The Drowning (23 page)

‘So you have no idea who might be behind the threatening letters? Or whether there’s any connection to the murder of Magnus Kjellner?’

‘I thought you said you had information indicating he was murdered. Not that it was an established fact.’

‘Right. But that’s a reasonable assumption,’ replied the reporter. ‘And you have to agree that in a small town
like Fjällbacka, it’s a strange coincidence that a man would receive threats and then one of his friends is found murdered. That stirs up a whole lot of questions.’

Christian felt his anger growing. What right did they have to come barging into his life, demanding answers and asking him to produce something that he didn’t have?

‘I have nothing more to say about any of this.’

‘You do realize that we’re going to write about it whether you cooperate or not? It would be in your own best interest to give us your view of the matter.’

‘I’ve said everything that I’m going to say,’ Christian replied, but the journalist didn’t look as if he was going to back off.

Then Christian stood up. He walked through the library and went into the toilet, locking the door behind him. He gave a start when he saw his face in the mirror. It looked like a complete stranger staring back at him. He didn’t recognize himself at all.

He closed his eyes, leaning forward with his hands on the sink. His breathing was fast and shallow. By sheer force of will, he tried to slow his pulse and regain control. But his life was about to be taken away from him. He knew that. Once upon a time she had taken everything, and now she was here to do it again.

Images danced on the inside of his eyelids. He heard the voices too. Hers and theirs. Without being able to stop himself, he tilted his head back. And then with great force he threw himself forward. He heard the sound of the mirror shattering, felt the blood on his forehead. But it didn’t hurt. Because in the seconds when the glass pierced his skin, the voices fell silent. A blessed silence.

It was just past noon, and Louise was marvellously drunk. To precisely the right extent. Relaxed, numbed, but without losing her grip on reality.

Louise filled her glass again. The house was empty. The girls were in school, and Erik was at the office. Or somewhere else, maybe with his whore.

He’d been acting strangely the past few days. Quieter and more subdued. And her sense of dread was mixed with hope. That was how she always felt when she thought Erik might actually leave her. It was as if she were two people. One of them felt relief at being able to escape the prison that their marriage had become, with nothing but betrayal and lies. The other person was panic-stricken at being abandoned. Of course she would get a large portion of Erik’s money, but what would she do with it when she was all on her own?

There wasn’t much companionship in her present life, but it was still better than nothing. She had a warm body next to her in bed at night, and someone sitting at the kitchen table, reading the newspaper at breakfast. She had somebody. If he left her, she would be utterly forsaken. The girls were growing up; they were like temporary guests in the house, always on their way to see friends or go to school. They had already begun to adopt the taciturn behaviour of teenagers, barely answering at all when she spoke to them. When they were home, she mostly saw the closed doors to their rooms, and the only sign of life was the constant thudding of the music they had playing.

One more glass of wine had disappeared, and she poured herself another. Where was Erik right now? Was he at the office or was he with her? Was he rolling over Cecilia’s naked body, entering her, caressing her breasts? Here at home he never did any of those things. He hadn’t touched her in two years. At first she had tried slipping her hand under the covers to touch him. But after being rejected a few times, when he demonstratively rolled over on his side so his back was turned, or simply pushed away her hand, she had given up.

She could see her own reflection in the shiny stainless steel of the refrigerator. As usual, she studied herself, raising her hand to touch her face. She didn’t look that bad, did she? Once, she had been quite attractive. And she’d kept off the pounds, been careful about what she ate, disdaining her contemporaries who allowed buns and sweet rolls to add extra padding to their figures, which they then tried to conceal under a floral tent dress bought at Lindex. She, on the other hand, could still put on a pair of tight jeans and look respectable. She raised her chin. It had actually started to sag a bit. She raised it again. All right, that’s how it should look.

She lowered her chin, noticing how the skin relaxed into a small fold. She had to resist an impulse to take one of the knives out of the holder in front of her and cut off the repulsive flap of skin. She was suddenly disgusted by her own reflection. No wonder Erik didn’t want to touch her any more. No wonder he’d rather have firm skin under his fingers, wanting to touch something that was not slowly decaying and rotting from the inside.

She lifted her wine glass and tossed the contents at the fridge, erasing her reflection and replacing it with the gleaming red liquid that ran down the smooth surface. The phone was on the counter in front of her, and she punched in the number to the office. She had to find out where he was.

‘Hi, Kenneth. Is Erik there?’

Her heart was pounding hard as she put down the phone, even though by now she should be used to the situation. Poor Kenneth. How many times over the years had he been forced to cover for Erik? To quickly come up with some lie about where Erik was and what sort of task he was taking care of, assuring her that he was bound to be back in the office soon.

She filled her glass without bothering to wipe up what
she’d thrown at the fridge and resolutely headed for Erik’s workroom. She wasn’t really supposed to go in there. He claimed that it disturbed the order of things if anyone else used the room, so she was strictly forbidden from even setting foot inside. And that was exactly why she was going there now.

Fumbling, she set down her wine glass on the desk and began pulling out the drawers. In all the doubt-filled years she’d spent with Erik, she had never gone through his things. She had preferred not to know. Suspicions were better than knowledge, even though in her case there was very little difference. Somehow she had always known who he happened to be seeing at the moment. Two of his secretaries, when they lived in Göteborg; one of the teachers at the day-care centre; the mother of one of the girls’ classmates. She could tell because of the evasive and slightly guilty expressions the women wore when they saw her. She had smelled their perfume, noticed a hasty touch that wasn’t appropriate.

