Buried Lies

by Kristina Ohlsson

  ‘Yes,’ I said.

  I needed to absorb what I’d heard. Jenny excused herself and went to the bathroom. I sat at the table thinking. So Sara had an alibi for at least one of the murders. What that said about the police officer who had identified her was something I would have to think about later. The first time she was taken in for questioning, the police were interested in just the two American murders. It was only later that the investigation expanded to encompass the three Swedish murders. Lucy and I had both reacted to the fact that Sara had gone from trying to defend herself against the accusations during that first interview, to confessing to not just two but five murders during the second one.

  Jenny came back.

  ‘You said she called you,’ I said.

  ‘After the first interview she called me and asked for help. She said she wanted both the train ticket and an old diary she’d left in Houston because it contained a load of miserable stuff she didn’t want to drag back home to Sweden with her. She gave it to me at the airport when she left. To be honest, she asked me to burn it, but I tucked it away in a box. I suppose I thought there might come a time when she’d regret it, and of course that’s what happened.’

  ‘And she knew that? That you’d kept it?’

  ‘She guessed as much. God, I was so surprised when she called. We hadn’t been in touch for years. She was hysterical, desperate. Then I called her about a week later, because the ticket and diary had been returned to me. I’d been so wound up when I sent them that I put the wrong postage on them. After that I decided not to send anything by post, and had them couriered over instead. But all of a sudden Sara no longer wanted either the ticket or the diary. She said things were all sorted out and that I could throw them away. Obviously, I didn’t. Then I read in the online papers that she’d confessed to a load of murders, and couldn’t help wondering if she’d gone mad. I mean, I knew she hadn’t killed anyone in Galveston. I went to the police, but they weren’t interested. So in the end I had the parcel sent over to Sara’s brother Bobby. I’d never met him, but he seemed very engaged in Sara’s problems. But that evidently didn’t do a blind bit of good.’

  ‘No, evidently not,’ I said.

  My mind was racing at the speed of light. There were so many things I wanted to talk to Jenny about. About Sara’s ex, and her dad. About the rumours of prostitution.

  ‘Sara’s ex and her dad seem to have caused a lot of trouble for Sara, even in the US,’ I said, as a start.

  Jenny frowned.

  ‘I know her ex showed up in Houston, she talked about it. That was actually something we had in common. I had an ex who decided to go to the States after I’d moved there.’

  ‘Er . . .’ I began.

  But Jenny waved her hand dismissively.

  ‘Don’t forget, the USA is one of the biggest tourist destinations in the world. Loads of young people go there. I don’t know about Sara, but now that I’ve got a bit of distance to that first year in Texas, I think I might have blown the problem of my ex out of proportion. At the time – when I was in the middle of it all – it felt exhausting and oppressive. But now, who knows what he was thinking, why he acted the way he did? He never threatened me, just wanted to see me. But I thought even that was too much.’

  I have to confess that I wasn’t really that interested in Jenny’s old boyfriends. I was completely focused on Sara Tell and her messy past. So I hurried the conversation on. Stupid of me, but I didn’t know that at the time.

  ‘What did you make of Sara’s father?’

  She looked at me blankly.

  ‘Nothing. What do you mean?’

  ‘I read it in the diary,’ I said. ‘That he showed up in Houston as well, causing trouble.’

  Jenny shook her head slowly.

  ‘No, I think you must have misunderstood that,’ she said. ‘Sara’s dad was never in the US.’

  It was my turn to look surprised.

  ‘But he’s mentioned several times,’ I said. ‘Lucifer.’

  I swear I saw Jenny stiffen. And go pale.

  ‘Lucifer?’ she said, fumbling with her coffee cup. ‘I don’t recognise the name. Are you sure it refers to her dad?’

  I wasn’t. But I was sure that Jenny was lying. She knew who Lucifer was. And was refusing to say.

  My mobile rang and I took it out of my pocket to reject the call. It was Belle’s preschool.

  Damn. You don’t reject calls like that.

  A breathless preschool teacher started to talk way too fast at the other end.

