by Mikaela Bley
The receptionist closed the window and made a few calls before she opened it again. ‘Are you okay?’ She pointed at her nose.
‘It’s no big deal, just a little nosebleed, I get them sometimes. I should get it cauterised.’ Sometimes her head was mercifully inventive.
The woman seemed happy with that and told them that Börje was on his way in and would be there within ten minutes. They were encouraged to take a seat on the bench and wait.
Ellen stood there a few moments and waited until Didrik had sat down before she knocked on the window again.
The receptionist opened and chirped, ‘Was there something else?’
‘Sorry, but since I’m here anyway, do you know anything about the disappearance of Elsa von Platen?’ After everything that had happened at the lake earlier, Ellen felt that she needed facts, black on white.
‘I recognise that name. But it was a long time ago, right?’
‘Yes, twenty-seven years.’
‘So it was, yes. She was found, wasn’t she?’
‘Yes, it was a drowning accident. I think there must be a lot of information about the disappearance itself. A preliminary investigation or the like. At first, they thought it was a kidnapping, before they realised that it was an accident.’
‘Yes, but it will have been archived anyway. When was it, did you say?’
‘Nineteen eighty-seven.’
‘I see, then we won’t have that here, unfortunately.’
‘Do you know who worked on the disappearance — anyone that I can talk to?’
She shook her head. ‘But I can look into it if you want.’
‘Thanks, that would be very kind.’ The blood was dripping onto the reception counter. ‘Sorry.’ Ellen quickly wiped it off with the napkin. ‘I read a few articles from that time, and it was often Kjell Thulin who made statements in connection with the disappearance.’
‘Yes, that may be. He retired a long time ago. I can see if it’s possible to reach him. Write down your phone number here, and I’ll check it all out.’
Ellen did as she was asked. ‘Thanks a lot.’
‘What was that about?’ said Didrik as she sat down beside him on the bench. She wished that there were more seats so they didn’t have to sit so close to each other.
‘Nothing.’
Didrik sighed. ‘What does it matter who you submit the report to?’
‘Everything fits together, just as I said. Bea, the one who attacked us, is the daughter of Patrik, who was together with Liv Lind.’
‘What? Do you know who those kids are?’
‘I need real tissues. This won’t stop bleeding.’
‘Lean your head back, and I’ll go get some.’
‘Don’t come back,’ she whispered when he had left. Her whole body was still quivering with fury and humiliation. And fear. She didn’t want to acknowledge the last of those, but it was oppressive. The whole scenario played out in her head over and over again, and it wasn’t possible to turn it off.
‘Don’t touch me.’ Ellen slapped away his hand when he tried to help her with the tissue.
‘Oh, I’m just trying to help.’
‘Don’t touch me.’ She stared at him.
After a while the lady in reception opened the glass window, and Ellen went up. ‘Börje isn’t going to stop by, but you can file a report now, and he’ll contact the two of you later. Or would you like to speak to another police officer?’
‘No, that’s fine, thanks. We can come back,’ said Ellen.
‘Okay, are you sure?’
‘No, we’ll be happy to talk to—’ Didrik began.
But Ellen interrupted him. ‘Yes, we’re sure.’
‘Listen, by the way I looked into that case, and you were right. Kjell Thulin led the preliminary investigation. Call him.’ She held out a slip of paper, and Ellen folded it up and closed her hand around it.
ELLEN
6.10 P.M.
Didrik drove away from the police station like a car thief. ‘The next time you trample over me like that you can at least tell me what it’s about. I don’t like this at all. You know what, sometimes I wonder what you think you’re doing? You should be careful with me.’
‘I’m sorry?’ She didn’t believe her ears. ‘I told you to wait in the car. What do you mean, exactly? Are you threatening me now?’
‘To be quite honest, maybe it’s a good thing that Börje, or whatever his name is, didn’t come. We should probably think this through carefully before we talk to the police. It was wise of you not to file a report — you should keep away from such things.’
