‘Children forget so quickly,’ said Christian, looking down at his hands.
She saw that he had deep scratches on the palm of one hand, and she wondered how he’d got them. But she didn’t ask. For once she didn’t ask. Could it be that their marriage was over? If Christian couldn’t let her in and love her even when something evil and horrible was threatening them, maybe it was time for her to give up.
She kept on tossing things into the suitcase, not caring what sort of clothes she was packing. Her tears made everything look blurry, and she simply grabbed whatever she could pull off the hangers. Finally the suitcase was filled to overflowing, and she had to sit on it to close it properly.
‘Wait, let me help you.’ Christian got up and added his weight to the suitcase so that Sanna could close the zipper. ‘I’ll take it downstairs.’ He grabbed the handle and carried it out of the room, past the boys.
‘Why do we have to go to Aunt Agneta’s? Why are we taking so many things with us? Are we going to be gone for a long time?’ Melker sounded so anxious that Christian stopped halfway down the stairs. Then he continued on, without saying a word.
Sanna went over to her sons and squatted down next to them. She tried to sound calm as she said:
‘Let’s pretend that we’re going on holiday. But we’re not going far away, just over to visit your aunt and cousins. You usually think that’s lots of fun. And I’ll make you a special treat for dinner tonight. Since we’re on holiday, you can have some sweets after dinner, even though it’s not Saturday.’
The boys looked at her a bit suspiciously at first, but the promise of sweets seemed to work magic. ‘Are we all going?’ asked Melker, and then his brother repeated, with a slight lisp: ‘Are we all going?’
Sanna took a deep breath. ‘No, just the three of us. Pappa has to stay here.’
‘That’s right. Pappa has to stay here and fight with those stupid people,’ said Melker.
‘What stupid people?’ said Sanna, patting his cheek.
‘The people who messed up our room.’ He crossed his arms and looked angry. ‘If they come back, Pappa can beat them up!’
‘Pappa isn’t going to fight with any stupid people, because they’re not coming back.’ She stroked Melker’s hair, silently cursing Christian. Why wouldn’t he go with them? Why didn’t he say anything? She stood up.
‘This is going to be so much fun. A real adventure. I just need to go and help Pappa load everything in the car, then I’ll come back and get you. Okay?’
‘Okay,’ both boys said, but they didn’t sound very enthusiastic. She could feel them watching her as she went downstairs.
She found Christian at the car, loading the suitcases in the boot. Sanna went over to him and took him by the arm.
‘This is your last chance, Christian. If you know something, if you have the slightest clue about who is doing these things to us, I beg you to tell me now. For our sake. If you don’t tell me, and later I find out that you did know something, then it’s over. Do you understand? It’s over!’
Christian stopped, the suitcase hovering halfway inside the boot. For a moment she thought that he was really going to tell her something. Then he shook off her hand and dropped the suitcase inside.
‘I don’t know anything. Stop nagging me!’
He slammed the boot shut.
When Patrik and Paula arrived back at the station, Annika stopped Patrik before he headed to his office.
‘Mellberg woke up while all of you were gone. He was a bit upset that he hadn’t been informed.’
‘I stood outside his office and pounded on the door, but he never opened it.’
‘That’s what I told him, but he claimed that he must have been so engrossed in his work that he didn’t hear you.’
‘Oh, right,’ said Patrik, noticing once again how sick and tired he was of his incompetent boss. But to be honest, it had been a relief not to have Mellberg in tow. He cast a quick glance at his watch. ‘Okay, I’ll go and inform our honourable leader now. Let’s meet in the kitchen for a quick briefing in fifteen minutes. Please tell Gösta and Martin too. They’re on their way back right now.’
He headed straight for Mellberg’s office and loudly knocked on the door.
‘Come in.’ Mellberg looked as if he were deeply immersed in studying a stack of documents. ‘I heard that things are heating up, and I must say that it doesn’t look good for the police to respond to important emergency calls without the chief in attendance.’
