The Silent Girl (Sebastian Bergman 4)

by Michael Hjorth

  However, over the last few years they had found their way back to each other, thanks mainly to the children; Nicole was always welcome in Torsby. Karin had never mentioned that someone was trying to buy the house from them.

  While Maria made a start on lunch, Sebastian took Nicole into the guest room. Together they made up the bed in the pretty little pale blue room, and opened the window to let in some fresh air for a while. When Sebastian looked at the empty bed he wished he had bought some cuddly toys for her; he would definitely do that the next time he went shopping. She would be here for a while. Maria called to tell them lunch was ready, and they joined her in the kitchen.

  After macaroni with meatballs, they settled down in the living room. Nicole picked up her pad and her coloured pens and immediately began to draw.

  Sebastian was enjoying himself. It was good to shut out the world for a while, to sit in his living room and allow himself simply to be. Nicole came over and placed a drawing on his knee. Shutting out the world was no longer an option. He had to deal with a closed-in world that was on its way out.

  And what a world it was.

  A little girl in a big forest.

  Huge trees, darkness.

  Narrow paths and small feet.

  Nicole produced one picture after another; she was really in the swing of things now. Each one was basically the same, but her need to express herself seemed to have increased since those first tentative strokes of her pen in Torsby.

  Sebastian found it difficult to hide how moved he was by the vulnerability he saw before him. A little girl all alone in the forest, fleeing for her life. He could see that Maria was struggling too. Her eyes filled with tears as each drawing was completed and each new one was begun. The repetition showed the scars that Nicole needed to process. She seemed to have got stuck in the forest. Maria must have been thinking along the same lines, because she leaned forward and gently touched her daughter’s hand.

  ‘I’ll never leave you again,’ she said tenderly.

  ‘This is good, Nicole,’ Sebastian said, trying to sound as reassuring as possible. ‘Carry on drawing the forest, but remember you’re not there any more.’

  Nicole looked up at both of them. For a second it seemed as if she wanted to say something, but couldn’t. She went back to her picture.

  Sebastian picked up the last image she had placed on his knee. Still the dark forest, but something else was just visible over to one side.

  The outline of a house. A white two-storey house. Sebastian recognised it right away.

  Nicole was no longer fleeing through the dark forest.

  She was outside the house.

  The house where it all began.

  Torkel rang the Bengtssons’ doorbell, and when they answered he explained why he was there. He wanted to ask them a few more questions about the Carlsten family, and the officers who were with him would be carrying out a search of the property. The reaction was exactly as he had expected; first of all they wanted to see a search warrant.

  Torkel didn’t have one, because it wasn’t necessary. It was only in American films that the cops had to wave a piece of paper in order to gain access.

  But if they didn’t have a warrant, did that really mean they had the right to search the house?

  Yes, it did. The Swedish Code of Judicial Procedure chapter 28 paragraph 1 gave them that right.

  Kent and Gunilla Bengtsson stepped aside, wearing the slightly bewildered expression that Torkel had seen so many times before, when people were forced to let in several police officers, knowing that they were about to go through their entire house. Not exactly an enjoyable experience.

  ‘Perhaps we could sit down and have a chat?’ Torkel said in a friendly tone of voice as he steered the couple inside.

  They ended up in the kitchen. Gunilla offered him coffee, but Torkel declined. He looked around the pleasant room. Pale birch-veneer cupboard doors that looked new, unlike the old, scratched Formica worktop that ended at an induction hob. The scruffy grey-green vinyl flooring actually had little holes in it here and there; it was as if two completely different timelines criss-crossed within the limited space. Torkel recalled a similar feeling in the living room, where he had interviewed the couple on his previous visit. He had sat on a modern three-seater sofa in front of a bulky old TV that must have been around for ever. It was as if the Bengtssons played spin the bottle as far as their home was concerned, replacing whichever item it pointed to without much planning.

  ‘Why didn’t you say anything about the mine?’ Torkel asked when he had told them what he had found out earlier.

  Kent and Gunilla exchanged a glance which Torkel would have described as uneasy.

