Third Voice

by Börjlind, Cilla

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘He’d also promised Sandra to buy her favourite food for dinner, which he did. Everything was in the kitchen.’

  ‘Did you go into the house?’

  ‘Yes. After the suicide. We were taking care of Sandra, she slept at Maria’s. She asked me to go and get her laptop, so I went.’

  ‘And that’s when you saw that he’d bought all the food?’

  ‘Yes. And then he takes his own life?’

  Mette took a sip of wine.

  ‘Do you have more?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, there was no suicide note, for one thing.’

  ‘People don’t always leave one. In Sahlmann’s case, knowing that his daughter was on her way, there should have been. But you never know. Anything else?’

  Mette was clearly paying attention now. Out of general curiosity, but also for reasons unbeknown to Olivia.

  ‘The laptop,’ said Olivia. ‘Sandra said that they shared a computer, and that she had some school projects saved on there that she needed. It was supposedly in the office.’

  ‘And it wasn’t?’

  ‘No. I looked, but it I couldn’t find it anywhere.’

  ‘What was Sandra’s reaction?’

  ‘She thought it was weird. Apparently he always kept it in the office.’

  ‘Maybe he’d taken it to work?’

  ‘Yes, maybe.’

  ‘But you don’t think so?’

  ‘I have no idea.’

  ‘Do you think it was stolen?’

  ‘If it was stolen then maybe it wasn’t suicide.’

  ‘No. But we don’t know that.’

  ‘Not yet,’ said Olivia.

  ‘Now you sound like the murder investigator you don’t want to be.’

  But Mette smiled a little as she said it and Olivia smiled back and Mårten felt that the situation was sufficiently defused that he could tempt them with a cheese board.

  Olivia gave both Mette and Mårten a warm hug in the hall as she left. There was enough of a bond between Mette and her to withstand a bit of confrontation.

  As soon as Olivia had disappeared through the door, Mette got her mobile out. She had intentionally kept information from Olivia. Police information. Things that were no longer any of Olivia’s business – she was going to study history of art. Otherwise Mette would have told her that a large stash of drugs had recently disappeared at Customs and Excise. Part of the major drug haul earlier that autumn. No one knew where the drugs had gone. There was an internal inquiry underway that until yesterday at least was being run by Bengt Sahlmann.

  Who’d just hanged himself.

  In circumstances that had roused Olivia’s suspicions.

  And now also Mette Olsäter’s.

  The conversation was brief. Mette requested that Bengt Sahlmann’s autopsy be speeded up. When she rang off, Mårten was staring at her with that look on his face. A look that seemed innocuous to all but his partner of thirty-nine years.

  She knew exactly what that look meant.

  ‘Yes, I pushed her, I know, but I apologised.’

  ‘Only because you had to.’

  ‘Yeah, maybe. But I think that she’s a fool. One of the most promising and talented future detectives I have ever met “doesn’t feel like joining the police”. It’s just typical.’

  ‘What do you mean “typical”?’

  ‘Kids! They want to travel, think about stuff, jump from one thing to the next, everything is possible without any obligations, everything is just focused on themselves. It annoys me.’

  ‘Now you’re doing her an injustice. She’s had exceptional issues to deal with and you know it. She, more than anyone, needs to find her own path. If she can.’

  Mette nodded slightly. Mårten was absolutely right.

  ‘In any case, I think it’s definitely the wrong way to get her to come back to the force,’ he said.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘By provoking her. She’s like Tom. She goes on the offensive. She hates to be questioned. You’ll have to think of something more cunning if you want to get anywhere.’

  ‘Cunning is your department.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Mårten pulled Mette towards him and was just about to give her a slightly tipsy kiss, when the door burst open and one of their sons came in with a laughing Jolene in tow.

  ‘I scored!’

  Jolene was twenty and their straggler. She had Down’s syndrome. A week ago she’d started playing basketball with the Skuru Specials and tonight she’d managed to get the ball in the basket.

  It was a big moment for her.

