The Stone Cutter

by Camilla Lackberg

  Patrik leaned back in the sofa and looked up at the ceiling. He heaved a deep sigh and said, 'No, unfortunately. We hardly know where to start. And besides, Charlotte's screwy mother seems to be more interested in finding more ammunition for her feud with her neighbour than in helping us with the investigation. It hasn't made our work any easier.'

  'What's that all about?' Erica asked with interest. Patrik gave her a brief rundown of the day's events.

  'Do you really think anyone in Sara's family could have had anything to do with her death?' Erica asked.

  'No, I have a hard time believing that,' said Patrik. 'They all have plausible alibis for where they were that morning.'

  'They do?' said Erica in an odd tone of voice. Patrik was about to ask what she meant when they heard the front door open and Kristina came in with Maja in her arms.

  'I don't know what you've done to this child,' she said in annoyance. 'She was screaming the whole way back in the pram and refuses to settle down. This is what happens when you keep picking her up just because she frets a little. You're spoiling her. You and your sister never cried this much

  Patrik interrupted her harangue by going over to take Maja. Erica could hear from Maja's cries that she was hungry, and she sat down with a sigh in the easy chair, undid her nursing bra, and plucked out a shapeless, milk-soaked pad. It was time again…

  As soon as she entered the house Monica felt that something was wrong. Kaj's anger streamed towards her like sound waves through the air, and she promptly felt even more exhausted. What was it this time? She had tired of his hot temper long ago, but she couldn't recall that he'd ever been any different. They had been together since their early teens, and maybe back then his shifting moods had seemed exciting and attractive. She couldn't even remember any longer. Not that it mattered; life had run its own course. She got pregnant, they got married, Morgan was born, and then one day piled on top of another. Their sex life had been dead for years; she had long ago moved into her own bedroom. Maybe there was something more than this to life, but she had become accustomed to the way things were. Of course she had toyed with the thought of divorce from time to time. On one occasion, almost twenty years ago, she had even packed a bag in secret and was ready to take Morgan with her and leave. But then she'd decided to fix dinner for Kaj first, iron a few shirts, and run the washing machine so that she wouldn't leave a bunch of dirty clothes behind. Before she knew it she'd quietly unpacked her suitcase.

  Monica went out to the kitchen. She knew she would find Kaj there because it was where he always sat when he was upset about something. Maybe because he could keep an eye on the usual cause of his agitation. Now he had pulled the curtain aside a crack and was staring at the house next door.

  'Hi,' Monica said, but got no civilized greeting in reply. Instead he immediately launched into a long hate-filled tirade.

  'Do you know what that bitch did today?' He didn't wait for an answer, nor did Monica intend to give him one. 'She called the police and claimed that I assaulted her! Showed them some fucking marks she'd inflicted on herself and said I was the one who hit her. She's off her bloody rocker!'

  When Monica came into the kitchen she was determined not to get drawn into Kaj's latest dispute, but this was far worse than she'd expected. Against her will she felt anger rising up in her chest. But first she had to allay her fears. 'And you're quite sure that you didn't attack her, Kaj? You do have a tendency to fly off the handle

  Kaj looked at her as if she'd lost her mind. 'What the hell are you saying? Do you really think I'd be so bloody stupid to play right into her hands like that? I wouldn't mind giving her a punch in the nose, but don't you think I know what she'd do then? Sure, I went over there and gave her a piece of my mind, but I didn't touch her!'

  Monica could see that he was telling the truth, and she couldn't help looking spitefully towards the house next door. If only Lilian would leave them in peace!

  'So, what happened? Did the cops fall for her lies?'

  'No, thank God. They could tell she was lying. They were going to talk to Stig, and I think that he quashed the whole idea. But it was a close call.'

  She sat down facing her husband at the kitchen table. His face was beet-red and he was drumming his fingers angrily on the table.