  ‘It’s a long time ago – we didn’t think about it,’ Gunilla replied.

  ‘You didn’t think about the fact that the family who were murdered were responsible for several people losing the chance to make millions?’

  ‘It did cross my mind,’ Kent admitted, his eyes fixed on the table. ‘But it seemed stupid to mention it. I mean, it would just make us suspects.’

  ‘Finding out from elsewhere has hardly allayed our suspicions.’

  Kent shrugged, suggesting that he had hoped the police wouldn’t find out at all.

  ‘And we weren’t annoyed with the Carlstens,’ Gunilla said. ‘This is the house where Kent grew up. It wasn’t an easy decision to sell, knowing that it would be pulled down.’

  ‘We’re happy here.’ Kent raised his head, meeting Torkel’s gaze. ‘OK, we’re talking about a lot of money, but money isn’t everything.’

  ‘But you agreed to the sale.’

  Once again the Bengtssons exchanged a look. This time Torkel had the feeling they were both a little ashamed. Gunilla gently placed her hand on Kent’s.

  ‘Yes, we did,’ Kent said, nodding. ‘Everybody said we’d be stupid not to take the opportunity. For that kind of money, we could buy more or less whatever we wanted.’

  Gunilla took over, in the way that happens only when you’ve been married for a long time, Torkel thought; he had never got to the finishing-each-other’s-sentences stage with either of his wives. ‘But when the Carlstens said no and the whole thing fell through …’

  ‘We were quite pleased,’ Kent supplied.

  ‘Relieved.’

  ‘Because the decision hadn’t been made by us.’ Kent fell silent.

  Torkel understood. There are many times when we want to be in control, to decide things for ourselves, but sometimes it’s nice when a decision is taken by someone else, so that we can just sit back and say that we had no choice. It’s easier that way, particularly in situations where both options are acceptable. Or unacceptable.

  The search team still had a lot to do, but Torkel was convinced they wouldn’t find anything. There was nothing in the Bengtssons’ behaviour, body language or tone of voice to indicate that they had lied to him with regard to their feelings about either the sale or the Carlsten family.

  He wondered if it was too late to ask for that cup of coffee.

  ★ ★ ★

  The strawberry yogurt dribbled down Hampus’s chin; Frank Hedén scooped up most of it on the spoon with a practised hand, while the rest ended up on the white bib.

  Vanja didn’t really know where to look. She was surprised, and slightly disappointed, at how difficult she found it to handle the situation. She knew that Frank had a severely disabled son who lived at home, but she hadn’t met him when she was here with Billy, and she hadn’t expected … well, she didn’t really know what she had expected, but obviously not the young man sitting opposite her. A wide belt kept him sitting upright in the heavy wheelchair. His head leaned to the left at an unnatural angle, jerking at regular intervals as if his body wanted to straighten it up, but it was too heavy and always fell back. Three of the thin fingers on one hand were sticking out in different directions, and from time to time the arm waved in what appeared to be completely uncontrolled movements. The other hand lay motionless on his knee.
Paralysed down one side, Vanja guessed. Black, spiky hair and blue eyes gazing into the distance without focus; no words emerged from the permanently half-open mouth, but occasionally there was a sound which Frank seemed able to interpret as a request for another spoonful of yogurt.

  Vanja looked away.

  Frank had let them in with a nod of recognition to her, a warmer greeting to Erik. Vanja had explained that the accompanying officers would be searching the house and Frank had simply acquiesced; no questions about papers or their right to do such a thing. When she asked if they could have a chat with him about the mining company’s plans, he had said that it was time for Hampus to have a snack – could they talk while he fed his son?

  He had fetched a tray from the kitchen and led them into one of the rooms on the ground floor.

  ‘This is Vanja, and you know Erik already,’ Frank had said as they walked in. ‘Vanja is a police officer too.’

  ‘Hi, Hampus,’ Erik had said, and Vanja had also managed a faint ‘hi’.