‘What do you mean, the law, or what?’ What an abrupt turn.
He nodded.
Ellen wasn’t following at all, but didn’t want to know, either, what was going on in his head. She squeezed the paper with Thulin’s number on it in her hand.
‘Who was that you were going to call?’
‘Why did you have a gun with you?’
‘I always do.’
‘You risked our lives and that little girl’s.’ She kicked at the glove compartment. ‘Do you understand that if you hadn’t had a gun with you, what happened wouldn’t have happened. People like you going around with a gun breeds violence. Who are you afraid of? Actually, it served you right to be threatened with your own gun, but fuck you for putting me and that little girl in danger! Do you know what her name is? Hey? Alice!’ Ellen was crying; it was as if everything finally caught up with her there and then. ‘What use are you really? I will always protect you. Ha. Yeah, you really did today. Thanks a lot!’
‘Don’t be so fucking naive, Ellen. They were completely out of their minds. What do you think I should have done? I’m sorry.’
‘Fuck!’ she screamed, clenching her fists. Her head was pounding.
‘What the fuck should I have done?’ Now Didrik was shouting too. ‘Tell me that, should I have just let them go ahead because you felt violated? How the fuck do you think I felt?’
Ellen closed her eyes.
They drove the last stretch in silence. Fury gave way to a tired sadness.
Didrik gently placed his hand on her thigh. She wanted to take it away, but had no energy left and let it be.
‘Do you want me to stay with you?’
How could he ask that? She shook her head.
‘Are you able to drive back from my house, then?’
She nodded.
Didrik drove across the gravel yard, and the birds rose up from the trees around them.
‘It’s been a long time since I was here,’ Ellen whispered, looking around at Didrik’s farm, a beautiful manor of red-painted wood.
‘Do you want to come in and say hello to Mum?’
She looked at him with shock. Her eyes ached.
‘That was a joke,’ he said.
‘What do you mean, a joke, why wouldn’t I?’ She didn’t like how he turned on a dime.
‘You’ve never been her favourite. She wouldn’t be particularly pleased, but anyway, I’m the one who decides now since she moved into the wing.’ He pointed to the left, where there were lights on. ‘Presumably she’s standing in one of the windows right now, looking at us. Hiding behind a curtain.’
Ellen shuddered.
‘Do you know what I think? That she’s jealous of you. It’s so nice that I finally get to decide about my own life. She’d go crazy if she found out that I was socialising with you again, but we don’t have to worry about that any more.’ He undid the seatbelt and leant over to kiss her.
She snapped back, a little too fast, so that it made her head hurt.
‘Sorry,’ he said, leaning back in the seat again.
‘You’re forty years old.’
‘I know. Maybe it sounds strange, but she’s always had a major and important role in my life. Actual
ly, it’s probably pretty common. I think that a lot of people, guys anyway, let themselves be controlled by their parents. We do a lot of things that are expected of us, so that they’ll be proud, and because we have no choice. You women have totally different expectations of you.’
‘Yeah, women have it so much easier.’
‘That wasn’t how I meant it. When you turn forty and notice that your parents are starting to get older and no longer have the energy to care, then you finally dare to live your own life.’
‘And buy a motorbike and a lot of equipment.’
‘Yeah, or move your mum out into the wing. Do you think I’d have the courage to court you if she still lived in the big house?’
‘Why would it be so awful to court me?’ It was the second time he’d said it, and she was starting to get irritated.
‘Well, I guess you don’t have the best reputation, and Mum is one of the few people who know who you are anyway. Don’t get me wrong. I love that you’re the way you are.’
Ellen shook her head and suddenly felt the nausea washing over her. ‘Wonder if she’ll be happy when she sees the scratches on her car. Maybe you won’t have to tell her what BfH means. I have to go home now.’ She undid the seatbelt to get into the driver’s seat. She pulled at the door handle, but it was locked. ‘Open, I have to puke.’
