A strong gust of wind outside made a branch strike the windowpane. Agnes jumped in her wheelchair, but then laughed at herself. Was she turning into a scaredy-cat at her age? She who had never been afraid of anything. Except of being poor. The years as a stonecutter’s wife had taught her that. The cold, the hunger, the filth, the degradation. All that had made her scared to death of ever being poor again. She had believed that the men in the States would be her ticket out of misery, then Åke, then Per-Erik. But they had all betrayed her. They had all broken their promises to her, just as her father had. And they had all been punished.
In the end she was the one who had the last word. The blue wooden box and its contents had served as a reminder that she alone controlled her own destiny. And that any means were permitted.
She had fetched the ashes in the wooden box the night before the ship left for America. Under cover of darkness, she had sneaked to the site of the fire and gathered up ashes from the spot where she knew Anders and the boys had been sleeping. At the time she didn’t know why she did it, but as the years passed she began to understand her impulsive action. The wooden box with the ashes reminded her how easy it was to do something in order to achieve her own goals.
The plan had gradually taken shape in her mind as the day of their departure for America approached. She knew that her fate would be sealed if she let herself be shipped off like a milk-cow, with her family as a dead weight round her legs. But alone she would have a chance to create a different future for herself. One in which poverty would be only a distant and distasteful memory.
Anders never knew what hit him. The knife sank into his back all the way to the hilt, deep into his heart, and he fell like a dead piece of meat over the kitchen table.
The boys were taking a nap. She stole quietly into their room, eased the pillow out from under Karl’s head and put it over his face. Then she pressed it down with her whole weight. It was so easy. He kicked and struggled briefly, but no sound escaped from under the pillow, so Johan kept sleeping peacefully while his twin brother died. Then it was his turn. She repeated the procedure, and this time it was a little harder. Johan had always been stronger and more powerful than Karl, but even he couldn’t fight for long. He was soon as lifeless as his brother. With unseeing eyes they lay there staring at the ceiling, and Agnes had felt strangely empty. It was as though she were putting things back in their proper order. They never should have been born, and now they were no more.
But before she could go on with her own life, there was one more thing she had to do. In the middle of the floor, she gathered a big pile of the boys’ clothes and then went out to the kitchen. She pulled the knife out of Anders’s back and dragged him to the boys’ room. He was so big and heavy that she was totally soaked with sweat when he finally lay in a heap on the floor. She fetched some of the aquavit they had in the house, poured it over the pile of clothes, and then lit a cigarette. With pleasure she took a few drags before she cautiously placed the lit cigarette next to the clothing drenched in alcohol. Hopefully she could get a good distance away before it caught fire properly.
Voices out in the corridor of the nursing home roused Agnes from her reverie. She waited tensely until they passed, hoping they weren’t coming for her, and didn’t relax until she heard them go by and continue down the hall.
She hadn’t needed to pretend she was shocked when she came back from her errands and saw the fire. She never dreamed it would burn so hot or spread so fast. The whole house had burned to the ground, but at least all had gone according to plan. No one had even for a moment suspected that Anders and the boys might have died in some other way, and not in the fire.
During the days that followed, Agnes felt so wonderfully free that she sometimes had to look at her feet to make sure they were touching the ground. Outwardly she had kept up the pretense, played the grieving widow and mother, but inside she had laughed at how easily those stupid, simple people could be fooled. And the biggest idiot of them all was her father. She was itching with the desire to tell him what she’d done, to hold up the crime to him like a bloody scalp and say, ‘See what you did? See what you drove me to do when you banished me like a Babylonian harlot that day?’ But she thought better of the idea. No matter how much she wanted to share the blame with him, she would be better served by accepting his sympathy.
The whole plan had worked so well. It had turned out exactly as she wanted and hoped, and yet bad luck had hounded her. The first few years in New York had been everything she’d dreamed of as she sat in the stonecutter compound, imagining a different life for herself. But later she had again been denied the life she deserved. And one injustice followed another.
Agnes felt the rage rising in her breast. She wanted to free herself of this old, loathsome skin. Wriggle out of it like a chrysalis and emerge as the lovely butterfly she once had been. She could smell the odor of old age in her nostrils, and it made her want to vomit.
A consoling thought occurred to her: maybe she could ask her daughter to send over the blue box. Mary couldn’t have any use for it, and Agnes would like to run its contents through her fingers again, one last time. The thought cheered her up. She would ask her to bring the box over here. If her daughter brought it herself, maybe she would even tell Mary what it actually contained. To her daughter she had always called it Humility when she fed her spoonfuls of it down in the cellar. But really it had been Fortitude that she wanted to impart to the girl. The strength to do whatever was necessary to achieve what she wanted. She believed she’d succeeded when the girl had obeyed her wishes to get rid of Åke. But after that, everything had fallen apart.
Now Agnes couldn’t wait to get hold of the ashes again. She reached out a trembling, wrinkled hand for the telephone, but froze halfway there. Then her hand dropped to her side, and her head fell forward, with her chin resting on her chest. Her eyes stared unseeing at the wall, and saliva trickled down from the corner of her mouth to her chin.
A week had passed since Patrik and Martin had arrested Lilian at the hospital. It had been a week full of both relief and frustration. Relief that they had found Sara’s murderer, but frustration that she still refused to tell them why she had done it.
Patrik put his feet up on the coffee table and leaned back with his hands clasped behind his head. He’d been able to spend more time at home this past week, which eased his guilty conscience a little. Besides, things were beginning to settle down at home. With a smile he watched Erica as she resolutely rocked the stroller with Maja in it back and forth over the threshold to the hall. Now he had also learned the technique, and it usually took no more than five minutes for them to get Maja to fall asleep.
