“Your daughter was reported missing,” Mats Hedin says. “Her friend Johanna saw her last Friday morning. Before Isabelle went to Dalarna with you. According to her, Isabelle was supposed to be back on Sunday, four days ago. But she never arrived. She hasn’t been in contact, and she can’t be reached. Johanna says she tried to reach you but couldn’t.”
“Reported missing?” I burst out.
“Because of your previous police report, that she’s been threatened and harassed, we’re taking this very seriously. But we have to rule out if she’s with you.”
“No, no,” I say. “There’s been a misunderstanding. She’s not here. She just took me to the train in Stockholm, that’s all. I don’t know where Johanna got that idea.”
“Really? So when was the last time you heard from her?”
“When she waved good-bye to me at the central station. She accompanied me there, like I said. You surely don’t think something has happened to her?”
Mats Hedin is quiet for a moment. “We don’t know yet.”
“That woman. Stella Widstrand. I know it’s her. If something has happened to Isabelle, if my daughter . . .”
“There, there, nobody is saying that something happened.”
“She showed up in Vällingby. Just before I left. Showed up on the street. Where my daughter lives. I saw everything myself from the window. She was crazy. Threw herself at my daughter, scared the life out of her. Fortunately, Isabelle broke free and ran away from her. She was inconsolable when she got up to the apartment. Cried until she shook.”
“Why didn’t you report that?”
“How many times do I have to report a person before you act? I already told you she’s dangerous. She thinks Isabelle is her child. She’s trying to take my daughter away from me.”
“You haven’t heard from Isabelle since last Friday, either?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“And you haven’t tried to call her? Not once?” Mats Hedin sounds judgmental. Insolent.
“I try not to call Isabelle all the time. She doesn’t like it when I do. She has her own life down there in Stockholm, and I respect that. I thought she might be with her boyfriend. Didn’t want to disturb her.”
I’m crying now, I’m so worried. Sniffling into the phone.
“Even though she’s been harassed again, by the same woman you reported to the police?”
“I don’t understand why you’re being so accusatory toward me. What did I do wrong? No matter what I do, it’s wrong.”
“Nobody is accusing you, Mrs. Karlsson,” Mats Hedin says. “The boyfriend, what’s his name?”
“Fredrik. Fredrik Larsson. They’re in the same class, I think.”
He’s silent for a moment. Then he tells me to be in touch if I find out anything. They’ll interview Stella Widstrand immediately. I wonder why they haven’t already done so. I wonder why she hasn’t been arrested.
“This is a priority for us; we’re taking this seriously,” Mats Hedin assures me again. “But we can’t lock someone up without any proof.”
I don’t say anything. There’s no point.
I don’t give a shit about proof. I’ve never gotten any help when I needed it. They never took me seriously. I had to take justice into my own hands. Like always.
Mats Hedin says they’ll talk to her boyfriend, too, and be in touch later.
I cry, express my thanks, and say once again how terribly worried I am. Then I hang up. I don’t have any more time for this. I have other things to take care of.
The boyfriend. That Fredrik will never become Isabelle’s boyfriend. I’ve read the messages he sent to her phone. Every single one. I’ve read what she answered. I know everything. All the filthy things he wants to do to her. How she longs to do filthy things to him. It’s so disgusting it makes me want to vomit.
I’ve seen the pictures she sent. Indecent pictures. She offers herself like a whore. Trying to make him horny. And sure enough, he gets horny. He doesn’t say it like that, of course. He tells her she’s beautiful, that he misses her, that he’s longing for her. Longing for what is no secret. I saw her messy bed. Who knows what they’re up to.
She doesn’t understand the forces she’s playing with. Despite what I’ve told her, despite all my warnings, she hasn’t learned anything.
Men are only after one thing. It starts with pretty words; it starts with promises and sweet smiles. Then he takes what he wants, and he prefers to do it with violence.
He takes a woman again and again, he takes her violently.
Then he leaves her.
Leaves her lying unconscious in her own blood.
Her body was all he saw, all that he wanted.
What she had between her legs.
He wanted to violate and soil her.
Squeeze the life out of her.
Then throw her away once he’s used her up.
He wants to fuck her.
Rape her.
He forces himself on you even though you don’t want him.
He hits you in the face, spits on you.
He calls you slut; he calls you bitch.
He calls you whore.
And it hurts, it hurts so damn bad that you scream.
Until you can’t scream anymore.
You’re injured.
You bleed and bleed.
You pay for your suffering in blood.
How something so ugly, so shameful and vicious could create a baby I will never understand. A doll for you to hold, who’s all yours.
The finest, most beautiful thing in the world.
Dear sweet Isabelle.
If you only knew what you were playing with.
But you’re lost and confused.
You are poisoned.
You are weak.
You think it’s love, think it’s something beautiful.
You should be glad I saved you, that I protected you.
You should be grateful I’m your mother.
Stella
I’m running down the corridor. I go into the kitchen and hold the phone up in front of Henrik. He takes it away from me and reads. I see the shock spread over his face.
