‘My nephew, Mio. He disappeared the day my sister killed herself. I want you to find him.’
Sara Texas had been the single mother of a small boy. The police suspected that Sara had killed him and hidden his body. As far as I was aware, their investigation hadn’t generated a single theory about what had happened to the child.
‘I need to make a very clear distinction here,’ I said. ‘This is a law firm, not a charity that looks for missing people. Sorry. I’ve promised to take a look at your sister’s case, but I’m afraid I can’t help you find out what happened to her son.’
‘It’s all connected,’ Bobby said. ‘You’ll see. It’s all part of the same story.’
Then he turned round and walked out. This time he didn’t come back.
2
‘I’m not going to have sex with you tonight, just so you know.’ Why do women say that? We’d barely had time to sit down and order our first drinks before Lucy felt she had to ruin our date.
‘Listen, sex was the last thing on my mind when I came here,’ I said.
‘Oh, Martin.’
‘What? It’s true.’
Our cocktails arrived and I took a small sip of the bitter drink. G&T, a timeless classic.
Obviously Lucy didn’t buy my transparent lie. She knows me. She knows men, knows we’re always thinking about sex. It’s biological, there’s nothing we can do about it.
‘If you weren’t thinking about sex, what were you thinking about?’
‘Sara Texas.’
Lucy shuddered and almost spilled her drink. She always starts with a Cosmopolitan before moving on to wine.
‘Okay, that’s a good one.’
I could feel her relax as her smile grew warmer. Maybe I’d get to have sex with her after all. In which case I’d be sure to thank Bobby properly next time I saw him.
The thought of seeing Bobby again was enough to dampen my mood. I took a thirsty gulp of my G&T and felt Lucy’s hand on my shoulder.
‘Has something happened?’
‘We had a visitor at the office after you left,’ I said.
I told Lucy about Bobby, and she listened, wide-eyed.
‘But that’s crazy,’ she said when I’d finished. ‘So, Sara Texas had a brother who thinks she was innocent?’
‘That’s usually the case, though, isn’t it?’ I said. ‘There’s nothing unusual about criminals having relatives who want to believe they haven’t done anything wrong. But . . .’
Lucy waited.
‘What?’
‘Bloody hell, Lucy, there was something weird about the bloke. Apart from the fact that he was Sara Texas’s brother. He was so pushy. So certain.’
‘That Sara was innocent?’
‘Yes, partly that, but also that I would agree to take her case on.’
Lucy frowned.
‘But Sara Texas is dead, isn’t she?’
‘Of course she is. And has been for several months now.’
The newspapers had been full of articles about her. About her growing up in the Stockholm suburb of Bandhagen, and her alcoholic dad who used to sell her to his friends. Her teachers had spoken out, revealing what a tragic childhood she had. And they cried, too, saying they regretted not telling Social Services earlier.
‘I don’t really remember the story,’ Lucy said. ‘What was it again, how did she end up in Texas?’
‘She was an au pair.’
‘Bloody hell, who’d employ someone like her as an au pair?’
‘What do you mean, “someone like her”? Surely anyone can look good on paper? The question is really, how can anyone employ girls who’ve only just left home as au pairs? I mean, it’s hardly the age-group we encourage to become parents.’
Lucy took a sip of her cocktail.
‘It must have been such a relief for her. Getting away from her crazy family.’
‘I’m sure it was,’ I said, seeing as the same thought had occurred to me. ‘A shame she didn’t do anything more creative with her new-found freedom than murder a load of people.’
Lucy grinned.
‘You’re the salt of the earth, Martin.’
‘You too, baby. That’s why you can’t do without me.’
I put one arm round her back and she didn’t brush it off.
We were a couple, once upon a time. I don’t think I’ve ever been smugger than I was then. I, Martin Benner, had managed to catch the hottest lawyer babe in the whole of Stockholm, possibly the whole of Sweden. Lucia ‘Lucy’ Miller. It didn’t get better than that.
