Patrik knocked on the door with an authoritative rap. He was already having to work to keep his expression neutral. Inside of him he felt repugnance welling up and giving him a foul taste in his mouth. This was the lowest of the low, the most loathsome type of person he could imagine. The only consolation, and this was not something Patrik would ever say out loud, was that once this type of person ended up behind lock and key, he wouldn't have it easy in prison. Paedophiles were at the bottom of the pecking order and were treated accordingly. And rightfully so.
He heard footsteps approaching and took a step back. Martin stirred tensely beside him, and standing behind them were several colleagues from Uddevalla, including some who could provide invaluable expertise in these cases - computer expertise.
The door opened and Kaj's thin form appeared. As always he was formally dressed, and Patrik wondered if he even owned any casual clothes. For his part he always slipped on a pair of worn- out jogging trousers and a cosy sweatshirt the minute he got home.
'What is it this time?' Kaj stuck his head out of the door and frowned when he saw two police cars parked in his driveway. 'Is it really necessary for you to advertise your presence like this? The old lady next door is probably rubbing her hands together with glee. If you have something to ask me you could just pick up the phone, or send over one person instead of a whole troop!'
Patrik studied him for a moment, wondering whether Kaj really felt so secure that uniformed policemen showing up at his door didn't arouse any thoughts that he'd been found out. Or maybe he was simply a good actor. Well, they would soon see.
'We have a warrant to search the premises. And we request that you accompany us to the station for questioning.' Patrik's voice was extremely formal and revealed none of the emotions he was feeling.
'A warrant to search my house? What the hell? Is it that damned woman who thought this up? I swear I'm going to…' Kaj stepped outside onto the porch and seemed to consider heading over to the Florins' house. Patrik held up his hand, and Martin blocked his way.
'This has nothing to do with Lilian Florin. We have information that implicates you in child pornography.'
Kaj stiffened. Now Patrik realized that he hadn't been acting earlier. He really hadn't considered that possibility. Stammering, he tried to regain his composure.
'Wha… what in… what are you saying, man?' But his protest sounded powerless, and the shock had made his shoulders slump.
'As I said, we have a warrant to search the premises, and if you'd be so kind as to come with us in one of the cars, we intend to continue this conversation in peace and quiet at the station.'
The bitter taste of gall in his mouth forced Patrik to keep swallowing. He wanted to throw himself at Kaj and shake him, ask him how, why, what it was that enticed him about children, young boys, that he couldn't get in an adult relationship. But there would be plenty of time for those questions. The most important thing right now was to secure the evidence.
Kaj seemed to be utterly paralysed, and without replying or taking along a jacket, he followed them down the stairs and compliantly got into the back seat of one of the police cars.
Patrik turned to his colleagues from Uddevalla. 'We'll take him in and begin the questioning. You do what you have to do here, and ring if you find anything we can use. I know I don't have to point this out, but I'll say it anyway: take all the computers and don't forget that the warrant includes the cabin on the property. I know there's at least one computer in there.'
His colleagues nodded and entered the house with determined expressions.
With a sense of elation Lilian leisurely walked past the police cars as she made her way home. It was as if her dreams had been answered. An entire phalanx of officers outside the neighbours' house, and on top of that, Kaj wearing a downhearted expression had been forced to get in the back of one of the police cars. A feeling of joy surged through her. After all these years of trouble with him and his family, his behaviour had finally caught up with him. God knows that she herself had always behaved correctly. Could she help it that she wanted everything to be done with decorum? Could she help it that he had done things that deviated from the spirit of neighbourliness, so that she was then forced to answer in kind? And people had the nerve to claim that she was belligerent. Oh yes, she'd heard the gossip going around town. But she denied any responsibility for the trouble between them. If Kaj hadn't kept it up by bothering them and doing stupid things, she wouldn't have made a fuss. In normal circumstances no one was as gentle and easy-going as she was. And she felt absolutely no guilt in telling the police about that peculiar son of theirs. Everybody knew that sooner or later, people like that who had something wrong in the head would present problems. Even though she may have exaggerated Morgan's Peeping Tom behaviour in her statement to the police, she'd only done it to prevent further problems. People like that could come up with anything if they were allowed to run riot, and it was common knowledge that they had an overactive sex drive.
But now everybody would get to see how things really stood.
It wasn't outside her house that the police were swarming. She paused outside her front door to watch the show with her arms crossed and a malevolent smile on her lips.
When the police car with Kaj drove off, she reluctantly went inside. She pondered for a moment whether to go over there as a concerned citizen and ask what was going on. But the police disappeared inside Kaj's house before she even finished that thought, and she didn't want to seem like such a busybody that she would go over and knock on the door.
As she took off her shoes and hung up her jacket she wondered whether Monica knew what was going on. Maybe she ought to ring her at the library and tell her, like a good neighbour, of course. But Stig's voice from upstairs interrupted her before she made up her mind.
'Lilian, is that you?'
She went upstairs. He sounded feeble today. 'Yes, darling, it's me.'
'Where have you been?'