  Belle had fallen over.

  Hit her head.

  ‘It’s not good, Martin. We’ve called an ambulance, it’ll be here in a few minutes. Can you meet us at the Astrid Lindgren Children’s Hospital?’

  I admit that there are times I choose to see Belle as a lodger, as someone who isn’t going to be in my life forever. But there are other, far longer times when I know that she’s mine, that I’m the only parent she knows and has left. This was one of those times. There’s nothing – nothing – that terrifies me as much as the thought that Belle is like everyone else. Mortal. If anything were to happen to her, I’d be finished. Because the moment I stood in Social Services and said I wanted her, I entered into an indissoluble contract with my dead sister.

  Belle is my responsibility. Every day, and every night. Even when we aren’t together.

  ‘I’ll be there in ten minutes,’ I said, my heart pounding so hard I thought it was going to burst.

  I put the phone in my pocket and stood up.

  ‘I’ve got to go,’ I told Jenny. ‘But I’ll call you. How long are you in Stockholm?’

  ‘I’m flying back to Houston on Sunday. There are other things we ought to discuss. Sara didn’t commit those murders. And she didn’t kill herself, or her son. At least not of her own accord. I’m convinced of that.’

  ‘We can talk about that later,’ I said. ‘I’ve got to run.’

  ‘One last thing: are you sure it was Bobby who came to your office asking for help on Sara’s behalf?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Strange,’ Jenny said. ‘Very strange. But we can talk about that next time.’

  We exchanged phone numbers.

  ‘I’ll be in touch before Sunday,’ I said.

  I turned away and walked out, leaving Jenny at the table.

  That was the last time I saw her.

  20

  If it weren’t for the constantly overhanging threat of death, we wouldn’t know what it means to be alive. When I arrived in A&E at the Astrid Lindgren Children’s Hospital it was as if the rest of the world had ceased to exist. I couldn’t see anything apart from Belle. She was lying on a trolley. Her face was ashen and her hands were clenched as if she were cramping. Almost in passing I registered the spatter of blood reaching up the wall, halfway to the ceiling.

  ‘We had a bit of trouble getting her to lie still,’ one of the nurses said as she saw me glance at the blood. ‘But she’s calm now.’

  ‘I see,’ I said, even though I didn’t see at all.

  Belle’s eyes were as empty as my grandfather’s were when he died, before they had to close them. What the hell had they given her?

  I leaned over so that my face was level with hers.

  Gently I put my hand on the top of her head.

  ‘I’m here now,’ I whispered. ‘Everything’s going to be okay. You’ll soon be as good as new.’

  Only then did she react and start to cry. To my immense surprise, so did I.

  ‘It looks worse than it is,’ a doctor told me. ‘The cut on her forehead is long, but not very deep. Her arm is broken in two places – you can see here – and she’s got concussion. But we’ll take care of all that for you.’

  I looked at Belle’s little arm. It was buckled, as if someone had driven over it in a car.

  ‘She fell from the climbing frame,’ a voice said behind me. ‘It was an accident.’

  I turned my head and only then did I catch sight of one of Belle�
�s preschool teachers. For a brief moment I thought about going over and punching the idiot woman.

  There’s no such thing as accidents, I wanted to shout. People allow them to happen. Belle hasn’t been hurt one single fucking time while I’ve been looking after her.

  But for some reason I can’t explain, you never shout when you really think you’re going to. You choose to focus on something else instead. In this instance my primary task was to keep Belle calm. But I’m fairly sure the woman felt my derision when I turned away from her.

  ‘You can go now,’ I said. ‘We don’t need you any more.’

  ‘Accidents happen so easily,’ the doctor said.

  ‘I’m terribly sorry,’ the teacher said.

  From the corner of my eye I saw her leave the room. One of the nurses followed her.

  I stayed with Belle. Her wounds were treated by different doctors and by the time evening fell she was lying in a hospital bed with a bandage over her forehead and her arm in plaster. If it hadn’t been for the concussion we could have gone home, but I was actually relieved and grateful that we were able to stay. In just a few hours the hospital had become a source of support that I didn’t know how to manage without.

