The Stone Cutter

by Camilla Lackberg

  'Why did you do it?' asked Mary quietly.

  Agnes abruptly stopped crying. With great composure she took out a cigarette and carefully lit it. After taking a few deep drags she replied with the same ghastly calm, 'Because he betrayed me. He thought he could leave me.'

  'Couldn't you simply have let him go?' Mary leaned forward so she wouldn't miss a word. She had gone over this topic so many times in her mind that now she didn't want to risk missing even a syllable.

  'No man leaves me,' Agnes said. 'I did what I had to do.' Then she shifted her cold glance to Mary and added, 'You know all about that, don't you?'

  Mary averted her eyes. The monster inside her stirred restlessly. She said curtly, 'I want you to sign over the house in Fjällbacka to me. I'm thinking of moving there.'

  Agnes looked as though she wanted to protest, but Mary hastened to add, 'If you want to have any contact with me in future, then you'll do as I say. If you sign over the house to me, I promise I'll read your letters and write to you.'

  Agnes hesitated, so Mary quickly continued, 'I'm the only person you have left now. That may not be much, but I'm still the only one you have.'

  For a few unbearably long seconds Agnes weighed the pros and cons, evaluating what would benefit her most, and finally decided.

  'All right, that's the deal then. Not because I can understand why you'd want to live in that hole, but if you want to, then fine…' She shrugged, and Mary felt joy rise inside her.

  It was a plan that had developed over the past year. She would start over. Become a whole different person. Shake off the past that clung to her like a musty old blanket. Her application to change her name had already been submitted. Gaining access to the house in Fjällbacka was stage two, and she had already begun the work of changing her appearance. Not a single unnecessary calorie had passed her lips in a whole month, and the hour-long walk each morning had also helped. Everything would be different. Everything would be new.

  The last thing she heard when she left Agnes sitting in the waiting room was her astonished exclamation, 'Have you lost weight?'

  Mary didn't turn round to answer. She was on her way to becoming a new person.

  By the next day the storm had subsided, and the autumn was showing its best side. The leaves that had survived the windstorm were red and yellow and fluttered softly in a light breeze. The sunshine gave no warmth, but it still raised the spirits and chased away the raw chill in the air - the kind that crept inside your clothes and made your body feel cold and damp.

  Patrik sighed as he sat in the kitchen. Lilian was still refusing to talk, despite all the evidence they had against her. At least it was enough to remand her back into custody, and they still had time to charge her.

  'How's it going?' said Annika as she came in to refill her coffee cup.

  'Not much happening,' said Patrik with a deep sigh. 'She's as hard as a rock. Doesn't say a word.'

  'But do we need a confession if the evidence is sufficient?'

  'No, no really,' said Patrik. 'But what we're lacking is a motive. With a little imagination I could come up with a number of plausible motives for killing one husband and attempting to kill the second. But Sara?'

  'How did you know that she was the one who murdered Sara?'

  'I didn't,' said Patrik. 'Not until now. But all this has made me see that somebody lied about the morning when Sara disappeared, and that somebody had to be Lilian.'

  He turned on the tape recorder sitting on the kitchen table. Morgan's voice filled the room. 'I didn't do it. I can't sit in prison for the rest of my life. I didn't kill her. I don't know how the jacket ended up at my place. She was wearing it when she went into her house. Please, don't leave me here.'

  'Did you hear that?' said Patrik.

  Annika shook her head. 'No, I didn't hear anything special.'

  'Listen one more time, very closely.' He rewound the tape and pressed 'play' again.

  'I didn't do it. I can't sit in prison for the rest of my life. I didn't kill her. I don't know how the jacket ended up at my place. She was wearing it when she went into her house. Please, don't leave me here.'

  'She was wearing it when she went into her house,' Annika said quietly.

  'Precisely,' said Patrik. 'Lilian claimed that Sara left and then didn't come back, but Morgan saw her go into the house again. And the only person who would have a reason to lie about it was Lilian. Why else wouldn't she have told us that Sara came home again?'

