The Stone Cutter

by Camilla Lackberg

  'First of all, we brought in the father, Niclas, for questioning and asked him about his alibi. We still don't know where he was on Monday morning, and the question is, why did he try to concoct a fake alibi? We also suspect child abuse, based on the information we received from the clinic about the injuries that his son Albin had sustained. The question is whether Sara was also subjected to abuse and whether it could have escalated to murder.'

  He drew a point on the tablet, wrote 'Niclas' next to it, and then drew lines to the two words 'alibi' and 'suspected abuse'. Then he turned back to his colleagues.

  'Then Sara's playmate Frida came in yesterday with her mother, and the girl reported that someone she called a "nasty old man" had given Sara a real fright the day before she died. He had behaved In a threatening manner towards her and also called her "double pawn". Is there anyone who can explain what that might mean?'

  Patrik looked inquiringly at the group. At first no one answered. They sat quietly and seemed to be making an effort to work out what such an odd phrase could mean.

  Annika looked at them, shook her head at their obtuseness, and then said, 'He probably said "Devil's spawn".'

  It was so obvious that they all looked as if they wanted to slap their foreheads.

  'Yes, of course,' said Patrik, also cursing his stupidity. 'That makes it sound like we're dealing with some religious fanatic. And Frida described the individual as an older man with grey hair. Martin, could you check with Sara's mother and see whether that matches anyone they know?'

  Martin nodded.

  'Then we got an interesting report yesterday. A young mother parked a pram behind Järnboden with her sleeping son inside. Then she went into the shop to buy something. When she came out she started screaming, because the inside of the pram was covered with some black substance that the boy also had in his mouth. It seemed as though someone had tried to force him to swallow the stuff. I drove over and talked with the boy's mother this morning, and she gave me the shirt that the boy was wearing.

  The whole front of it is covered with something that could well be ashes.'

  Silence descended over the table. No one chewed, no one slurped coffee. Patrik continued, 'I've already sent it off for analysis, and something tells me it's the same type of ashes we found in Sara's stomach. We have a very precise time for when this… assault occurred, so it might be worthwhile to check alibis. Gösta, you and I will handle that.'

  Gösta nodded and picked the last shreds of coconut from his plate.

  The tablet was now covered with notes and arrows, and Patrik paused for a second with his pen hovering. Then he made one more point and wrote 'Kaj' next to it. It was obvious to all that he'd now reached the part of the summation that he judged the most important.

  'After we talked with our colleagues in Göteborg, it came to our attention that Kaj Wiberg is implicated in an investigation of a paedophile ring.'

  They all made an even greater effort not to look at Ernst, and he squirmed a bit in his seat.

  'We brought Kaj in for questioning yesterday and also conducted a search of his home, with the help of our colleagues from Uddevalla. The interview produced nothing concrete, but we view it as a first step and will continue our talks with Kaj. Using the material we're getting from Göteborg we'll also see whether we can identify any victims locally. Kaj, as you know, has taken an active role for many years in working with youths in Fjällbacka, so it's not entirely farfetched to believe that assaults occurred during his years here.'

  'Is there anything to indicate that he might be linked to Sara's murder?' Gösta asked.

  'I'll get to that in a moment,' replied Patrik evasively, and Martin shot him an astonished look. They hadn't had any luck developing any connection during the interrogation.

  'The search of Kaj's house may have given us our first big breakthrough in the investigation.'

  The tension increased palpably, and Patrik couldn't resist drawing it out a bit for the sake of effect. Then he said, 'When they searched Kaj's house yesterday, the officers found Sara's jacket.'

  They all gasped.

  'Where did they find it?' asked Martin, looking a bit miffed that Patrik hadn't told him about this.

  'That's just the thing,' said Patrik. 'It wasn't in the main house, but out in the cabin on the lot where their son Morgan lives.'

