Månsson frowns, then gets up to fetch the coffee pot.
‘But if it wasn’t Rooth or Sailor who emptied the chest, who was it?’ she says once he’s refilled their cups. ‘Could Rooth have had another accomplice?’
‘That’s not impossible.’ Månsson takes a sip of coffee.
He looks different all of a sudden. His back is straighter, his voice sharper, and he reminds her a bit of Mattias. She realises that she likes that, and can’t help smiling.
‘If your theory is correct, Veronica,’ Månsson says thoughtfully, ‘and if Isak is Billy, someone must have looked after him during the week Rooth was in custody. Giving him food and water, making sure he didn’t come to any harm.’
‘Nilla Rooth? Could it have been her?’
‘Unlikely. We were pretty sure Billy was kept hidden in that pump house that Rooth used as a slaughterhouse.’
‘Why?’
Månsson pulls a face to indicate that he would have preferred not to have to go into detail. ‘There was a pair of handcuffs there, and an old bed,’ he says, glancing at her to see how she reacts.
Veronica maintains her façade, merely nodding to him to go on, but inside she feels a sudden chill.
‘If Nilla Rooth was involved, then she would have done all she could to keep the pump house a secret, she wouldn’t have told me about it. Besides, she had children of her own, a boy the same age. I have a lot of trouble believing she would have done anything like that.’
‘How did Rooth explain the handcuffs and bed, then?’ Veronica is surprised by how matter-of-fact she sounds. Månsson seems to think the same, because he looks up with a surprised expression on his face.
‘At first he didn’t say anything, then, when he had a lawyer, he said he used to take women there. Married women whose names he didn’t want to reveal. There were plenty of rumours along those lines about him, but it sounded mostly like a convenient explanation his lawyer helped him come up with.’ Månsson takes another sip of coffee.
‘But whoever the accomplice was, he or she could have removed Billy from the pump house after Tommy was arrested. Then, when he was released a week later, Tommy collected Billy and drove south as fast as he could,’ Veronica says in summary.
Månsson nods. ‘That could well be what happened.’
‘Then what? After that? Why would Rooth want to take Billy away?’
‘Yes – that really is the question.’
*
Månsson and the eager little dog accompany her to the door. After a momentary hesitation she gives him a farewell hug. He smells of cake and Old Spice. He hugs her back, promises to keep thinking about it all and says she can call him whenever she wants. It sounds like he means it, too.
Chapter 50
A
city is a place for everyone who actually belongs somewhere else, but who doesn’t know where.
She read that in a book somewhere, or maybe heard it on television. There’s a lot in it. She’s lived in Paris, London, Berlin and now Stockholm. Even so, she can’t really say that any of these cities has ever really felt like home.
She’s had plenty of time to think about Krister Månsson during the past few hours on the road. About how lovingly he talked about his wife, and about the pictures of them, their children and grandchildren hanging in the hall and living room. Månsson must have been married to Malin for at least thirty-five years, but he seemed to be genuinely looking forward to her coming home. Veronica misses that, misses having someone to long for. Misses having someone at all, in fact.
She opens the front door and listens out carefully for any sound inside the dark flat. Everything seems quiet and still. She switches all the lights on, and doesn’t relax until she’s checked both in the closet and under the bed. Everything is exactly as she left it, and there’s nothing to suggest anyone’s been there. She opens the window to air out the stuffy smell, and looks off towards the end of the street. No smoker in sight. The moths are back, though, circling their electric sun, repeating the same mistake.
The phone is flashing at her from the kitchen counter. Four times, four messages. The first two are just the sound of someone hanging up. The third starts with silence, but just as she’s about to click on to the next one, a voice starts to speak.
‘This is Lars again, from the group.’ His words are slurred, he sounds drunk. ‘You haven’t called me back. Fucking rude . . .’ He stops, mutters something she can’t hear, then hangs up. She wonders once more how he got hold of her number, and makes a mental note to talk to Ruud about it tomorrow.
The fourth message is from Mattias. ‘Hi, it’s me. Just wanted to make sure you got home OK. So . . .’ She can almost feel his awkwardness. ‘It was good to see you, Vera. We should meet up more often.’ Another pause. ‘Well, that’s about it. Take care,’ he says by way of conclusion. He sounds almost annoyed with himself, as if he’d wanted to say something else, something more profound.
She switches the answerphone off, then stares for a while at the red light that’s now stopped flashing. No more messages.
She presses the button for saved messages. Leon’s last message is still on there, and this time she listens to it from the start.
‘It’s over, Veronica. Can’t you understand that? I don’t want any more letters, or text messages, or phone calls in the middle of the night. And stop waiting for me outside the building. It isn’t healthy.’ He sighs. ‘You have to stop. Please, Veronica. You have to stop now.’
Chapter 51
‘A
re you awake, Krister?’
Malin’s voice surprises Månsson. He’s been lying silent in the darkness for almost half an hour as the numbers on the clock radio ticked past midnight. Listening as the sound of his wife’s breathing grew deeper, just letting his mind wander.
