The Stone Cutter

STRÖMSTAD 1924

The pleasure of novelty had truly begun to wear off. The whole winter had been filled with trysts, and at first Agnes had enjoyed every moment. But now that winter was in retreat and spring was quietly approaching, she felt indolence beginning to creep in. To be honest, she no longer saw what it was about him that she had found so attractive. Of course he was good-looking, she couldn't deny that, but his speech was crude and uneducated and there was a constant odour of sweat about him. It had also become harder and harder to sneak down to his place, now that the winter darkness was relinquishing its protective cover. No, she would have to put an end to this, she decided as she sat in front of the mirror in her room.

She attended to the last details of her dress and went down to have breakfast with her father. She had seen Anders yesterday, so her body was still overwhelmed by a great weariness. She sat down at the breakfast table after kissing her father on the cheek and began listlessly cracking open the shell of a soft-boiled egg. Her exhaustion made the smell of the egg turn her stomach.

'What is it, my heart?' August asked in concern, gazing at her across the large table.

'Just a little tired,' she replied miserably. 'I didn't sleep well last night.'

'You poor thing,' he said in sympathy. 'See that you eat something, then you can go back to bed for a while. Perhaps we should take you to see Dr Fern. You've been rather out of sorts all winter.'

Agnes couldn't help smiling, though she had to hide the smile hastily behind her serviette. With a downcast look she answered her father, 'Yes, I have been a bit worn out. But it was probably mostly because of the winter darkness. Just wait, once spring comes I'll be more lively again.'

'Hmm, well, we shall see. But think about it. Perhaps the doctor should have a look at you all the same.'

'Yes, Father,' she said, forcing herself to take a bite of egg.

She shouldn't have done that. The instant she put the boiled egg-white in her mouth she felt her stomach turn over and something rose up in her throat. She jumped up from the table and with her hand to her mouth she dashed to the toilet they had on the ground floor. She had scarcely raised the lid before a cascade of yesterday's dinner mixed with gall splashed into the toilet bowl. She felt her eyes fill with tears. Her stomach turned inside out several more times. She waited a while, and when there didn't seem to be any more coming, she wiped her mouth in disgust and left the little room on shaky legs. Outside stood her father, looking worried.

'Dear heart, how are you?'

She just shook her head and swallowed to get rid of the repulsive taste of vomit in her mouth.

August put his arm round her shoulders, led her into the parlour, and sat her down on one of the sofas. He put his hand on her forehead.

'Agnes, you're in a cold sweat. No, I'm going to ring Dr Fern at once and ask him to come over and have a look at you.'

She managed only a feeble nod and then lay down on the sofa and shut her eyes. The room was spinning behind her closed eyelids.

It was like living in a shadow world with no connection to reality. Anna hadn't really had a choice, and yet she was consumed by doubt that she had done the right thing. She knew that nobody else would understand. After she'd finally succeeded in breaking away from Lucas, why had she gone back to him? Especially when he'd done what he had to Emma. The answer was that she went back because she thought it was the only chance for her and her children to survive. Lucas had always been dangerous, yet he kept himself restrained. Now it was as though something had snapped inside him, and his self-control had yielded to a brooding insanity. That was the only way she could describe it: insanity. That had always been part of him; she'd sensed. Indeed, perhaps it was that underlying current of potential danger that had attracted her to him in the first place. Now it had risen to the surface and she feared for her life.

The fact that she had left him and taken the kids wasn't the only reason that his madness had come to light. Several factors had combined to flip that little circuit-breaker inside him. Even his job, which had always been his biggest arena of success, had now betrayed him. A few failed business deals and his career was over. Just before Anna went back to him she had run into one of his colleagues, who had told her that Lucas was starting to act more and more irrationally on the job when things didn't go well. Me gave in to sudden outbursts of anger and aggressive attacks. Finally he had shoved an important client up against the wall and been fired on the spot. The client had pressed charges, so there would be an investigation as soon as the police had the time.

The reports of Lucas's mental condition had worried her, but it wasn't until she came home one day to a totally vandalized flat that she realized she no longer had a choice. He was going to harm her, or even worse, harm the kids, if she didn't humour him and come back. The only way to create a bit of security for Emma and Adrian was to stay as close to the enemy as possible.

Anna knew this, and yet it felt as though she were going from the frying pan into the fire. She was practically a prisoner in her own home, her jailer an aggressive and irrational Lucas. First, he forced her to quit her part-time job at Stockholm Auction House, a job she had loved and found deeply satisfying. He wouldn't allow her to leave the flat except to shop for food or take the kids to school. Meanwhile he hadn't been able to find another job, nor did he even try. He'd had to give up the big, elegant flat in Östermalm, and now they were squeezed into a little two-room flat outside the city. But as long as he didn't hit the children, she could put up with anything. She herself once again had bruises on her body, but in a way it felt like putting on an old, familiar dress. She had lived that way for so many years that her brief period of freedom now seemed unreal, a dream that just happened one time. Anna also did her best to hide what was going on from the children. She had managed to convince Lucas that they should keep going to day-care, and she tried to pretend that their daily life was the same as always. But she wasn't sure that she was fooling them. At least not Emma, who was now four years old. At first she'd been ecstatic that they were moving in with Pappa again, but Anna had begun to notice her daughter giving her puzzled looks.