Patrik opened his mouth to reply, but Mellberg held up one hand. Apparently he wasn’t done yet.
‘It sends the wrong signal to the citizens if we don’t take such situations seriously.’
‘But –’
‘No, not another word. I accept your apology. Just don’t do it again.’
Patrik could feel his pulse hammering in his ears. The bastard! He clenched his hands into fists, but then opened them again and took a deep breath. He had to try to ignore Mellberg and focus on what was important: the investigation.
‘Tell me what happened. What have you found out?’ Mellberg leaned forward eagerly.
‘I was thinking we should all get together for a meeting in the kitchen. If that works for you?’ said Patrik, his jaw tight.
Mellberg thought for a moment. ‘That might actually be a good idea. Then we won’t have to go over everything twice. All right, shall we get going, Hedström? Time is of the essence, you know, when it comes to this type of investigation.’
Patrik turned his back on his boss and left the room. Mellberg was undeniably right about one thing. Time was of the essence.
17
All that mattered was to survive. But it required more effort with each year that passed. The move had been good for everyone but him. Father had found a job he enjoyed, and Mother liked living in the Old Bitch’s house, remodelling it until the place was no longer recognizable, since she had erased all trace of the woman. Alice seemed to be doing well in the calm and peaceful atmosphere in Fjällbacka, at least for nine months of the year.
Mother was teaching her at home. At first Father had been against the idea, saying that Alice needed to get out and meet children her own age. She needed to be around other people. But Mother had merely looked at him and said in a cold voice:
‘I’m the only one Alice needs.’
That was the end of the discussion.
In the meantime, he kept getting fatter, and he was constantly eating. It was as if his craving for food had taken on a life of its own. He stuffed into his mouth everything he could get his hands on. But it no longer drew any attention from Mother. Occasionally she would cast a disgusted glance in his direction, but she mostly ignored him. It had a been a long time since he’d thought of her as his beautiful mother and yearned for her love. He had given up, accepting the fact that he was someone that nobody could love; he didn’t deserve to be loved.
The only person who loved him was Alice. And she was a monstrosity, just like him. She lurched about, slurring her words, and she couldn’t manage even the most basic tasks. She was eight years old and couldn’t even tie her shoes. She was always following him like a shadow. In the morning when he left to catch the school bus, she would sit in the window to watch him, the palms of her hands pressed against the glass and a wistful expression on her face. He didn’t understand it, but he didn’t try to make her stop.
School was a torment. Every morning when he got off the school bus, it felt like he was on his way to prison. He looked forward to the classes, but the rest filled him with terror. They were always after him, teasing and punching him, vandalizing his locker and yelling taunts at him in the schoolyard. He wasn’t stupid; he knew that he was the perfect scapegoat. His fat body made him guilty of the worst sin of all: he was different. He understood it, but that didn’t make things any easier.
‘Can you find your dick when you have to piss, or does your stomach get in the way?’
Erik. Perched on one of the tables out in the scho
olyard, where he was surrounded by a bunch of eager hangers-on, as usual. He was the worst of the lot. The most popular boy, handsome and self-confident. He talked back to the teachers and had ready access to cigarettes, which he smoked and also handed out to his followers. He didn’t know who he detested most. Erik, who seemed driven by sheer wickedness and was always looking for new ways to hurt him. Or the sneering idiots who sat next to Erik, filled with admiration for their popular classmate and basking in his glory.
At the same time, he knew that he’d give anything to be one of them. To be allowed to sit on the table with Erik, accept the cigarette he offered, and comment on the girls going past, who would respond with delighted giggles and flushed cheeks.