  'Jesus Christ,' said Gösta. 'I could have sworn that weirdo was mixed up in it. People like that -'

  Patrik cut him off. 'I agree that it looks bad, but I don't want us to get locked into that theory yet. First of all, we don't know whether it was the father or the son who put the jacket there; it could just as well have been Kaj trying to hide it. Second, there are too many other unresolved issues - for example, Niclas's attempt to construct a false alibi - so we can't completely ignore them. We have to keep working on all the points I've put up here on the tablet. Any questions?'

  Mellberg spoke up. 'Excellent work, Hedström. It looks good. And by all means check out those other things you wrote down as well.' He gestured idly at the board. 'But I'm inclined to agree with Gösta. That Morgan boy doesn't seem quite right, and if I were you,' he said, holding his hand theatrically to his chest, 'I'd pull out all the stops to clamp down on him. But it's clear, you're responsible for the investigation, and you're the one who decides.' Mellberg said this in a way that made it obvious to everyone that he thought Patrik would do best to follow his advice.

  Patrik didn't reply, which Mellberg interpreted to mean his message had hit home. He nodded contentedly. Now it was only a matter of time before the case was solved.

  Resolutely Patrik went back into his office and got to work on the day's tasks. The old fart could believe what he liked, but Patrik had no intention of dancing to his tune. Naturally the fact that they'd found the jacket in Morgan's cabin had also made him want to draw certain conclusions, but something - whether it was instinct, experience or merely a hunch - told him that not everything was as it seemed.

  * * *

  FJÅLLBACKA 1928

  Standing with her back to the Swedish coastline she closed her eyes and felt the breeze against her eyelids. This was what freedom felt like.

  The boat to America had sailed from Göteborg on the dot, and the wharf had been full of people saying goodbye to their loved ones with both hope and sorrow. None of them knew whether they would ever see one another again. America was so far away that most people who went there never returned and were heard from only by letter.

  But there had been no one to say goodbye to Agnes. That was precisely the way she wanted it. She was leaving her old life behind and setting off towards a new land. With her father's cheque in her pocket and a fine cabin in first class, she felt for the first time in years that she was on the right track.

  For a moment her thoughts drifted to Anders and the boys. The church had been filled to the brim for the funeral, and loud sniffles had risen towards the roof in a sorrowful chorus. But she had not wept. Behind the veil of her hat she had looked at the three coffins near the altar. One big one and two small. The white coffins were covered with flowers and wreaths. The largest wreath was from her father. She had forbidden him to come.

  Not that there had been much to put in the coffins. The fire had raged with such consuming heat that almost nothing was left. So the coffins contained only a few remains. The pastor had suggested urns instead, considering the state of the remains, but

  Agnes had wanted it this way. Three coffins that could be lowered into the ground.

  Some of Anders's workmates had carved the headstone. One stone for all three, with their names elegantly engraved.

  They had been the sole victims of the fire. Otherwise only property had been destroyed, but the destruction had been extensive. The whole lower part of Fjällbacka, the part closest to the sea, was now charred and in ruins. Many houses were gone, and burnt pilings stuck up out of the water where docks used to be. But few had complained about the loss of their homes. Whenever they had the desire to c
ry about what they had lost, they thought of Agnes and what had been taken from her. Everyone from that part of town had turned up at the funeral, and their hearts ached when they pictured in their minds the little blond boys walking hand in hand with their father.

  But their mother shed nary a tear. When the funeral was over she went back to her temporary lodgings and packed the few belongings that had been given to her. Charity. Being forced to accept alms was so distasteful to her that it made her feel sick, but she would never be at the mercy of other people's kindness again.

  As she stood on the top deck of the ship, no one would guess that until quite recently she had lived a life of poverty. New clothing had been hastily acquired, and her baggage was the most elegant that money could buy. With pleasure she stroked her hand over the soft fabric of her dress. What a difference from the worn, faded clothes that had been her lot for four years.

