The Stone Cutter

GÖTEBORG 1957

Mary felt nothing as she stood there in the pouring rain. Neither hatred nor joy. Only a cold emptiness that filled her whole body, from the outermost layer of skin down to the white bones of her skeleton.

Her mother was sobbing next to her. She was more stylish than usual. The black funeral dress looked good on her. No one could ignore the dramatic effect of her beauty. With a trembling hand she let a single red rose fall onto her husband's coffin and then threw herself sobbing into Per-Erik's arms. Just behind him stood his wife, sympathy written all over the plain features of her face, thanks to her total ignorance of how often her husband had slept with the woman who was now wetting his lapels with her tears.

Mary watched with an aching heart, wishing her mother had chosen instead to seek solace in her embrace. Dismissed once again. Rejected once again. Doubt descended on her with full force, but she forced herself to push it away. She couldn't start questioning everything now; if she did she would go under.

The rain was cold against her cheeks, but her face betrayed no emotion. With stiff legs she walked the few steps up to the hole in the ground and tried to make her fingers hold out the rose in her hand. The monster stirred inside her, coaxing her, making her raise her arm and hold the rose over the shiny black coffin down there in the hole. Then she saw her fingers as if in slow motion let go of the spiny stalk, and with unbearable slowness the flower floated down towards the hard surface. She thought she heard a loud echo when it struck the wood, but no one else seemed to react, so the sound must have been all in her head.

She stood there for what seemed like an eternity before she felt a light touch on her elbow. Per-Erik's wife smiled gently to her and nodded that it was time to go. Before them walked the rest of the funeral cortege, led by Agnes and Per-Erik. He had his arm around Mother's shoulders and she was leaning against him.

Mary glanced at the woman next to her and wondered scornfully how she could be so stupid and naive not to see the aura of sexual tension surrounding the couple in front of her. Mary was only thirteen, but she could see it as clearly as the falling rain. Well, that stupid woman would soon find out what reality looked like.

Sometimes she felt so much older than thirteen. She regarded the foolishness of humanity with a contempt that far exceeded that of a normal thirteen-year-old – but then she'd had an excellent teacher. Mother had taught her that everyone was only interested in tending to their own desires, and that a person had to take care of getting what she wanted in life. Nothing should ever stand in the way, Mother had intoned, and Mary had been a splendid student. Now she felt wise and experienced and ready to be given the respect she deserved from Mother. After all, she had proven how far her love reached. Hadn't she made the ultimate sacrifice for her mother? Now she would get that love back with interest, she knew it. She would never again have to sit in the dark cellar and watch the monster grow.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Per-Erik watching her with a concerned look on his face. She discovered that she had a broad smile on her lips and quickly stifled it. It was important to maintain appearances. That's what Mother always said. And Mother was always right.

The sound of the sirens could be heard from far away. Stig wanted to sit up and protest, demand that they turn the ambulance around and drive him home. But his limbs refused to obey him, and when he tried to speak only a croaking sound came from his lips. Lilian's worried face hovered above him. 'Shh, don't try to talk. Save your energy. We'll be in Uddevalla soon.'

Reluctantly he gave up any attempt to struggle. He hadn't the energy. The pain was still there, and now it was worse than ever.

It had happened so fast. In the morning he had felt quite well and had even managed to eat a little. But then the pain level had risen more and more, and finally it became unbearable. When Lilian came upstairs with morning tea, he was no longer able to speak, and she had dropped the tray in fright. Then the whole circus started up. The sound of sirens outside, stomping on the stairs, hands that carefully lifted him onto a gurney and loaded him into an ambulance. Followed by a high-speed drive, though he was only vaguely aware of it.

The fear of landing in hospital was even worse than the pain he felt. In his mind he saw over and over the image of his father as he lay in the hospital bed, so small and pitiful, so different from the boisterous, happy man who used to lift him up in the air when he was little and affectionately wrestled with him when he was older. Now Stig knew that he was going to die. If he ended up in hospital it was only a matter of time.

He wished he could raise his hand and stroke Lilian's cheek.

Such a brief time they'd had together. Sure, they'd had their quarrels and bad patches, when he thought they might even go their separate ways, but they had managed to find their way back to each other. Now she would have to find someone else to grow old with.

He would also miss Charlotte and the children. The child, he corrected himself, and felt a pang in his heart, a pain that was more than physical. It was the only positive thing he could see about what had happened. He was firmly convinced that there was life after death, a better place. Maybe he could meet the girl there and find out what actually happened on that morning.

He felt Lilian's hand on his cheek. Unconsciousness began to dissolve reality, and he gratefully shut his eyes. It would be pleasant at least to escape from the pain.

