Erik saw that Kenneth had already had the same thought. At the same time that he was annoyed by his colleague’s lack of enterprise, he was trying to ignore the fact that he too had failed to report the letters. On the other hand, none of them had been placed directly inside his house.
‘All right, let’s do this. You go home and pick up the letters that you’ve received, and we can take all of them over to the police station together. Then they can get started on this whole matter at once.’
Kenneth stood up. ‘I’ll leave now and be right back.’
‘Good. You do that,’ said Erik.
After Kenneth left and the door closed behind him, Erik turned to Louise and studied her for several seconds.
‘There’s a lot we need to talk about.’
Louise looked at him for a moment. Then she raised her hand and slapped his face.
13
‘I said there’s nothing wrong with her!’ Mother’s voice was angry and she was on the verge of tears. He slipped away and sat down behind the sofa some distance away. But not so far that he couldn’t hear what they said. Everything having to do with Alice was important.
He liked her better now. She never gave him that look any more that meant she wanted to take something from him. Mostly she lay still and made very little noise, and he thought that was wonderful.
‘She’s eight months old, and she hasn’t made a single attempt to crawl or move about. We need to have a doctor take a look at her.’ Father was speaking in a low voice. The voice he used when he wanted to persuade Mother to do something that she didn’t want to do. He placed his hands on her shoulders so she would be forced to listen to what he was saying.
‘Something isn’t quite right with Alice. The sooner we get help, the better. You’re not doing her any good by closing your eyes to what’s wrong.’
His mother shook her head. Her shiny dark hair hung down her back, and he wished that he could reach out and touch it. But he knew that she wouldn’t like it; she would pull away from his touch.
Mother kept on shaking her head. The tears rolled down her cheeks, and he knew that in spite of everything, she had begun to relent. Father turned to look over his shoulder, casting a swift glance at him as he sat behind the sofa. He smiled at Father, not knowing what he meant. But apparently it was wrong to smile, because Father frowned and looked angry, as if wishing his expression were different.
Nor did he understand why Mother and Father were so worried and sad. Alice was so calm and nice now. Mother didn’t have to carry her around all the time, and she lay peacefully wherever they put her. But Mother and Father weren’t happy. And even though there was now space for him too, they treated him like he was air. He didn’t really care so much that Father did that; Father wasn’t the one who mattered. But Mother didn’t see him either, and if she did, it was only with a look of disgust and loathing on her face.
Because he couldn’t seem to stop himself. He couldn’t resist lifting his fork again and again, stuffing the food in his mouth, chewing, swallowing, taking more, feeling his body filling out. The fear was too great, the fear that she would never see him. He was no longer Mother’s handsome little boy. But he was here, and he took up space.
It was quiet when he came home. Lisbet was probably sleeping. He considered going in to see her right away, but he didn’t want to wake her if she’d just fallen asleep. It would be better to do it just before he left. She needed all the rest she could get.
Kenneth paused in the front hall for a moment. This was the silence that he would soon have to live with. Of course he’d been home alone in the past. Lisbet had been very involved with her job as a teacher, and she’d often worked overtime in the evenings. But it was a different sort of silence when he’d arrived home before she did. It was a silence full of promise, full of anticipation, waiting for that moment when the front door opened and she would come in, saying: ‘Hi, sweetheart, I’m home.’
He would never again hear those words. Lisbet would leave this house, but she would never come home again.
Suddenly he was overcome with grief. He had put so much energy into keeping his sorrow at bay, not wanting to let it in ahead of time. But now he couldn’t stop it. He leaned his forehead against the wall and felt the tears rising. And he let them come, weeping silently, the tears falling to his feet. For the first time he allowed himself to feel what it would be like when she was gone. In many ways she was already gone. Their love was as great as ever, but it was different. Because the Lisbet who lay in the guest-room bed was only a shadow of the woman he had loved. She no longer existed, and he missed her terribly.
He stood there for a long time with his forehead pressed against the wall. After a while his sobs subsided, the tears fell more slowly. When they stopped altogether, he took a deep breath, raised his head, and wiped his wet cheeks with his hand. That was enough. That was all he could allow himself right now.
He went into the workroom. The letters were in the top desk drawer. His first instinct had been to throw them out, to ignore them. But something had stopped him. And when the fourth one arrived the other night, delivered inside his home, he was glad that he’d kept the others. Because now he realized that he needed to take them seriously. Someone wanted to harm him.
He knew that he should have turned over the letters to the police right away, and not worried so much about upsetting Lisbet as she waited to die. He should have protected her by taking the matter seriously. It was lucky that he’d realized this in time, that Erik had made him realize it in time. If anything had happened to her because, as usual, he had failed to act, he would never have forgiven himself.
With trembling fingers he picked up the letters, walked quietly down the hall to the kitchen, and placed all of them inside an ordinary one-gallon plastic bag. He considered leaving immediately so as not to wake Lisbet. But he couldn’t go without looking in on her. He needed to make sure that everything was all right, to see her face, he hoped peacefully asleep.