  All that was left of her old life was a blue wooden box that she had carefully stowed in the bottom of her luggage. The box itself was not important, but its contents were. She had sneaked out the night before and filled it to remind her never again to let anything stand in the way of the life she deserved. She had made the mistake of trusting one man, and it had cost her four long years. After the way her father had betrayed her, she was determined never to let another man do the same. And she would see to it that her father would pay dearly for his actions. Loneliness was the highest price, but she also intended to make sure that his money flowed in her direction. She had earned it. And she knew precisely which buttons to push to keep his guilty conscience alive. Men were so easy to manipulate.

  She was roused from her reverie by the sound of someone clearing his throat. She was so startled that she jumped.

  'Ah, excuse me, I hope I didn't frighten you, Madam?'

  An elegantly dressed man smiled suavely and held out his hand to her.

  Agnes scrutinized him with a quick and practised eye before she returned his smile and placed her gloved hand in his. He had an expensive, tailored suit and hands that had never seen manual labour. In his thirties and with a pleasant, yes, even attractive appearance. No ring on his ring finger. This passage might be much more pleasant than she'd anticipated.

  'Agnes, Agnes Stjernkvist. And it's Miss, not Madam.'

  * * *

  Erica's friend Dan had come to visit. Even though they'd spoken on the phone a couple of times, he still hadn't been to the house to have a look at Maja. But now his huge body filled the hall, and he took the baby from Erica with the ease of an experienced father.

  'Helllllo, baby girl. What a little beauty we have here,' he cooed, lifting her towards the ceiling. Erica had to stifle an impulse to snatch her daughter back, but Maja didn't look like she minded the situation at all. And considering that Dan had three daughters of his own, he probably knew what he was doing.

  'So how's little Mamma doing?' he said, giving Erica one of his bear-hugs. Once upon a time they had been an item, but the romance was long since over and for many years now they had been close friends. Their friendship had suffered a real setback two winters ago, when they had both gotten mixed up in a murder investigation under unpleasant circumstances, but the passage of time had healed the rift. After Dan got a divorce from his wife Pernilla, though, they hadn't seen each other very often. Dan had jumped into the single life and all that involved, while Erica went in the opposite direction. He had gone through a series of unsuitable girlfriends, but at the moment he was single and on the loose. Erica thought he looked happier than he had in a long time. The divorce had taken its toll on him, and he often lamented not being with his daughters more than every other week, but he seemed to have grown used to the situation and moved on.

  'I wondered whether you'd like to take a walk with us,' said Erica. 'Maja is starting to get tired, and if we take a stroll she'll probably fall asleep in the pram.'

  'A short one, then,' Dan muttered. 'It's pretty chilly out there, and I was looking forward to getting inside where it's warm.'

  'Just until she goes to sleep,' Erica cajoled her friend, and he reluctantly put his shoes back on.

  She kept her promise. Ten minutes later they were back inside and Maja was sleeping peacefully under the rain hood of the pram.

  'Have you got a baby alarm?' Dan asked.

  Erica shook her head. 'No, I'll have to look in on her from time to time.'

  'You should have said something. I could have tried to dig up our old one.'

  'I hope you'll be coming over more often now,' said Erica, 'so you can bring it next time.'

  'All right. I'm sorry for taking so long to come over and say hi,' he said. 'But I know how the first few months are, so I -'

  'You don't have to apologize,' said Erica. 'You're completely right. I haven't felt ready to have visitors until now.'

  They sat down on the sofa. Erica had set out coffee and buns that were warm from the oven. Dan helped himself.

  'Mmm,' he said. 'Did you bake these?' He couldn't help a hint of amazement from creeping into his voice.

  Erica gave him a dirty look. 'If that were the case, you wouldn't sound so surprised. But no, it wasn't me. My mother-in-law baked them when she was here,' she had to admit.

  'I thought it must be something like that. These aren't burnt enough to be yours,' Dan teased her.

  Erica couldn't come up with a witty retort. He was right. She had never been much of a baker.

  After a pleasant chat that enabled them to get caught up with what had been happening in their lives lately. Erica stood up.

  'I just have to go check on Maja.'