The wind whipped at him as he walked towards Morgan's little cabin. Ernst's enthusiasm had dissipated somewhat on the way over, but he was now excited again, now that he had his prey within reach.

An authoritative knock would launch his road to victory, and it was rewarded a few seconds later with the sound of footsteps inside. Morgan's thin face appeared in the doorway, and in his odd, monotone voice he said, 'What do you want?'

His direct question took Ernst by surprise, and he had to regroup mentally for a moment before he spoke. 'You have to come with me to the police station.'

'Why?' Morgan asked, and Ernst felt irritation creeping over him. What a bizarre person this guy was.

'Because we need to talk to you about a few things.'

'You took my computers. I don't have my computers anymore. You took them,' Morgan chanted, and Ernst saw an opportunity open up.

'Precisely, and that's why you have to come with me. So we can give you back your computers. We're finished with them, you see.' Ernst was incredibly pleased with his stroke of genius.

'Why can't you bring them here? You took them from here.'

'Do you want the computers or not?' Ernst exploded. His patience was now seriously starting to wear thin.

After a moment of hesitation and some internal deliberation, the prospect of getting his computers back conquered Morgan's reluctance to venture into uncharted territory.

'I'll come along. So that I can pick up my computers.'

'Fine. Good boy,' said Ernst, smiling to himself as Morgan went to fetch his jacket.

They sat in silence during the whole trip to the station. Morgan stared out of the window on his side, and Ernst saw no reason to engage in small talk. He was saving his ammunition for the official interview. Then he would no doubt get the idiot to talk.

Once they arrived at the station one tiny dilemma remained. How was Ernst going to get the interrogation subject inside without any of the others noticing what he was up to? Such a discovery would ruin his whole brilliant plan; that must not happen under any circumstances. Finally he came up with a fool-proof idea. From his mobile he rang to the reception, and in a disguised voice he told Annika that he had a package to deliver to the rear entrance. He waited a few seconds, keeping a tight grip on Morgan, then with his heart in his throat he led the way to the main entrance, hoping that Annika had hurried off to the other end of the station. It worked. She wasn't in her usual spot. Ernst quickly pulled Morgan past the reception and into the nearest interview room. He closed the door behind him and locked it, then permitted himself a little triumphant smile before he invited Morgan to sit down on one of the chairs. Someone had left a window half open to air the place out. It was unhooked and flapping in the breeze. Ernst ignored the noise. He wanted to get started as soon as possible before someone tried to poke their head in here.

'So-o-o, my friend, here we are.' Ernst made a big production out of turning on the tape recorder.

Morgan's eyes had begun to wander. Something told him that everything was not as it should be.

'You're not my friend,' he said matter-of-factly. 'We don't know each other, so how could you be my friend? Friends know each other.' After a moment's pause he went on. 'I'm supposed to pick up my computers. That's why I came here. You said that my computers were ready.'

'I did say that, yes,' said Ernst with a sneer. 'But you see, I lied. And you're right about one thing: I'm not your friend. Right now I'm your worst enemy.' A bit dramatic perhaps, but Ernst was cruelly pleased with that line. He recalled hearing it once in a film.

'I don't want to be here anymore,' said Morgan and began looking towards the door. 'I want my computers back and I want to go home.'

'You can forget about that. It'll be a long time before you're going to see your home again.' Damn, he was good. He really ought to write screenplays for American action films. He went on. 'We found her jacket in your cabin, and we have plenty of other forensic evidence showing you were the one who murdered her.' Pure lies, the latter statement, but Morgan didn't know that. And in this game there were no rules.

'But I didn't kill her. Even though I wanted to sometimes,' he added tonelessly.

Ernst felt his heart leap. This was going better than he'd ever imagined.

'It's no use trying to feed me those lies. We have other forensic evidence and we have the jacket, so we don't really need anything else. But it's clear, it would be better for you if you told me how you did it. Then maybe you won't have to do life in prison. You won't be able to have any computers in there.'

Now he saw for the first time a genuine emotion in the idiot's face. Good, it looked like panic was starting to set in. Then he'd be softened up soon. But to improve the situation even more he would try a little trick he'd learned from NYPD Blue and the other cop shows from the States that he followed slavishly. He would leave the guy to sweat it out all alone for a while. If he was given time to think about his situation he would confess quicker than Ernst could say 'Andy Sipowicz'.

'I have to go take a piss. We'll continue this conversation in a moment.' He turned his back on Morgan and started towards the door.

