I took the opportunity to reply to a few emails while she was gone. It felt uncomfortable being alone in her flat.
She was soon back.
‘Right, let’s see.’
She was breathing hard as she put the box on the floor and crouched down beside it. It looked like she’d taken the stairs all the way up to the attic.
Her hands were shaking slightly as she opened the cardboard box.
I stood behind her, peering over her shoulder.
Papers and files and what looked like notebooks.
Far too much for me to go through there and then.
‘I’d be happy to take the box away with me,’ I said firmly.
She stood up.
‘I’d rather you didn’t,’ she said.
‘I haven’t got time to make a decent evaluation of so much material here and now,’ I said, then added in an authoritative voice: ‘There wouldn’t be any problem with me taking it with me, would there? There can’t be any secrets in there that the police don’t know about, surely?’
Eivor went pale.
‘Of course not.’
‘In that case,’ I said, bending down to pick the box up. ‘I’ll borrow this for a while.’
6
‘Okay, Sherlock, what are we going to do with all this?’ Lucy was kneeling beside the box I had brought back from Eivor’s.
‘No idea. We can take a look at it tomorrow. Now I’ve got a meeting with another client, and then I’m picking Belle up from preschool.’
Sometimes I collect Belle myself. To salve my guilty conscience or because I want an excuse to get away from the office. And sometimes just because I’m missing her. But on that particular day it was because I wanted to get out of the office.
‘Another client?’ Lucy said without looking at me. ‘So you’ve got more than one at the moment?’
I stood still.
No, I hadn’t. I only had one client, the one I was about to go and see in prison. Unless I was seriously considering getting involved in the case of Sara Texas?
I was on the point of getting in over my head, I was all too aware of that. But at the same time I couldn’t escape. People think us lawyers have an exciting job that constantly keeps the adrenalin pumping. We haven’t. There aren’t many interesting cases. The exceptions are so rare that you basically never even get to hear about them before they’ve been allocated to someone else. Which was why Bobby’s visit got me going. Whether or not I wanted it to.
‘Let’s talk tomorrow,’ I said.
I pushed aside all thoughts about the box I’d brought from Eivor’s. Everything was happening too fast. Way too fast. I had one thing I was supposed to be concentrating on, and that was the client I was going to see in prison.
‘Are we meeting up this evening?’ Lucy said.
That was unusual. We basically never saw each other two nights in a row. That would only confuse us. If we got horny between our dates we had to have sex with other people.
‘No,’ I said. ‘I’ve got to work.’
That was a lie, and Lucy knew it. But I didn’t feel like seeing her. We were going to Nice soon, that would have to do. Once, Marianne, my mother, had asked me to explain my relationship with Lucy. I couldn’t. It is what it is. Marianne implied that she felt sorry for Lucy. That made me cross, because feeling sorry for Lucy was to seriously undervalue Lucy. And that was something I had never done.
I drove the car from the office to the prison. It was a distance of less than one and a half kilometres, but the weather was bloody awful. Our office is by Sankt Eriksbron, in one of the tall towers at the end of the bridge. Nice view, high rent.
At the time I was driving a Porsche 911. Because I wanted to, and because I could.
‘Faster!’ Belle would sometimes say when we were out driving.
She knew how fast it could go, and loved it when I put my foot down. Things are going to turn out okay for Belle; she knows what the important things in life are.
I parked illegally on Bergsgatan and ran through the entrance to the prison with the speed of someone on the run.
The prison guard grinned.
‘Ran all the way, then?’
‘Do pigs fly?’
The guard grinned again and let me into the room where my client was waiting.
‘He’s been looking forward to seeing you all day,’ the guard said.
‘Great,’ I said, brushing some of the rain from my shoulders.
The door slammed behind me.
My client looked relieved when he caught sight of me. We shook hands and sat down.
At the start we had agreed that Lucy would take care of this joker, but then we figured out that he was better suited to me. He had no previous convictions, but had admitted the assault of another guy on Kungsgatan almost a week ago. It had been a vicious attack. My client had offered no better explanation than to say he had been drunk.
I had been told that much by the guy’s previous lawyer. I usually hated to get second bite of the apple, but I’d made an exception in this instance. His first lawyer was a friend of mine, and needed to hand the case on for so-called personal reasons. His teenage daughter had tried to commit suicide and he’d taken some time off work to, as he put it, sort his life out again. Terrible business. I’m dreading the day when Belle becomes a real person with real problems. Real problems that I can’t buy my way out of.
‘I know your story,’ I said. ‘But I’d like to hear it again from you.’
My client started to talk. His words came easily, as if he had been waiting a long time for the chance to tell someone about how he’d messed up.
He’d been out drinking with some friends. They were celebrating their first summer since graduating from high-school, and the fact that they had all managed to find work. My client had applied and been accepted to be a floor-layer’s apprentice. His eyes positively shone when he talked about the possibilities a job like that could offer.
‘You can make loads of money,’ he said. ‘One day I might be able to set up my own business.’