‘Hey! I’m talking to you. Answer me when I ask you a question!’ Erik got down from the table, and the two others watched him with excitement. The athletic one, Magnus, actually met his eyes. Sometimes he thought he saw a glimpse of sympathy in the boy’s expression, but if so, it wasn’t enough to make Magnus risk falling out of favour with Erik. Kenneth was simply a coward and always avoided looking him in the eye. Right now he was staring at Erik, as if waiting to follow orders. But today Erik didn’t seem to have the energy to cause any trouble, because he sat down again and said with a laugh:
‘Get out of here, you disgusting fatso! If you hurry up and take off now, you won’t get a beating today.’
He wanted nothing more than to stand his ground and tell Erik to go to hell. With precise and powerful movements, he would give Erik such a thrashing that everyone standing around would realize that their hero was heading for a fall. Then with great effort Erik would lift his head up from the ground, with blood running from his nose, and look at him with new respect. After that he would have a place in the group. He would belong.
Instead, he turned tail and ran. As fast as he could, he lumbered across the schoolyard. His chest hurt, and the rolls of fat on his body jiggled up and down. Behind him he could hear them laughing.
Erica drove past the roundabout at Korsvägen, with her heart in her throat. The traffic in Göteborg always made her nervous, and this particular junction was the worst. But she got through it without a problem and then drove slowly up Eklandagatan, looking for the street where she needed to turn.
Rosenhillsgatan. The block of flats stood at the end of the street, facing Korsvägen and Liseberg. She checked the address and then parked her car right in front. She glanced at her watch. The plan was to ring the doorbell and hope that someone was at home. If not, she and Göran had agreed that she’d spend a couple of hours visiting with him and his mother before trying again. If that proved necessary, she wasn’t going to get home until late in the evening, so she crossed her fingers that she’d be lucky enough to find the current tenant at home. She had memorized the name from the phone calls she’d made on her way to Göteborg, and she found it at once on the building intercom. Janos Kovács.
She pushed the button. No answer. She tried again, and then she heard a crackling sound and a voice with a strong accent said: ‘Who is there?’
‘My name is Erica Falck. I’d like to ask you a few questions about someone who used to live in your flat. Christian Thydell.’ She waited tensely. Her explanation sounded a bit fishy, even to her own ears, but she hoped the man would be curious enough to let her in. A buzzing sound from the door showed that she was in luck.
The lift stopped at the second floor, and she got out. One of the three doors was ajar, and peering at her through the gap was a short and slightly overweight man in his sixties. When he caught sight of her enormous belly, he lifted off the safety chain and opened the door wide.
‘Come in, come in,’ he said earnestly.
‘Thank you,’ said Erica and stepped inside. A heavy aroma from many years of cooking spicy food reached her nostrils, and she felt her stomach turn over. The smell wasn’t really unpleasant, but her pregnancy had made her nose sensitive to particularly pungent odours.
‘I have coffee. Good strong coffee.’ He pointed towards a small kitchen right across the hall. She followed him, casting a glance inside what appeared to be the only other room in the flat, functioning as both living room and bedroom.
So it was here that Christian lived before he moved to Fjällbacka. Erica felt her heart beating faster with anticipation.
‘Sit.’ Janos Kovács more or less pushed her down on to a straight-backed chair and then served her coffee. With a triumphant whoop he set a big plate of cakes in front of her.
‘Poppy-seed cakes. Hungarian speciality! My mother often sends me packages of poppy-seed cakes because she knows that I love them. Have one.’ He motioned for her to help herself, so she took a cake from the plate and tentatively bit into it. Definitely a new taste, but good. She suddenly realized that she hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast, and her stomach rumbled gratefully as she swallowed the first bite of cake.
‘You’re eating for two. Take another, take two, take as many as you want!’ Janos Kovács pushed the plate closer to her, his eyes sparkling. ‘Big baby,’ he said with a smile as he pointed at her belly.
Erica smiled back. His good humour was infectious.
‘Well, I’m actually carrying two, you see.’
‘Ah, twins.’ He clapped his hands with delight. ‘What a blessing.’