Pity he survived. Pity you didn’t get to see him dead. Then you’d have no children left.
It’s your fault your son is hurt. It should have been you. You’re a worthless mother. You put him in danger. Like you always do to your children.
She’s mine now.
Ellen, the nurse, comes in.
“Sorry to interrupt. The police are here.”
“We’re coming,” I say.
Henrik takes my hand and looks into my eyes.
“Milo has to give his statement,” he says. “Then we’ll report that this was no accident. It was attempted murder.”
* * *
• • •
Henrik and I are sitting beside Milo. Detectives Olivia Lundkvist and Mats Hedin knock on the door and enter the room. I don’t understand why they’re here.
Shouldn’t it just be some regular uniformed police officers?
Henrik and I look at each other before he stands up and stretches out his hand. Mats Hedin takes it, nods to me. Olivia Lundkvist does the same. I stay seated next to Milo.
“Hi, Milo, my name is Mats. My colleague here is Olivia. Quite the bump you got there.”
Mats Hedin plops down across from us, lays his powerful arms across the table. Milo looks at him seriously. Henrik sits down again. Olivia Lundkvist leans against the wall. And though I avoid looking at her, I can feel her observing me.
“We heard you were in an accident,” Mats Hedin says to Milo. “Can you tell me what happened?”
Detective Mats Hedin behaves quite differently when he’s talking to our son. He radiates warmth and calm.
“I left ho
me around five-thirty,” Milo says. “On Tuesday. In the afternoon. I was gonna go to Jonathan’s house, he lives pretty close. Not more than a mile away. It was dark outside, pouring rain. I walked on the sidewalk, and there are streetlights everywhere. Plus I had my mom’s red umbrella with reflective stripes. I should have been pretty visible.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Mats Hedin says. “There’s good lighting at that spot. And I’ve seen the umbrella, you were definitely visible. Right, Olivia?” She nods and smiles at Milo, who smiles back.
Milo tells them how he heard a car behind him. When he noticed that the car was slowing down, he turned around. He didn’t know what kind of car or the license plate number, just that it was a dark hatchback or SUV, maybe black or dark blue. Then the driver stepped on the gas and drove straight for him. He doesn’t remember any more after that. Maybe he tried to jump out of the way, he isn’t sure.
“Thanks, Milo,” Mats Hedin says. “We need to borrow your parents for a minute. Is it okay if you go with Ellen to the kitchen? Maybe get some breakfast?”
Ellen opens the door as if she heard what Mats Hedin just said. She smiles at all of us and goes over to Milo and helps him out of the chair. I stroke his arm as he passes by and whisper that I love him.
Detective Olivia Lundkvist sits down on a chair. She crosses her legs and clasps her small hands together on the table. She turns to Henrik.
“We have a witness who confirms what Milo just told us,” she says. “A person saw the car slow and then speed up and drive straight at your son. Milo jumped away. Which probably saved his life. The driver didn’t seem to be under the influence. Both Milo and the witness described the actions as controlled. The witness also had the impression that the driver hit Milo on purpose.”
I clench my hands hard on my knees. I want to explain to them that I know who did it, who was driving the car. I want to tell them that they should arrest Kerstin Karlsson. The woman who stole my daughter. The woman who almost murdered my son.
“It’s impossible to get a description of the driver,” Mats Hedin continues. “He probably had a hood or ski mask over his head.”
I look at Henrik. He returns my look, and I know that he understands I was right the whole time. He holds out his hand and I take it.
“Unfortunately, the witness also couldn’t tell what type of car it was, but both say it’s a dark model, SUV or hatchback, no license plate number noted.” Mats Hedin looks serious. “We hope that the driver will come forward and take responsibility for the accident.”
“It was no accident,” Henrik says.
“No? What do you mean?”
“Milo had Stella’s umbrella. The driver thought he was my wife.”
“And what makes you believe that?” Olivia Lundkvist says.
I take out the death notice. Lay the paper on the table. I show them the text I received during the night.
“I know who they’re from,” I say. “And I know who ran over Milo.”
“You mean it’s the same man?” Olivia Lundkvist says.
“Same woman.”
“Same woman?”
“She’s been watching our house. Wearing that same raincoat with her face obscured by a hood. That same woman drove into our son.”
Detective Olivia Lundkvist pulls the paper with the death threat close to her.
“Have you reported this?” she asks.
“No,” I answer and feel Henrik’s arm around my back. Feel his support. “But maybe I should have.”
“Maybe,” Mats Hedin says. “Is this common?”
“What?”
Mats Hedin takes a deep breath and slowly exhales. “For a therapist to get death threats?”
“It happens now and then that a patient threatens their therapist, but it’s not exactly common,” I answer. “Somebody who’s wrestling with an affective disorder, or who lacks impulse control, maybe someone whose problems include aggressive behavior as one of the symptoms.”
“And why would somebody want to kill you?” Olivia Lundkvist asks.
