The Crow Girl (38 page)

The music on the radio is interrupted by an announcement telling people living in Grisslinge to keep their windows shut because of a serious house fire.

She drives on aimlessly.

Falling free.

SOFIA ZETTERLUND FINDS
the apartment deserted and empty. There’s no sign of Gao, and when she goes into the room behind the bookcase she sees that he’s tidied it up and cleaned it. It smells of detergent, even if there’s still a faint smell of urine.

The coarse blanket has been laid neatly over the mattress.

The syringes are on the little table next to the bottle of Xylocain, and she wonders why her colleague at the clinic, Johansson the dentist, has never noticed that they’re missing. Once again, fate has been her friend.

She gets irritated that Gao has shown initiative, that he has acted without her giving him orders. What’s going on?

She feels an uncontrollable wave of fear rise up. The whole situation is alien to her. Suddenly things are happening that she can’t influence, and something she has no control over seems to be developing.

Without actually realising how it happens, she finds herself screaming hysterically. Tears are streaming down her face, and she can’t stop howling. There’s so much trying to get out, all at the same time. She bangs on the walls until she loses the feeling in both arms.

The attack lasts almost half an hour, and when she’s calmed down, mainly as a result of physical exhaustion, she curls up in a foetal position on the soft floor.

The smell of smoke tickles her nose.

She dreams about the scars she has on her body. Wounds that have healed, forming pale marks on her skin.

Other people’s breath, making her feel nauseous, with the result that she finds it hard to kiss anyone.

Experiences are essential for memory. Things happen, are absorbed and become memories, but over time the process flattens out and forms a single whole. Several events become one. She feels that her life is a big lump, where the abuse and assaults have become one single event that in turn became an experience, that in turn became a realisation.

There is no before, nor is there any after.

What used to exist in her that is no longer there?

What was it she used to be able to see, but can’t see any longer? She’s tried to find new ways to develop her personality. Not as an alternative or a complement, but as an entirely new being. Unconditional acceptance.

She cuts away at the thin skin that separates her from madness. Nothing started with me, she thinks. Nothing started in me. I am dead fruit, slowly going rotten.

My life consists of a long sequence of moments, one after the other, like a collection of related facts that are all subtly different.

Suddenly she feels an outsider’s perception and self-awareness.

FOR THE FIRST
time in his new country Gao Lian from Wuhan is walking through Stockholm on his own. From the apartment on Borgmästargatan he goes down the slippery stone steps on Klippgatan. He crosses Folkungagatan, then goes up the steps towards Ersta Hospital.

On Fjällgatan he sits down on a bench and looks out over Stockholm. Below him there are big passenger ferries, and out in the water small yachts bob up and down. To his left he can see Gamla stan and the palace.

The swallows crying as they dive for insects are the same birds that lived under the eaves at home in Wuhan.

The smell is the same too, even if it’s cleaner here.

He crosses the bridge to Gamla stan. Curious, he listens to the strange language and thinks it sounds like the people around him are singing their words. The new language feels friendly, as if made for creating beautiful poetry, and he wonders what it sounds like when these people get angry.

He spends several hours walking through the maze of narrow streets and alleys, and after a while he begins to get his bearings and can find his way to wherever he wants to go without any problem. When dusk falls he has a clear internal map of the little city between the bridges. He will come back here, and it will be his starting point when he explores other parts of the city. He walks home up Götgatan until he reaches Skånegatan, where he turns left and continues until he reaches the apartment.

He finds the fair-haired woman inside the soft, dark room. She’s lying knocked out on the floor, and he can see from her eyes that she’s a long way away. He bends over and kisses her feet, then gets undressed.

Before he lies down beside her he carefully folds his outfit the way she has shown him so many times. He closes his eyes and waits for the angel to give him instructions.

SOFIA ZETTERLUND’S HAIR
is still wet when the phone rings.

‘Victoria Bergman?’ an unfamiliar voice asks.

‘Who wants to know?’ she replies with exaggerated suspicion, even though she knows perfectly well that they would contact her sooner or later.

