The Asylum (34 page)

45

‘AM I SUPPOSED
to feel sorry for the patients?’ Lilian says, laughing over her beer. ‘They do a pretty good job of that all on their own, the lot of them. They sit up there behind the wall feeling sorry for themselves, insisting that they’re
innocent
.’

‘Do they?’ Jan asks.

‘Of course. Every paedophile and murderer is entirely innocent, you must know that … No one behind bars ever accepts responsibility for anything.’

Jan doesn’t agree, but he says nothing.

He has gone down to Bill’s Bar the evening after Lilian’s quarrel with Marie-Louise. Lilian was sitting there, of course, at a table towards the back of the bar. And of course there was a large glass of beer in front of her, and the way in which her head was swaying over it like a cobra hypnotized by a snake charmer suggested that it wasn’t her first.

She didn’t notice Jan when he walked in. She was not alone; Hanna was sitting opposite her, with a glass of water in front of her. As usual they looked as if they were sharing secrets, whispering to each other with their heads close together.

The bartender tonight is called Allan. They are not friends – Jan hasn’t managed to make a single friend here in Valla – but he has got to know the names of the bartenders.

Jan orders an alcohol-free beer. He wonders whether to sneak off and sit in a different part of the bar, but no doubt Hanna would spot him on the way. And why should he creep about?

He goes over to join his colleagues. ‘Evening,’ he says.

‘Jan!’ Lilian beams at him; she seems glad of the interruption.

Hanna’s expressionless eyes reveal nothing. She gives a brief nod, and Jan sits down.

‘What are you drinking?’ Lilian asks.

‘Alcohol-free,’ he says. ‘I have to work tomorrow, so I can’t …’

‘Alcohol-free?’ Lilian gives a husky laugh and picks up her glass. ‘There’s plenty of alcohol in here!’

Jan doesn’t raise his glass in return; both he and Hanna look on in silence as Lilian tips her head back and empties half the contents of her glass.

Then she lowers her head, and Jan can see that she’s not in good shape this evening. Lilian stares into her drink, then embarks on the same tirade about the hospital that Jan heard the very first time they met at Bill’s Bar.

She starts talking again about the ‘luxury hotel’, as she calls it. ‘I was curious about the people in there when I first arrived, but I’ve never felt sorry for them. I mean, if a person claims he’s innocent, says he didn’t murder or attack someone … Well, how can you cure them, in that case?’

Nobody answers her. She has another swig. Jan thinks her expression is beginning to resemble the drugged eyes of the patients down in the basement chapel at St Psycho’s.

Lilian puts down her glass. ‘I need a wee.’

She has problems getting up – the edge of the table seems to be holding her back – but eventually she wobbles away.

Jan and Hanna watch her go.

‘How many has she had?’ Jan asks.

‘No idea. She was already well on the way when I got here, but … She’s had three since then.’

Jan merely nods.

‘I feel sorry for her,’ Hanna goes on.

‘I feel sorry for lots of people,’ Jan says. ‘Leo, for example.’

‘So you said.’ Hanna looks at him. ‘You think about the children a lot, don’t you?’

‘I care about them.’ Then Jan remembers that he has told Hanna about William’s disappearance, and is afraid that what he says might sound suspicious. He adds, ‘We all care about the children, Hanna.’

‘We do.’

‘Oh? But you care more about Ivan Rössel, don’t you?’

She shakes her head. ‘No. Well yes, I mean I care about Ivan, but … You don’t understand what this is about, Jan.’

‘No. It’s nothing to do with me, anyway.’ He has already finished his beer, and gets to his feet. Perhaps he might as well go home.

But Hanna seems to make a decision. She leans across the table and lowers her voice. ‘It’s about Ivan Rössel … and Lilian.’

‘Lilian?’

Hanna looks at him as if she is gathering strength before making some kind of revelation. ‘I made contact with Ivan for Lilian’s sake.’

Jan sits down again. ‘Sorry … what did you say?’

‘Ivan
knows
things. And I’m trying to get him to tell me.’

‘Tell you
what
?’

‘That’s better!’ a voice calls. ‘Did you miss me, kids?’ Lilian is back, with another beer. She sways and beams at them. ‘There was a girl crying her eyes out in the toilets,’ she says, sitting down next to Jan. ‘There’s always somebody howling in the Ladies, isn’t there, Hanna? Why do they do that?’