He looked up at her pitifully as she entered his bedroom. What a weak little soul he was now. A feeling of tenderness rose up inside her when she realized how dependent he was on her care. It warmed her heart to feel so needed. It was like when Charlotte was a child. What a feeling of power that had been to be responsible for such a helpless little life. Actually she had liked that period the best. Gradually, as Charlotte grew up, she had slipped more and more out of her mother's hands. If Lilian had been able to do so, she would have frozen time and stopped her from growing up altogether. But the harder she tried to hold on to her daughter, the more she had pulled away. Instead, Charlotte's father had quite undeservedly received all the love and respect that Lilian thought she deserved. She was Charlotte's mother, after all. A father should have lower status than a mother. She was the one who'd given birth to her, and during the first years she was the one who'd satisfied all her daughter's needs. Then Lennart had taken over, reaping the fruits of all her labours. He had turned Charlotte into a daddy's girl. After Charlotte moved out and it was just the two of them, he'd started talking about divorce, as if Charlotte were the only one who counted in all those years.
The memory made the anger rise up in her throat, and she forced herself to smile at Stig. At least he needed her. And so did Niclas, to some extent, even though he didn't know it himself. Charlotte had no idea how good she had it. Instead she was always grumbling that her husband never helped out, that he didn't do his part when it came to the children. Ungrateful, that's what she was. But Lilian had also begun to feel deeply disappointed with Niclas. He would come home and snap at her and talk about moving. But she knew quite well where these whims came from. She simply hadn't thought he'd be so easily influenced.
'You look so stern,' said Stig, reaching for her hand. She pretended not to notice and instead carefully smoothed out the bedspread.
Stig always took Charlotte's side, so Lilian couldn't say anything to him about what she'd just been thinking. Instead she told him, 'There's an awful commotion next door. Police of
ficers and police cars everywhere. This is no fun, let me tell you, having such people living so close.'
Stig sat up with a start. The movement made him grimace and grab his stomach. But his face was filled with hope. 'It must be about Sara. Do you think they've found out anything about Sara?'
Lilian nodded. 'Yes, it wouldn't surprise me. Why else would they send out a whole contingent?'
'It would be a blessing for Charlotte and Niclas if we could have an end to all this.'
'Yes, and you know how it has been upsetting me too, Stig. Now maybe I can have peace in my soul again.'
She let Stig pat her hand, and his voice was as loving as usual when he said, 'Of course, darling. You have such a kind heart, this has been a terrible time for you.' He turned her hand over and kissed her palm.
She let him hold her hand for a second longer, but then pulled it back. Brusquely she said, 'It's nice to hear someone worrying about me for a change. Let's just hope that we're right, and that they took Kaj away because of Sara.'
'What else do you think it could be?' Stig sounded surprised.
'Well, I don't know. I didn't really think about it. But I of all people know what he's capable of -'
'When is the funeral?' Stig interrupted.
Lilian got up from the side of the bed. 'We're still waiting to hear when we can get the body back. Probably next week sometime.'
'Please don't use the word "body". It's our Sara we're talking about.'
'She's actually my grandchild, not yours,' Lilian snapped.
'I loved her too, and you know it,' said Stig gently.
'Yes, dear, I know. Forgive me. All this is just so hard for me, and nobody seems to understand.' She wiped away a tear, noticing the remorse on Stig's face.
'No, I'm the one who should ask for forgiveness. That was stupid of me. Can you forgive me, darling?'
'Of course,' said Lilian magnanimously. 'And now I think you should rest and not think so much about all this. I'll go downstairs and make some tea and bring you a cup. Then maybe you can sleep for a while afterwards.'
'What have I done to deserve you?' said Stig to his wife with a smile.
It wasn't easy for Mellberg to concentrate on work. Not because he had ever prioritized that part of his life, but he usually was able to get at least a little bit done. And the situation that Ernst had provoked should have taken up a larger part of his thoughts. But since last Saturday nothing was the same. Back home in his flat the boy was playing video games. The new ones that he'd bought him yesterday. Mellberg had always kept a tight control on his wallet and yet he had suddenly felt an irresistible urge to be generous. And video games were clearly what stood at the top of the list, so video games it would be. Mellberg had bought an Xbox and three games, and even though he'd been shocked at the price, he hadn't balked.
Because the boy was his, after all. Simon, his son. If he'd had any doubts before, they were swept aside as soon as he saw him step off the train. It was like seeing himself as a young lad. The same well-fed physique, the same strong facial features. The emotions aroused in him were astonishing. Mellberg was still shocked that he was capable of such deep feelings. He had always taken pride in the fact that he didn't need anyone. Well, with the possible exception of his mother.
She had always pointed out that it was a sin and a shame that such excellent genes as his weren't going to be passed on. And on that she'd undoubtedly had a point. It was one of the foremost reasons that he wished that his mother could have met his son. To show her that she was right. All it took was a glance at the boy to see that he'd inherited many of his father's characteristics. The apple certainly didn't fall far from the tree. The boy's mother had said in her letter that he was lazy, unmotivated, insubordinate, and did miserably in school. But that said more about her child- rearing ability than about the boy. He just needed to spend a little time with his father, a manly role model. It was surely only a matter of time before he'd make a man out of him.