‘I’m calling from the police in Värmdö, and I’m trying to get in touch with a Victoria Bergman. Is that you?’

‘Yes, it’s me. What’s this about?’ She tries to sound as worried as she imagines anyone would if the police were to call them late one evening.

‘Are you the daughter of Bengt and Birgitta Bergman from Grisslinge in Värmdö?’

‘Yes, I am … Has something happened? What’s this about?’ She’s worked herself up to the point where for a few seconds she feels genuinely worried. As if she has stepped outside herself and doesn’t actually know what’s happened.

‘My name is Göran Andersson. I’ve been trying to get hold of you but I haven’t been able to locate an address.’

‘That’s funny. What’s this about?’

‘I’m afraid it’s my sad duty to inform you that we believe your parents are dead. Their house burned down this evening, and we’re assuming that the bodies we’ve found are theirs.’

‘But …’ she stammers.

‘I’m sorry to have to break the news like this, but you’re still registered at your parents’ and I got your number from their lawyer –’

‘What do you mean, dead?’ Victoria raises her voice. ‘I only spoke to them a few hours ago. Dad said they were on their way down to the sauna.’

‘Yes, that’s correct. We found your parents in the sauna. From what we understand at the moment, the fire started in the basement and they were unable to get out. The latch on the door might have seized, but for the time being that’s just speculation. We’ll know the details after a proper investigation. But it seems to have been a very tragic accident.’

Accident, she thinks. If they think it was an accident, then they can’t have discovered the plank. She’d been correct in assuming that it would burn up before they managed to put the fire out.

‘I appreciate that you probably need someone to talk to. I’ll give you the number of a duty psychologist that you can call.’

‘There’s no need,’ she replies. ‘I’m a psychologist myself, so I’ve got my own contacts. But thanks for the thought.’

‘Ah, I see. Well, we’ll be in touch again tomorrow with more information. Have a stiff drink and call a friend. I really am very sorry to have to break the news to you like this.’

‘Thank you,’ Sofia Zetterlund says, and hangs up.

At last, she thinks. Her feet ache. But she feels alive.

Now there’s nothing left.

She can see the end at last.

AS JEANETTE CLOSES
the front door behind her she hears the first raindrops hit the windowsills. It’s clouded over, and in the distance she thinks she can hear thunder. She gets in the car and drives away from the deserted house in Gamla Enskede while the first late-summer storm sweeps in over a grey Stockholm.

When she gets to police headquarters she clears her desk and waters the plants. Before leaving work she goes to see Jens Hurtig and wish him a good holiday.

‘What are your plans?’ she asks.

‘The day after tomorrow I’m taking the night train to Älvsbyn, then the bus to Jokkmokk, and Mum’s going to pick me up there. I’m just going to take it easy, do some fishing. Maybe give Dad a hand with the house.’

‘How’s he getting on after his accident with the saw?’ she asks, embarrassed at not having asked sooner.

‘Apparently he can still pluck the strings, even if he’s not much good on the fiddle. But it feels a bit tragic that Mum has to tie his shoelaces for him.’ Hurtig looks serious, then breaks into a smile. ‘How about you? Peace and quiet?’

‘Hardly. Gröna Lund, with Johan and Sofia. You know I’m not good with heights, but she suggested the fair, so I’ll just have to grit my teeth.’

His smile turns into a broad grin. ‘Try the little kids’ roller coaster, or the fun house!’

Jeanette laughs and gives him a playful push in the stomach.

‘See you in a couple of weeks,’ she says, little suspecting that they’ll see each other again in less than three days.

By which time her son will have been missing for almost twenty-four hours.

SOFIA ZETTERLUND WAKES
up with Victoria Bergman and she feels whole.

For two days she has lain in bed with Gao, talking to Victoria.

Sofia has told her everything that has happened since they separated twenty years ago.

Victoria has mostly been silent.

Together they have listened to the tapes, over and over again, and each time Victoria has fallen asleep. The reverse of what used to happen.