‘What’s going to happen with that now?’ I said. ‘I mean, you’re going to be convicted of assault, seeing as you’ve confessed and there are witnesses.’
The guy looked deflated.
‘Well, nothing good’s going to happen now, of course.’
He swallowed hard and picked at one of his cuticles.
‘Do you think I’ll be sent to prison?’
His voice was a whisper, barely audible.
He was absolutely terrified.
I’d seen it plenty of times before. Façades crumbling from the most hardened young criminals. Their voices breaking as soon as there was any talk of being locked up.
But this guy was different. Very different, even.
There was something wrong with his story.
‘Tell me again,’ I urged him. ‘You and your friends came out of the bar. You were drunk. And then a guy showed up and was a bit of a nuisance, and you felt you had to beat him up.’
My client went pale.
‘He wasn’t just a nuisance. He was provoking us.’
‘In what way?’
‘He said things.’
‘Like what?’
‘I can’t remember.’
‘You can’t remember? But you do remember punching him?’
‘Yes.’
A whisper again.
‘Okay, so tell me. How did you hit him?’
‘With my fist clenched. Across the cheek. On his temple. So he fell backwards and hit his head.’
That was what made it so bad. The fact that the guy had fallen and hit his head. He’d been in hospital ever since and would have to learn to live with epilepsy. It was a pretty tragic story for all involved.
I glanced at the documents I had taken with me.
‘There are four witnesses to what happened,’ I said. ‘Five if we count the victim, but his injuries have left him with memory loss. The first witness is an old man who couldn’t see pr
operly, but who thinks the person who assaulted the victim was wearing a red jacket. Which you weren’t. The second and third witnesses are your friends. Both claim not to remember a single moment of what happened. They don’t remember what was said, and they don’t remember you hitting anyone. And the fourth witness . . .’
My client squirmed on his chair.
‘Are you feeling okay?’ I asked, even though it was a stupid question.
‘I’m fine.’
‘Good, then I’ll go on. The fourth witness is your friend Rasmus, and he, unlike all the others, does remember what he saw and heard. And his story matches yours exactly.’
I put my papers down.
‘He must be one of your very best friends,’ I said in a voice dripping with irony. ‘The sort who stands by you through thick and thin. Even helps you get caught for a serious crime that could have far-reaching consequences for the rest of your life. Nice guy.’
I tilted my head, and saw tears welling up in my client’s eyes.
‘Come on, now,’ I said. ‘Tell me what happened.’
Before he had time to start, I interrupted.
‘Actually, don’t bother. Just tell me why you lied.’
He opened his mouth to reply, but I interrupted again.
‘And, just to be clear – don’t bother telling me you’re not lying. Because you are. Badly, at that.’
My client looked tired. He sat in silence for a long time before he started to talk. When he opened his mouth I thought I’d won. That he’d stop messing about and tell me what was going on. But he didn’t.
‘I’m not lying,’ he said.
It was as if he physically grew as he spoke those clearly untrue words.
‘I’m not lying,’ he repeated, louder this time. ‘I hit the other guy. It was an accident that he ended up getting hurt as badly as he did.’
Silence settled on the room.
‘Then I don’t know how I can help you,’ I said, throwing my hands out.
The young man looked at me obstinately.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said. ‘I was the one who did it, after all. Now I’ll have to take my punishment.’
He blinked, and before he looked down at the table I had time to see the fear in his eyes.
It wasn’t the kind of fear I’d been expecting. Not the sort exuded by people afraid of an impending punishment. No, this was something else. A fear that had nothing to do with the assault.
Slowly I packed my things away.
‘I’ll be back,’ I said.
The young man sat without speaking as I left the room.
The fear in his eyes haunted me.
Help me, they whispered. Help me.
7
I’d promised Bobby that I’d get in touch by Sunday evening that week, at the latest. I don’t know why I said Sunday evening specifically, because it’s hardly a time when I’m usually working.
Whatever. I had a decision to make.
When I finished work on Friday I tucked the box I’d got from Eivor under my arm and went home.
‘Are you going to be working this weekend?’ Lucy asked when she saw me carrying the box.
‘Well, I haven’t had as much time to look at it this week as I planned.’
That was actually true. The client who had confessed to the assault, the one I was convinced was innocent, had taken up all my time. In vain I’d ploughed my way through all the available material in an attempt to find an explanation as to why he was acting the way he was. The guy was going to remain a mystery until he decided to change that. Hopefully it wouldn’t take too long.
I had consciously been avoiding Eivor’s box. I get carried away far too easily. Think too little and act too quickly. That doesn’t work if you want to do a thorough job. So I’d left the box alone. To get a bit of distance from the whole thing. Now a few days had passed and I could still feel the same tension inside me. There was something worth digging into when it came to Sara Texas. That train ticket, for instance. The question was: what was the justification for spending time on her? Bobby was hardly likely to pay for my services, and the state certainly wasn’t going to.
‘Give me a call if you feel like doing anything?’ Lucy said.
‘Sure, baby.’
