‘Frank, I would like to see her punished,’ she says. ‘She killed our boy… He’s dead. She’s taken him from us!’ She stops, as if the sudden eruption has left her out of energy, but soon continues: ‘If I could choose, I would never ever walk again if it meant I could have him back. But it doesn’t work like that, Frank. He will never be back.’ She groans, as if in real physical pain, and he leans down to hold her. ‘Despite all that…’ she says. ‘I don’t think prison is the right environment for her. She won’t cope.’
He kisses her cheek. ‘We’re on the same page,’ he says. ‘I’ve been reading about these youngsters who, well… who kill, that they don’t cope well with stress, which definitely describes Sofia. Prison will only elevate that. But I think we also need to look at ourselves, Birgitta.’ He pauses and stands up. This will be tough for her to hear. ‘The research shows that the reason they behave this way is often because of the mother providing little psychological support.’
Let’s lay all the cards on the table.
‘You want to blame this on me?’ she says incredulously.
‘You were the full-time parent when the children were young and you clearly didn’t make yourself emotionally available to her.’
‘And you were emotionally available to her? If you weren’t working you were chasing anything in a skirt.’
He hates how she changes the direction of every argument. That’s not what they’re discussing.
‘That’s not fair,’ he says firmly. ‘I have never broken our vows.’ He pauses. ‘Have you?’
‘Of course not,’ she says, but he’s not sure he believes her.
They had agreed that she was supposed to be a homemaker but he’d often found that a nanny he hadn’t authorised had watched the children.
‘It’s not my fault she killed our son,’ she says.
Frank misses Anders every single day but does she really? Lately, he’s wondered if she’s sympathising with him to please him.
‘Birgitta, let’s be honest. You were never that close with Anders in the first place.’
‘Let’s be honest?’ She tilts her head back and bores her eyes into him. ‘Yes, why not? You were the one who dragged him home, Frank. I learned to love him, for your sake.’
‘I know, I know. But what else could we do? Börje was my partner and he and Inger had no living relatives. Anders was only a baby – we couldn’t leave him in foster care.’
‘Couldn’t we?’ Her lips are pursed. Those lips which used to drive him wild.
‘We could have,’ he says. ‘But his parents would have wanted him to grow up with Swedish traditions and I loved that boy as if he were my own.’
‘Is that because he was? Your own, I mean. Did you sleep with Inger?’
He’s never known her to be jealous before. It’s almost as if she’s looking for ways to make him feel guilty.
‘You know that I didn’t,’ he says calmly. ‘Can we get back to Sofia now?’
‘Let’s stay honest, shall we?’ She rolls her chair even closer to him. ‘I’m not sure I want anything to do with her any more. She’s not your sister. She’s not someone you can save. She’s a deranged young woman.’
‘You’re right, she’s not my sister. She’s my daughter, which makes the ties even stronger. I cannot and I will not leave her be. Either we do this together or I do it on my own.’
‘She’s certifiably insane,’ Birgitta states.
‘Maybe,’ he says. ‘But don’t you want to know why she killed them, Birgitta?’
‘Them?’
Silence descends on them like a rain-heavy cloud.
‘Brandon,’ he says eventually. ‘He’s dead. It could have been an accident but, well, that’s not likely, knowing what we know.’
‘How long have you known?’ she says.
‘I wanted to spare you,’ he says. ‘It’s been hard enough.’
She doesn’t respond.
‘Your phone is ringing,’ she says.
He looks towards his study and recognises the tune. It’s one of his US phones, which he’s kept to avoid unpaid bills and cutting old contacts off. He doesn’t want to be interrupted, but it could be Peter.
He walks into the study and he can feel, if not hear, Birgitta following him. The phone is lying on his desk, flashing along with the ringing signals. He picks it up.
‘Frank Anderson,’ he says and is greeted by a stranger’s formal tone.
The call, although short, is awkward and, after he’s hung up, he turns around and looks at Birgitta. Her wheels are touching the threshold.
‘Who was that?’ she asks.
‘The FBI,’ he says.
Chapter 45
Kristin
Kristin feels as if she’s hung over. She’s sleepy and disoriented and her mouth tastes like metal. Before her eyes adjust, all she notices is the colour white. She blinks a few times and turns to her side. Her head is on a white pillow. It’s soft and smells of detergent. It sparks memory flashes: they bounce around her fragile mind that’s otherwise consumed by a headache. She fought with her father in her lovely new apartment.
Kristin sits up and looks around the sterile room, the fog slowly lifting. The walls are white, the bed she’s lying on is white, the bed linen too. When she looks closer, she realises it’s her old bed from her teenage years, the wrought iron scratched in recognisable places. The rest of the furniture is also familiar. Everything is classic Anderson style, but how? She hasn’t boarded a plane and flown to the US without her knowledge, has she?
She stands up and wanders around the room, her right-hand index finger tracing the furniture. The white wooden desk she used to have, the stained dresser with six drawers, the stiff linen armchair and the coffee table next to it. Her dust-free finger indicates that it’s clean, but it’s not hers any more.