Hanna has clammed up. She glances at Jan, then says, ‘Time we made a move.’

Lilian looks surprised. ‘Already?’

Hanna nods. ‘I’m calling a taxi … We’ll drop you off.’

‘But … but what about my drink?’

‘We’ll help you.’ Hanna reaches for the glass, takes a couple of swigs and passes it to Jan. ‘Here.’

He’s not keen, but he takes a sip of the bitter liquid.

‘OK, Lilian, time to go.’

Fifteen minutes later they are helping their colleague into a taxi outside the bar. Hanna directs the driver to a small terraced house in an area just north of the centre; the lights are on, and Jan catches a glimpse of a man in his forties peering out at the taxi from the kitchen window.

Jan recognizes him; he is the man who walked Lilian to the pre-school one evening.

‘You’re so good to me … so kind …’

Lilian thanks them several times for bringing her home, hugs Jan, kisses Hanna on both cheeks and eventually totters off towards her front door.

‘OK.’ Hanna turns to the driver. ‘Back to the town centre, please … to the Casino Bar.’

‘Casino?’ says Jan.

‘It’s not a casino. That’s just the name.’

The Casino Bar is on a back street, in a less well-populated area than Bill’s Bar, and the clientele consists mainly of men. Jan suspects that this is usually the case. A few men in their fifties are slumped in front of a widescreen TV by the bar staring morosely at an Italian football match, as if their team were losing. The remaining tables are mostly empty.

Hanna asks for two glasses of juice and sits down as far away as possible from the bar, in a corner where there is no one else around.

‘Bill’s Bar isn’t … safe,’ she says. ‘I saw people from St Psycho’s in there.’

‘Oh? What do they look like?’

‘Vigilant.’

There is a brief silence, then Hanna goes on: ‘Ivan Rössel needs contact with someone … Is that wrong?’

‘Maybe not,’ Jan says. He suddenly remembers something that Dr Högsmed said about his patients, and adds, ‘But if you follow someone who is lost in the forest, you can easily get lost yourself.’

Hanna clamps her lips together. ‘I’m not lost. I know what I’m doing.’

‘And what are you doing?’ Jan asks. ‘With Ivan, I mean.’

Hanna looks away. ‘I’m trying to get him to … to tell me things.’

‘What things?’

‘Whatever he knows about John Daniel.’

‘John Daniel …’

Jan vaguely recognizes the name. From some newspaper?

‘John Daniel Nilsson disappeared six years ago,’ Hanna explains. ‘He went up in smoke after a school dance in Gothenburg, during his last year at high school. No one has seen him since, but Ivan has … has hinted that he knows something about John Daniel.’

Jan nods; he remembers now. He was living in Gothenburg at the time, only five or six blocks from the school where the dance took place. Rössel was suspected of being involved in his disappearance, but has never confessed.

‘But what has John Daniel got to do with you?’

‘Not with me. With Lilian. I told you.’

Jan looks at her. ‘So Lilian is involved?’

‘John Daniel was her younger brother. She took the job at the pre-school to try and make contact with Ivan Rössel. And she managed it in the end, once she asked me for help … But it’s turning out to be the ruin of her.’

46

JAN STAYS UP
reading crime reports on the internet until half past two in the morning in order to find out more. He discovers that John Daniel Nilsson was nineteen years old when he disappeared from the school dance on the outskirts of Gothenburg. One of his friends had smuggled in some vodka, and John Daniel had got drunk and been sick. He had gone outside alone at about eleven thirty, either to try and sober up or to go home – no one knew for certain – and he hadn’t been seen since. The family had searched for him, along with the police and lots of volunteers, but John Daniel had vanished without a trace.

It remained an unsolved mystery. Rössel was a suspect, but had stayed silent. Until now, when, according to Hanna, he had begun to hint that he had been the last person to see the boy alive.

Jan goes on reading until his eyes begin to smart, and he starts to see William Halevi’s boyish face in front of him, instead of the missing nineteen-year-old. He shuts down the computer and goes to bed.

The following morning he goes to work with a heavy head. Lilian is already there, and they nod wearily to one another.

‘Everything OK, Lilian?’

‘Mm,’ she mumbles.

She looks hung-over, and she probably is, but Jan looks at her differently today. Lilian is the sister of a missing boy. She is a victim.

He is about to broach the subject tactfully, but then he hears Marie-Louise shout from the kitchen, ‘Jan? Could you go up and collect Matilda?’