  'How the hell can someone drown their own grandchild? And why did she stuff ashes into her mouth?' said Annika, slowly shaking her head.

  'Yes, that's exactly what I want to know,' said Patrik in frustration. 'But she just sits there and smiles and refuses to say a thing, either to confess or to defend herself.'

  'So what about the little boy?' Annika continued. 'Why did she attack him? And Maja?'

  'I think Liam was just a random choice,' Patrik said, rotating his coffee cup in his hands. 'A crime of opportunity. It was a way of deflecting attention from her family - from Niclas most of all, apparently. And attacking Maja was a way of getting back at me for investigating her and her family.'

  'I heard that you also had a bit of luck that helped you solve the murder of Lennart and the attempted murder of Stig.'

  'Yes I did, and unfortunately I can't claim any personal insight. If I hadn't watched Crime Night on the Discovery Channel, we never would have found out about it. But they were featuring that case of a woman in the States who poisoned her husbands, and one of them was first diagnosed with Guillain-Barre. That's when it all fell into place for me. Erica had mentioned that Charlotte's father died of a nerve disease, and when Stig's illness was added to that… two husbands with the same rare symptoms; that made me wonder. So I woke up Erica, and she confirmed that Charlotte had said her father had died of Guillain-Barre. But I must tell you I wasn't completely sure until I rang the hospital. It was great when the test results were done and they showed a sky-high arsenic content. But I only wish I could get her to tell me why. She refuses to say anything!' He ran his hand through his hair in frustration.

  'Well, you can only do so much,' said Annika, turning to go. Then she turned back to Patrik and said, 'Have you heard the news, by the way?'

  'No, what?' said Patrik wearily, showing scant enthusiasm.

  'Ernst really has been sacked. And Martin has recruited some woman to work here. He apparently got a little pressure from higher up regarding the lop-sided gender distribution in the station.'

  'The poor guy,' Patrik chuckled. 'Let's hope this woman has a thick skin.'

  'I don't know anything about her, so we'll see when she shows up. Evidently she'll be here a month from now.'

  'I'm sure it'll be fine,' said Patrik. 'Anything will be an improvement compared to Ernst.'

  'Yeah, that's for sure,' said Annika. 'And you should cheer up a little. The main thing is that the killer is in custody. The motive may have to remain a matter between her and her creator.'

  'I haven't given up yet,' Patrik muttered, and he got up to give it another try.

  He went to find Gösta, and together they took Lilian to the interrogation room. She looked a bit rumpled after a couple of days in jail, but she was totally calm. Apart from the annoyance she showed when they took her from the hospital waiting room, she had exhibited an exceedingly well-controlled facade. Nothing they'd said so far had shaken her, and Patrik had begun to doubt that they ever would. But he had to try one last time. Then the prosecutor could take over. But he really wanted to get an answer out of her about Maja. He was proud of himself for managing to keep his rage in check; he'd done it by trying to have a clear goal in mind at all times. The important thing was to get Lilian convicted, and if possible to obtain an explanation. Taking out his personal feelings on her would not advance that goal. He also knew that the slightest outburst on his part would mean that he would be excluded from the hearings. He already had everyone's eyes on him because of his personal connection to the case.<
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  He took a deep breath and began.

  'Sara was buried today. Did you know that?'

  He and Gösta were sitting on one side of the table with Lilian facing them. She shook her head.

  'Would you have wanted to be there?'

  She merely shrugged and gave them a strange, sphinx-like smile.

  'What do you think Charlotte feels about you now?' He kept changing the subject in the hope of striking a nerve that would make her react. But so far she had been almost inhumanly indifferent.

  'I'm her mother,' Lilian replied calmly. 'She can never change that.'

  'Do you think she would want to?'

  'Maybe. But what she wants won't change anything.'

  'Do you think she'd want to know why you did what you did?' Gösta interjected. He was staring at Lilian intently, looking for a crack in what seemed to be impenetrable armour.

  Lilian didn't answer, but instead studied her nails impassively.