Despite the fact that Anna kept trying to convince herself that she had made the right decision, she still realized that they couldn't live the rest of their lives this way. The more irrational Lucas got, the more frightened of him she became. She was sure that one day he would cross the line and actually kill her. The question was how she could make her escape. She had thought about ringing Erica and asking for help, but Lucas watched the telephone like a hawk. And there was something inside her that held her back. She had relied on Erica so many times before, and for once she felt that she had to tackle this problem herself, like an adult. Gradually she had worked out a plan. She needed to gather enough evidence against Lucas so that the abuse could no longer be denied. Then she and the children would be given safe haven and new identities. Sometimes she was overwhelmed by the desire to take the kids and simply flee to the nearest women's shelter, but she knew full well that without evidence against Lucas it would only be a temporary solution. Then they would be back in hell again.

So she had started to document everything she could. In one of the department stores on her way to the day-care centre, there was a photo booth. She would sneak in there and take pictures of her injuries. She wrote down the date and time when she received them and hid the notes and photos inside the frame of the wedding photo of her and Lucas. There was a symbolism in this that she appreciated. Soon she would have enough material to entrust her late and that of her children to the authorities. Until then she simply had to put up with Lucas. And see about surviving.

It was recess when Patrik and Ernst turned into the car park at the school. Crowds of children were outside playing in the biting wind, bundled up and seemingly unconcerned with the cold. But Patrik shivered and hurried to get inside.

Their daughter would be going to this school in a few years. It was a pleasant thought, and he could picture Maja scampering about here in the hall with blonde pigtails and a gap between her front teeth, just the way Erica looked in the picture taken when she was a kid. He hoped that Maja would be like her mother. Erica had been incredibly cute as a little girl. She still was, in his eyes.

They took a chance and headed for the first classroom they saw, knocking on the door, which stood open. The room was bright and pleasant, with big windows and children's drawings on the walls. A young teacher sat at a desk immersed in the papers in front of her. She jumped when she heard the knock.

'Yes?' Despite her young age she had already managed to acquire I hat perfect teacher's tone of voice, which made Patrik repress a desire to stand at attention and bow.

'We're from the police. We're looking for Sara Klinga's teacher.'

A shadow crept over her face and she nodded. 'That's me.' She got up and came over to shake their hands. 'Beatrice Lind. I teach first through third grade.' She motioned for them to take a seat on one of the small chairs next to the school desks. Patrik felt like a giant as he cautiously sat down. The sight of Ernst trying to coordinate all parts of his gangly frame to fit in the tiny chair made him smirk. But as soon as Patrik turned his gaze to the teacher his expression turned sombre again and he focused on the task at hand.

'It's so terribly tragic,' said Beatrice, her voice quavering. 'That a child can be here one day and gone the next…' Now her lower lip was trembling too. 'And drowned…'

'Yes, especially since it turns out that her death was not an accident.' Patrik had thought the news would have spread to everyone in town, but Beatrice looked undeniably shocked.

'What? What do you mean? No accident? But she drowned, didn't she?'

'Sara was murdered,' said Patrik, hearing how brusque that sounded. In a gentler tone of voice he added, 'She didn't die from an accident, so we have to find out more about Sara. What she was like as a person, whether there were any problems in the family, that sort of thing.'

He could see that Beatrice was still upset at the news, but she seemed to be pondering what it might mean. After a while she had collected herself and said, 'Well, what is there to say about Sara? She was…' she searched for the right word, 'a very lively child. And that was both good and bad. There wasn't a quiet moment when Sara was around, and to be honest it could be difficult to maintain order in the classroom sometimes. She was something of a leader, pulling the others along, and if I didn't put a stop to it, utter chaos could result. At the same time…' Beatrice hesitated again and looked as though she were weighing each word very carefully, 'at the same time, it was precisely that energy that made her so creative. She was incredibly talented in drawing and every other artistic pursuit, and she had the most active imagination I've ever seen. She was quite simply a very creative child, whether she was pulling pranks or producing a work of art.'

Ernst squirmed in the little chair and said, 'We heard that she had one of those problems with initials, DAMP or whatever it's called.'

His disrespectful tone prompted Beatrice to give him a sharp look, and to Patrik's amusement his colleague actually cringed.

'Sara did have DAMP, that's correct. She was given special tutoring for it. We have a good deal of experience in this field, so we can give these children what they need to function optimally.' It sounded like a lecture, and Patrik understood that this was something of a pet topic for her.

