He exhaled.
'How did Bart react to being kicked out like that?'
Franzén looked thoughtful.
'Well, that's what was so peculiar. He hardly reacted at all. He just nodded and agreed to be out in two weeks. Then, the following day, he turned up here in the shop.' He pointed at the floor in front of him. 'Absolutely livid, but in a really nasty way. Quietly menacing is how I'd put it. I remember he really gave me the creeps.'
'Do you remember what he said?'
Franzén shook his head.
'Not exactly. As I said, it was several years ago. But he hinted at a few things about my business, and I think, if I remember rightly, he talked about how you need to be insured because anything could happen… At any rate, I interpreted it as a threat.'
'Did you report it?'
'No,' Franzén admitted. 'I was just glad to get rid of him. I didn't see him after that. By the way, I didn't tell Ernst and Anette about the incident, so I'd be grateful if you didn't mention it to them.' When Franzén saw Karlberg's raised eyebrows, he went on, 'The thing is, I didn't want to worry them unnecessarily, as they were neighbours of his. And if they find out I've kept it from them…'
Karlberg nodded. He looked around the office as he fished his card out of his wallet. While they had been talking the door to a big cupboard behind Franzén had swung open, revealing shelves of CDs - an impressive amount for a heating and plumbing shop. Franzén noticed the direction of Karlberg's gaze, and beamed like a proud father on a maternity ward.
'I spend almost as much time here as I do at home. And at home - well, you know how it is - there's never any time, what with the kids and such, so one day I brought the whole lot over here. My wife isn't all that interested in music anyway.'
He got up and ran his hand lovingly over the cases.
'My older brother ran the business before he moved abroad,' he explained. 'So I thought, why not? A job is a job, and I needed a job at the time. Not that business is exactly booming these days. Big DIY superstores have popped up all over the place, and I can't match their prices.'
He looked gloomy, but only for a moment.
'I've always dreamed of running a record shop, ever since I was a little boy. It was vinyl then, of course. Do you like country?'
'Er, not particularly,' said Karlberg honestly, and a light went out in Franzén's eyes; evidently there was more to him than at first appeared.
'Only there's a new wave of singer-songwriters coming along.
They've got the heritage of country culture in their bones, but they've developed it and made it a bit easier to digest.'
He searched the shelves eagerly for something that might appeal to a sceptic.
Karlberg moved politely but firmly towards the door. 'I'm not much of an expert,' he said apologetically. He was saved by a customer who had walked into the shop looking as if he wanted a guided tour.
Franzén sighed heavily as if he regarded customers as nothing more than an interruption to his musical experience. 'I don't usually get anybody in at this time of day.'
Karlberg seized the opportunity to take his leave.
* * *
Chapter 34
As he had arrived two hours later than agreed, he could hardly complain about being shunted around like a hypochondriac at AE.
Tell was in the dirty yellow brick building that housed the family care section of social services. On the telephone he had been promised a morning meeting with a member of the management team. However, it had taken him longer than expected to get the necessary permission for access to confidential notes. When he turned up late, the person he was supposed to see had gone off to a meeting.
After Tell had painstakingly explained the order of priority when it came to a murder enquiry and a management meeting, a secretary offered to try to find the leader of the children's and young people's section instead.
'I'm sure she'll be able to help, given that the information you're looking for relates to a childcare issue. But I think she was supposed to be in court this morning.'
Sitting there with nothing to do in the section leader's waiting area, Tell's thoughts drifted to Seja and the New Year they had welcomed in together, a perfect night and morning in many ways. At the same time they had both silently wished everything were more straightforward.
He had sensed in Seja a hesitation, just for a while, then it was gone again. But he couldn't work out what it was all about.
When it emerged that the section leader in question wouldn't be back until after lunch, Tell left the building grinding his teeth and set off to walk around the square in the centre of Angered.
The usual gang of alkies were shouting to each other outside the door of the off-licence. A face from the past suddenly registered.
Lisa Jönsson. He had known her since he'd started on the beat, when she was a skinny stroppy hollow-eyed teenager hanging around Femmanstorg. Later he had come across her via the vice squad; she'd ended up on the streets to finance her heroin habit. It was many years since he'd last seen her, and on that occasion she'd been beaten black and blue. She had wanted to report her boyfriend for abuse. Whether she'd gone through with it or not he didn't know, as it had no longer been his job to deal with that sort of thing. He'd left the dog days as a beat officer behind.
I'd have put money on her being dead. They didn't usually get to be very old, these girls. Because Lisa was in no way unique. Girls swarmed around bad boys like Ronny, Lisa's boyfriend and pimp, who had become vicious and emotionless from the constant need to survive, dodging and weaving to satisfy the constant craving for drugs. Boys with only a couple of teeth left who hit their girlfriends because that was the only way they could feel they were in control, at least for a little while. And then there were the boys who played in a higher league, boys who bought and sold and delegated responsibility to underlings who had to learn to hit first and think later. Who lived by the motto Rule by fear. They were also surrounded by girls living a dangerous life in a world where nothing but your latest proof of loyalty counted and a single mistake could cost you your life. Boys like that wouldn't touch Lisa with a bargepole.