Only now, forty-eight hours later, does Sofia feel ready to face reality.

She gets a cup of coffee and sits down at her computer. As soon as she was told of her parents’ death she had a look at the website of Fonus, one of the big undertakers, and worked out the simplest way to get what was left of them into the ground. It’s scheduled for Friday out at the Forest Cemetery.

When she checks her phone and sees that Jeanette has called several times, she feels a pang of guilt. She remembers promising to go to Gröna Lund together with Johan, and calls Jeanette straight away.

‘Where the hell have you been?’ Jeanette asks anxiously.

‘I’ve been a bit under the weather, couldn’t really handle answering the phone. So, what about Gröna Lund?’ Sofia asks.

‘Can you still make Friday?’

‘Absolutely,’ she replies. ‘Where shall we meet?’

‘At the Djurgården ferry, four o’clock?’

‘I’ll be there!’

The next call is to the lawyer handling the estate. His name is Viggo Dürer, an old family friend. She met him a few times when she was a child, but only has a very vague memory of him. Old Spice and Eau de Vie.

Watch out for him.

The lawyer tells her she’s going to get everything, as the sole heir.

‘Everything?’ she says in surprise. ‘But the house burned down …’

Viggo Dürer explains that apart from the insurance on the house, worth about four million kronor, and the plot, which is worth more than a million, her parents had savings of nine hundred thousand kronor, as well as a portfolio of shares that ought to bring in another five million if they are sold.

Sofia tells the lawyer to sell the shares as soon as possible. Viggo Dürer tries to persuade her against doing so, but she insists, and in the end he agrees to do as she wishes.

She does a few sums and realises that she will soon be worth more than eleven million kronor. She has become a wealthy woman.

JEANETTE FEELS HAPPY
as she puts the phone down. Sofia has just been feeling ill and hadn’t felt like answering her phone. She’d been worried about nothing.

The trip to Gröna Lund means that she finally has a surprise for Johan, and at the same time she’ll get to see Sofia.

Now that she’s finally got some holiday, she’s going to take things easy for a few days, then think about the future.

Her thoughts are interrupted by the doorbell ringing, and she goes to answer it.

Outside stands a uniformed police officer she’s never seen before.

‘Hello, my name’s Göran,’ he says, holding his hand out. ‘Are you Jeanette Kihlberg?’

‘Göran?’ Jeanette says. ‘What’s this about?’

‘Andersson,’ he adds. ‘Göran Andersson. I work out in Värmdö.’

‘I see. How can I help you?’

‘Well, you see …’ He clears his throat. ‘I work out in Värmdö, and a few days ago we had a serious fire out there. Two people died in what looked like an accident. They’d been having a sauna, and …’

‘And …?’

‘The names of the couple who died in the fire were Bengt and Birgitta Bergman, and what looked at first to be an accident seems to be rather more complicated.’

Jeanette asks him in, apologising for not having done so before.

‘Let’s sit in the kitchen. Coffee?’

‘No, I can’t stay long.’

‘So … why are you here?’ Jeanette goes in and sits down at the kitchen table. The policeman follows her example.

‘I checked them out and saw straight away that you questioned Bengt Bergman regarding an alleged rape.’

Jeanette nodded. ‘Yes, that’s right. But it didn’t lead anywhere. He was released.’

‘Yes … and now he’s dead … When I called the daughter and told her what had happened, she reacted … How shall I put it …?’

‘Oddly?’ Jeanette thinks of her own conversation with Victoria Bergman.

‘No, more like indifferently.’

‘Sorry, Göran.’ Jeanette is beginning to get impatient. ‘But why have you come to see me?’

Göran Andersson leans over the table and smiles.

‘She doesn’t exist.’

‘Who doesn’t exist?’ Jeanette is starting to feel uneasy.

‘There was something about the daughter that made me curious enough to check her out.’

‘What did you find?’

‘Nothing. Zilch. No records, no bank account. Nada. Victoria Bergman has left no trace of her existence for the past twenty years.’