Maybe not, but it didn’t last particularly long. And obviously that was my fault. As usual, I panicked and started sleeping with other people. A tiny part of me thinks I can’t help it. Everyone has their bad habits. Some people burp when they eat, others are incapable of being monogamous.
‘Where’s Belle this evening?’ Lucy asked.
‘With the au pair,’ I said curtly.
‘Speaking of handing responsibility for raising your child to someone else.’
‘Someone else who isn’t a child herself. Signe’s fifty-five, the perfect age for an au pair.’
‘Bollocks, the only reason you employed an older au pair was so you wouldn’t be tempted to sleep with her.’
I finished the rest of my drink and pretended I hadn’t heard her.
‘Another one, please,’ I said to the bartender.
‘You still don’t think Belle should come to Nice with us?’ Lucy said.
‘Belle is definitely not coming to Nice with us. She’s going to stay with her grandparents. That’ll be perfect.’
Most people who meet me don’t think I’ve got any children. I haven’t, either. At least, no biological children. And certainly none that were planned. Belle is, or was, my sister’s daughter. My sister and her husband died in a plane crash just over three years ago. Belle was nine months old at the time. No one, me included, imagined that Belle would end up living with me. Everyone thought she’d go to her father’s sister and her family. But her aunt, the bitch, didn’t think she could look after her niece. She already had two children, so it would be unfair on the others to take another child into the family. Her husband agreed with her, said they didn’t have the time or money to raise another young child. An abandoned baby didn’t suit their idyllic lifestyle. The house wasn’t big enough, the car was too small.
But Lucy hit the nail on the head: the only thing that wasn’t big enough was their hearts.
So Belle was going to go to a foster family. In Skövde, of all places.
I can still remember the way my pulse-rate went up when I heard that. I don’t know how I got to the Social Services office, but all of a sudden I was sitting there.
‘But we’ve already discussed this,’ the social worker said. ‘Belle’s aunt doesn’t want to look after her. And nor do you. And as for your mother, Belle’s grandmother, she’s too old. The same goes for her father’s parents. Which means that someone else will have to take care of her.’
She gave me an encouraging smile. ‘The family has a long tradition of fostering. They live on a lovely farm with lots of animals. It will be a good environment for Belle to recover in.’
I could see it clearly before me. Belle would end up living with a load of hicks out in the middle of nowhere and learn to milk cows by hand. And there was no way on earth I was going to let it end like that.
‘I’ve changed my mind,’ I heard myself say. ‘I want her to come and live with me.’
I cried that night. For the first time in many, many years. I hadn’t even cried at my sister’s funeral. Once I’d finished crying I went into my study and moved all the furniture out. I painted the walls yellow and had the floor revarnished. Belle moved in four days later. Before that I’d never changed a single nappy in my entire life. I’d never warmed a bottle of formula. I’d actually never felt the weight of such a tiny person in my arms.
I still have nightmares about how much Belle used to scream back at the start. If it hadn’t b
een for Lucy and my mother, I’d never have got through that first year. But afterwards I thought it had been worth it. Sometimes it’s good to do the right thing.
Lucy ordered a glass of wine.
‘It’ll be good to get away,’ she said.
‘Couldn’t agree more,’ I said.
I pulled her closer, inhaling the scent of her hair. It was okay if she didn’t want to have sex with me, as long as she didn’t have sex with anyone else.
‘So what are you going to do?’
‘About what?’
‘About Sara Texas and her brother.’
‘What am I going to do? Nothing, obviously. I mean, what’s there to do? The woman’s dead. She confessed, Lucy. That’s it. It’s over, nothing more to say.’
‘And that ticket?’
‘What about it? It’s a train ticket, that’s all. It doesn’t prove anything. Anyway, it’s not my job to sort out that sort of detail. That’s up to the police.’
Lucy said nothing. She knew I was right. The only surprising thing was that she thought it worth discussing.
‘What are you thinking?’ I said.