  'We have the evidence, Lilian, you know that. We went over that earlier. We don't doubt for a second that you murdered two people and are guilty of the attempted murder of a third. The arsenic poisoning of Lennart and Stig will bring you many, many years in prison. So it won't cost you a thing to talk about Sara's murder. Killing your husband is nothing new; I could think of a thousand reasons to do it, but why your granddaughter? Why Sara? Did she provoke you? Did you get mad at her and then couldn't stop yourself? Did she have one of her outbursts and you were trying to calm her down with a bath and things got out of hand? Tell us!'

  But just as in earlier interrogations they got no answers from Lilian. She simply smiled indulgently.

  'We have the evidence!' Patrik repeated, now with increasing irritation. 'The samples from Lennart showed high levels of arsenic, and Stig's likewise. We've even been able to demonstrate that the arsenic poisoning occurred during the past six months, and in ever increasing doses. We found the arsenic in an old container of rat poison that you kept down in the cellar. Sara had traces in her lungs of the ashes that you kept in your bedroom. You smeared a small child with the same ashes to throw us off the track, and you also put Sara's jacket in Morgan's cabin to try to shift the blame on him. The fact that Kaj turned out to be a paedophile was a stroke of luck for you. But we also have Morgan's testimony on tape, saying that he saw Sara go back in the house. And that contradicts what you told us. We know that you were the one who murdered Sara. Help us now, help your daughter to move on. Tell us why! And my daughter, what reason did you have for taking her out of the pram? Was it me you were trying to get at? Talk to me!'

  Lilian was drawing little circles on the table with her index finger. She'd heard Patrik's entreaties several times before, and they were just as futile this time.

  Patrik felt himself beginning to lose his temper. He realized that it would be best to stop before he did something stupid. He jumped to his feet, reeled off the necessary information to conclude the interrogation, and walked over to the door. In the doorway he turned round.

  'What you're doing now is unforgivable. You have the power to give your daughter some meagre peace of mind, but you choose not to do so. It's not only unforgivable, it's inhuman.'

  He asked Gösta to take Lilian back to her cell. He couldn't look at her another second. For an instant he'd thought he was gazing directly into the depths of evil.

  'Damned women's lib types we keep having shoved down our throats,' Mellberg muttered. 'Now we're going to be encumbered with them at work as well. I don't get the point of that damned quota system. Maybe I was naive, but I thought I'd be able to choose my own staff. But no, instead they're going to send me a dame who probably hasn't even learned to button her uniform. Am I right?'

  Simon didn't answer but kept his eyes fixed on his plate.

  It felt odd to be eating lunch at home, but it was another link in the father-and-son project that Mellberg had initiated. He had even made an effort to slice some vegetables, which previously had never even made an appearance in his refrigerator. But he noticed with annoyance that Simon hadn't touched either the cucumber or the tomatoes. Instead he was concentrating on the macaroni and meatballs, which he covered with enormous quantities of ketchup. Oh well, ketchup was tomatoes too, Mellberg supposed, so that would have to do.

  He decided to change the subject. It just aggravated his blood pressure to keep thinking about their new colleague. Instead he focused on his son's plans for the future.

  'So, have you thought about what sort of job you want? If you don't think that studying at the Gymnasium is for you, I can help you find some sort of work. Not everyone can be the studious type, and if you're half as practically inclined as your father…' Mellberg chuckled.

  A less experienced parent might have been concerned about his son's lack of initiative regarding his own future, but Mellberg was filled with confidence. Surely Simon was just going through a temporary period of depression; there was nothing to worry about. He pondered whether he wanted the boy to be a lawyer or a doctor. A lawyer, he decided. Doctors no longer made as much money. But until he could get him onto that career track the important thing was to back off and cut the boy some slack. If he got a taste of life's hard knocks he would eventually listen to reason. Of course Simon's mother had informed him that the boy had failed in almost every subject, and it was clear that might place some obstacles in his path. But Mellberg was thinking positive. The whole problem was no doubt due to lack of support at home, because the intelligence must be there; otherwise Mother Nature would have played an especially malicious trick on them.

