separate lives. One with us – Pappa, Anna and me. And the other one inside her head, where we were not allowed.’

‘Is that why you decided to do some research about her?’

‘Yes,’ said Erica. ‘I don’t know for sure, but I feel that there’s something she was hiding from us.’

‘But you have no idea what it might be?’ Patrik looked at her and pushed back a lock of her hair.

‘No, and I don’t even know where to begin. There’s nothing left. She never saved a thing.’

‘Are you sure about that? Have you checked up in the attic? Last time I was up there, I saw plenty of old junk.’

‘I’m sure it’s Pappa’s, most of it. But… I suppose we could take a look. Just to be sure.’ She sat up. An eager tone had crept into her voice.

‘Now?’ said Patrik, who was not at all inclined to leave the warmth of a cosy sofa to go up to a cold, damp attic, which was also full of spider webs. If there was anything he hated, it was spiders.

‘Yes, now. Why not?’ Erica said, already on her way upstairs.

‘Sure, why not?’ Patrik sighed, getting up reluctantly. He knew better than to protest when Erica had set her mind on something.

When they got up to the attic Erica regretted the idea for a second. It did look as if there was nothing but junk up there. But they might as well take a look around. She ducked so as not to hit her head on the roof beams as she began moving things around and lifting up lids of cartons here and there. With a look of disgust she wiped her hands on her trousers. It certainly was dusty. Patrik also started looking around, although he now doubted whether his idea would produce anything. Erica was probably right. She knew her mother best. If she said that Elsy hadn’t save anything, then… Suddenly he caught sight of something that aroused his interest. Way in the back of the attic, wedged in beneath the sloping roof, stood an old chest.

‘Erica, come over here.’

‘Did you find something?’ she said, and walked over to him, bending forward.

‘I don’t know, but this chest looks fairly promising.’

‘It could be Pappa’s,’ she said pensively, but something told her that the chest wasn’t his. It was made of wood, painted green, with an elegant but faded floral pattern painted on the wood. The lock had rusted but the chest wasn’t locked, so she carefully lifted the lid. There were pictures of two children lying on top. When she picked them up she saw that something was written on the back. ‘Erica, December 3, 1974’ it said on one of them, and on the other it said ‘Anna, June 8, 1980’. Astonished, she saw that it was her mother’s handwriting. A little lower down in the chest there was a whole stack of drawings, and things that she and Anna had made in art class were jumbled up with Christmas decorations and things they had made at home. All the things she’d always thought that her mother didn’t care about.

‘Look,’ she said, still incapable of taking in what she was seeing. ‘Look what Mamma saved.’ She carefully picked out one thing after another. It was like a journey back in time, back to her own childhood. And Anna’s. Erica felt the tears come, and Patrik stroked her back.

‘But why? We thought that she didn’t… Why?’ Erica wiped the tears on the sleeve of her jumper and went back to rummaging through the chest. About halfway down the childhood mementos came to an end, and older things began to appear. Still with an expression of disbelief, Erica picked up a bunch of black-and-white photographs and looked through them breathlessly.

‘Do you know where these are from?’ said Patrik.

‘No idea,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘But you can bet I’m going to find out!’

Eagerly she dug deeper, but stopped when her hand closed round a soft object with something hard and sharp inside. She lifted it up to see what it was. She was holding in her hand a soiled piece of cloth that had once been white but was now yellowed and covered with ugly brown rust stains. Something was rolled up in the cloth. Erica carefully opened the packet and gasped when she saw what it was. Inside the cloth lay a medal, and there was no doubt about its origin. She couldn’t mistake the swastika. Mutely she held up the medal to Patrik, whose eyes grew wide. Then he looked down at the cloth, which Erica had carelessly dropped in her lap.

‘Erica?’

‘Yes? she said, her gaze still fixed on the medal she was holding in her hand.

‘You should look at this,’ Patrik said.

‘What? What is it?’ she said in confusion and then noticed what Patrik was pointing at. She put down the Nazi medal and spread out the piece of cloth. But it wasn’t merely a piece of cloth. It was an, old-fashioned child’s shift. And she realized that the brown spots on the shift weren’t rust after all. They were bloodstains.

Where had this tiny garment come from? Why was it covered with blood? And why had their mother saved it in a chest in the attic, along with a medal from the Second World War?

For a moment Erica considered putting everything back in the chest and closing the lid.

But like Pandora she was much too curious to let the lid stay closed. She had to find out the truth. No matter what it might be.