‘Nothing. I’m just being silly. Of course she wasn’t innocent. And even if she was, you’re right – it’s the police’s job to deal with that.’
She took a sip of her wine.
I was looking at a woman at the other end of the room. Attractive, and obviously bored by her company. She was holding her wine-glass with both hands. No ring. I could have her in less than half an hour.
Lucy followed my gaze.
‘You’re fucking incredible, Martin.’
‘Stop it, I’m just looking.’
I gave her a kiss on the cheek.
‘It doesn’t do any harm, does it?’
Lucy looked annoyed.
‘Finish your drink,’ she said.
‘Do you want to go home?’
‘Yes, and you’re coming with me. I’ve changed my mind. Of course I want to have sex with you tonight.’
3
Remember: the oldest trick in the book is the one that works best. It was enough for me to glance at another woman for Lucy to decide to have sex with me. As I lay naked beside her on the floor of her flat an hour or so later, I was amazed at how easy it was to get what you wanted the whole time. She’d started the evening saying no, and ended up saying yes.
Same old story.
My mobile rang.
‘Martin, you’ve got to come over. The cellar’s flooded.’
Perfect.
My mum only rings to ask if she can look after Belle, or because she wants my help with something. I have a standard response to requests for help.
‘You know I’d help you if I could, Marianne. But I’m afraid I simply haven’t got time. A client needs me, and I can’t leave her in the lurch. Call someone else and I’ll take care of the bill later.’
The idea that being rich doesn’t make you happier is rubbish. Money means you can buy time, and time lets you buy freedom. And a person who is free is also happy.
I’ve never actually called my mum ‘Mum’. Her name is Marianne, and there’s no good reason not to call her that.
When I hung up I saw that Lucy was looking at me.
‘That wasn’t very nice.’
‘It’s getting late. I need to go home and relieve the babysitter.’
I got up from the floor and stretched.
‘You know, I could go home with you,’ Lucy said. ‘Stay the night and take Belle to preschool tomorrow.’
I pulled on my pants and trousers.
‘Baby, that’s probably not a good idea.’
We both knew why. So that Belle didn’t see us together too often. Because I didn’t want her to think that we were a proper couple.
‘Another time, okay?’
Lucy went into the bathroom and closed the door. I heard her turn the tap in the basin. So I wouldn’t hear her pee. Ridiculous.
But what was even more ridiculous was that I was still thinking about Sara Texas. And Bobby.
She had confessed to five murders. This case had never been some trashy reality show. There was evidence. Sara had been able to account for specific times and dates. She’d said where the murder weapons were, insofar as there were any. And she had described other details that no one but the murderer could have known about.
Even so, doubts were starting to grow inside my head like a vague itch.
That damn ticket. That didn’t prove anything, did it? It wasn’t even an individual ticket, there was no name on it to say who had used it.
Bobby said he got it from his sister’s friend Jenny. Bobby. That was a really stupid name, too. A problem name. In Sweden, anyway. I remembered photographs I’d seen in the papers. She wasn’t at all like her brother. Which didn’t matter, of course. I wasn’t much like my sister. We had different fathers. Mine was black and came from the USA. From Texas, in fact. My sister was as white as Mum. Her father came from Sälen. Actually from Sälen, the ski resort. I never imagined anyone really lived there.
I smiled at the thought of how different my sister and I used to look. The first time I dropped Belle off at preschool the staff were astonished. I could see it very clearly even though they didn’t say anything. How could such a tall black man have such a fair little child?
Sara Texas. Obviously her name was Tell, not Texas, as her brother had pointed out. Texas was what the newspapers called her. Because that was where she claimed her first victims. Like a hunter.
I sighed. I wasn’t going to be able to resist, I knew that. I was going to sit down and read through all the articles I could find about Sara Texas, I’d stay up all night if necessary. When dawn came I’d rub my eyes and fall asleep at my desk. The spell would be broken the moment Belle woke up. Irritable and dishevelled, I’d drive her to preschool and wait for Sunday, when I would call Bobby and explain things to him. That his sister’s case was interesting, but not for me.