She had acquired long red plaits made of wool that hung down past her slender boyish hips. When you saw her like that, from behind, you could easily have taken her for a girl of thirteen.
It was a real shock when she turned around. Tell was surprised, both at how the past can suddenly catch up with you when you least expect it, and also at the fact that a man who has been a policeman for over twenty years can still be shaken when he is confronted with a reminder of how vulnerable human beings can be.
He thought about going over to her, but decided against it. Perhaps because she was holding on to a vicious-looking dog tugging at its lead, or because the drunks around her were so numerous and noisy. Besides which, Tell was not sentimental enough to think she would recognise him. She had met hundreds of coppers over the years. He'd met hundreds of girls addicted to heroin, but for some reason she had made an impression on him, perhaps because he had been so young at the time and still imagined that he could help. As time went by the bloody bruised faces of the women he met through his job had melted into one. Perhaps to him Lisa's face was representative of… of what, exactly? The dark side of society? Women's vulnerability?
'What are you looking at?' bawled one of the drunks, taking a couple of unsteady steps towards Tell and shaking his fist.
Lisa Jönsson looked Tell in the eye for a moment. He thought he saw the muscles in her face twitch before she lowered her gaze. She probably didn't recognise him at all; it was just that she could recognise a cop, any cop, from a mile away. He knew that people who live outside the framework of the law can do that, even though the police don't really understand what it is that gives them away.
Or else Lisa Jönsson simply looked away because old habits die hard.
Finally, after being delayed by a further half an hour, section leader Birgitta Sundin marched into her office. Tell was already sit
ting in a red armchair next to the table.
Sundin was an older woman with glasses, her grey hair cut in a bob. A brightly coloured shawl was draped around her shoulders, in stark contrast to her otherwise severe clothing.
'I've been told why you're here, but I don't know enough about the situation to be able to give you anything at this point,' she said, her voice tense.
Tell could feel the rage bubbling up inside him.
She quickly added, 'But as soon as I've spoken to Eva Andersson, our manager, I will personally ensure that all the relevant material is sent over to you by courier. If it's here, that is. There is a risk that the material you're looking for has been destroyed as we're talking about papers that are almost forty years old.'
Her mobile phone started to vibrate. She linked her hands firmly in front of her as if to ensure they wouldn't reach for the phone against her will.
'I'm sorry you've had a wasted journey,' she added.
'That's not good enough,' said Tell. 'I have been informed that the notes I'm looking for were included in the percentage saved for research purposes, so I know they haven't been destroyed. They do exist, either here or in some archive. I have all the necessary papers in order and I'm not leaving here until I have received what I need for my murder investigation.'
Sundin's telephone vibrated once again, and this time, to Tell's surprise, she had the nerve to answer it. She spun her chair round so that she was facing away from him, but quickly concluded the monosyllabic conversation.
'Actually that was Eva. She'd already got the notes out. She put them away in her filing cabinet when you didn't arrive at the agreed time.'
A pause to ensure that Tell had grasped the point.
'Yes, yes, carry on.'
'Her secretary will unlock the cabinet for you.'
Tell stood up and noted that the conversation with Birgitta Sundin had taken exactly five minutes.
'So is that it then? Thank you so much for your assistance,' he couldn't help saying sarcastically.
Sundin pushed her hair behind her ears, irritated at first. Then the air suddenly went out of her. Or, as Tell would later say to Karlberg, She managed to pull the poker out of her arse.
She sighed and leaned forward slightly. 'I'm sorry, I didn't get your name.'
'Detective Inspector Christian Tell.'
She passed him one of his gloves, which had fallen to the floor.
'Detective Inspector Tell. It's not that I don't realise how important it is for you to have these notes, but I was put in a difficult situation here. You must also realise that I would be guilty of serious professional misconduct if I didn't check that everything was in order.'
Without replying he extended a hand across the desk.
She didn't take it.
'Sit down for a moment,' she said. 'I think I might be able to help you with something. I realise we may have got off on the wrong foot.'
Tell was readying himself to go upstairs to do battle with the manager's equally diligent secretary.
'And what might that be?'
'I heard the notes you were interested in concern the Pilgren family and their children, Susanne and Olof.'
Tell became interested again.
'I'm retiring next year, but I've worked here for ever - at least that's what it feels like,' Birgitta Sundin went on. 'I've been a social worker, dealing with financial support, then I worked with adults, young people, families with children, employment initiatives… Anyway, for the last few years I've been a section leader. What I'm coming to is the fact that I actually know this family fairly well, or at least I used to know them. It is a long time ago but I was their social worker in those days.'
She stopped speaking and looked out of the window.
'You certainly don't remember all the children or families you work with,' she said eventually. 'But I do remember this family very well. I don't know why. Perhaps because they were one of my first cases.'
Tell nodded, and the picture of Lisa Jönsson's red woollen plaits came into his mind. He understood perfectly.