‘Sorry, I was just lying and thinking about something. Did I wake you?’
‘No.’
He knows she’s lying, and that she’s doing so for his sake, so he won’t feel guilty. She’s the one who has to get up early tomorrow morning. Månsson feels her roll towards him in the double bed, and stretches his arm out so she can rest her head against his shoulder.
‘Is it Vera Nilsson?’ she says.
‘Veronica,’ he murmurs.
‘What?’
‘Veronica Lindh, that’s what she’s called these days. Veronica, not Vera.’
‘Yes, you mentioned that earlier. Why do you think she changed her name?’
He strokes her back. ‘I don’t actually know. Maybe she wanted to get away from the past.’
‘And doesn’t want to anymore.’
‘No, it doesn’t seem like it.’
‘Do you think her theory could be right? That Billy Nilsson is still alive?’
‘If you’d asked me that a few years ago, I’d have said no. But after meeting Veronica and hearing what she had to say, I don’t honestly know. It’s certainly not impossible. Rooth could have taken Billy with him when he left, then left him with someone, or maybe even looked after him himself. But then the question is, why? Why would he leave his own family to look after someone else’s child?’
They lie there in silence for a short while. Malin goes on stroking his chest. He likes that, likes having her close.
‘So what can you do, Krister? What can you do to help Veronica find out the truth?’
‘I don’t know yet. I’m wondering about trying to find out what happened to Rooth’s wife and children. See if any of them has heard from Tommy at all. Perhaps they know something that could help us.’
‘Good,’ Malin murmurs close to his ear. ‘So now you’ve finally figured that out, maybe we could get some sleep?’
Darling,
Once I wished that summer, the heat and the blue skies, would last forever. Then I started to long for autumn, when you were going to take me away from here.
How could I be so stupid that I believed we had a future together? There’s no relief here, no mercy, just endless torme
nt under a cruel sun before the cold and darkness devour us.
I can’t go on keeping our secret alone. What we did was wrong, I know that now. And for that we need to be punished.
Chapter 52
T
he next day is just as warm as those that have gone before. She has a long shower, puts on a white shirt and black trousers, as usual. Neutral and professional, like the sort of person who takes their job extremely seriously.
She takes the metro to the Civic Centre, where Ruud is waiting for her. He seems to be in a good mood. He gives her a hug and says it’s good to see her. They go into his cramped little office. The chairs out in the meeting room are arranged in a circle. Veronica feels her anticipation start to rise at the very sight of them. She glances at the chair closest to the door. Imagines Isak sitting on it.
In his office, Ruud tells her – with a little too much self-satisfaction – how he fought for her. That he assured the HR department that the phone call was an isolated incident. Slightly-too-tall Bengt evidently helped him. Said that Veronica seemed calm and aware of her mistake.
‘Bengt wants to see you a few more times, just to be on the safe side. He wants you to book an appointment as soon as possible.’
Ruud makes it sound as if he’s responsible for her treatment. Even though that irritates her, she doesn’t say anything. She just signs the forms Ruud has laid out.
‘So you spent the weekend in Skåne,’ Ruud says when they’re done. ‘It’s beautiful down there in the summer. Is that where you’re from? There’s no trace of it in your accent.’
‘No.’ She squeezes out a smile. ‘I moved away from home when I was eighteen. I was in a hurry to get away, I suppose.’
She takes a deep breath, hopes that didn’t sound odd, doesn’t prompt him to dig any further.
‘Really? Why’s that?’
What he really means is: What were you trying to run away from?
‘No particular reason,’ she lies. ‘Country life just wasn’t for me. They usually say there are two types of people who grow up in the countryside. Those who stay, and those who leave.’
‘I see,’ Ruud said. ‘And you’re second sort? One of the ones who left.’
She nods, and keeps her smile in place until he smiles back.
*
‘How has everything been going with Lars and the others?’ she says on her way out. She really just wants to know if Isak has been there while she’s been away, and Lars is a good way in to the subject. Besides, she also has to talk to Ruud about the phone calls.
‘Lars won’t be coming back, I’m afraid.’
‘Oh? Why not?’
‘On Friday morning, just after I’d opened up, I went into the kitchen to put the coffee on. When I came back out Lars was in my office. He was digging through my papers. I asked him what the hell he was doing, and he got very loud. Said he had a right to know things. He was clearly drunk, so I told him he wasn’t welcome here anymore, and that I’d report him to the police if he showed up again.’
‘Goodness,’ is all she manages to say, which sounds a little inadequate in the circumstances. But at least it gives her a few seconds to think. ‘Lars has called my home number a couple of times over the weekend and left messages.’
Ruud frowns. ‘Do you know what he wanted? Was he threatening?’
She shakes her head. ‘He just says he wants to talk, and asks me to call him. Which I haven’t done, obviously.’
‘Maybe you should change your number. Wait a few days, and if he gets in touch again let me know and we’ll sort something out. I can check with our legal advisor if there are grounds for filing charges.’
She rather likes the fact that Ruud is worried about her. That he cares about her.