The two doors leading out of the room are both locked, but they’re old-fashioned with a keyhole, revealing a glimpse of the outside world. With an eye against the cold metal, she sees a cement staircase leading into a courtyard. The door that leads into the house offers a similar view of a staircase but is darker. The small windows running alongside the top of the room show the car that brought her here, parked on gravel.
There’s a tiny bathroom next to her bed. It has a small shower, a sink and a toilet in it. The urge to rip her clothes off and allow hot water to cleanse her body is strong but she can’t stand the thought of being naked: the bathroom door doesn’t lock.
Where is her handbag? It contains sanitizer and she seems to recall her father bringing it with him, but as much as she looks, she can’t find it. It must be somewhere else.
She hears footsteps echoing down the indoor staircase, and instead turns her attention to the door in the far corner. Who’s coming? Is her father back, or is it someone else entirely? Peter? Stanley? She sits on the edge of the bed waiting, listening to grunts followed by a key in the lock. Soon, her father appears but he’s not alone. He’s got her mother in his arms. As usual, she is impeccably dressed with her hair blow-dried à la gala-dinner style. What is she doing here? He places her mother on the armchair and sits down next to her. They make her feel as if she’s on trial; the two of them her jury.
Chapter 46
‘Please,’ I said. ‘I won’t tell anyone a single thing.’
Stanley and Sofia exchanged a glance in the front, which I couldn’t interpret.
‘Why don’t you drop her off at your place?’ she said.
‘Hell, no.’
‘Take her to the office, then,’ Sofia said. ‘We can leave her there.’
He seemed to be considering this, but I wasn’t sure I felt comfortable with the arrangement. They would leave me in that warehouse building? For how long? And then what?
‘Maybe,’ he said.
‘That’s the only way,’ she said.
Her firm tone made me wonder whether she really was on my side. She had told me she didn’t trust him – was that a lie? Were they already an item? Had they
both played me? Maybe she planned for him to bring me to that desolate place so that he could shoot me there. That was when I started screaming.
‘Help! Let me go!’
I was banging on the windows, hoping a passing driver could see me back there, begging for help. But within seconds, Stanley had pulled the gun out and aimed it at me.
‘Shut the fuck up,’ he said.
I had no doubt he would pull the trigger.
‘Please,’ I said, whimpering.
Sofia didn’t say anything and my hope drained to nothing. I had started to believe she would help me. We drove around in a suffocating silence, my brain frantically trying to figure out what to do. The only thing that was clear was that I was on my own.
After a few minutes, Sofia cleared her throat.
‘Let’s leave her in the office. We can pick her up later.’
‘I think it might be too risky, Sof.’
‘There’s a room with filing cabinets at the back. We can lock her in there.’
Lock me in? Sofia was suggesting they lock me in? Until when? Until Stanley was ready to kill me?
‘Don’t, please,’ I said. How could she not show some female solidarity?
‘What about the filing cabinets?’ Stanley said. ‘Won’t she be able to open those?’
‘No, they’re locked and the keys are stored somewhere else. She won’t be able to access anything.’
‘I don’t know, Sof. What if the boss sees us?’ he asked.
‘Let me handle it.’
It felt worse by the second.
‘And where are you and I going?’ he asked, resting a hand on her thigh.
‘I’ll think of a place,’ she said, and smiled at him.
She actually smiled at him. Traitor.
Chapter 47
Gabriella
Gabriella nuzzles her head into Peter’s arm.
‘Did you find what you were looking for?’ she asks.
‘Unfortunately not,’ he says. ‘But there was a bowl of keys in the kitchen and this one fits the front door.’ He holds one up to show her. ‘It will become useful.’
Peter has come clean and explained that her neighbours are in actual fact his parents. Naturally, the revelation shocked her. ‘I still can’t believe all this,’ she says. ‘It’s like a movie.’
‘I know,’ he says, kissing her neck. ‘I’m sorry to drag you into it.’
‘Frank’s car arrived outside while I was there,’ she says. Ever since she met Frank, there’s been something off about him. ‘Did you see it?’
He nods. ‘Yes.’
‘For some reason, Birgitta asked me to check whether he was parked in his usual spot by the old barn, but he wasn’t. He stopped alongside the side of the house and opened a door that leads to the basement.’
‘He had a woman with him,’ Peter says.
‘Yes. Do you know who that is?’
‘My sister.’
Gabriella turns to him. ‘Your sister?’ She climbs out of bed and picks up a sundress that’s slung over a chair, pulling it over her head; no longer feeling at ease naked. He’s told her his sister had difficulties growing up but that’s about it. ‘Why would your dad take her down to the basement?’
‘I don’t know,’ he says. The words hang between them for a second before he continues. ‘My father always did have a thing for saving young girls and that includes his own daughter. It’s a long story. The important thing is that my mother believes you’re into her. You’re easy bait.’
‘Bait?’
‘Come back here,’ he begs, stretching his hand out. ‘I didn’t mean it like that. You’re helping me, that’s all, and I promise to make it worth your while.’
‘I don’t want your money, Peter. And clearly you don’t want the sculpture either.’
She’s upset about that. Peter knew exactly who she was when he called the gallery and ordered the sculpture, and, lo and behold, he would also be willing to model. What a coincidence. She should have known it was too good to be true.