  This was a sick room more than anything. It was dominated by an adjustable bed with a hoist, and metal bars on the sides. The bedside table was crowded with assorted tablets, creams and other medical necessities. A machine that Vanja assumed supplied Hampus with oxygen when necessary stood by the far side of the bed. Along one wall was a range of exercise equipment that looked more like instruments of torture, with all those shiny metal parts, harnesses, ropes and counter-weights.

  Vanja had never imagined herself as a mother. She wasn’t sure that she wanted children at all, even though her friends who had started families told her that the love they felt for their children, and the joy they brought, was deeper and more real than anything they had ever felt for anyone else. Vanja couldn’t help wondering if this was also true of Frank and Hampus. Love, yes, but joy? Wouldn’t Frank just feel a constant anxiety, facing a never-ending round of work without getting anything in return? Did the joy really outweigh the effort, or was she simply too analytical, too calculating? She definitely lacked the emotional dimension that having a child of one’s own involved.

  Once they had sat down and Frank had started feeding his son, Vanja had brought up the issue of the mine. Frank had nodded. Yes, he was one of those who had wanted to sell. He didn’t have much time left, as Erik knew, and Hampus wouldn’t be able to stay here alone when Frank was gone. The mining company was offering far more for the land than he would get anywhere else, so why not?

  ‘But the sale fell through,’ Vanja said.

  ‘It did.’

  ‘So how did you feel about that?’

  Frank shrugged. Brought the spoon with its pink cargo up to the young man’s mouth once more. Most of it ended up down his chin.

  ‘When I’m gone, friends I can rely on will sell the land for as much as possible. The council has promised that Hampus will be able to keep his carers – he’ll be fine. That’s all that matters.’

  ‘Did you know Jan Ceder?’ Vanja suddenly asked.

  ‘We didn’t have much to do with one another, but we’ve both lived here for a long time. I had reason to call on him occasionally in my role as gamekeeper – he had what you might call a flexible approach to the laws on hunting.’

  ‘Have you ever borrowed a shotgun from him?’

  ‘Why would I do that?’ Frank shook his head. ‘I have my own guns.’

  Vanja didn’t say anything. Something had happened there. In that last response.

  Frank’s voice had become slightly strained. A tension in the vocal cords raised the tone a fraction. Not very much – a less skilled listener would have missed it completely, but not Vanja. Frank cleared his throat. Had he noticed it too? Was he trying to cover it up, or did he just have a frog in his throat?

  Vanja waited, hoping Frank was the type who disliked silence, and would feel the need to fill it. Perhaps he would try to distance himself even more from Jan Ceder. Start talking about what he had ‘heard’, provide them with an alibi for the time of Ceder’s murder even though they hadn’t asked for one.

  Unfortunately she didn’t find out how Frank handled silence, because Erik jumped in and started burbling about the up-and-coming first of May celebrations, wondering if Frank would like to join him and Pia for dinner in the evening, after the procession.

  The moment, if it had been there, was lost.

  ‘We’d like you to stay in the area, or contact us if you’re intending to go away,’ Vanja said, getting to her feet.

  ‘Am I a suspect?’ Frank wanted to know, sounding almost amused. For the first time since the conversation began he took his eyes off his son and looked at Vanja.

  ‘No, but we’d still like to know.’

  ‘I’m supposed to be going to Västerås tomorrow – there’s a two-day conference on new laws relating to game. Can I still go?’

  Vanja thought for a moment. Whatever she might have heard, it wasn’t reason enough to keep him here. Not by a long way. If she’d had a child with that level of disability, she would have needed to get away now and again. However much Frank loved his son, he probably felt the same.

  ‘That’s fine. Two days, you said?’

  ‘Yes – I’ll be back on Wednesday evening.’

  ‘Where will you be staying?’

  ‘At the Best Western, I think.’

  ‘Good. Thanks for your help,’ Vanja said, holding out her hand. Frank put down the spoon and shook it. ‘Bye, Hampus,’ Vanja added before she left the room.