‘What about that blond guy, Isak? Has he been back?’ As soon as she sees the look on Ruud’s face she realises that it was a mistake to ask. ‘Actually, forget it,’ she says quickly. But the damage is already done.
*
On the way home she thinks about Krister Månsson again, and how he tried to convince her at first that he’d left the case behind. That he hadn’t thought about Billy for years. But it didn’t take long for him to turn back into an investigating officer again. He’s moved, changed jobs, filled his life with positive things, but on some level is still living in the summer of 1983, just like her own family. Maybe that’s why she likes him?
She likes Ruud, too. It took a serious amount of enthusiastic small talk to get him to thaw out after she mentioned Isak. She’ll have to be more careful in future, not give him the slightest cause for suspicion. What will she do if Isak doesn’t show up again? She’d rather not think about that. Would it actually be possible for her to let go of all this?
She’s just tapped in the code to open the door, and hears the lock whirr when someone grabs hold of the top of her arm and spins her round. The fingers are hard, digging into her skin.
‘Here you are at last, Veronica!’
It’s Lars. His bearded face is bright red and puffy from drink. She realises that she’s cornered against the door, with no means of escape.
‘Why haven’t you called back? I only want to talk to you. Now you’ve forced me to come over here instead. Waiting outside your door like some fucking stalker. Don’t you think I’ve got better things to be doing?’
He squeezes her arm tighter and moves towards her, close enough for her to smell the alcohol on his breath.
‘You got me thrown out of the group, you fucking bitch. You think you’re something special, but I know what you’re after . . .’
‘Lars, this is extremely inappropriate . . .’
‘Shut up!’ He holds a thick finger up in front of her face. ‘Just shut the fuck up, OK, you little bitch? You think you’re so fucking smart. You think you know everything . . .’
‘What’s going on here?’
The voice is very close, but she can’t quite identify it. Lars twists his torso and looks behind him.
‘None of your fucking business!’
‘Are you OK?’ The man takes a step closer and suddenly she realises that it’s Isak.
‘Get lost,’ Lars snarls.
‘Are you OK, Veronica?’ Isak asks again, and she shakes her head hard. Isak puts his hand on Lars’s shoulder. ‘OK, mate. Maybe you should—’
Before he can finish the sentence Lars turns round and punches him in the face. The blow comes out of nowhere and knocks Isak off balance, and he falls backwards and lands on the pavement with a heavy thud.
For a moment time stands still. Isak is lying flat out on the tarmac, and she’s still standing with her back pressed against the door. In front of her is Lars, his clenched fist raised and a contorted snarl on his face. Then suddenly his expression changes to one of surprise, then fear. He lowers his fist and his shoulders slump. He looks at Isak, who’s only moving very slightly, then at her.
‘I-I . . .’ he stammers, without getting any further. He lowers his eyes, turns on his heel and runs off.
Veronica crouches down next to Isak. His lip is split and there’s blood trickling from his nose. He’s conscious, but his face is pale, his eyes glazed and he doesn’t seem able to focus properly. When he turns his head she sees a dark red stain spreading through his blond hair.
‘We need to call an ambulance,’ she says.
He blinks several times, and seems to regain his senses. ‘No ambulance, I’m OK.’
‘But you’re bleeding.’
He feels the back of his head. His fingers turn red.
‘Can you help me get up?’
She does as he says. He’s unsteady at first, then seems to find his balance.
‘Shall I call the police?’
‘No, there’s no need. I’m OK,’ he says again, this time in a steadier voice.
He’s holding the back of his head with one hand and looking straight at her. Something in those blue eyes releases a wave of warmth inside her, a warmth she hasn’t felt in a very long ti
me.
‘Who are you?’ she says.
He smiles faintly. His face is starting to regain some of its usual colour.
‘I was hoping you might be able to help me find out, Vera.’
Chapter 53
I
sak is leaning back on her sofa. He’s holding a bag of frozen peas against the back of his head. The wound is superficial, and looks much worse than it actually is. She’s helped stem the bleeding and has put a plaster on it. His split lip has swollen up, making his mouth look slightly crooked. As if the whole situation amuses him.
She’s trying to absorb what has just happened, and for once wishes she had something stronger in the house, then remembers that there’s a bottle of whisky tucked away in one of the cupboards. But this is hardly the time to get it out. Her head is already spinning, full of questions, such as: What on earth was Isak doing outside her building? Is he the smoker, the mysterious intruder, or possibly something more, as she has suspected since she first saw the photofit picture? Perhaps she ought to be afraid of him, but for some reason she isn’t.
‘Where shall we start?’ she says, sitting down on the armchair in front of him.
He shrugs his shoulders and thinks.
‘I think I’d like to start by apologising.’
‘What for?’
‘For showing up in your therapy group instead of approaching you directly. It was a stupid idea. I’m sorry.’ He pulls a face that’s probably supposed to look regretful, but which is distorted by his swollen lip. ‘My only excuse is that I wasn’t brave enough. I did actually stand out there in the street several evenings, trying to pluck up the courage.’
End of Summer Page 24