Seeing as she was dead.
Seeing as I wasn’t a private detective.
Bobby had said a single sentence that I couldn’t shake off quite as lightly. That Sara’s lawyer hadn’t done his job. That he had ‘known things’.
Lucy came out of the bathroom. Naked and beautiful. It was hard to believe that she had once been mine.
‘Do you remember who defended Sara Texas?’ I said.
Lucy laughed and picked her briefs off the floor.
‘I knew you wouldn’t be able to let it go.’
‘Stop it, I’m just curious.’
‘I can understand that. Tor Gustavsson was in charge of her case.’
I let out a whistle. Of course, old Gustavsson, I’d completely forgotten that.
‘Didn’t he retire fairly recently?’ I said.
‘December last year, just after Sara died,’ Lucy said. ‘You missed his leaving do because you and Belle were in Copenhagen that weekend.’
I found myself smiling when Lucy reminded me of that trip to Copenhagen. It had been a great success. Just Belle and me. We flew there for the second weekend of Advent and stayed in one of the hotels along the coast. That was probably the first time I properly understood that children change over time. That they grow gradually. For some stupid reason I was surprised that Belle ate so nicely when we went to restaurants. She could say what she liked and what she didn’t like. I drank wine and she drank fizzy pop. When we went back to the hotel, she walked all the way. No pushchair, no carrying. Not that it was particularly far, but I was still proud of her. And incredibly sad. About the fact my sister had died when Belle was so small. And that the person looking after Belle – me, in other words – didn’t even know that she could feed herself.
After that I promised myself that I would be more present in her life. And I’ve kept that promise.
The memory went from warming to painful and I had to blink a few times.
‘It was boring as fuck,’ Lucy said. ‘Gustavsson made the longest speech ever, going on and on about all th
e great things he’d done in his career.’
‘Did he mention Sara Texas?’
‘No, and that was seriously bloody weird. Because I don’t think he actually ever worked on a bigger case than that. But I dare say he saw that one as a failure. Seeing as she died.’
That was true. I remember being surprised when I saw Gustavsson being quoted in the papers. Why had Sara picked one of the best lawyers to defend her when she’d decided to admit everything and then commit suicide before the trial?
‘Shall I call for a taxi?’ Lucy said.
I tucked my shirt in my trousers.
I looked out of the window and saw the rain. Was that how it was going to be from now on? Rainy and wet.
‘Yes please,’ I said.
Shortly afterwards I was sitting in the taxi. I called my mother to ask what was happening with the flooded cellar. A plumber was on his way.
4
The au pair, or whatever you wanted to call Signe in light of her advanced age, was sitting drinking coffee in the kitchen when I got home.
‘Have you had a quiet evening?’ I said.
She smiled.
‘Absolutely, no problems.’
Signe does all the things that I don’t have time for as a single man with a full-time job. I drop Belle off at preschool and she picks her up. She does the shopping and cooking. When Belle starts school she’ll help with her homework too. She doesn’t have to do the cleaning and ironing. The cleaner does that.
Like I said. Money buys time and gives you freedom. And it’s that freedom that makes people happy.
Once the au pair had gone I took a look into Belle’s room. Belle was lying on her back with her mouth open. The pink duvet seemed too big; she looked like she was disappearing beneath it. I crept over quietly and pulled it down a little. Much better. I leaned over and kissed her softly on her forehead.
Then I went back to the kitchen and took out the bottle of whisky. My grandfather taught me to drink whisky. Always single malt, and never cold. You’re only allowed ice with blended whiskies.
The wooden floor creaked beneath my feet as I walked into the library and closed the door behind me. There’s no better guard-dog than an old floor. When Belle had been with me for a year, I bought the next-door neighbour’s flat and knocked through from mine. We needed space, me and the little girl.
Buried Lies Page 2