'The first time I visited the family, Olof was on the way and Susie was three or four,' Birgitta Sundin continued, after they had collected the notes from Eva Andersson's filing cabinet.
'They'd only just moved in. They came from somewhere up north originally, but had moved around in the Stockholm area. They ended up in Gothenburg after leaving Stockholm in a hurry right in the middle of an investigation-'
'What kind of investigation?'
'Social services has an obligation to ensure that children and young people grow up in a secure environment. If it comes to the attention of social services, for example through a complaint, that this is not the case, we have to start an investigation.'
She glanced at Tell
'It's not really my area,' he said. 'Can you tell me a bit about Olof's parents?'
She glanced through the notes in the file where all major interventions by social services were documented, then placed a thick bundle of follow-up notes next to it. Together they made up a kind of chronological diary detailing all contact with the family.
'As I recall…' she said, and started flicking through the notes with no apparent purpose in mind. Many of them were signed with her own initials. She placed the pages together and rubbed frantically at her cheek just underneath the frame of her glasses. The skin beneath her eyes was red and irritated.
'How can I put this… Two weak individuals, each with their own form of addiction, meet and have children together.'
She gave a crooked smile but immediately became serious again.
'In fact, Cecilia Pilgren was really easy to like. I think she had a potential that was never realised because of her own difficult childhood. But that's the way things are. After a while I came to realise that she simply had no good role models. She always ended up with men who had problems. Magnus had a serious addiction. He was violent and abused both Cecilia and the children when he flew into a rage. Deep down I'm sure he wanted the best for his children - everybody does after all - and during those periods when he was clean it was actually possible to reason with him. You could see that he had a broken soul beneath that tough surface.'
She looked as if she were lost in thought for a moment, before shaking her head.
'As I said, there'd been a couple of complaints about the family where they were living before, and after a couple of unsuccessful interventions from social services, they moved. To Solna, if I remember rightly.'
'Unsuccessful interventions?'
Tell contemplated the two stacks of notes gloomily. They were as thick as telephone directories, crammed with pronouncements from all kinds of professionals: social workers, people within the judicial system, doctors, teachers, nursery staff. It was a long list, but what the reports had in common was that they all expressed a deep concern for the situation of the Pilgren children.
'The thing is, before we go so far as to take children into care, which means placing them in a foster home, we must try other possible means of support.'
'For example?'
'For example, support within the home. Magnus started a course of treatment for his addiction but didn't complete it. Cecilia was offered different types of help too.'
'But nothing came of that.'
'No, exactly. The main reason was that Cecilia didn't go, but then that isn't unusual for mothers in her situation. It's strange, but at the same time it's understandable.'
'What do you mean?'
'You have to realise that even if these measures are meant to support parents by showing them an alternative to the life they've lived so far, that support frequently comes with a knife to the throat. If they don't accept the support and at least turn up and show willing, they can end up having their child taken into care anyway.'
'So even though accepting help is supposed to be voluntary, they don't have any choice?'
'Exactly. That's why these parents rarely have a positive attitude towards activities arranged by
social services, and Cecilia certainly didn't. She distanced herself, her life was chaotic, and this meant that she constantly failed to fulfil her side of the contract. As you know, the children were eventually moved to foster homes, and that was presumably what would have happened in Solna too, if they hadn't moved away.'
'So how come social services here didn't follow through what had been planned there? They had already made an assessment, I presume?'
Sundin's smile was slightly indulgent.
'You might think so, and in principle that is the case. However, it isn't unusual for this type of… let's call it a problem family to make a habit of moving on as soon as things get a bit tough. And I'm sure they often do believe they're going to make a fresh start in the new place, that everything will be better if they can just get away from all the rubbish of their former life. And maybe that's what happens, for a while, until the family structure once again starts creaking at the seams, and a new social services team has them in their sights.'
'Or else things really are different in the new place,' Tell broke in, surprising himself with his new-found and somewhat desperate optimism.
'Hmm, well. It would be nice to think so,' replied Sundin.
'So you're saying that information about problem families isn't automatically passed on to a new authority.'
'Quite.'
'In other words, children of these families can go through hell time after time without anybody doing anything about it, because the family moves and the case is signed off.'
'Yes.'
They contemplated this in silence for a moment.
'And there's no kind of premise behind all this?' said Tell eventually. 'I mean, the idea that a person is capable of changing his life, or that he has the right to do so, without being judged in advance because of past failures?' He was thinking of Lisa Jönsson again. 'Protecting a person's integrity, that sort of thing.'
Birgitta Sundin shook her head.
'The premise is that we should work primarily from the perspective of the child, but as with all large organisations sometimes people fall between the cracks. Anyway, I came into the picture when they'd been living here for a few months. We'd had a complaint from a neighbour of the Pilgrens about what was going on next door, and how much bloody noise there was, if you'll pardon the expression. Shortly after that Magnus beat Cecilia so badly she ended up in hospital. She stayed in a women's hostel with Susie for a while and made a formal complaint against Magnus. Then she changed her mind.'
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