Cautiously he opened the door to the guest room. It opened without a sound, and gradually more and more of his wife came into view. She was sleeping. Her eyes were closed, and he took in every feature, every detail of her face. She was gaunt and her skin was parched, but she was still beautiful.
He quietly took a few steps inside the room, unable to resist the urge to touch her. But suddenly he sensed that something was wrong. Lisbet looked the way she always did when she slept, but now he realized what was different. It was so silent. He didn’t hear a sound. Not even a breath.
Kenneth rushed forward. He placed two fingers on her throat, moved his fingers to the wrist of her left hand, fumbling, moved his hand back to her throat, wishing with all his heart that he would find the life-giving pulse. But in vain. There was nothing. It was silent in the room and silent in her body. She had left him.
He heard a sobbing sound, as if from an animal. Guttural and filled with despair. And he realized that the sound was coming from him. He sat down on the edge of the bed and lifted her up, cautiously, as if she could still feel pain.
Her head rested heavily on his lap. He stroked her cheek and felt his tears return. Grief overcame him with a force that erased everything he had ever felt before; he was consumed by sorrow. It was a physical sorrow that spread through his whole body, wringing every nerve. The pain made him scream out loud. The sound of his cries echoed through the small room, bouncing off the floral coverlet and the pale wallpaper to be thrown back at him.
Her hands were clasped over her breast, and gently he pulled them apart. He wanted to hold her hand one last time. He felt her rough skin against his own. Her skin had lost its softness after the treatments, but it still felt so familiar.
He lifted her hand to his lips, kissing the back of it, as his tears fell on both of their hands, joining them together. He closed his eyes and tasted the salt of his tears mixing with her scent. He would have liked to sit there for ever, never letting go. But he knew that was impossible. Lisbet was no long
er his, she was no longer here, and he had to let her go. At least she was no longer in pain; that was over now. The cancer had won, but it had also lost because it was forced to die with her.
He put her hand down, placing it gently at her side. Her right hand still lay on her breast, and he picked it up to move it to her other side.
But he gave a start when he noticed something in her hand, something white. His heart began pounding wildly. He wanted to clasp her hands again and hide what he saw, but he couldn’t. With trembling fingers he opened her right hand. The white object tumbled out and fell on to the coverlet. A small piece of paper, folded in half so the message was hidden. But he knew what it was. He could feel the presence of evil in the room.
Kenneth reached for the slip of paper. He hesitated for a moment, and then he read what it said.
Anna had just left when the doorbell rang. At first Erica thought that her sister must have forgotten something, but Anna never bothered about such trivial matters as waiting for permission to enter the house. She usually just opened the door and walked in.
Erica put down the cups she had started to clear away and went to open the door.
‘Gaby? What are you doing here?’ She stepped aside to allow the publishing director to enter. Today she lit up the drab of winter with a bright turquoise coat and enormous glittery gold earrings.
‘I was in Göteborg for a meeting, so I thought I’d just drop by and have a little chat.’
Drop by? It was an hour-and-a-half drive from Göteborg, and she hadn’t even phoned ahead to make sure that Erica would be home. What could possibly be so urgent?
‘I wanted to talk to you about Christian,’ Gaby said, answering Erica’s unspoken question as she came inside. ‘Do you have any coffee?’
‘Oh, of course.’
As usual, dealing with Gaby felt like being hit by a train. She didn’t bother to take off her boots, just gave them a superficial wipe on the rug before stepping on to the hardwood floor with her clacking heels. Erica cast a nervous glance at the polished planks of her floor, hoping her publisher wasn’t going to leave any ugly marks behind. But it would be fruitless to say anything to Gaby. Erica couldn’t recall ever seeing her in her stocking-feet, and she wondered if Gaby even took off her boots when she went to bed.
‘How … cosy you’ve made things here,’ said Gaby, smiling broadly. But Erica could tell that she was actually horrified by the sight of all the toys, Maja’s clothes, Patrik’s papers, and everything else scattered all over. Gaby had visited them before, but on those occasions, Erica had expected her arrival and had cleaned up ahead of time.
The publishing director brushed a few crumbs from a chair before sitting down at the kitchen table. Erica quickly grabbed a dishcloth and ran it over the tabletop, which she hadn’t had time to do since breakfast and then Anna had come to visit.
‘My sister was just here,’ she explained, removing the empty ice-cream container.
‘I hope you know it’s a myth that you can eat for two when you’re pregnant,’ said Gaby, staring at Erica’s enormous stomach.
‘Hmm,’ said Erica, restraining herself from giving a caustic reply. Gaby wasn’t known for being particularly tactful. Her own slender figure was the result of a disciplined diet and regular workouts with a personal trainer at the downtown Stockholm health club Sturebadet three times a week. Nor did her body show any signs of past pregnancies. Her career had always been her highest priority.
Out of pure spite, Erica set a platter of pastries on the table and pushed it over towards Gaby.
‘Wouldn’t you like a pastry?’ She watched as Gaby was torn between her desire to be polite and a desperate urge to say ‘No, thanks.’ Finally she reached a compromise.
‘I’ll take half of one, if you don’t mind.’ Gaby carefully broke off a piece, with a look on her face as if she were about to stuff a cockroach in her mouth.