  ★ ★ ★

  Frank stood in the window watching as Erik reversed, spun the wheel and drove away. Through the closed door he could hear the four police officers searching his home. Behind him Hampus jerked in his wheelchair and let out a protracted wail that rapidly grew louder. Frank didn’t turn around. It wasn’t an epileptic fit. He had learned to tell the difference between the normal if somewhat violent movements, and an attack. Hampus wanted a shower. That was the highlight of his day. He would happily sit under the warm water for hours. Frank glanced at his watch. The visit from the police had upset his schedule a little, but he would still have time to get Hampus washed and into bed before Monica came to take over for the night.

  He saw Erik’s rear lights grow smaller and smaller, then disappear completely, but he stayed where he was, gazing out into the spring evening.

  Vanja Lithner.

  She had found Hampus difficult to cope with; he had noticed that as soon as she walked in. Everyone reacted differently, and he didn’t hold it against her. Nor did he object to her intrusive and perhaps slightly aggressive questions about FilboCorp, the Carlsten family and the murders. But she had suddenly fallen silent when they were talking about Jan Ceder.

  He didn’t know her.

  He didn’t know what it meant when she stopped driving the conversation forward and sat back. Did it mean that she suspected him? Was he going to be dragged into their murder inquiry?

  He knew Erik.

  Knew him and liked him.

  Erik was no alpha male – God knows there were enough of those around here; he was more accommodating, willing to compromise. At home he had no problem with letting Pia wear the trousers. Frank had no doubt that was essential if the marriage was going to work, but even so. Erik knew his own worth, in spite of the fact that he appeared to play second fiddle at times. He had brought in Riksmord. Someone more intent on making a name for himself would have been reluctant to let go of a case that could be pivotal in terms of his career, but not Erik. It didn’t matter to him who did the job, as long as it was done well. Aina had been very fond of Erik; she had always said he was too good for Pia.

  No doubt she had been right.

  He allowed himself a moment to miss her. They came less frequently now, they were more fleeting, but he let the memories of Aina fill his mind. The image of her was crystal clear. He remembered every line on her face, every strand of hair, the sound of her voice, her laughter.

  God, how he had loved her.

  He had grieved for her, a grie
f so deep he had been afraid he would never climb out of it. A darkness so immense that it threatened to swallow him up. If he had been alone he would probably have given in, let himself be swept away. But he had Hampus, and half of Hampus was Aina. The boy was totally dependent on Frank, so becoming bogged down in his grief wasn’t an option. Slowly but surely he had found his way back. He pushed away the picture of Aina out there on the lawn in her summer dress, wiped away a single tear from his eyelashes, and turned to his son.

  He didn’t have time to wallow in sorrow.

  He didn’t have the energy either.

  There was no room in his life for such luxuries.

  ★ ★ ★

  By the time Torkel left the Bengtssons, twilight was falling.

  The warmth of the spring day disappeared quickly as soon as the sun was gone, and Torkel zipped up his jacket as he walked to the car. At the same time, he was struck by how cool and fresh the evening was. The clean air, the faint breeze carrying the odour of manure spread over the fields, mingled with the smells of the forest. He stopped and took a deep breath, then decided to walk over to the Torssons. Vanja hadn’t been in touch, so he assumed she was still busy with Frank Hedén. He wondered whether to tell the Bengtssons that he was leaving his car there for a little while, but concluded that there was probably no need.

  He set off, amusing himself by trying to identify the songs of various birds as they made use of the remaining daylight to try to attract a partner. When the girls were young they had spent a lot of time outdoors. Torkel thought it was important for them to get to know the forest, not just playgrounds, bouncy castles and ball pools. A picnic basket, a little pond with tadpoles swimming around, a grass snake wriggling away, tiny boats made of bark bobbing along a stream towards their carefully constructed dam, picking berries and edible leaves, learning to recognise droppings, to work out whether it was a dormouse or a squirrel that had been nibbling pine cones. There was always plenty to do and to learn in the forest. Simple pleasures, but he realised he experienced those things less and less often these days. Yvonne had once pointed out that the person who had the most fun on their forest excursions was Torkel himself, and she might well have been right, but he was still glad he had been able to give his daughters that kind of childhood. Today kids weren’t allowed to go anywhere where they might possibly hurt themselves. Everything had to be safe, controlled – all the time.