‘If it upsets you, I will be quite happy to let you finish it,’ he says.
‘Maybe. I just need to know…’ She hates asking this. ‘You and me, was it simply a way to get to your family?’
‘I didn’t plan for this,’ he says.
She walks back to the bed and lets him pull her back under the covers where he spoons her. ‘So, what’s your plan?’ she asks.
‘You’ll need to open up more next time you see her and, also, bring my father into the conversation if possible. I want to know how much the two of them share. Record the conversation, please. Your iPhone should do.’
‘But why?’
She can tell he’s contemplating how much to tell her, but eventually he concedes and elaborates.
‘My family has let me down,’ he says. ‘I want them to answer for what they’ve done.’
‘That’s vague,’ she says, turning to look at his face, challenging him.
‘The less you know, the safer you are.’
‘And you’re really just an ordinary person despite the ID cards in your bag?’
Has she completely misjudged him?
‘I am,’ he assures her. ‘Getting different names and social security numbers isn’t hard and it’s come in handy, is all. I haven’t wanted my family on my back.’
‘Come on, I don’t buy that.’
He’s quiet for a while and Gabriella studies his haunted expression.
‘I was close with my sister at one point,’ he says after a while. ‘Well, “close” is perhaps not the right word, but I really cared for her until… something came between us.’
‘What did?’ she says.
‘The girl I was in love with,’ he says. ‘Her name was Amanda. My sister killed her.’
‘Yeah, right.’
She leaves the bed once more. The conversation feels more unreal by the second.
‘I need a drink,’ she says, turning her back on him as she pulls out two shot glasses and fills them with liquorice vodka. She downs one of them, shuddering as it hits her system. She’s obviously allowed her emotions to get the better of her. And getting close to Birgitta? What was she thinking? The woman is nice enough, but she shouldn’t be doing Peter any more favours, especially when he’s not completely honest with her.
‘It’s true,’ he says.
He’s standing behind her now, holding her, his breath warm on her neck.
‘Then why isn’t she in prison?’
‘It’s not that simple, Gabriella.’
‘Of course not. But what is your plan? You’re going to go back into your parents’ house and teach your sister a lesson? Or…’ That’s when it dawns on her. ‘Are you planning to get even?’
Is he capable of such an act? The room feels chilly.
‘Maybe you should leave,’ she says, pushing him away.
‘It’s not like that,’ he says. ‘If I told you the truth, you wouldn’t believe me.’
What is he hiding?
‘Try me,’ she says.
Chapter 48
Frank
Frank carries Birgitta down the stairs to the basement. He’s expecting her to be impressed, or at least comment on the effort he’s put into the room, which is almost identical to their daughter’s old room. But Birgitta remains quiet.
‘Say hello to your mother,’ Frank tells his daughter.
She’s sitting on the bed, her hair a tangled mess. He’s surprised she hasn’t showered a couple of times already, especially since he’s stocked out the bathroom.
‘Come on, say hello,’ he says again but neither one of them talks.
This is the first time Birgitta has seen her daughter since she was pushed down the stairs. It’s understandable that it’s uncomfortable. He should mediate.
‘Birgitta, is there anything you want to say?’
‘Not really,’ she says, crossing her arms.
‘If we’re going to heal from this, one of you has to start,’ he says.
The current tension is not conducive to any discussions. But how will they move on, because wasn’t that what Birgitta wanted them to do? He’s the one who feels they should teach their daughter a hard lesson, or she will land herself in prison, but Birgitta wanted to leave things be. Maybe he should have waited before bringing Birgitta downstairs? Taught his daughter some manners before she was confronted with her mother. But there’s an urgent stress hanging over him after the FBI call. He still hasn’t discussed it with Birgitta and, quite frankly, he doesn’t know how to broach the subject with her. How much more can she deal with right now?
‘Nothing?’ he tries. ‘Sofia… I mean, Kristin. Are you going to apologise to your mother?’
She looks at him as if he’s gone mad. He’s clearly got his work cut out for him. The sedations will only work so far. He will need to dedicate himself to his daughter’s improvement, but he also has to ensure his marriage remains intact.
‘Let’s go back upstairs,’ he tells Birgitta. ‘We’ll come back later.’
He pours a glass of juice from a bottle that he left on the table earlier and hands it to his daughter. That will help her go back to sleep.
*
‘That didn’t go too well,’ he says once they’re back upstairs.
‘What did you expect?’ she says. ‘She killed her brother and her husband. It’s almost as if hurting someone is an impulse she can’t control. What if she decides to finish off what she started? What will you do then?’
Frank has read about other parents whose children have killed to gain an understanding, but there seem to be no common denominators. Some blame themselves for what their children have done while others claim society let them down. Frank doesn’t know how to feel.
‘What do you suggest?’ he asks Birgitta.
‘Let’s keep her where she is,’ she says. ‘At least for now.’
Her distressed expression makes him kneel down and take hold of her hands. ‘Are you frightened?’ he asks.
Can he realistically protect both his daughter and his wife?
What Did I Do? Page 23