Lycke

by Mikaela Bley

‘Yes, it’s Lycke. I won’t say any more. For that, you’ll have to come back.’ He leaned carefully toward her. ‘But I can say this: we’re talking homicide, but that has no effect on our arrangement.’ He winked.

  ‘Does the family know?’ Ellen asked.

  ‘Not yet, so keep it quiet. I think a car is on its way to their home.’

  ‘What happens now?’

  ‘Well, the same old same old. Autopsy, questioning, and all that,’ he said, looking around to assure himself that no one could hear, at the same time making it clear that the conversation was over.

  ‘Who found her?’ she attempted, ignoring his signalling of the end of the conversation.

  ‘A passing rider with their dog,’ he answered nonchalantly. ‘And now we’re done here. Get in touch again when you’ve done your part, so we can talk more,’ he ordered, turning on his heels before she could get in any more questions.

  That stingy bastard, she thought.

  ‘Is there anyone I can do a short interview with?’ she called after him, but he didn’t respond.

  HELENA

  6.30 A.M.

  Helena was sitting in her bathrobe on one of the chairs in the kitchen, pulling on some loose threads on the worn sleeve.

  Across from her sat two plainclothes officers.

  On the table was the morning newspaper. The headlines gave hope — the police had received a new lead that Lycke was alive.

  The newspaper had been printed four hours ago.

  ‘Soon the media will announce that she’s been found dead,’ one of the officers said, turning over the newspaper. ‘There are reporters at the crime scene, and, if they haven’t already done so, they’ll soon start calling you and others in the family. So it’s best if you call the other next of kin as soon as possible.’

  Next of kin. Her skin was crawling.

  ‘Do you need anyone to talk with?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I think it would be good if someone could be here with you, is there anyone we can call —’

  ‘Thanks, thanks, but no thanks,’ she interrupted. ‘What happens now? May I see her?’

  ‘Yes, she’s going to be at forensic medicine in Solna. You’ll be able to say goodbye to her.’

  She shook her head. Go! she wanted to scream, but held back. She got up and retrieved the cigarette pack. Her hands were shaking so much that she dropped it. She picked it up and finally got out a cigarette.

  ‘Wait, I’ll help you,’ one of the officers said, taking out a lighter.

  ‘I would really appreciate it if you left now. I’ll manage.’ She tried to sound convincing.

  ‘We don’t want to leave you alone …’ The officers looked at each other and seemed unsure how they should handle the situation. ‘Okay, this doesn’t feel right, but we’ll do that. Our colleagues will be in touch at any moment. You will be called for questioning —’

  ‘Am I suspected of something, or what?’ She took a deep drag on her cigarette.

  ‘Shouldn’t we call your parents or siblings to come here?’

  She shook her head and flicked ashes in the sink. ‘Please, I beg you. Leave. I have to collect myself.’

  Finally, they left.

  The morning’s paper was still on the table. She browsed through to the notices section, ran her finger down the page, and searched for the number to call. She took her phone out of her pocket and entered the number.

  ‘Family notices, Svenska Dagbladet. This is Jenny.’

  ‘I want to put in an announcement for my daughter.’

  ‘I see. Of course. Is this a birth announcement?’ she asked, sounding charmed.

  ‘No, a death announcement.’

  Helena swallowed her rising gorge.

  ‘I’m sorry, normally that’s done through the funeral home. But do you want to put in an announcement yourself?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What size announcement would you like?’

  ‘Size?’ She felt itchy. ‘Normal.’ She looked down at her hand resting on the newspaper. A finger pointed to one of the announcements. ‘Like the one you have in today’s paper. The one for Anna. Anna Turesson.’

  ‘Okay. What do you want the announcement to say?’

  ‘What it should say?’

  She skimmed through the announcement in confusion. First, there was a text in italic. A poem. A list of relatives. At the top those who grieved the most, felt the worst. The letters flowed together. It was as if there was a film over her eyes. A protective glaze. But no tears came.

  ‘What does it usually say?’ she asked instead.

  ‘What does it usually say? Oh, well, perhaps we can start with who it is who has passed away.’

  Helena rubbed her eyes and tried to collect herself.

  ‘Lycke. Lycke Höök.’

  ‘L-y-c-k-e H-ö-ö-k,’ the girl spelled it out. ‘What a nice name.’

  As if that was useful information.

  ‘When was she born?’

  ‘The twenty-third of April, 2006,’ Helena answered curtly.

  Helena could hear the girl typing on the keyboard.

  ‘When did she pass away?’