‘So you said you wanted to talk to me about Christian, right?’ said Erica. She couldn’t restrain her curiosity.
‘Yes. I can’t understand what’s going on with him.’ Gaby seemed relieved that the pastry dilemma was over, and she took a big gulp of coffee to wash down the piece she had eaten. ‘He says he refuses to do any more promotion for his book, but that’s just not right. It’s unprofessional!’
‘He does seem to be taking all the media attention rather hard,’ Erica ventured, again feeling guilty about her own part in the whole affair.
Gaby gestured with her well-manicured fingers. ‘I know. And I do understand that. But it’ll soon blow over, and all the fuss has given book sales a real boost. People are curious about him and about his novel. I mean, in the end, Christian is going to reap the benefits. And he must realize that we’ve put a tremendous amount of time and money into launching him and his work. So we expect some cooperation from him in return.’
‘Sure, of course,’ murmured Erica, although she was unsure of her own stand on this issue. On the one hand, she understood Christian’s attitude. It must be awful to have his personal life exposed in the media like that. He was just starting his writing career, and the attention he received at this point was supposed to serve him well for many years to come.
‘Why don’t you talk to him about this yourself?’ she asked cautiously. ‘Shouldn’t you be having this discussion with Christian?’
‘We had a meeting yesterday,’ replied Gaby curtly. ‘And you might say that it didn’t go very well.’ She pressed her lips together as if to underscore what she’d just said. Erica realized that it must have been a real disaster.
‘Oh, that’s unfortunate. But I think Christian is under a lot of stress right now, and maybe we should overlook –’
‘I understand, but at the same time, I’m running a business and we have a contract with Christian. Even though it doesn’t spell out in detail what his obligations are regarding dealing with the press, helping with marketing efforts, and so on, it’s understood that we expect certain things from him. Some authors may get away with acting like hermits and not participating in events that they consider beneath them. But those writers are already established and have a big audience for their books. Christian isn’t there yet, not by a long shot. He may reach that position some day, but an author’s career isn’t built overnight, and with the flying start that he’s had with The Mermaid, he owes it to himself and to his publishing house to make certain sacrifices.’ Gaby paused, giving Erica a stern look. ‘I was hoping that you might explain this to him.’
‘Me?’ Erica didn’t know what to say. She wasn’t at all convinced that she was the right person to persuade Christian to throw himself to the wolves again. Especially since she was the one who had lured them to his door in the first place.
‘I don’t know if that would be such a good –’ She searched for a diplomatic way of declining the task, but Gaby cut her off.
‘Excellent. Then that’s decided. You’ll go see him and explain what we expect from him.’
‘But what …’ Erica looked at Gaby, wondering what on earth she had said that might be interpreted as an affirmative response. But Gaby was already getting to her feet. She smoothed down her skirt, picked up her purse, and slung the strap over her shoulder.
‘Thanks for the coffee and the chat. I’m glad we have such a great working relationship, you and I.’ She leaned down and air-kissed Erica on both cheeks and then clacked across the floor, heading for the front door.
‘Don’t bother getting up. I can find my way out,’ she called over her shoulder. ‘Bye bye.’
‘Bye bye,’ replied Erica with a wave. This time it wasn’t like being hit by a train – it was like being completely smashed flat.
Patrik and Gösta jumped in the car and headed out within five minutes of receiving the call. At first Kenneth Bengtsson could hardly manage more than a few words, but after a moment Patrik understood what he was trying to say. His wife had been murdered.
‘What the hell is going on here anyway?’ Gösta shook his head,
keeping a tight grip on the handle fastened above the window on the passenger side of the car. He always did that when Patrik was driving. ‘Do you really need to take the curves so fast? I’m practically plastered to the windscreen.’
‘Sorry.’ Patrik slowed down a bit, but it wasn’t long before his foot was again pressing down on the accelerator. ‘What’s going on, you ask? That’s what I’d like to know too,’ he said with a grimace as he cast a glance in the rear-view mirror to make sure that Paula and Martin were close behind.
‘What did he say? Did she have stab wounds too?’ asked Gösta.
‘I couldn’t get much out of him. He sounded like he was in shock. He just said that he came home to find his wife murdered.’
‘From what I’ve heard, she didn’t have long to live,’ said Gösta. He loathed anything having to do with illness and death. For most of his life he’d been waiting to come down with some sort of incurable disease. All he wanted was to get in as many games of golf as possible before that happened. But right now Patrik looked more like a victim of ill health than he did.
‘You don’t look so good, by the way.’
‘You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,’ said Patrik, annoyed. ‘You have no idea what it’s like to have both a full-time job and a toddler at home. Impossible to keep up, impossible to get enough sleep.’ Patrik regretted his words as soon as they left his lips. He knew that the greatest sorrow in Gösta’s life was that his son had died shortly after birth.
‘Forgive me. That was stupid,’ he said.
Gösta nodded. ‘That’s okay.’
Neither of them spoke for a while. They listened to the sound of the tyres on the road as they drove along the motorway, heading for Fjällbacka.
‘It’s nice about Annika and the little girl she’s going to adopt,’ said Gösta at last, his expression softening.
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