Cautiously Erica pushed the stroller into the study and closed the door. That meant that Maja was asleep and they would have at least forty minutes of peace and quiet together.
‘There, now she’s sleeping,’ said Erica, snuggling up next to Patrik on the sofa. Most of her moodiness seemed to have vanished, although he could still catch brief glimpses of it if Maja had an especially fretful day. But they were definitely headed in the right direction as parents, and he intended to do his part to improve the situation even more. The plan he had devised a week earlier had now crystallized, and the last practical detail had fallen into place yesterday, with the kind assistance of Annika.
He was just about to open his mouth when Erica said, ‘Oh, I made the mistake of weighing myself this morning.’
She fell silent and Patrik felt panic come over him. Should he say anything? Should he not? Getting into a discussion of a woman’s weight was like stepping into an emotional minefield. He had no idea where to set his feet.
Erica hadn’t said anything more, and he guessed that she was waiting for him to make some comment. He searched feverishly for a suitable reply and felt his mouth go dry when he cautiously said, ‘You did?’
He wanted to hit himself in the head. Was that the most intelligent thing he could think of to say? But so far he seemed to have avoided
the mines, and Erica went on with a sigh, ‘Yeah, I still weigh twenty pounds more than I did before I got pregnant. I really thought losing the extra weight would go faster.’
With the utmost care he fumbled his way forward in search safer ground. Finally he said, ‘Maja isn’t that old yet. You have to be patient. I’m sure those pounds will disappear from the nursing. You’ll see, by the time she’s six months old it’ll all be gone.’ Patrik held his breath as he waited to see how she would react.
‘Yeah, you’re probably right,’ said Erica, and he gave a sigh of relief. ‘I just feel so damned unsexy. My belly is drooping, my breasts are enormous and leaking milk, I’m always sweating, not to mention these damned zits I’ve started to get from the hormones …’
She laughed as if what she just said was a joke, but he could hear how desperate the underlying tone was. Erica had never been particularly fixated on her looks, but he understood that it must be hard to handle when your body and appearance were altered so much in a relatively short time. He was having a hard time himself coming to terms with the middle-aged paunch that had developed around his own waist at the same pace as Erica’s belly grew. It hadn’t got any smaller, either, after Maja was born.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Erica wipe away a tear, and all at once he knew that he would never have a better opportunity.
‘Sit there, don’t move,’ he said excitedly, and leapt up from the sofa. Erica gave him a quizzical look but obeyed. He felt her eyes on his back as he rummaged for something in his jacket pocket, which he then concealed neatly before he went back to her.
With a gallant gesture he fell to one knee before her and solemnly took her hand in his. He saw that the penny had already dropped, and he hoped it was joy he saw in her eyes. At least he now had her full attention. He cleared his throat, since his nerves suddenly made him feel unsteady.
‘Erica Sofia Magdalena Falck, would you consider doing me the honor of making an honest man out of me? Will you marry me?’
He didn’t wait for an answer before with trembling fingers he plucked out the box he had hidden in his back pocket. With some effort he got the lid of the blue velvet box open, hoping that he and Annika with their combined efforts had succeeded in finding a ring that Erica would like.
The small of his back was starting to ache as he knelt there, and he was beginning to feel alarmed that the silence was lasting so long. He realized that he hadn’t even imagined that she might say no, but now an anxious feeling crept over him and he wished he hadn’t been so cocky.
Then Erica broke out in a big smile and the tears began running down her cheeks. She was laughing and crying at the same time, and she held out her ring finger so that he could place the engagement ring on it.
‘Is that a yes?’ he said with a smile. She simply nodded.
‘And I would never propose to anyone but the most beautiful woman in the world, you know that,’ he said, hoping that she would hear the sincerity in his voice and not think that he was laying it on too thick.
‘Oh, you …’ she said, searching for the right epithet. ‘You know, sometimes you know exactly what to say. Not always, but sometimes.’ She leaned forward and gave him a long, warm kiss, but then leaned back and held her hand out to admire her new ring.
‘It’s fantastic. You couldn’t have picked it out by yourself.’
For an instant he felt a bit insulted, but he realized she was actually right.
‘Annika came along as my adviser. So, is it all right? Are you sure? You don’t want to exchange it? I waited to have it engraved until you saw it, in case you didn’t like it.’
‘I love it,’ said Erica with feeling, and he could hear that she meant it. She leaned forward and gave him another kiss, this time even longer and more intimate.
The shrill ring of the telephone interrupted them, and Patrik felt his irritation rising. Talk about bad timing! He got up and went to answer it, sounding a bit more curt than necessary.
‘Yes, this is Patrik.’
Then he listened for a moment before turning slowly to look at Erica. She was still sitting there smiling, admiring her ring-bedecked hand. When she saw him looking at her she gave him a big smile, but it faded when she saw that he didn’t reciprocate.
‘Who is it?’ she said, and an anxious tone had crept into her voice.
Patrik’s expression was grave when he said, ‘It’s the Stockholm police. They want to talk to you.’
Slowly she got up and went to take the phone from his hand.
‘Yes, this is Erica Falck.’ A thousand misgivings were contained in that simple statement.
Patrik watched her tensely as she listened to what the man on the other end had to say. With an incredulous expression on her face she turned to Patrik and said, ‘They claim that Anna has killed Lucas.’
Then she dropped the phone. Patrik got there just in time to catch her before she hit the floor.
THE END
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook onscreen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
copyright © 2012 by Camilla Läckberg
translation © 2008 by Steven T. Murray
interior design by Maria Fernandez
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The Stonecutter: A Novel (Pegasus Crime) Page 45