  At seven o’clock that evening I finally called Lucy and asked her to come to the hospital to pick up the key to my flat, then go and pack an overnight bag for me.

  Lucy arrived less than half an hour later, absolutely furious.

  ‘Why the hell didn’t you call me earlier?’ she said in a voice shaking with emotion.

  She went over to Belle, who was asleep, and sat down on the edge of the bed.

  I was so tired that I couldn’t get up from the visitor’s chair.

  ‘We’ve had our hands full,’ I said quietly.

  Then we sat like that for a long time. Lucy with Belle, and me beside them. If anyone had come into the room, they’d have thought we belonged together.

  That we were a proper family.

  Some of my acquaintances claim to be able to sleep anywhere, and under any circumstances. I’ve always assumed they were lying. I can sleep if I’m lying in a silent, cool room in a comfortable bed. None of these requirements was met by Belle’s room at the hospital.

  I lay there tossing and turning between stiff sheets, feeling the sweat on my back stick my t-shirt to my skin. I usually sleep naked but assumed that would be too much for the hospital staff. At half past eleven I got up and opened the window, but the night nurse came in and closed it, saying it wasn’t good for the ventilation system.

  As if there actually was one.

  Belle woke up twice, upset. Both times I went and lay down beside her. We were lucky enough to have a separate room. Thank God.

  There were no curtains in the window and I lay awake looking at the dark blue sky that refused to turn black when night came. Just after three o’clock the sun started to rise again. So I did the same. Belle was fast asleep in her bed. I felt so worked up that I could barely manage to breathe properly.

  Out.

  I needed to get out. Just for a little while.

  With an agility that actually surprised me, I crept out into the silent hospital corridor. There was no one in sight. Good. I was only going to stretch my legs.

  I carried on through the glass doors and down the stairs to the ground floor. It was like I couldn’t stop myself, I just had to breathe some fresh air.

  Once I was outside I never wanted to go back in again. I sat down quietly on a bench beside the entrance. I remember not thinking about anything special; I just sat there enjoying the cool night air. Until the door slid open behind me and a security guard made his presence known.

  ‘Can I help you? This entrance is closed now, I’ll have to ask you to use the door in A&E.’

  I stood up quickly.

  ‘My daughter’s in here,’ I said. ‘I just wanted to stretch my legs.’

  The guard looked at me.

  ‘Next time it would be a good idea to tell the staff first. Otherwise you won’t get back in again.’

  I hurried back up to Belle. There weren’t going to be any further nocturnal outings. Belle was going to be discharged later that morning, and it would be a very long time before we set foot in a hospital again.

  When I lay down again I fell asleep instantly, only to be woken by a nurse opening the door to our room at six o’clock. In hospital patients are expected to get better even if they aren’t allowed more than a few hours’ sleep per night.

  At ten o’clock we were discharged.

  Belle barely said a word all day. She followed me like a little dog, refusing to be on her own. When she finally did start to talk, it was only about things that had happened in the hospital. Lucy came over and I managed to get some time to myself, which I used for nothing better than going to the toilet.

  It was afternoon before I realised that I should call Jenny. There was no answer, so I left a message. I tried again an hour later.

  ‘Who are you calling?’ Lucy asked.

  ‘No one,’ I said, and went out into the kitchen to prepare an early dinner.

  At eight o’clock, after Belle had fallen asleep, I called Jenny again. Her phone was switched off this time, and I reached her voicemail straight away.

  I couldn’t help feeling annoyed. Didn’t she realise that I’d had to leave Xoko because there’d been an accident? If I remembered rightly, she’d said she was going back to the US on Sunday. I had no idea if that was morning or evening, but either way Sunday was no more than a few hours away.

  Lucy came into the kitchen.

  ‘Is everything okay?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Who do you keep trying to get hold of?’

  I hesitated. She’d think I was mad if I told her the truth – that Sara Texas’s case had aroused my curiosity again, this time because her friend had turned up at our office.