‘Do you have children?’ asked Erica, her mouth full of cake.
Janos Kovács lifted his chin and said proudly, ‘I have two fine sons. Grown up now. Both have good jobs. At Volvo. And I have five grandchildren.’
‘And your wife?’ said Erica cautiously, glancing around. It didn’t look as if any woman lived in the flat. Kovács was still smiling, but his smile was not as bright.
‘About seven years ago she came home one day and said, “I’m moving out.” And then she was gone.’ He threw out his hands. ‘That’s when I moved here. We lived in this building, in a three-room flat downstairs.’ He pointed to the floor. ‘But when I had to take early retirement, and my wife left me, I couldn’t stay there any more. And since Christian met a girl at the same time and was going to move, well, I moved in here. Everything turned out for the best,’ he exclaimed, looking as if he truly meant it.
‘So you knew Christian before he moved?’ asked Erica, sipping her coffee, which was delicious.
‘Well, I wouldn’t say that I really knew him. But we often ran into each other here in the building. I’m very handy.’ Kovács held up his hands. ‘So I help out when I can. And Christian couldn’t even change a light bulb.’
‘I can imagine,’ said Erica, smiling.
‘Do you know Christian? Why are you asking me questions about him? It was many years ago that he lived here. I hope nothing has happened to him.’
‘I’m a journalist,’ said Erica, assuming the role that she’d decided on during the drive to the city. ‘Christian is an author now, and I’m writing a big article about him, so I’m trying to find out a little about his background.’
‘Christian is an author? How about that! He always did have a book in his hand. And one whole wall in the flat was covered with books.’
‘Do you know what he did when he lived here? Where he worked?’
Janos Kovács shook his head. ‘No, I don’t know. And I never asked. It’s important to respect a neighbour’s privacy. Not get too nosy. If someone wants to talk about himself, he will.’
That sounded like a healthy philosophy, and Erica wished that more people in Fjällbacka shared his attitude.
‘Did he have a lot of visitors?’
‘Never. I actually felt a little sorry for him. He was always alone. That’s not good for people. We all need company.’
He’s certainly right about that, thought Erica, hoping that Janos Kovács himself had someone who came to visit now and then.
‘Did he leave anything behind when he moved? Maybe in the storage room?’
‘No, the flat was empty when I moved in. There was nothing.’
Erica decided to give up. Janos Kovács did
n’t seem to have any more information about Christian’s life. She thanked him and then politely but firmly refused his offer to take a sack of cakes home with her.
She was just stepping out the door when Kovács stopped her.
‘Wait! I don’t know how I could have forgotten. Maybe I’m starting to get a little senile.’ He tapped his finger on his temple, then turned around and went into the main room of the flat. After a moment he came back, holding something in his hand.
‘When you see Christian, could you give these to him? Tell him that I did as he said and threw out all the post that came for him. But these … Well, I thought it seemed a bit odd to toss them in the bin. Considering that one or two have arrived every year since he moved out, it seems clear that someone is really trying to get hold of him. I never did get Christian’s new address, so I just put them aside. So if you wouldn’t mind giving them to him with my greetings.’ He smiled cheerfully and handed her a bundle of white envelopes.
Erica felt her hands start to shake as she took them from Janos.
There was suddenly an echoing silence in the house. Christian sat down at the kitchen table and rested his head in his hands. His temples were throbbing, and the itching had started up again. His whole body was burning, and he felt a stinging sensation when he began rubbing the cuts on the palm of his hand. He closed his eyes and leaned forward, laying his cheek against the tabletop. He tried to sink into the silence and push away the feeling that something was trying to crawl out of his skin.
A blue dress. It fluttered past under his eyelids. Disappeared and then came back. The child in her arms. Why didn’t he ever see the child’s face? It was blank and featureless. Had he ever been able to picture it properly? Or had the child always been overshadowed by his enormous love for her? He couldn’t remember. It was so long ago.
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