‘No problem.’

He knows the drill. Everyone must be kept busy.

He spends all day taking children up to the visitors’ room in St Patricia’s and collecting them, but these excursions down the stairs and along the underground corridor are just part of his daily routine now. He doesn’t give them a second thought.

But with Leo it isn’t just routine. Jan brushes the boy’s shoulder with his fingers as they travel up in the lift for his hour-long visit with his father. ‘What are you going to do?’ Jan asks.

‘Play cards,’ Leo replies.

‘Are you sure?’

Leo nods. ‘Dad always wants to play cards.’

‘Ask him to tell you a story.’

Leo looks uncertain.

Jan feels no sense of joy or confidence when he gets back to the Dell, and he doesn’t get the chance to speak to Lilian today. She doesn’t talk to him either, doesn’t even look at him; she is always with the children. But she doesn’t play with them, she simply sits and watches them with tired eyes, or pats one of them on the head with a limp hand.

Hanna also seems to be avoiding Jan, and spends most of her time in the kitchen.

Marie-Louise is the only one who wants to talk to him. ‘It’s a relief, isn’t it?’

‘What is?’ he asks.

‘Knowing we don’t have to do any more night shifts. Knowing that the children are all taken care of … that we’ve found good homes for all of them. I’m so pleased.’

‘Will they be OK?’

‘Oh yes, I’m sure they will.’

‘I’m just a bit worried about Leo … He’s so restless.’

‘Leo will be fine too,’ Marie-Louise says firmly.

Jan looks at her. Will all the children really be all right? Most children are, but not all of them. Some children turn into adults with mental-health issues, some end up in poverty, some turn to crime. Those are the statistics; there’s nothing anyone can do about it.

But does that mean their work at the Dell is pointless?

At quarter to six Jan is in the kitchen. All the children have been picked up, and he has put a final load in the dishwasher. The working day is over, and when he hears Lilian close her locker in the cloakroom, he rushes to finish off what he is doing. He turns out the light and manages to get away a minute or so later, just after Lilian has left.

He locks the front door and hurries after her.

It is November now, with a frost and a biting wind. Out in the street he can see a figure in a dark jacket heading towards the town centre. He breaks into a jog and catches up with her.

‘Lilian?’

She turns around without stopping and looks wearily at him. ‘What?’

His first impulse is to ask if she fancies going to Bill’s Bar, but he stops himself. He doesn’t want to go there any more. ‘Could we have a little chat?’ he asks.

‘What about?’

Jan looks around. Over by the wall two figures emerge through the steel door; he can’t see their faces, but assumes that they are security guards who are heading home after their shift. And there are several people waiting at the bus stop. Eyes watching, ears listening.

‘Let’s just walk for a bit,’ he says.

Lilian doesn’t look pleased, but goes with him anyway. They pass the bus stop, and after a little while he says, ‘We could talk about the pre-school … about what we could do for the children.’

Lilian gives a tired laugh. ‘No, thanks. I just want to go home.’

‘Shall we talk about Hanna, then?’

Lilian doesn’t respond; she just keeps on walking, so Jan asks, ‘Or about Ivan Rössel?’

She stops dead. ‘Do you know him?’

Jan shakes his head and lowers his voice. ‘No, but Hanna’s told me a few things.’

Lilian glances over at the hospital. ‘I can’t talk here,’ she says after a moment. ‘Not now.’

‘We could meet later.’

She seems to be thinking things over. ‘Are you free tomorrow evening?’

Jan nods.

‘Come round to my place at eight.’

‘Can we talk then?’ Jan says. ‘About everything?’

Lilian nods, then looks at her watch. ‘I’ve got to get home, my older brother is waiting. My husband’s gone …’

She starts walking, but turns her head. ‘Do you want to know why we split up?’

Jan says nothing, but she carries on anyway: ‘He thought I was too obsessed with Ivan Rössel.’

47

THE FIRST SNOWFLAKES
of winter are big and wet, and start falling on the Dell after lunch on Thursday. They land heavily on the ground around the pre-school, covering the sandpit and the swings like a dirty-grey fluffy blanket.

Jan watches the falling snow through the window, but with none of the excitement he used to feel when he was little. These days the winter weather just means even more layers of clothes on the children: vests, woolly socks, snowsuits and hats with ear flaps – it takes longer and longer to get them outside. They end up looking like little barrels, or little fabric robots lumbering across the playground.