Morgan was now babbling incessantly in an entreating tone. 'I didn't do it. I can't sit in prison for the rest of my life. I didn't kill her. I don't know how the jacket ended up at my place. She was wearing it when she went into her house. Please, don't leave me here. Get my mamma, I want to talk to Mamma. Mamma can work all this out, please

Ernst quickly shut the door behind him so the idiot's babble wouldn't be heard out in the corridor. After a couple of steps Annika caught sight of him and gave him a suspicious look.

'What were you doing in there?'

'Oh, I was just checking something. I thought I left my wallet in one of the interview rooms.'

She didn't look as though she believed him, but let it go. The next second she looked out of the window and cried, 'What in the world?'

'What is it?' said Ernst, feeling a sudden pang of uneasiness in his stomach.

'A guy just climbed out one of the windows and now he's running towards the highway.'

'What the hell!' Ernst almost dislocated his shoulder as he slammed against the door, in his haste forgetting that it was always locked.

'Open the door, for God's sake!' he yelled at Annika, and she obeyed in fright. He tore open the second door and dashed out after Morgan. He saw Morgan look back and run even faster. In horror Ernst saw a black mini-van approaching at speed.

'No-o-o-o!' he shrieked in panic.

Then came the thud and everything was quiet.

Martin wondered what it was that Charlotte and Niclas had been in such a hurry to talk to Patrik about. He hoped it was something that would allow them to remove Niclas from the list of suspects. The thought that the murderer might be the girl's own father was too horrendous to contemplate.

He couldn't get a handle on Niclas. Albin's medical reports were pretty serious, and Niclas hadn't managed to convince him that he was innocent of inflicting injuries on the boy. And yet there was something that didn't fit. Niclas was a complex man, to say the least. He gave the impression of a kind and stable person when you sat eye to eye with him, but he seemed to have made a total mess of his private life. Although Martin had been no angel in his swinging single days, now that he was living with someone he couldn't understand how anyone could betray his better half like that. What did Niclas tell Charlotte when he came home after being with Jeanette? How could he make his tone of voice sound natural? How could he look her in the eye after rolling around in bed with his lover only a few hours earlier? Martin simply couldn't understand it.

Niclas had displayed a temperament that was difficult to pinpoint. Martin had seen the look in his eyes when he turned up at his father's house earlier in the day. Niclas looked like he'd wanted to kill his father. God knows what might have happened if Martin hadn't shown up.

And yet. Despite Niclas's contradictory nature Martin didn't believe that he knowingly and willingly would have drowned his own daughter. And what would have been his motive for doing so?

His thoughts were interrupted when he heard footsteps in the corridor and saw Charlotte and Niclas hurry past. He was curious to know what the rush was.

Patrik appeared in the doorway, and Martin raised his eyebrows as he gave his colleague an inquiring look.

'It was Sara who hurt Albin,' Patrik said, sitting down in the visitor's chair.

Whatever Martin was expecting, it certainly wasn't that. 'How do we know they're telling the truth? Couldn't Niclas be trying to divert attention from himself?'

'Yeah, he could be, of course,' said Patrik wearily. 'But I have to say that I believe them. Even though we do have to substantiate their story. They gave me names and phone numbers of people we can contact. And Niclas's alibi does seem to hold up after all. He claims that Jeanette lied when she said he wasn't with her, as a way to get back at him after he dumped her. And there too I'm inclined to take him at his word, although naturally we'll have to have a serious talk with Jeanette.'

'What a screwed-up…' said Martin, and he didn't have to finish his sentence before Patrik agreed.

'Yes, humanity has not shown its noblest side in this investigation,' he said, shaking his head. 'And apropos that very subject, should we get started on that interview now?'

Martin nodded, took his notebook and got up to follow Patrik, who was already on his way out the door. To his back he said, 'By the way, have you heard anything from Pedersen yet? About the ashes on the little boy's shirt?'

'No,' replied Patrik without turning round. 'But they were going to shift into high gear and analyse both the shirt and Maja's overalls ASAP. I'd be willing to bet that they'll find the ashes came from the same source.'

'Whatever that may be,' said Martin.

'Yeah, whatever that may be.'

They entered the interrogation room and sat down across from Kaj. No one said a word at first as Patrik calmly leafed through his papers. He saw to his satisfaction that Kaj was nervously wringing his hands, and that tiny drops of sweat had formed on his upper lip. Good, he was scared. That would make the questioning easier. And considering how much evidence they'd gathered from the search of the house, Patrik didn't feel worried in the least. If only they had evidence this good in all their investigations, life would be much easier.

Then his mood shifted. He'd come to a photostat of the boy's suicide note, and it was an abrupt reminder of why they did this job, and who the man before them was. Patrik clenched his fists in determination. He looked at Kaj, who averted his eyes.