“As it says in the text message, she has my lost daughter . . .”
“So you also have a daughter?”
“I told you that the last time we met,” I say. “She disappeared twenty-one years ago. It’s the same person. The woman who kidnapped my child drove into Milo believing he was me. She wants to stop me, make me stop.”
The detectives exchange glances. Olivia Lundkvist picks up the phone again and reads.
“But that’s not exactly what it says here, is it?” she says, looking at me. “It doesn’t say anywhere here that she kidnapped your daughter twenty-one years ago?”
“No, not in so many words,” I say. Impatient now. “Read it. It says she wants to see me dead. It says that I should let them be, because she’s mine now. She writes that I put all my children in danger, then she must know something about my daughter, too, right?”
“I’d like to ask you about that. In what way have you put your son in danger? Can you tell me about that?”
I clench my jaw. Feel like I might just fly into a fit of rage.
Henrik squeezes my arm. “What is the purpose of these questions?” he says. “We are reporting that our son has been run over. That my wife has been threatened. In addition, we have confirmation that she was the target. You read the text. Shouldn’t you focus on that? Or do you not take that seriously?”
“Of course we take it very seriously,” Mats Hedin says with a smile I don’t like. “But unfortunately, Stella, we have to ask where you were last Friday.”
Both of them look at me. Henrik, too.
“Last Friday?” I say. “I have no idea what I did last Friday.”
“I’ll help you remember,” Olivia Lundkvist says. “You tracked down Isabelle Karlsson. Do you remember now? Or do you need more detail? You were outside her home, even though you’d been instructed to stay away. You were so upset you threw yourself onto her on the street outside her door.”
That was that Friday. My last desperate attempt.
“I was there, but I didn’t throw myself on her.”
“According to our information, you behaved in both an aggressive and confused way.”
“I was not aggressive. Absolutely not.”
“But you were confused?”
“I might have been out of balance.”
Olivia Lundkvist puckers her lips. “And what time did this happen?”
“Around eleven, twelve, I think.”
“And what did you do the rest of the day?”
“First, I went home for a while. Then to Milo’s school, maybe around three. Went out with Henrik for a bit in the afternoon.”
Olivia Lundkvist looks at Henrik.
“Sound right?”
“Yes,” he replies.
“And later that night? Between, say, six and ten?”
“Then I was at home.”
“Can you confirm that?” Olivia Lundkvist looks at Henrik again.
I know he can’t, and I start to get a sinking feeling in my stomach.
“What is this about?” he wonders. “Do we need to contact our lawyer?”
“You are free to do as you please,” Olivia Lundkvist replies. “But it will make things easier if you cooperate.”
“I wasn’t home,” says Henrik. “I dropped off Stella around four-thirty, five, I think. Went directly to an event at work. There are at least twenty-five, thirty people who can confirm where I was.”
“No need,” Olivia Lundkvist says. “Did you party?”
Henrik looks at her steadily. “Why? Is that illegal now?”
“When did you get home?” she asks.
“Late. I may have a taxi receipt somewhere.”
“Half past three,” I say. “I drove to a friend’s. Shortly after Henrik came home. Y
ou can ask her when I got there. Pernilla Dahl.”
“Why did you go there?” Olivia Lundkvist asks.
“We had a fight.”
“What was the fight about?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing? In my experience fights are almost always about something. But maybe that’s not the case for the two of you?”
“There was a misunderstanding,” I say, looking at Henrik. He smiles. I look at the police. “Just a silly misunderstanding.”
“Doesn’t sound like nothing,” Mats Hedin says. “What kind of misunderstanding are we talking about here?”
“I thought my wife had met someone else. I was jealous,” Henrik says. “That wasn’t the case. I was wrong. Satisfied?”
Mats Hedin squirms, and Olivia Lundkvist looks scornfully at Henrik.
“So between half past four in the afternoon and maybe four the next morning nobody can confirm where you were?” Mats Hedin says to me.
“No. Why do you want to know this?”
“Isabelle Karlsson has been reported missing,” Olivia Lundkvist says.
“Missing? But I know where—”
“Wait.” Detective Olivia Lundkvist holds up her hand. “Isabelle has been missing from school. Which has apparently never happened before. She hasn’t updated her status on Facebook. There has been no social media activity since last Saturday. She hasn’t answered her cellphone for several days. Her boyfriend and roommate are convinced something has happened to her.”
Olivia Lundkvist leans forward and studies me.
“According to Isabelle’s boyfriend, she was worried someone was stalking her. You’ve had a report filed against you for just that reason. Besides her mother, you are the last one to see Isabelle. Which you have just confirmed. You might as well tell us. Or do we have to take you down to the station?”
“We’re done here,” Henrik says. “This conversation is over. If you have any further questions, please take them up with our lawyer.” He is about to stand up, but I put a hand on his arm.
“I know where she is,” I say.
“Oh, really?” Detective Olivia Lundkvist leans back. “Then I think you better tell me.”
Tell Me You're Mine Page 29