  'Shouldn't we just throw in the towel and move away? We can't go on like this.' It was an appeal she had made many times before, but she always saw the same determination in her husband's eyes.

  'Out of the question, I told you that. She's never going to drive me out of my home. I refuse to give her the satisfaction.'

  He slammed his fist on the table to punctuate his words, but it wasn't necessary. Monica had heard it all before. She knew it was useless. And to be honest, she didn't want to hand Lilian the victory either. Not after all that woman had said about Morgan.

  The thought of her son prompted her to change the subject. 'Have you looked in on Morgan today?'

  Kaj reluctantly shifted his gaze from the Florins' house and muttered, 'No, should I have? You know he never leaves his room.'

  'Okay, but I thought you might go over and say hi. Check on how he's doing.' She knew that this was wishful thinking, but she still couldn't help hoping. Morgan was his son, after all.

  'Why should I?' Kaj snorted. 'If he wants company he can come over here.' He stood up. 'Is there anything to eat, or what?'

  Silently she got up and began fixing dinner. Years ago it might have occurred to her that Kaj could have made dinner since he was home anyway. That thought no longer crossed her mind. Everything was the way it had always been. And would always be.

  * * *

  FJÅLLBACKA 1924

  Not a word had been spoken during the trip to Fjällbacka. After spending so many nights whispering in each other's ears, they now had not a single word left for each other. Instead they sat stiff as tin soldiers, staring straight ahead, both of them brooding over their own thoughts.

  Agnes felt as if the world had come crashing down around her. Was it really this morning she woke up in her big bed in her own elegant room in the magnificent villa where she had lived her whole life? How was it possible that she now sat here on this train, with a suitcase beside her, on her way to a life of misery with a man she no longer even wanted to acknowledge? She could hardly stand to look at him. On one occasion during the journey Anders had made an attempt to put a consoling hand on hers. She had shaken it off with such a disgusted expression that she hoped he wouldn't do it again.

  Some hours later, when they stopped in front of the company shack that would be their shared home, Agnes at first refused to get out of the cab. She sat there unable to move, paralysed by the filth surrounding her and the noise from the dirty, snot-nosed kids who swarmed around the cab. This couldn't possibly be her life! For a moment she was tempted to ask the cab driver to turn round and drive her back to the train station, but she realized how futile that would be. Where would she go? Her father had made it crystal clear that he didn't want anything more to do with her. Taking some sort of domestic situation was something she would never have considered, even if she hadn't had the child in her belly. All paths were now closed to her, except the one leading to this filthy, wretched hovel.

  With a lump in her throat she decided at last to get out of the cab. She grimaced when her foot sank into the mud. Even worse, she was wearing her lovely red shoes with the open toes, and now she felt the damp soak into her stockings and between her toes. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw curtains draw back to allow curious eyes to look out at the spectacle. She tossed her head. They could stare until their eyes popped out of their heads. What did she care what they thought? Simple servants is what they were. They had probably never seen a real lady before. Well, this was only going to be a brief sojourn. She would eventually find a way to get out of this predicament; she had never been in a position that she couldn't either lie or charm her way out of.

  Decisively she picked up her bag and walked off towards the shack.

/>   * * *

  At the morning coffee break Patrik and Gösta told Martin and Annika what had happened the day before. Ernst seldom showed up before nine, and Mellberg thought it would undermine his role as chief to have coffee with the staff, so he stayed in his office.

  'Doesn't she understand that she's shooting herself in the foot?' said Annika. 'She ought to want you to focus on searching for the killer instead of wasting time on such rubbish.' It was an echo of what Patrik and Gösta had already said to each other.

  Patrik merely shook his head. 'Well, I don't know whether she can't think farther than the end of her nose, or whether she's simply crazy. But I think we should put this behind us now. Hopefully we managed to scare her a bit yesterday and she won't do it again. Do we have any other leads?'

  No one said a word. There was an alarming lack of evidence and no leads to work with.