  Helena put her hand to her mouth. ‘Today.’

  ‘Today?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Oh, I’m truly sorry … but …’

  Helena interrupted her.

  ‘Or — I don’t know …’

  ‘What don’t you know?’

  Helena couldn’t get the words out.

  ‘Hello? Are you still there?’

  ‘I don’t know when she died.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Helena tried to hold her emotions back.

  ‘I understand that you’re in shock. Perhaps you should wait before putting in an announcement? Do you have anyone you can talk with?’

  ‘It itches. I can’t get it to stop. My skin is crawling.’

  ‘Shall I call for help? Is this the Lycke that’s been missing? She’s been found murdered?’

  Helena took a deep breath.

  ‘I want you to put an announcement in tomorrow’s paper. What do you need to know?’

  CHLOÉ

  8.30 A.M.

  ‘It’s eight-thirty and this is TV4 news. Eight-year-old Lycke Höök, who has been missing since last Friday afternoon, has been found dead. The body —’

  Chloé turned off the TV.

  Harald sat paralysed at the kitchen table, staring straight in front of him. Half an hour ago, they’d heard that Lycke had been found dead. From the news on TV.

  Harald then immediately phoned the police. Never, ever had she heard him so angry. It almost made her scared. But she understood. Why hadn’t anyone told them that Lycke had been found dead? Murdered. Should the father really need to find out from the news?

  The police told him that they had informed Lycke’s mother earlier that morning, and that she in turn should have informed them. They were sorry that hadn’t occurred.

  And this is supposed to represent an equal society? Why had they only called the mother? Harald and Helena actually had joint custody after all. Chloé wanted to call Helena and scream at her. How could she do that to Harald? Ice-cold was what she was.

  ‘Do you want anything, darling? Coffee, water?’ She put her hand on his shoulder.

  He didn’t answer, and shook her hand away.

  It hurt so much to see him like this, but what could she do? She couldn’t console him, couldn’t touch him.

  ‘What did the police say? How did she die?’ She could barely say the word.

  He must have slept at home last night, she thought, sitting down on the chair beside him.

  It had been seven o’clock when she was wakened by Ludde babbling, but when she went into his room, he wasn’t there. She
heard a noise in the kitchen and went to investigate. There stood Harald, making porridge. She didn’t know when he’d come home. He must have slept in the guest room, because he hadn’t come in to her. She put on the morning news.

  ‘I made coffee,’ he said, giving her a kiss on the cheek. He looked worn out, but seemed happy despite this. Or, at least, totally okay.

  She felt a little rush of happiness. He was back with them. She poured a cup of coffee. Everything was almost as usual. Until the news started.

  And now he was sitting there at the kitchen table, completely paralysed.

  ‘What did the police say, Harald? How was she murdered?’ she tried again.

  He still didn’t answer.

  ‘Who murders a little girl? What kind of world do we live in?’

  His expression didn’t change. It was as if she didn’t exist.

  ‘Hello. Can you talk to me, Harald? You can’t keep pushing me out.’

  But he just stared ahead into empty space. She tried waving her hand in front of his eyes to break his stare, but it didn’t work. She felt so left out. Why didn’t he want to talk to her? She didn’t understand.

  It was one long nightmare. Little Lycke.

  Both of their phones started ringing. She had turned off the sound on both phones, but the vibrations were ear-shattering.

  She had already twice made the mistake of answering. The first time, it was an acquaintance who’d heard the awful news and wanted to know how she and the family were doing. The second time, it was a reporter who asked a lot of questions that she didn’t know how to answer.

  ‘I can’t stand it. Can’t everyone just stop calling!’ She went over to the counter and turned off her phone without looking to see who it was.

  Harald’s mobile was still vibrating.

  ‘Harald, please, answer me?’

  Slowly, he turned his gaze toward her.

  ‘They couldn’t say.’ He spoke calmly. ‘They want me to identify her,’ he continued, turning to stare back at the point on the wall.

  ‘I can’t believe that she’s dead.’ She stood there, leaning against the counter. ‘How horrible that someone we know has been murdered.’

  ‘Someone we know? It’s my daughter you’re talking about. Do you understand that? My daughter!’

  He stared at her, his expression dark.

  ‘But —’

  ‘Just stop.’

  Chloé fell silent.

  ‘The police are coming here. They’ll be asking us a lot of questions …’ He leaned forward, burying his head in his hands.

  ‘But we’ve already told them everything we know.’

  ‘I have to call Helena,’ he said, getting up.

  ‘What? How can you want to talk to her, after all she’s done to us? If there’s anyone the police should want to talk to, it should be her, shouldn’t it?’