  Olivia sat on the bus back home. She felt the effects of the red wine. It was the second night in a row and she wasn’t used to that. She felt slightly queasy as the bus lurched up the motorway to Slussen. That faint aroma of urine wasn’t making things easier. She’d decided to sit right at the back, she always did if it was free, and it seemed that someone had taken a piss back there. She got up and moved forward a few rows. There were only three passengers other than her. She sank down into the window seat and tried to focus her gaze.

  ‘You could have become an amazing murder investigator.’

  Mette’s words resonated in her head. They were big words from one of Sweden’s most experienced murder detectives, hardly known for dishing out compliments willy-nilly. Am I making a mistake? Maybe I should go down the police route after all? I’ve wanted that the whole time. Suddenly she felt tired, sad and drunk.

  Then her mobile rang.

  ‘Hi, it’s your BFF!’

  Lenni’s voice could be heard almost as far as the bus driver. Olivia was forced to hold the phone away from her ear.

  ‘And I really want to see you while you’re still nice and tanned!’

  ‘Of course,’ Olivia smiled. ‘We’re going to see each other tomorrow.’

  ‘But I want to see you now! Where are you?’

  ‘On my way home?’

  ‘Good. Because I’m sitting on your doorstep.’

  Lenni’s sudden urge to see Olivia turned out to have its reasons. She’d locked herself out and was in no mood to go to her mum’s in Sollentuna to get the spare key.

  Olivia just about managed to step out of the lift on Skånegatan before her face disappeared in a blonde, freshly washed ball of frizz and she was enveloped by Lenni’s giant hug.

  ‘You’re never allowed to leave me for this long again! Promise!’

  ‘I promise,’ Olivia giggled.

  ‘But my God you stink of booze!’

  ‘Wine, not booze.’

  Olivia extracted herself from the hug and looked at Lenni.

  ‘And you’ve cut your hair since we last skyped.’

  ‘Yes, I decided that I should have a fringe.’

  Lenni quickly tried to pat down her messy fringe with her fingers.

  ‘It suits you! You look great,’ said Olivia.

  ‘And what about you! You’re so bloody tanned! There’s no way you’re walking next to me for the next few weeks.’

  Olivia laughed again and felt the sadness fade away. God, she’d missed Lenni! Their friendship was so straightforward and natural. And despite their differences, both outward and inward, Lenni was one of the few people whom Olivia still trusted. She fished her keys out of her bag and opened the door. When she stepped into the hallway and switched the light on, she saw that half of Lenni’s lipstick was now on her cheek. She smiled and rubbed it off with her hand. Lenni appeared behind her in the mirror.

  ‘Well, that’s as close as you get to putting make-up on,’ she said. ‘But I do my best. I’ll make some tea to sober you up.’

  And that’s what Olivia did – sober up – while Lenni gave her an update about all their friends. Olivia was pretty clued up, at least about the things they’d chosen to put on Facebook, but of course Lenni was able to tell her a load of details and embarrassing stuff that they hadn’t wanted to boast about online.

  Then Olivia told her about the trip, do
wn to the very last detail.

  ‘And what about Ramón? What happened?’

  ‘Stuff happened. But then I left.’

  Lenni laughed.

  ‘There’s something different about you, you know that?’

  Olivia looked at her.

  ‘Well, I mean, I know that loads has happened,’ Lenni said. ‘But it’s not just that. Before, you would never just have had random sex with some guy in a little Mexican shithole.’

  ‘No, but then again I’d never been to Mexico before.’

  Olivia smiled.

  ‘And what are your thoughts about Ove?’ Lenni wondered.

  ‘What do you mean “my thoughts”? What’s he got to do with anything?’

  ‘What’s he got to do with anything?’ Lenni mimicked. ‘You know exactly what I mean.’