  'When did you say we'd be getting the results from SCL?' Annika asked, breaking the tense silence.

  'Monday,' said Patrik.

  'Have the family been ruled out as suspects?' said Gösta, peering at everybody over his coffee cup.

  Patrik was reminded at once of Erica's odd tone of voice last evening, when he brought up the family's alibis. There was something nagging at him too; now all he had to do was work out what it was. 'Of course not,' he said. 'Family members are always suspects, but there's nothing concrete to point in that direction.'

  'What about their alibis?' said Annika. She often felt left out during the investigations, so she welcomed these opportunities to hear more about what was going on.

  'Credible but not confirmed, I would say,' said Patrik. He got up to refill his coffee cup, then remained standing, leaning against the counter. 'Charlotte was sleeping in the downstairs flat because of a migraine. Stig stated that he was also asleep. He'd taken a sleeping pill and had no idea what was going on. Lilian was at home looking after Albin when Sara left the house, and Niclas was at work.'

  'So none of them has an alibi that could be considered air-tight,' Annika said dryly.

  'She's right,' said Gösta. 'We've probably been a little too cautious, not daring to press them harder. Their statements can definitely be called into question. Except for Niclas, none of their stories can be confirmed.'

  There, that was it! Patrik realized what had been nagging at his subconscious. He began pacing back and forth excitedly. 'But Niclas couldn't have been at work. Don't you remember?' he said, turning towards Martin. 'We couldn't reach him that morning. It was almost two hours before he came home. We don't know where he actually was - or why he lied and said that he was at the clinic.'

  Martin shook his head mutely. How could they have missed that?

  'Shouldn't we question Morgan as well, the son of the family next door? True or not, reports were filed charging that he had sneaked about peeping in windows, ostensibly to see Lilian undressing… though I can't imagine why in God's name anyone would want to see that,' said Gösta, taking another sip of coffee as he looked at the others.

  'Those reports are pretty old. And as you say, there isn't much evidence that they're true, especially considering what happened yesterday.' Patrik could hear that he sounded impatient. He wasn't at all sure that he wanted to waste time on investigating any more of Lilian's lies, old or new.

  'On the other hand, we've already confirmed that we don't have very much to go on, so…' Gösta threw out his hands, and three pairs of eyes now regarded him with surprise. It wasn't like him to show any initiative in an investigation. But precisely because it was such a rare event, they thought they ought to pay attention. To bolster what he was saying, Gösta added, 'Besides, unless I'm mistaken, you can see the Florins' house from his cabin, so he actually might have noticed something that morning.'

  'You're right,' said Patrik, once again feeling a bit stupid. He should have considered Morgan as a potential witness, at least. 'Okay, here's what we'll do: you and Martin talk to Morgan Wiberg…' he lowered his voice but forced himself to continue, 'and Ernst and I will take a closer look at Sara's father. We'll meet again this afternoon.'

  'What about me? Is there anything I can do?' said Annika.

  'Stay close to the phone. The case should have got a good deal of attention in the press by now, so if we're lucky we might get something useful from the public.'

  Annika nodded and got up to put her coffee cup in the dishwasher. The others did the same, and Patrik went to his office to wait for Ernst to arrive. First things first. They had to have a talk about the importance of getting to work on time during an ongoing homicide investigation.

  Mellberg could feel fate approaching by leaps and bounds. Only one day left. The letter was still in his top drawer. He hadn't dared look at it again. But he already knew the contents by heart. It amazed him that such contrasting emotions could be at war inside him. His first reactions had been disbelief and rage, suspicion and anger. But ever so slowly a feeling of hope had also emerged. It was this hope that had utterly surprised him. He had always considered his life to be nearly perfect, at least until he'd been transferred to this dump of a town. After that he was forced to admit that things may have taken a slight downturn. Yet other than the still elusive promotion he felt he deserved, he wasn't lacking for anything. It was true, the embarrassing little misadventure with Irina may have given him reason to believe that there were several more things he wanted from life, but he had quickly put that episode behind him.