Naturally he thought that Simon at least could have said 'thank you' when he gave him the video games, but the poor boy was probably so shocked to get anything as a gift that he didn't know what to say. Lucky that Mellberg was such a good judge of people. It wouldn't be productive to force anything at this stage; he knew that much about raising children. Although he had no practical experience in the subject, he had to admit, but how hard could it be? It was probably only a matter of using common sense. The boy was a teenager, after all, and people said that was going to be difficult, but in Mellberg's opinion it was simply a matter of finding the appropriate language: slang for peasant farmers and Latin for scholars. And if there was anyone who knew how to talk to people on their level, it was him. He was convinced that he would have no problem at all.
Voices out in the corridor announced that Patrik and Martin were back. Hopefully with that paedophile jerk in tow. This was one interrogation he intended to participate in, for a change. And this time he'd be forced to put away the kid gloves.
* * *
FJÅLLBACKA 1928
It began like any other day. The boys had run over to the neighbours' in the morning, and she'd been lucky that they stayed there until evening. The old woman had even felt sorry for the boys and fed them, so she got out of fixing lunch, even though it usually only entailed making a couple of open sandwiches. This turn of events had put her in such a good mood that she condescended to mop the floor. So when evening came she felt sure of getting some well-earned praise from her husband. Even though she didn't particularly care what he thought, she still craved attention and she looked on praise as a luxury.
By the time she heard Anders coming up the front steps, Karl and Johan were already asleep, and she was sitting at the kitchen table reading a women's magazine. She looked up at him distractedly and nodded, but then gave a start. He didn't look as tired and downhearted as he usually did when he came home; he had a gleam in his eye that she hadn't seen in a long time. A vague feeling of uneasiness awoke inside her.
He sank down on one of the wooden chairs facing her, folded his hands and rested them on the worn tabletop.
'Agnes,' he said, and then stopped. The silence lasted long enough for the unpleasant feeling in her stomach to grow into a lump. He obviously had something on his mind, and if there was anything she had learned in her life, it was that surprises were seldom good.
'Agnes,' he said again, 'I've been thinking a lot about our future, and about our family, and I've come to the conclusion that we need a change.'
All right, so far she was following him. She just couldn't envision what he'd be able to do to change her life for the better.
Anders continued with obvious pride. 'So that's why I've taken on as much extra work as I could this past year, and I put away all the money so I could buy us a one-way ticket.'
'A ticket? Where to?' asked Agnes, with her uneasiness rising. She also felt annoyed at the realization that he had withheld money from her.
'To America,' Anders said, seeming to expect a positive reaction. Instead Agnes felt the shock turn her face numb. What had that idiot gone and done now?
'America?' was all she could say.
He nodded eagerly. 'Yes, we're leaving next week, and you'd better believe I had to pull some strings to arrange everything. I've been in touch with some of the Swedes who went over there from Fjällbacka, and they assured me that there's plenty of work for someone like me. A man who's skilled can make himself a good future "over there".' This last he said in English with his broad Blekinge accent, evidently proud that he already knew two words in his new language.
Agnes wanted to lean forward and slap him right across his grinning, happy face. What was he thinking? Was he so naive that he actually believed she would get on a boat to a foreign land together with him and his brats? To end up in an even more dependent position, in an unfamiliar country, with a strange language and strange people? Certainly she hated her life here, but at least there was the possibility that she might someday get out of th
e hellhole she'd ended up in. Although to be honest she had toyed with the idea of travelling to America herself, but alone, without him and the kids as a shackle round her leg.
But Anders didn't see the horror in her face. Overjoyed, he took out the tickets and placed them on the table. In desperation Agnes regarded the four pieces of paper, spread out like a fan before him. She wanted to shrivel up and cry.
She had a week. A miserable week left to get out of this situation somehow. She forced herself to give Anders a smile.
* * *
Monica had driven to Konsum to buy groceries, but suddenly she set down the shopping basket and walked out the door without buying a thing. Something was telling her she had to get home. Her mother and grandmother had been the same way. They could sense things, and she too had learned to listen to her inner voice.
She floored the gas pedal of her little Fiat as she took the road around the mountain, past the Kullen neighbourhood. When she came round the curve on the road up to Sälvik, she saw the police car parked outside their house and knew she had been right to heed her instincts. She parked right behind the police car and got out cautiously, terror-stricken at what she might encounter. Each night for the past week she'd had exactly the same dream. Police officers coming to their home and uncovering the very thing she'd done her utmost to put out of her mind. Now it was reality, not a dream, and she approached the house with reluctance. Trying to postpone the inevitable. Then she heard Morgan wailing, and she began to run. Up the garden path, out to his little cabin. He was standing in front of the door to the cabin screaming at two policemen. With his arms outstretched he was trying to block the entrance.
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