'We actually don't need to talk to you. We have plenty of evidence from the search of your house to put you behind lock and key for a long, long time. But we still want to give you a chance to explain your side of the story. Because that's the way we are. Nice guys.'

'I don't know what you're talking about,' said Kaj in a quavering voice. 'This is a miscarriage of justice. You can't hold me here. I'm innocent.'

Patrik merely nodded sympathetically. 'You know, I almost believe you. And I might even do so if it weren't for these.' He took some photos out of his thick folder and pushed them over to Kaj. He was pleased to see Kaj first turn pale and then red. He gave Patrik a bewildered look.

'I told you we had skilled computer guys, didn't I?' Patrik said. 'And didn't I say that things don't disappear just because you delete them? You've been very efficient at erasing stuff from your computer, but unfortunately not efficient enough. We got hold of everything you downloaded and shared with your paedo-pals. Photos, email, video files. All of it. Lock, stock and barrel.'

Kaj opened and closed his mouth. It looked as though he was trying to shape words, but they stubbornly stuck to his tongue.

'Not so much to say now, is there? Two colleagues from Göteborg are coming here tomorrow and they'd like to talk to you as well. They consider our discoveries to be extremely interesting.'

Kaj didn't say a word, so Patrik continued, determined to shake him in some way. He detested the man in front of him; he detested everything he represented, everything he had done. But he didn't let it show. Calmly and in a matter-of-fact tone he went on talking to him as if discussing the weather, not child abuse. For a moment he considered taking up the matter of Sara's jacket directly, but decided at last to wait a while with that. Instead he leaned across the table, looked Kaj in the eye and said, 'Do you people ever think about the children who are your victims? Do you give them the slightest thought, or are you too wrapped up in satisfying your own needs?'

He hadn't expected a reply, nor did he get one. In the ensuing silence he went on, 'Do you know anything about what goes on inside a young boy's head when he comes up against somebody like you? Do you know what goes to pieces, what you steal from him?'

Only a slight twitch in Kaj's face showed that he'd heard him. Without taking his eyes off the man, Patrik took a sheet of paper and pushed it slowly across the table. At first Kaj refused to look down, but then he slowly lowered his gaze to the sheet of paper and began to read. With an incredulous expression on his face he looked at Patrik, who merely nodded grimly.

'Yes, that's precisely what it looks like it is. A suicide note. Sebastian Ryden took his life this morning. His stepfather found him hanging in the garage. I was there when they cut him down.'

'You're lying.' Kaj's hand shook as he picked up the letter. But Patrik could see that he knew it was true.

'Wouldn't it feel good to stop lying?' Patrik asked him softly. 'You must have cared for Sebastian, I'm sure of that – so do it for his sake. You can see what he wrote. He wanted it to end. You can end it.'

His tone was treacherously sympathetic. Patrik glanced quickly at Martin, who sat ready with his pen poised over his notebook. The tape recorder was humming like a little bumblebee in the room as well, but Martin was in the habit of always taking his own notes.

Kaj smoothed out the letter with his fingers and opened his mouth to say something. Martin held his pen, ready to start writing.

At that very instant Annika tore open the door.

'There's been an accident outside, hurry!'

Then she ran off down the hall. After a second of shocked silence, Patrik and Martin ran after her.

At the last moment Patrik remembered to lock the door. They'd have to resume with Kaj later. He only hoped that the moment hadn't passed them by.

Mellberg couldn't deny that he felt a bit worried. It had only been a couple of days, of course, but he didn't sense that they had any real father-son contact yet. Sure, maybe he should be a little more patient, but he really didn't think he was getting the appreciation he deserved. The respect due a father. The unconditional love that all parents spoke of, perhaps combined with a little healthy fear. The boy seemed absolutely indifferent. He loafed about on Mellberg's sofa all day long, eating enormous quantities of crisps and playing his video games. Mellberg couldn't understand where he'd got such a slacker attitude. It must be from his mother. Mellberg could remember being a bundle of energy as a youth. Even with the best effort he couldn't actually recall the achievements in sports he must have made – in fact he couldn't summon up a single memory of himself in any sort of sports context – but he ascribed that failing to the toll of time. His image of himself as a youth was definitely that of a muscular boy with a spring in his step.

He looked at the clock. Not yet noon. His fingers drummed impatiently on the desktop. Maybe he ought to go home instead and spend a little quality time with Simon. It would probably make the boy happy. When Mellberg thought about it, he realized that his son was probably just shy. Inside he was undoubtedly longing for his pappa, who had been absent for so long, to come and drag him out of his shell. That must be it. Mellberg sighed with relief. It was lucky that he understood kids, otherwise he probably would have given up by now and let the boy sit there on the sofa feeling miserable. But Simon would soon find how lucky he was in the father lottery.

