The Stonecutter (40 page)

His lack of enthusiasm and understanding made Erica furious. ‘Obviously the point is not for her to cry for forty-five minutes. It’ll taper off in a few days, and besides, if you don’t think it’s a good idea, then you can stay home and take care of her! You’re not the one who has to sit here nursing all day long. That must be why you don’t see any need to make any changes!’

Then she burst into tears and dashed upstairs to the bedroom. Patrik sat there at the kitchen table, feeling like an idiot. He should have thought before he opened his mouth.

24

Fjällbacka 1928

Two days later, her father came to Fjällbacka. She was sitting in the little room where she had found temporary shelter, waiting with her hands folded in her lap. When he came in, she saw that the gossip had been true. He looked terrible. His hair had thinned even more on top. A few years earlier, he’d been pleasantly plump, but now his figure was bordering on fat, and his breathing was erratic. His complexion was flushed bright red from the exertion, but just underneath was a gray tinge that refused to yield to the red. He didn’t look well.

He hesitated at the threshold with an expression of disbelief when he saw how small and dark the room was, but when he caught sight of Agnes he rushed forward to give her a big hug. She didn’t return the embrace, but kept her hands in her lap. He had betrayed her, and she could never forgive him.

August tried to get a reaction out of her but then gave up and released her. And yet he couldn’t help caressing her cheek. She flinched as if he’d slapped her.

‘Agnes, Agnes, my poor Agnes.’ He sat down on the chair next to her but refrained from touching her again. The sympathy on his face turned her stomach. It was too late for that now. Four years ago, she had needed him, yearned for paternal care and concern. Now it made no difference.

He began to speak, urgently, but she studiously avoided looking at him, and his words caught in his throat.

‘Agnes, I know that I was wrong and that nothing I can say will change that. But let me help you now that you’re in such terrible straits. Come back home, and let me take care of you. Things can be like they were before, everything can be like before. What has happened is horrible, but together we can put it all behind you.’

His voice rose and sank in imploring waves that shattered against the hard shell of her heart. His words felt like a reproach.

‘Dear Agnes, please come home. You can have anything you want.’

She saw out of the corner of her eye how his hands trembled, and his beseeching tone of voice gave her more satisfaction than she could have ever imagined. And she
had
imagined it; she had dreamed about it many times during the dark years that had passed.

She slowly turned to face him. August took this as a sign that she would accept his entreaties and eagerly tried to take her hands. Without expression she abruptly pulled them away.

‘I’m leaving for America on Friday,’ she said, enjoying the dismayed expression on August’s face.

‘A … aa … merica,’ August stammered, clearly horrified. Whatever he had expected, it wasn’t this.

‘Anders had bought tickets for all of us. He dreamed about a future for us there. I intend to honor his wish and go there myself,’ she said dramatically, shifting her eyes away from her father to look out the window. She knew that her profile was beautiful in the backlight, and her black clothing emphasized the pallor she had so carefully guarded.

People had been tiptoeing around her for two days. A small room had been offered by one of her neighbors, with the promise that she could stay as long as she liked. All the talking behind her back, all the contempt they had previously directed at her, all that had been swept away with the smoke. The women brought her food and clothing. Everything she wore now was either borrowed or a gift. She had nothing of her own left.

Anders’s cutter mates at the quarry had also come by. Dressed in their Sunday best and newly scrubbed, they stood with their caps in hand and looked at the floor. They shook her hand and mumbled some words about Anders.

Agnes couldn’t wait until she could get away from this patched, threadbare crowd. She longed to go aboard the boat that would take her to freedom. She wanted to let the sea air blow away the filth and decay that lay like a membrane over her skin. For a couple more days she had to tolerate their sympathy, and then she would set off and never look back. But first there was what she wanted to get from the bloated, red-faced man sitting next to her, this man who had abandoned her so cruelly four years ago. Now she would see to it that he paid, and paid dearly, for each and every one of the four years that had passed.

Her father continued to stammer, still in shock over her news. ‘But, but, how will you make a living over there?’ he asked with concern, wiping sweat from his brow with a little handkerchief that he pulled out of his pocket.

‘I don’t know,’ she replied with a melodramatic sigh, allowing a worried shadow to glide across her face, lingering long enough for her father to notice.

‘Won’t you change your mind, my heart? Come stay with your old father instead.’

She shook her head, waiting for him to offer another suggestion. In that respect he did not disappoint her. Men were so easy to see through.

‘Won’t you at least let me help you, then? Some money to get you started, and an allowance so you can manage? Couldn’t I do that much for you? Otherwise I’ll worry to death about you, all alone and so far away.’

Agnes pretended to ponder the idea for a moment, and August hastened to add, ‘And surely I can see to it that you have a better ticket for the crossing. A private stateroom in first class. That sounds a little better than travelling squeezed in with a bunch of other people.’

She nodded graciously and said after a pause, ‘Well yes, I suppose I could let you do that. You can give me the money tomorrow. After the funeral,’ she added, and August flinched at the word.

He tentatively tried to find the right words. ‘The boys,’ he began in a trembling voice, ‘did they look like our side of the family?’

They had been the spitting image of Anders, but in a stony voice Agnes said, ‘They looked just like the pictures of you when you were little. Small copies of you. And they often asked why they didn’t have a grandfather like the other children.’ She watched her words twisting like a knife in his breast. All lies, but the more his conscience weighed on him, the more he would fill her purse.

With tears in his eyes her father got up to take his leave. In the doorway he turned round to look at Agnes one last time. She decided to throw him a little scrap and nodded graciously. As she predicted, that small gesture made him happy, and he gave her a smile with his eyes shining.