Now, for the first time, she pulled out Erik’s desk drawers and rummaged through his papers, not caring whether he noticed what she’d done. Because she was becoming convinced that the oppressive silence of the past few days could mean only one thing. He was thinking of leaving her. Throwing her away like rubbish, used goods – and yet she had given birth to his children, kept his home clean, cooked all those fucking dinners for his fucking business contacts who were usually so boring that she felt as if her head would explode when she was forced to converse with them. If he thought that she would just step aside like some wounded animal and not put up a fight, he was sorely mistaken. And besides, she knew about business agreements that he’d made over the years that wouldn’t stand closer examination. It would cost him dearly if he made the mistake of underestimating her.

The last drawer was locked. She tugged on it, harder and harder, but it refused to yield. She knew that she had to get it open. There was some reason why Erik had locked it, there was something that he didn’t want her to see. She looked at the surface of the desk, which was a modern piece of furniture – in other words, not such a challenge to break into as an older, more solid desk would have been. Her eyes were drawn to a letter opener. That would do. She pulled at the drawer until the lock stopped it from moving. Then she inserted the letter opener into the crack and began prising at the lock. At first it looked like the drawer would refuse to give, but then she tried a little harder, and her hopes rose when the wood began to crack. When the lock finally let go, it happened so suddenly that she almost fell over backwards. At the last instant she grabbed the edge of the desk and managed to stay upright.

Curiosity mounting, she peered inside the drawer. Something white was lying on the bottom. She stretched out her hand, trying to focus because her vision had gone a bit hazy. White envelopes. The drawer contained nothing but letters in white envelopes. She actually recalled seeing them arrive in the post, but she had paid little attention at the time. They were all addressed to Erik, so she had simply added them to his stack of post, which he always opened when he came home from work. Why had he put them inside a locked drawer?

Louise took out the letters and sat down on the floor, spreading them out in front of her. Five of them, all with Erik’s name and address on the envelope, written with black ink in an elegant script.

For a moment she considered stuffing them back in the drawer and continuing on, ignoring everything. But she had broken the desk lock, and as soon as Erik came home, he would know that she had been in here. So she might as well have a look.

She reached for her wine glass, needing to feel the alcohol running down her throat and into her stomach, soothing the place where it hurt. Three sips. Then she set the glass on the floor beside her and opened the first letter.

After she had read them all, she stacked them up on top of each other. She didn’t understand a thing. Except it was clear that somebody wanted to harm Erik. Something evil was threatening their life, their family, and he had said nothing about it. That filled her with a rage greater than any anger she might have felt. He hadn’t considered her an equal, not enough to tell her about something important like this. But now he was going to have to answer to her. He could no longer treat her with such lack of respect.

She decided to drive into town, to Erik’s office. She placed the letters next to her on the passenger seat in the car. It took a moment for her to insert the key in the ignition, but after taking a couple of deep breaths, she managed it. She knew that she shouldn’t be driving right now, but like so many times before, she pushed aside any scruples and pulled out into the street.

12

He thought she looked rather sweet as she lay there so still, no longer crying or demanding or taking. He reached out his hand to touch her forehead. His movement stirred up the water again, and her features were blurred by the ripples on the surface.

It sounded like Father was saying goodbye to whoever it was at the front door. He could hear footsteps approaching. Father would understand. He too had been shut out. She had taken from him too.

He drew his fingers through the water, making patterns and waves. Her hands and feet were resting on the bottom. Only her knees and a small part of her forehead stuck out of the water.

Now he heard Father just outside the bathroom door. He didn’t look up. Suddenly it felt like he couldn’t take his eyes off her. He liked her this way. For the first time he liked her. He pressed his cheek even harder against the edge of the tub. Listening and waiting for Father to realize that they were free of her now. They had Mother back, both he and Father. Father would be happy; he was sure of that.

Then he felt someone yanking him away from the bathtub. Surprised, he looked up. Father’s face was contorted with so many feelings that he didn’t know how to interpret them. But he didn’t look happy.

‘What have you done?’ Father’s voice roared and he grabbed Alice out of the tub. Helplessly he held her slack body in his arms, and then he gently set her down on the rug. ‘What have you done?’ Father said again, without looking at him.

‘She took Mother away.’ He felt the words stick in his throat, unable to come out. He didn’t understand a thing. He thought Father would be pleased.

Father didn’t say a word. Just gave him a quick glance, a look of disbelief on his face. Then he leaned down and pressed his fingers lightly on the baby’s chest. He held her nose, blew gently into her mouth, and then pressed on her chest again.

‘Why are you doing that, Father?’ He could hear how whiny his voice sounded. Mother didn’t like it when he whined. He pulled his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them as he leaned his back against the tub. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Why was Father giving him such strange looks? He wasn’t just angry at him; Father also looked scared of him.

Father kept on blowing into Alice’s mouth. Her hands and feet lay motionless on the rug, just as still as when they were resting on the bottom of the tub. Every once in a while they jerked a bit when Father pressed his fingers on her chest, but that was Father moving them. She wasn’t moving them on her own.

But the fourth time that Father stopped blowing, one of her hands quivered. Then came the coughing, and after that the scream. That oh-so-familiar, shrill, demanding scream. He didn’t like her any more.

Mother’s footsteps could be heard coming down the stairs. Father picked up Alice, holding her so close that the front of his shirt was soaked. She was shrieking so loudly that the bathroom seemed to vibrate, and he wished that she would stop, that she would be as quiet and sweet as she was before Father did what he had done to her.

As Mother approached, Father squatted down in front of him. His eyes were big and frightened as he leaned forward and whispered: ‘We will never talk about what happened here. And if you ever do it again, I’m going to send you away so fast that you won’t even hear the door close after you. Do you understand? You are never to touch her again!’

‘What’s going on here?’ Mother’s voice in the doorway. ‘The minute I go upstairs to take a nap for a moment’s respite, pure hysteria breaks out down here. What’s wrong with her? Did he do something?’ She turned to look at him sitting on the floor.