  He had always set great store by not needing anyone. The only person he'd ever been close to, and wanted to be close to, was his dear mother, but she was no longer among the living. The letter, however, implied that all this might change.

  His breathing felt heavy and laboured. Dread was mixed with impatient curiosity. Part of him wanted the day to go faster, so that the certainty of tomorrow would replace all doubt. At the same time he wanted the day to pass so slowly that it practically stood still.

  For a while he'd considered just saying to hell with everything. Toss the letter in his wastebasket and hope that the problem would disappear on its own. But he knew that would never work.

  He sighed, put his feet up on the desk, and closed his eyes. He might as well wait patiently for what tomorrow would bring.

  Gösta and Martin slipped discreetly past the big house, hoping that they wouldn't be noticed when they headed for Morgan's little cabin instead. Neither of them was in the mood for a confrontation with Kaj. They wanted a chance to speak with Morgan in peace, without his parents getting involved. Besides, he was an adult, so there was no reason for a parent to be present.

  It took a long time before the door opened, so long that they weren't sure anyone was at home. But finally it did open, and a pale, blond man in his thirties stood before them.

  'Who are you?' His voice was a monotone, and his face failed to show the inquiring expression that normally accompanied that sort of question.

  'We're from the police,' said Gösta, introducing both of them. 'We're going around the neighbourhood interviewing the neighbours about the death of your neighbour's little girl, Sara.'

  'I see,' said Morgan, still with the same expressionless face. He made no move to step aside.

  'Could we come in and talk with you a bit?' said Martin. He was starting to feel a little uncomfortable in the presence of this strange young man.

  'I'd rather not. It's ten o'clock, and I work from nine to quarter past eleven. Then I eat lunch between quarter past eleven and twelve, and then I work again from noon to quarter past two. After that I have coffee and rolls at the house with Mamma and Pappa until three o'clock. Then I work again until five, and after that I have dinner. Then the news is on channel 2 at six o'clock, then on channel 4 at six thirty, then on channel 4 at seven thirty, and then it's on channel 2 again at nine. After that I go to bed.'

  He was still speaking in the same monotone, hardly seeming to take a breath during the whole speech. His voice was also a bit too high and shrill, and Martin exchanged a hasty glance with G�
�sta.

  'It sounds like you have quite a busy schedule,' said Gösta, 'but you see, it's important for us to talk with you. So we'd really appreciate it if you could give us a few minutes of your time.'

  Morgan seemed to mull over this question for a moment, but then decided to acquiesce. He stepped aside and let them in, but it was obvious he didn't appreciate this interruption of his routine.

  Martin was taken aback when they entered. The cabin consisted of one small room, which seemed to serve as both workroom and bedroom, and there was also a little kitchen nook. The place looked clean and neat, except for one thing. There were piles of magazines everywhere. Narrow paths had been cleared between the stacks to facilitate movement between the various parts of the room. One path led to the bed, one to the computers, and one over to the kitchen. Otherwise the floor was completely covered. Martin glanced down and saw that the magazines were mostly about computers. Judging by the covers the collection before them had been amassed over many years. Some magazines looked new, while others seemed well-worn.

  'I see that you're interested in computers,' Martin said.

  Morgan merely looked at him without confirming the obvious in his observation.

  'What sort of work do you do?' asked Gösta to fill in the awkward pause.

  'I design computer games. Mostly fantasy,' replied Morgan. He went over to the computers, as if seeking protection. Martin noticed that he moved with a clumsy, lurching gait that threatened to knock over one of the stacks of magazines as he passed. But somehow he managed to avoid doing so, and he sat down at a computer without causing an accident. He gave Martin and Gösta a vacant stare as they stood there in the midst of all those magazines. They were wondering how to proceed in questioning this odd individual. There was something not quite right about him, but they couldn't quite put a finger on it.