  But Olivia didn’t. Ove Gardman was the boy who’d seen her mother being drowned and he’d actually saved her life. Literally. If he hadn’t been there that night, twenty-five years ago, then she would not be here today. Now he was no longer a boy, but a man of thirty-five who’d spent his life traipsing around the globe saving coral reefs, dolphins and whales. He was a marine biologist. Their paths had crossed last year, when she returned to Nordkoster to see the beach where her mother had died and she was born. When she broke down, he was the one who took care of her. She’d stayed with him for a week. He’d listened, supported her and made sure that she got some food inside her. He’d been her rock. And since then they’d been almost like brother and sister, two only children who understood one another.

  But nothing more.

  As far as Olivia was concerned.

  ‘Ove is in Guatemala or somewhere like that,’ she said. ‘We skyped the other day.’

  ‘And he was missing you desperately? Am I right?’

  Lenni dramatically laid one hand on her heart and pressed the back of the other against her forehead.

  ‘Stop it, we’re just friends, as you very well know.’

  ‘Yes, but I don’t know why. Such a waste! He’s seriously hot, nice and…’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Perfect for you. It’s only his name that’s a bit dull – Ove Gardman – but you’ll just have to live with that. He can always change his name, like you.’

  Olivia laughed. Lenni always had opinions about everyone. And guys with the wrong haircut, wrong clothes and wrong name for that matter were a serious no-no in her world.

  But then again, she could pick and choose as she pleased.

  ‘I’m not in love with Ove and he’s not in love with me. And that’s that.’

  Lenni fixed her carefully made-up blue eyes on Olivia.

  ‘Have you asked him?’

  ‘Of course I haven’t.’

  ‘Have you asked yourself?’

  Olivia hadn’t. She’d never even thought about Ove in that way. When he came into her life, there was no room for such feelings, there were simply too many others she had to deal with first. And now that she’d dealt with those feelings she… well, what feelings did she have for Ove?

  Olivia lay awake for a while after Lenni had fallen asleep next to her in the bed, in the middle of a sentence. She listened to Lenni’s deep breaths, and after a while these became gentle snores. Was Lenni right? Was there something more between them? She’d missed him, she knew that, and he’d always been happy to see her when they skyped. But… No, they were like brother and sister and that’s how it would remain. A love affair would just destroy what they had, Olivia concluded before disappearing into her dreams, to the tune of Lenni’s snoring.

  ***

  Stilton had headed on down to the city. He called Abbas twice, but there was no reply. Was he hoovering the whole neighbourhood? Then he switched his mobile off to save some battery. He didn’t have that many other people to call. The Olsäters were having dinner with Olivia. And that’s where his friend list ended. He could have rung Benseman or Arvo Pärt, or one of the other homeless guys who’d sort of become friends during his years on the streets, but he felt that he’d moved on.

  Instead he just roamed around the city.

  He preferred the dark, narrow streets a few blocks away from the hustle and bustle. Fewer cars, fewer shops, less noise. He wanted to avoid people, he still felt that they were staring sometimes, as they had done not so long ago. He still avoided the gaze of unfamiliar people.

  So he walked along with his head hanging low, looking at the pavement.

  For a long time.

  He felt that he had to make time pass. There was too much going on in his head for him to remain cooped up in that cell he’d just rented on Luna’s barge, he had to walk off some of that restlessness. When he was in his cabin, he just wanted to detach. Tomorrow he’d be meeting Mette to talk about Rune Forss. He had to kill time until then.

  So he walked through the city centre a few times before heading back to Söder. He saw former colleagues sail past him in police patrol vans and turned away slightly. Not that they’d recognise him, he’d never been on patrol duty, and the people inside the vans were too young to know who he was.

  But they were police officers.

  That was enough.

  They reminded him of the wrong things.

  Eventually he reached the barge, late at night, in a state in which he finally thought he’d be able to creep into bed and disappear. He climbed up the ladder. It was dark on deck. That Luna sure doesn’t waste electricity, he thought, and went over to the steps down to the cabin.

  ‘Hi.’

  The voice came from the darkness over by the railings and it made him jump. He recognised the voice, but he couldn’t see anyone.

  ‘Hi,’ he said. ‘I was heading to bed.’