  Simon was chewing listlessly on a meatball and didn't seem particularly inclined to answer his father's question.

  'So, what do you say about a job?' Mellberg said again, getting a bit more annoyed. Here he was making an effort to forge a bond between them, and Simon couldn't even take the trouble to reply.

  Still chewing, Simon said after a while, 'No, I don't think so.'

  'What do you mean, you don't think so?' said Mellberg indignantly. 'Then what do you think? That you can live here under my roof and eat my food and just sit and goof off all day long? Is that what you think?'

  Simon didn't even blink. 'No, I'll probably go back and live with my mum.'

  The announcement hit Mellberg like a kick in the head. Somewhere near his heart he felt a weird, almost stabbing pain.

  'Back to your mum?' Mellberg repeated, as if he couldn't believe his ears. It was an option he hadn't even considered.

  'But I thought you didn't like living there? You said you hated "that damned bitch," when you arrived.'

  'Oh, Mum's all right,' said Simon, looking out of the window.

  'And I'm not?' said Mellberg in a grumpy voice. He couldn't hide the disappointment that had crept in. He regretted being so hard on the boy. Maybe it wasn't really necessary for the kid to start working right away. There would be plenty of time for drudgery in his life; taking it easy for a while wasn't going to ruin his chances.

  Mellberg hurried to declare his new point of view, but it didn't have the effect he expected.

  'Oh, that's not it. Mum will probably make me get a job too. But it's my mates, you know. I have lots of mates back home, and here I don't know a soul and…' He let the sentence die out.

  'But what about all the great things we've done together,' said Mellberg. 'Father and son, you know. I thought you were enjoying finally being with your old pop. Getting to know me.'

  Mellberg was groping for a convincing argument. He couldn't imagine why only two weeks earlier he'd felt such panic, waiting for his son to arrive. Sure, he'd been angry with him occasionally, but still. For the first time, he had actually had a feeling of anticipation when he put the key in the door after work. And now all that was about to disappear.

  The boy shrugged. 'You've been great. It has nothing to do with you. But I was never actually supposed to move here. That's just something Mum says when she gets mad. She's sent me to Grandma before, but now that she's sick, Mum didn't know
what to do with me. But I talked to her yesterday. She's calmed down now and wants me to come home. So I'm taking the nine o'clock train in the morning,' he said without looking at Mellberg. But then he raised his eyes. 'But it's been really cool. Honest. And you've been bloody great and tried really hard and all that. So I'd like to come and visit sometimes, if that's okay…' He paused for a moment but then added, 'Pop?'

  Warmth spread through Mellberg's chest. It was the first time the boy had ever called him Pop. Damn it, it was the first time anyone had ever called him Pop.

  All at once he found it a bit easier to take the news that the boy was leaving. At least he would be coming back to visit once in a while. Pop.

  It was the hardest thing they had ever done. At the same time it gave them a feeling of closure that would enable them to build a foundation for their marriage in the future. The sight of the little white casket sinking into the ground made them hold each other tight. Nothing in the world could be more difficult than this. Saying goodbye to Sara.

  Niclas and Charlotte had chosen to be alone. The ceremony in the church had been short and simple. They had wanted it that way. Only the two of them and the pastor. And now they stood alone by the grave. The pastor had spoken the words the occasion demanded and then quietly withdrawn. They had tossed a single rose onto the casket, and it shone bright pink against the white wood. Pink had been her favourite colour. Maybe just because it clashed with her red hair. Sara had never chosen the easy paths.

  Their hatred for Lilian was still fresh. Charlotte felt ashamed to be standing in the stillness of the churchyard, with so much hatred gushing out of every pore in her body. Maybe it would be assuaged over time, but out of the corner of her eye she saw the mound of earth on her father's grave, formed when he was laid to rest for the second time. Then she wondered how she would ever be able to feel anything other than rage and sorrow.