  Bobby and Jenny.

  Sara didn’t appear to have any other allies. Wearily I squeezed the phone in my hand.

  ‘Is it Bobby?’ Lucy said, with fresh sharpness in her voice.

  She was close, but I didn’t have to admit that.

  ‘No.’

  Lucy crept up behind me and put her long, thin arms round my waist. I stroked her pale skin and wondered seriously what I would have done if I hadn’t had her in my life.

  ‘You’re so fucking mean, Martin,’ Lucy had said the night we broke up. ‘Not once can you bring yourself to tell me you need me. Or that you even like me.’

  There seems to be a bit of an inner-city trend going on in Stockholm for getting yourself a therapist. I did it too, back then. I wanted to know if there was something wrong with me.

  ‘No,’ the therapist said. ‘You’re just a person who doesn’t like being demonstrative about closeness. Lots of people are like that. Whether or not it’s a problem is up to you to decide.’

  Thanks a lot. I never went back, and I haven’t been in a relationship since then. Nothing serious, anyway. But sure, there were days when I wondered if Lucy and I hadn’t got lost in the no-man’s-land that stretches out to the east of ‘I don’t want to be your girlfriend any more’.

  On that particular evening everything felt so fragile that I didn’t feel up to a discussion about Sara Texas. I knew exactly where I stood. I was back in the match, with renewed hunger. The boxes containing the preliminary investigation were as enticing as a mirage in the desert, and there was nothing I wanted more than to throw myself at them. But they’d have to wait. Other urges took the upper hand.

  It would be stupid to claim that it was any sort of sacrifice, having sex with Lucy. No chance. But it was impractical. Afterwards I realised that I could hardly ask her to go home. So I lay awake in the darkness, waiting for her to fall asleep. Then I got out of bed and put on the clothes I’d tossed on the floor.

  It didn’t matter that it was late and that I was tired after my adventure at the hospital with Belle. I couldn’t wait, I was drawn to those cardboard boxes in the basement as if t
hey possessed some magical enchantment. My mobile was on the desk in the library. No missed calls. I don’t know if it was because I was tired or just an attack of thoughtlessness, but I tried calling Jenny again. Her phone was still switched off and I hung up. It would be unfortunate if I failed to get hold of her. I had a lot of questions I wanted to get answers to. And I was curious to know what had brought her back to Stockholm. Because she would hardly have travelled all the way from Houston just to talk to me, surely?

  It didn’t take me long to fetch the boxes from the basement. With my eyes stinging with tiredness I started to read document after document. Belle woke up just after midnight, anxious. I gave her a paracetamol because she said her arm was hurting, then tried to help her find a comfortable position where the plaster-cast wasn’t in the way. I didn’t lie down beside her because I knew I’d never get up again.

  I went back to the study once she’d settled down. I don’t know what time it was when I fell asleep. But that night I slept at my desk. And that was where Lucy found me the next morning when the doorbell rang at eight o’clock and she had to get up and answer it because I didn’t hear it ringing.

  ‘Martin,’ she said, shaking me. ‘You need to wake up. The police are here. They want to talk to you. They say it’s important.’

  21

  Lucy and I don’t always agree on what counts as important. She thinks that sun-cream is important, for instance. I don’t. But this time we were in full agreement. Because the police not only wanted to talk to me, they also wanted me to go to the station with them.

  My first impulse was to laugh.

  ‘Sorry, but shouldn’t you be chasing real crooks?’

  My joke fell flat when one of them replied, ‘My colleague and I are of the opinion that someone who might be involved in a murder is a real crook. So if you wouldn’t mind getting dressed instead of standing here arguing?’

  ‘Murder?’

  The echo came from Lucy.

  ‘What’s this about?’ I said, having lost any urge to play games.

  I felt like I did the time I was sitting in front of a doctor who said he thought I might have HIV, which it turned out I didn’t. HIV isn’t the sort of thing you want. Nor is being told that you’re suspected of murder.