He unlocked the safety lock, and she threw herself out. Threw up three times.
Didrik rushed around the car. ‘It’s blood!’ he screamed.
‘Take it easy, it must be all the nose blood I swallowed,’ she said, wiping her mouth.
‘Are you sure you can drive home?’
Ellen nodded and looked down at the bloodstained gravel. ‘Say hello to your mum.’
MONDAY, 25 AUGUST
ALEXANDRA
9.00 A.M.
The basil was the first plant she ripped out. After that, one herb after the other went, and she hurled them into the sink so that dirt sprayed up in her face and onto the counter and window. Fury was gushing up inside her.
Patrik hadn’t been working the day that Liv was murdered. Why had he lied to her? After the interview, he’d gone straight to work — just sent a text message, and then turned off the phone.
Bea hadn’t come home either, and as usual, she had no idea where her daughter was.
‘Do you want some help?’
Alexandra turned around sharply and glowered at her mother-in-law’s wrinkled face. ‘Get out of here before …’
‘Before what? Before you hit me? Stop that!’ Her mother-in-law grabbed her hand and restrained her from tossing the last plant. ‘You have to learn to manage your anger. Don’t you see what it does to you? Do you think I don’t see the bruises on my son?’
How did she have the gall to say something like that? ‘I want you to leave our house. You are no longer welcome here.’ The words just burst out of her, and it felt so good. Now it was enough. All respect for family, but she wasn’t going to swallow any more of the nasty comments that her mother-in-law threw in her face. Why hadn’t she said this earlier? ‘Did you hear what I said, go and pack your bag!’
But Eva stood there, close enough that she could notice the smell of Bosängen.
‘If you don’t get control of your anger soon, it’s going to destroy your life and your children’s. Anger breeds anger. I’ve seen it lose control. I know how hard it is to share your husband with other women, and what stress that entails, but don’t take it out on your children.’
‘How can you speak to me that way! I’ve had enough of your judgemental comments.’
‘I know exactly what it’s like to feel that you’re about to cross the line. Especially when you’re living in such a pressured environment, as I know you are. I’ve experienced exactly the same stress. But you have to seek help.’
‘Listen.’ Alexandra turned around. ‘Will you please just leave my house at once. You’ve never liked me or where I come from. It doesn’t matter how hard I strive for you to accept me. It’s catch-22 all the time — it’s not possible to satisfy you. When I cook, it’s either too much or too little; when I set the table, it’s never good enough, and you’re there adjusting and grumbling. You hate me because I’m not fine enough and don’t fit into your wonderful family. It’s never good enough, never! You’re a fucking horrible old hag, you know that? I feel sorry for you. You hate that your son loves me and would rather be with me than with you.’
Eva stared at her without changing expression. ‘Is that what you think?’ She smiled haughtily.
Alexandra was completely out of breath.
‘It’s true, I don’t like you, but it’s not because you’re from Poland, or because you always show off in front of me. Ever since I met you for the first time, I’ve seen that you have an unnatural anger inside you. Why do you think Bea is the way she is? You carry on and polish your home and water your flowers, while your children rot away inside.’
‘How dare you talk to me like this!’
‘Who are you trying to impress? Me? Ha. I think you’ve misunderstood the situation, or else it’s a way to defend yourself. You’re living in a state of denial. It’s your own inferiority complex that has made you what you are. Don’t blame it on me. I know you weren’t at home the night Liv was murdered. When I came home, the car was gone. Märtha was sitting on the stairs absolutely scared out of her wits when I came home. You left her alone.’
Alexandra closed her eyes.
ELLEN
10.00 A.M.
The GPS said that she needed to turn right, but there was no street to turn right into. It seemed that all the streets on Brandholmen were named according to a maritime theme, she realised, though she was searching feverishly for Tennisvägen.