  She cautiously cracked open the front door and looked down into the pram. That's funny, Maja must have slid down under the covers. She detached the rain hood as quietly as she could and pulled back the blanket. Panic struck her full-force. Maja wasn't in the pram!

  Martin's spine creaked as he sat down, and he stretched his arms above his head to straighten out his vertebrae. All that lugging of cartons and moving of furniture had made him feel like an old man. Suddenly he realized that a few hours at the gym occasionally might be a good idea, but it was too late to make up for lost time now. Anyway, Pia always said she liked his lanky body, so he saw no reason to make any changes. But his back did hurt like hell.

  The new place had turned out fine, he had to admit. Pia was the one who decided where to put everything, and the result was much better than anything he'd ever been able to come up with in his bachelor flats. He just wished he could have kept a few more of his own things. Only his stereo, TV and a 'Billy' bookshelf from IKEA had passed muster. The rest of his possessions had been sent off to the dump without mercy. He was saddest to part with the old leather sofa he'd had in his living room. He agreed that it had probably seen better days, but the memories… ah, what memories.

  On second thought that might be precisely the reason that Pia had been so firm about tossing it in favour of a 'Tomelilla' model from IKEA. He'd actually been allowed to keep an old pine kitchen table, but Pia had quickly bought a tablecloth to cover every inch of its surface.

  Well, those were only tiny bits of sand in the machinery. So far there hadn't been anything negative about living together. He loved coming home to Pia every evening, cuddling up with her on the sofa and watching something worthless on TV with Pia's head in his lap. And he loved slipping into the new double bed and falling asleep together. Everything was just as wonderful as he'd dreamt it would be. He knew that he probably ought to be sad that the wild partying of his bachelor days was over, at least that's what some of his mates said, but he didn't miss it any more than he missed a huge hangover. And Pia, well, she was simply perfect.

  Martin wiped the foolish newly-in-love smile off his face and looked up the Florin family's number to phone them. He hoped it wouldn't be that terrible harpy who answered. Charlotte's mother reminded him of a caricature of a mother-in-law.

  He was in luck. Charlotte herself answered. He felt a pang of sympathy when he heard how listless
her voice sounded.

  'Yes, hello, this is Martin Molin from Tanumshede police station.'

  'What's this about?' Charlotte asked cautiously.

  Martin was well aware that a call from the police aroused both misgivings and hopes, so he hastened to say, 'Well, I just wanted to check on something with you. We got a tip that somebody threatened Sara the day before she…' he stammered, 'died.'

  'Threatened her?' said Charlotte, and he could almost see her puzzled expression. 'Who said that? Sara didn't tell us anything about it.'

  'Her playmate, Frida.'

  'But why didn't Frida say anything about it before now?'

  'Sara made her promise not to say anything. Frida said it was a secret.'

  'But who would threaten her?' Only now did Charlotte perk up enough to ask the relevant question.

  'Frida didn't know who he was. But she described the man as older with grey hair and black clothes. And he apparently called Sara "the Devil's spawn". Does any of this ring a bell?'

  'It certainly does,' said Charlotte through clenched teeth. 'It most certainly does.'

  The pain had intensified over the past few days. It felt like a hungry animal tearing at his stomach with its claws.

  Stig turned carefully onto his side. No position was really comfortable. No matter how he lay, it hurt somewhere. But it hurt most of all in his heart. He was thinking about Sara more often. About the way they'd had long, serious talks about everything under the sun. School, friends, her precocious meditations on everything that went on around her. He didn't believe the others had ever taken the time to see that side of her. They had focused only on her awkward, loud, and troublesome traits. And Sara had reacted to their image of her by becoming even more difficult, making even more noise, and smashing things. A vicious circle of frustration that none of them knew how to handle.

  But in the hours she spent with him she had found peace. He missed her so much it hurt. He had seen so much of Lilian in her. Lilian's strength and decisiveness. Her brusque manner that concealed such enormous concern and love.