'How did the problems manifest themselves for Sara?' Patrik asked.

'In the way I described. She had a very high energy level and could sometimes throw terrible tantrums. But as I said, she was also a very creative child. She wasn't mean or nasty or badly brought up, as many ignorant people might say of children like Sara. She simply had a hard time controlling her impulses.'

'How did the other children react to her behaviour?' Patrik was truly curious.

'It varied. Some couldn't get along with her at all and retreated. Others seemed to be able to handle her outbursts with equanimity and got along fine with her. I would say that her best friend was Frida Karlgren. They happen to live right near each other.'

'Yes, we've spoken with her,' said Patrik with a nod. He twisted on the chair once again. He had begun to get pins and needles in his legs, and he could feel a cramp forming in his right calf. He sincerely hoped that Ernst was feeling equally uncomfortable.

'What about her family?' Ernst interjected. 'Do you know if Sara had any problems at home?'

Patrik had to suppress a smile when he saw that his colleague was indeed massaging his calves.

'Unfortunately I can't help you there,' said Beatrice, pursing her lips. It was obvious that she wasn't in the habit of telling tales about the home life of her pupils. 'I've only met her parents and her grandmother once. They seemed to be stable, pleasant people. And I never had any indication from Sara that anything was wrong.'

A bell rang shrilly to signal that recess was over, and a lively commotion in the corridor revealed that the children had obediently responded to the call. Beatrice got up and held out her hand as a sign that the conversation was finished. Patrik managed to extricate himself from the chair and stand up. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Ernst massaging one leg, which had evidently gone to sleep. Like two old men they tottered out of the classroom after saying goodbye to the teacher.

'Damn, what uncomfortable chairs,' said Ernst as he limped out to the car.

'Well, I guess we're not that limber anymore,' said Patrik, sinking into the driver's seat of the car. All of a sudden the comfortable seat with plenty of leg room felt like an incredible luxury.

'Speak for yourself,' muttered Ernst. 'My physical condition is just as good as when I was a teenager, but nobody is built to sit on that bloody miniature furniture.'

Patrik changed the subject. 'We certainly didn't find out much of any use from that visit.'

'Sounds to me like the girl was a hell of a pest,' said Ernst. 'Nowadays it seems that any kid who doesn't know how to behave is excused with some damn variant of DAMP. In my day that sort of behaviour would get you a couple of raps with the ruler. But now the kids have to be medicated and soothed by psychologists and pampered. No wonder society is going to hell.' Ernst stared gloomily out of the window on the passenger side and shook his head.

Patrik didn't acknowledge his comment with an answer. There was really no point.

'Are you really going to feed her again? In my day we never nursed more often than every four hours,' said Kristina, giving Erica a critical look as she sat down in the easy chair to nurse Maja after a mere two and a half hours.

In this situation Erica knew better than to argue, so she simply ignored Krishna's remark. It was only one of many that had been hurled through the air that morning, and Erica felt that soon she would reach her limit. Her failed attempts to clean house adequately had been noticed, just as she had predicted. Now her mother-in- law was dashing about with the vacuum cleaner like a madwoman, muttering comments on her favourite topic: dust causing asthma in small children. Before this she had demonstratively gone into the kitchen and washed all the dishes in the sink and on the drain- board, all the while instructing Erica in the correct way to wash up. The dishes had to be rinsed off promptly so that remnants of food wouldn't stick, and it was just as well to do the washing up at once. Otherwise the dishes would just pile up. Clenching her teeth, Erica tried to focus on the long catnap she'd be able to take when Kristina went out with the pram. Although she was starting to wonder whether it was worth the trouble.

She made herself comfortable in the easy chair and tried to get Maja to nurse. But the baby sensed the tension in the air. She had fretted and fussed most of the morning, and now she stubbornly resisted the little milk offered to soothe her. Erica was sweating as she fought this battle of wills with her infant daughter. Only when Maja finally gave in and began to nurse did Erica relax. Cautiously, so she wouldn't have struggled in vain, she switched on the TV. The Bold and the Beautiful was on, and Erica tried to immerse herself in Brooke and Ridge's complex relationship. Kristina glanced at the TV screen as she hurried by with the vacuum cleaner.

'Ugh, how can you stand to watch such trash? Why don't you read a book instead?'

Erica retaliated by turning up the volume on the TV. For a second she permitted herself to enjoy the satisfaction of such a spiteful response. But when she saw her mother-in-law's insulted look, she turned it back down. She knew she would pay a high price for any attempts at rebellion. She glanced at her watch. Good Lord, it was only a little before noon. It would be an eternity until Patrik came home. And then another day just like this one would follow, before Kristina packed her bags and went home, convinced that she had been of invaluable help to her son and daughter-in-law. Two more interminable days…