With hatred Agnes watched him go. She would allow someone to betray her only once. After that there were no second chances.

Patrik sat in the car and tried to focus on the first task of the day: he needed to follow up as soon as possible on the call he had made yesterday evening. But he was having a hard time forgetting the stupid thing he’d said to Erica last night. He couldn’t imagine that it could be so difficult. He’d always believed that raising a child was easy. Well, maybe a lot of work, but not as anxiety-ridden as it had been during the past two months. He sighed, feeling dejected.

Only when he parked outside the brown-and-white blocks of flats by the southern road into Fjällbacka was he finally able to concentrate. The flat he was heading for was in the first block, second stairwell, and he took the stairs up to the first floor. The sign on the door said ‘Svensson & Kallin.’ He knocked cautiously. He knew that the couple living in the flat had a young child, and these days he was painfully aware of how unwelcome a stranger would be if he woke the kid. A young man about twenty-five opened the door. Although it was already nine thirty he looked sulky, as if he’d just gotten up.

‘Mia, it’s for you.’

He stepped aside without greeting Patrik and shuffled into a small room off the hall. Patrik looked into the room, which was probably intended as a guest room, but now it was set up as a game room, with a computer, several joysticks, and piles of games strewn across a desk. Some sort of hyper-violent killing game was running on the computer. The young man, who Patrik assumed was either Svensson or Kallin, started playing as if he had entered another world.

The kitchen was to the left down the hall, and Patrik stepped inside after depositing his shoes by the front door.

‘Come in, I’m feeding Liam.’

The little boy sat in a white high chair, being fed porridge and some sort of fruit purée. Patrik waved to him and was rewarded with a mushy smile.

‘Have a seat,’ said Mia, pointing to a chair across from them.

He did as she said and took out his notebook.

‘Could you tell me exactly what happened yesterday?’

Her hand holding the spoon began to tremble, but she nodded and related briefly what had happened. Patrik took notes, even though it was the same information that Annika had received the day before when Mia had called in her report.

‘And you saw no one in the vicinity of the car?’

Mia shook her head. Liam, who apparently thought his mother was playing a game, shook his head frenetically too, which made it considerably more difficult to feed him the porridge.

‘No, I didn’t see anybody. Either before or after.’

‘You parked the stroller in the rear, you said?’

‘Yes, it’s more secluded there, and I thought it would be a safer place to leave him in the stroller. I wanted to take him inside with me, but he was asleep, and it seemed more trouble than it was worth to drag the stroller into the store. I was just going to be gone a couple of minutes.’

‘And then when you came out, you saw a dark substance in the stroller and on Liam.’

‘Yes, he was screaming like crazy. His whole mouth must have been stuffed full, but he’d managed to spit out most of it. The inside of his mouth was colored black.’

‘Did you take him to a doctor?’

Again she shook her head, and Patrik saw that he’d hit a nerve.

‘No. I probably should have, but we were in a hurry to get home, and he seemed to be doing all right, except that he was scared and angry, so I …’

Her voice trailed off and Patrik hurried to say, ‘I’m sure it’s not dangerous. You did the right thing. The boy does look like he’s feeling fine.’

Liam waved his arms, as if to confirm what had just been said, and then opened his mouth wide for the next spoonful of porridge. There was obviously nothing wrong with his appetite, as evidenced by his plump double chin.

‘The shirt I called about yesterday, did you …’

She got up. ‘No, I didn’t wash it, just as you asked me. And it’s full of that black stuff. Looks like ashes, I think.’

She went to get the shirt. Liam stared longingly at the spoon, which she’d put down beside the bowl. Patrik hesitated for a second, then moved to the chair Mia had been sitting on and took up where she had left off. Two spoonfuls went smoothly, before Liam decided to demonstrate his car sounds, flubbering his lips so that Patrik’s hair and face were sprayed with mush. Just then Mia came back with the shirt. She couldn’t help laughing.

‘Look at you. I should have warned you, or at least given you a raincoat and a sou’wester. I’m really sorry.’

‘No problem,’ said Patrik wiping off a little mush from his eyelashes with a smile. ‘My baby is just two months old, so it’s good for me to get a little practice.’

‘Go ahead and practice,’ said Mia, who sat down and let him continue the feeding. ‘Here’s the shirt,’ she said, placing it on the table.

Patrik looked at it. The whole front was black and filthy.

‘I’d like to take this with me. Do you mind?’

‘Not at all. Take it. I thought I’d just toss it anyway. I’ll put it in a plastic bag for you.’

Patrik took the bag and got up. ‘If you think of anything else, just call the station,’ he said, handing her his card.

‘I certainly will. I just don’t understand why anyone would do something like this. What do you think the shirt might tell you?’

He just shook his head. Patrik couldn’t say anything about the reason for his interest. As yet nothing had leaked out to the press about the ashes they’d found in connection with Sara’s murder. He glanced at Liam. Thank goodness it hadn’t gone as far in his case. The question was whether murder had ever been the intention; maybe something had interrupted the person with the ashes. But until they had the ashes on the shirt analyzed, they couldn’t say whether it was connected to Sara’s death or not. Although he was convinced they would find a connection. This was no coincidence.

When Patrik got back in his car, he took his mobile out of his jacket pocket. He hadn’t heard from the team that did the search of Kaj’s house yesterday, and he thought that was a little strange. He’d had too much on his mind yesterday to worry about it, but now he wondered why they hadn’t reported back to him. Swearing, he saw that he’d turned off his phone on his way in to interrogate Kaj and then forgotten to turn it back on. The voicemail icon was flashing. He punched 133 and listened tensely to the message. With a glint of triumph in his eyes, he flipped the phone shut and stuffed it back in his pocket.