It was raining again. Fucking shitty weather. Thinking about Nice no longer provided the same sort of comfort. Sara Texas’s story had made me restless and distracted. I couldn’t carry on like this.
Belle let out a squeal when I got home.
If only I’d known how much love such tiny people have to offer. To offer, and simultaneously crave. She was overflowing with joy as she clung to my neck and kicked her legs to wrap them round my waist.
‘Friday!’ she trilled. ‘Friday!’
We couldn’t get rid of Signe quickly enough. As soon as she had gone we put on some loud music and relaxed for a bit before it was time to eat. I had a whisky and Belle played with a doll. Belle is like other four-year-olds, not much good at doing anything. But we’re working on that. Being able to relax is important. Belle’s mum was pretty crap at it. She thought that hard work and no play paid off. A lot of women seem to believe that. That’s why they get overtaken by men like me. Men who realise that the best strategy is to be in a state of permanent repose, so that you can exert yourself like an absolute demon on the very rare occasions when you get the chance to make a real difference to your life.
I wanted Belle to understand that. I didn’t want her to be the sort that people like me could just sideline.
‘Where shall we have brunch on Sunday?’ I said.
Children need routines. Adults probably do as well, but children need them even more. So I came up with some when Belle moved in with me. One of the first I established was the routine of going somewhere nice for brunch every Sunday. Right from when she was a baby. I’m a fussy person, and Belle is rapidly turning into one. So the next routine fell into place naturally as soon as she learned to talk: we discuss where to go on Sunday on Friday evening. Which, incidentally, leads me to a third routine: Belle and I always spend Friday evenings relaxing and having a cosy time together. We each do our own thing on Saturday. I see my friends, and Belle visits her grandparents or – in emergencies – the au pair.
At least that was the way our routines looked before everything fell apart.
Anyway, Belle was concentrating so hard on the doll in her lap that she didn’t hear me at first. I repeated my question.
‘Not Berns,’ she said.
I agreed with her. Berns, that den of iniquity, was cool twenty years ago. But not now. And things like that are important to trend-conscious people like Belle and me.
‘How about the Grand Hôtel?’ I said.
‘How about Haga?’ Belle said. ‘Then we can go to the park.’
Her face lit up when she said that. I felt a warm glow spread through my chest. You could see her starting to come up with her own excellent suggestions, and I liked that. The way she celebrated her own brilliance.
‘Haga Forum is a good suggestion,’ I said. ‘Right, I’m going to start cooking.’
I headed off to the kitchen with the whisky in my hand.
Belle followed me, clutching the doll in her arms.
‘What’s that box?’ she said, pointing at the cardboard box I’d taken home with me.
‘Nothing special,’ I said.
I wasn’t planning to open it until Belle was asleep. I don’t believe in prettifying the world for little children, but there are limits to the horrors you can share with them. Belle left the box alone and pulled a chair over to the stove. She likes watching when I or the au pair make food.
‘Steak and chips,’ I said. ‘I got the meat from Östermalmshallen. Not bad, eh?’
Belle smiled. She learned at an early age that you don’t eat your steak well-done, and that sauce made from powder is disgusting.
‘Is Lucy coming?’ she asked.
I stiffened.
‘She might be coming on Sunday. Or
tomorrow.’
‘Is she coming to brunch too?’
I looked at her seriously.
‘Belle, when we have brunch it’s always just you and me. Same as always.’
Belle nodded, then turned serious as well.
‘Just you and me,’ she said, putting her hand on my arm.
When I woke up I was lying on my front in a bed that was far too small. Belle’s of course. This tradition of reading bedtime stories is a bloody silly idea. It’s bad for parents. You can’t help failing. This time I’d only managed to read half a story before falling asleep. Now it was just past midnight and I had no idea if I was going to be able to get to sleep again.
I slid carefully off the bed. It didn’t work, and Belle woke up. She sleepily mumbled something and I adjusted the covers before walking out of her bedroom.
I felt fragile and alone. Night has that effect on me. Maybe I should call Lucy?
No, I wasn’t going to do that. For her sake as well as mine.
I went out into the kitchen and switched the light on. The remains of our dinner were still on the kitchen table. The food had dried onto the plates and the bin smelled. I ran my hand through my hair. It would have to wait, I didn’t feel up to dealing with it just then.
I was about to turn the light out when I caught sight of the cardboard box.
Eivor’s treasure chest.
Well, why not? Who said I had to wait for daylight before starting to go through whatever was inside the box?
I quickly cleared the plates from the table and lifted the box up. It weighed no more than a few kilos. The thought of what Eivor had hidden in it made me smile. She must miss her old life, her work, terribly. Why else would she have stored a load of old rubbish up in her attic?
At the top of the box was a half-full folder.
‘Loose ends,’ someone had written on a note on the front of the folder.
I felt worried. Loose ends? I hoped it wasn’t police material that Eivor had tucked aside. If that was the case, I’d really rather have nothing to do with it.
The folder turned out to contain a number of sheets of handwritten notes. I let out a sigh as I began to read. It was going to take time to read and attempt to understand everything.
Buried Lies Page 4