With great enthusiasm Mellberg pulled on his jacket, thinking about what they might dream up as a suitable father-son activity. Unfortunately there wasn't much for two real men to do in this Godforsaken hole. If they'd been in Göteborg he could have taken his son on his first visit to a strip club, or taught him about roulette. As it was, he didn't quite know what they should do. Oh well, he'd think of something.

As he passed Hedström's door he thought that it was damned unpleasant about what happened to his daughter. It was another sign that you never knew when something might occur, and it was best to enjoy your children while there was still time. With that in mind he convinced himself that nobody would blame him for going home early today.

Whistling, he walked towards the reception, but stopped short when he saw doors flying open and his men running towards the front entrance. Something was going on, and as usual nobody had bothered to tell him.

'What's going on?' he shouted to Gösta, who wasn't as fast as the others and was bringing up the rear.

'Somebody's been run over right outside.'

'Oh shit,' said Mellberg, and he also started running as best he could.

Right outside the entrance he stopped. A big black mini-van stood in the middle of the street. A man who was probably the driver was wandering about holding his head. The air bag had deployed on the driver's side, and he looked uninjured but confused. In front of the vehicle a heap lay in the street. Patrik and Annika were kneeling next to it, while Martin tried to calm the driver. Ernst stood a bit to the side, with his long arms hanging down and his face as white as a sheet. Gösta joined him, and Mellberg saw them talking quietly with each other. Gösta's worried expression bothered Mellberg. He got an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach.

'Did anyone call an ambulance?' he asked, and Annika answered yes. Awkward and unsure what to do next, he went over to Ernst and Gösta. 'What happened? Do you know?'

An ominous silence from both of them told him that he wasn't going to like the answer. He saw that Ernst was blinking nervously, so Mellberg fixed his gaze on him.

'Well, is anyone going to answer, or do I have to drag it out of you?'

'It was an accident,' said Ernst in a shrill voice.

'Could you give me some details about this "accident"?' Mellberg asked, still glaring at his subordinate.

'I was just going to ask him some questions, and he flipped out. He was a total fucking psycho, that guy. I couldn't help it, could I?' Ernst raised his voice belligerently in a desperate attempt to take control of the situation that had so suddenly slipped out of his hands.

The ominous feeling in Mellberg's stomach grew. He looked at the heap lying in the street.

'Who is it lying under that vehicle, Ernst? Tell me.' He was whispering, almost snarling the words, and that more than anything else told Ernst what deep shit he was in.

Taking a deep breath he whispered, 'Morgan. Morgan Wiberg.'

'What the fuck are you saying?' roared Mellberg so loud that both Ernst and Gösta shrank back, and Patrik and Annika turned round.

'Did you know about this, Hedström?' asked Mellberg.

Patrik shook his head grimly. 'No, I didn't give any instructions for Morgan to be brought in for questioning.'

'So-o-o, you thought you'd show off a little.' Mellberg had lowered his voice to a treacherously calm tone.

'You said that we should look at the idiot first. And unlike certain colleagues,' Ernst nodded in Patrik's direction, 'I have complete confidence in your opinion and always listen to what you say.'

In a normal situation flattery would have been the proper path to take, but this time Ernst had made such a mess of things that not even compliments could make Mellberg favourably disposed towards him.

'Did I specifically say that Morgan should be brought in? Well, did I say that?'

Ernst seemed to hesitate for a moment, and then whispered, 'No.'

'All right then,' Mellberg yelled. 'Now where the hell is the fucking ambulance? Are they taking a coffee break on the way, or what?'

He felt his frustration flying in all directions, and it didn't help when Hedström said calmly, 'I don't think they need to hurry. He hasn't breathed since we got here. I think death was instantaneous.'

Mellberg shut his eyes. In his mind he saw his whole career slipping away. All the years of hard work… maybe not with the daily police work, but with navigating the political jungle and staying on good terms with those who had influence while stepping on those who might put obstacles in his way. All this rendered meaningless because of a stupid fucking hick cop.

Slowly he turned back to Ernst. In an icy voice he said, 'You are suspended pending investigation. And if I were you, I wouldn't expect to be coming back.'

'But, sir…' said Ernst, preparing to protest. He shut up abruptly when Mellberg raised his index finger in the air.

'Shut up,' was all he said, and with that Ernst knew that the game was lost. He might as well just go home.