Ellen didn’t know whether Kjell Thulin was at home, or whether he would appreciate a visit. Would he even recognise her?
Her nose still ached from yesterday, she was tired, and she probably should have thought the whole thing through properly first. But she wanted to know — had to find out — now. Yesterday had opened up peculiar gaps, and the night had been edged by strange nightmares and troubled sleep. It was hard to separate what was what, and panic kept creeping up.
She turned around, drove against the one-way direction and up onto a pedestrian street, and then decided to park. She couldn’t even find a parking space, so she stopped the car and got out right next to a playground in the middle of the modern residential area. Two mums with strollers glared at her. Calm down, she thought. I’ll be moving the car soon.
When she finally found the right street and arrived at Thulin’s house, she stopped and took a few deep breaths. The little patch of grass in front of the house was fitted with a water sprinkler that was no doubt intended for a considerably larger yard. Regular jets of water were being pumped out over the street and at the house. Ellen walked slowly between the jets. On the door was a brass sign with the name Thulin. It felt so familiar. She remembered him well. At the time, she had been afraid of him. He had been hard and stern and almost angry at her when she couldn’t answer the questions he asked.
She tried to repress the nervous feeling and the impulse to go into a defensive posture.
How should she introduce herself? Presumably, he wouldn’t recognise her name, because she’d changed it. When Elsa had disappeared, their name was von Platen, but when her dad had left them, Ellen had taken her mother’s maiden name. Should she perhaps not mention her name and say she was working with a cold case? When she rang the doorbell, she still hadn’t decided. Her hand was shaking a little when she pressed the button, and she almost hoped he wouldn’t be home.
The bell was far from discreet, and the awful melody let the whole street know he had a visitor. Ellen tried to press the doorbell again to turn it off, but it had the opposite effect. The sound got even louder.
At last, he cracked open the door and lo
oked out. Ellen recognised him, and a strange feeling filtered through her body.
He’d gotten older, much older. The little hair he had left was white, and he had a big sore on his head, as if someone had dug it out. She’d seen it once before. Cancer.
Should she say something about it, or just ignore it? It looked like a recent operation, as if it hadn’t really healed. His back was bent and his body crooked.
‘Hi, do I know you?’ He cleared his throat. Presumably she was the first person he’d talked to today.
‘No, sorry.’ She held out her hand. ‘Ellen Tamm, I’m from TV4 news. I have a few questions about an old case that you worked on.’ She tried not to talk as fast as she usually did and articulated carefully.
‘Really?’ He sounded doubtful.
‘It concerns the disappearance of Elsa von Platen.’
He nodded and looked at her carefully, and she got the sense that he recognised her. The water sprinkler made its presence known again and again, and by this point, her back was soaked. ‘Do you have some time? May I ask a few questions?’
‘For TV, you mean?’
‘No, no, I’m the one looking for information.’ The respect she felt for him when she was little had rushed back immediately. Like a reflex.
‘I see, then. Well, I guess so. Come on in. It’s too warm to be outside. You’re getting soaked. I need to adjust that water sprinkler.’
They went into the hall, past the kitchen, and through the living room to the modern glassed-in porch. It was tastefully furnished and felt Mediterranean, or at least southern European.
‘Sit yourself down, I’ve just put on some coffee, would you like some?’
‘Please,’ said Ellen. She sat down in one of the two wicker chairs and looked out over the boat-filled Nyköping inlet. On the drop-leaf table, newspapers, books, and reference works lay sprawled about in a big jumble, and it reminded her of her own desk. In the middle of the chaos was a glass jar, containing what looked like homemade almond biscuits.
She imagined him sitting there for days on end, solving crossword puzzles. In the background, the radio was playing at low volume, just loud enough that you could hear it was on, but you had to listen very carefully to make out what they were saying. It probably mainly serves as company, Ellen thought, whose feeling was that you should either listen wholeheartedly at a generous volume, or else not have it on at all.