  ‘You don’t want to have a whiskey?’

  Luna stepped out of the darkness and into a beam of light from the quayside lamp. Her dungarees had been replaced with a pair of worn jeans and a grey woolly jumper. She held a thick blanket around her shoulders.

  ‘I’m quite shattered,’ Stilton said.

  ‘Have you been working?’

  ‘No.’

  Stilton hesitated a little. Luna was standing a couple of metres away. Her thick hair was hanging over her shoulder, tied in a ponytail.

  ‘Are you going to get up early?’

  ‘I get up when I wake up.’

  Luna nodded a little and kept Stilton’s gaze.

  ‘But I’d like to have a whiskey,’ he lied.

  Luna turned around and headed down towards the lounge, in front of Stilton. She’d put on a few lamps, there was gentle country music coming from somewhere out in the darkness, coupled with a light whiff of tar in the air. Two small olive trees and two larger lemon trees were placed along the bulkheads. Luna gestured towards a long wall-mounted bench. There were a couple of framed pictures hanging above it, small abstract oil paintings in bold colours. Stilton sat down. It was the first time he’d been down here. He immediately liked it. All the dark worn wood, brass fittings here and there, the rounded oblong table in front of him, full of scratches. He thought about Rödlöga, about the old wherries out there, the old fisherman’s cottages. He felt a strange longing for home. Luna walked towards the wooden cupboard on the wall and took out a bottle of Bulleit Bourbon and two small glasses.

  ‘Surely it’s all right to celebrate my first lodger,’ she said.

  ‘I think so.’

  She poured the whiskey and held out a glass to Stilton.

  ‘Cheers.’

  Stilton raised his glass and sipped the dry whiskey.

  ‘So this is the first time you’ve rented out a cabin?’ he said.

  ‘Yes. I need to boost my income.’

  ‘What do you do?’

  ‘I’m a caretaker at the Norra cemetery and the pay is pretty bad. How did you end up on the streets?’

  The question came out of nowhere and Stilton didn’t have a chance to duck. He looked down into his glass. He’d been asked that question enough times to be able to present a num
ber of different responses, depending on who was asking. Right now he didn’t feel like answering at all.

  ‘It’s hard to answer that,’ he said.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I don’t know who you are and what response I should choose.’

  Luna smiled without saying anything. Stilton felt uncomfortable.

  ‘What’s that music?’ he said, trying to change the subject.

  ‘“Lover’s Eyes.” Mumford & Sons. What music do you like?’

  ‘None in particular.’

  Luna looked at him and took a small sip from her glass.

  ‘Luna,’ said Stilton.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Quite an unusual name.’

  ‘Mum christened me Abluna, some family name.’

  ‘Sounds foreign.’

  ‘Abluna is an old Swedish girl’s name. But then Mum disappeared and Dad didn’t like the name so he called me Luna instead. Moon in Italian. I like it.’

  ‘It’s beautiful.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘When did your mum disappear?’

  ‘When I was twelve. She was a “wind walker”.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘It’s an old Sami term, he who walks with the wind. Who goes his own way.’

  ‘Was she Sami?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Oh right.’

  That’s where Stilton’s conversational stocks began to run dry, but he went for something within easy reach.

  ‘How long have you had the barge?’

  ‘I came across it two years ago, in Toulouse, I fell for the name.’

  ‘Sara la Kali.’

  ‘Yes. It’s the name of a Roman saint. I took it up the canals.’

  ‘On your own?’

  ‘No, my dad’s a sea captain. He came too.’

  Stilton nodded and drank up the whiskey. He felt how the accumulated fatigue hit him with full force. Yet he still wanted to remain seated. On one level. And on another he had Rune Forss to deal with.

  ‘I’m going to hit the sack now,’ he said.

  ‘Thanks for the company.’

  ‘There’ll be other times.’

  Stilton looked away as he said it. Luna smiled again and followed him with her gaze. She slowly poured herself another splash. When she put the glass to her lips Stilton had disappeared.