  ELLEN

  10.00 A.M.

  Anette was standing behind the counter, completely nonchalant, putting fresh-baked rolls on a plate. She stopped in mid-motion and smiled broadly when the door jingled and Ellen came in.

  ‘I’ll have a coffee … and a roll,’ Ellen said as she approached the counter. There was no one else in the little newsstand and Ellen could relax a little.

  ‘A brew coffee then, or perhaps you’d like a latte today?’ Anette asked, her smile exposing her crooked teeth.

  ‘A regular brew coffee, thanks. Black.’

  In honour of the day, Anette had put on even more black kohl around her eyes.

  Easy-listening classics were on in the background.

  ‘Ah, I love this song,’ she said cheerfully, setting aside the plate of fresh rolls and putting a mug in the coffee machine.

  ‘Do you want to pay with cash or card?’

  ‘Cash, please.’

  Practised exchanges.

  Anette sang along with the music. A line from ‘Snowbird’. She turned around and passed over the hot cup, still singing along.

  Ellen handed over the money. Five thousand kronor. Disgusting was what it was.

  Anette took the money. ‘Would you kill your pet for a million kronor?’ she asked, putting the cash in her pocket.

  ‘Oh, no,’ said Ellen, shuddering. She’s sick, she thought. This is sick.

  ‘I think a lot of people say no to that question, but actually everyone would do it. But people want to sound good,’ Anette said, smugly. ‘This is exactly like everyone saying that they watch documentaries, but nobody actually does.’ She chuckled. ‘But you would know that, since you work with TV.’

  Ellen simply nodded. It was easiest that way. She took her coffee and her roll and walked quickly to the door.

  ‘Hope to see you again soon,’ Anette called, and continued singing along with the song.

  Ellen tossed the roll in the rubbish bin outside the newsstand. Eating was the last thing she could think of right now. It occurred to her that she should have bought gum, but she would have to leave that be. Instead she took a sip of the black coffee, which made her entire stomach lurch.

  She took out her phone and sent a message: Done. She got into her car and had just turned the key in the ignition when Ove called.

  ‘I assume you can talk?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Ellen.

  ‘Good. Listen carefully now because I’m only saying this once.’

  ‘Okay.’ Ellen fished paper and a pen out of her bag.

  ‘After the autopsy tomorrow we’ll have more answers, but I’ll briefly go over what we now know. The cause of death is clear: tiny spots of bleeding on the inside of the eyelids —’

  Ellen stopped writing. ‘Lack of oxygen?’

  ‘Yes. Evidently suffocated by a pillow, a piece of cloth, or something similar.’

  ‘Are there any signs of external violence?’

  ‘No, not from what we can see now, but the autopsy report will answer a lot of questions. She probably died last Friday.’

  Ellen took a deep breath. ‘Do you know that for certain?’

  ‘The autopsy report will obviously confirm that, too.’

  ‘Does the rain make it more difficult?’

  ‘Yes, it’s not exactly an ideal situation for a crime-scene investigator; any possible traces disappear.’

  ‘Do you have any suspects? Is there anything that has led you closer to the perpetrator? What will you do now?’

  ‘Yes, this is a homicide, and we have no suspects at the present time. The police are focusing on the scene, and we’re now questioning everyone who we think may know something. Do you want an interview with someone from the police?’

  ‘Have the next of kin all been informed?’

  ‘Yes. They have been now. It was damned unfortunate that you broadcast the news that she’d been found before we managed to inform the father.’

  Damn it, she thought, taking a deep breath before continuing.

  ‘What did she look like when she was found? Was she in a bad way? Had animals been at her?’

  ‘She was wrapped up in a blanket and a towel, and was covered with branches.’

  ‘What do you mean? The perpetrator buried her?’

  ‘Yes, you might say that, in a way. I’ve sent you an email. Have to go now, but be in touch if you want an interview.’

  ‘But —’

  He’d already hung up. Ellen leaned back in the seat.

  She read through her notes several times. She stumbled on a few of the words. She tried to make sense of it all, and then picked up the phone again to check the email from Ove.

  She hesitated before opening it.

  The email was empty, but there was an image attached. She clicked on it and the image opened, covering the whole screen.

  When she saw it, she gasped, and her hand shot up to cover her mouth.

  E
LLEN

  11.00 A.M.

  She could barely remember how she got to work. She must have driven on autopilot. The image of Lycke had been etched firmly in her mind. She could not for the life of her understand why Ove had sent her a picture of Lycke’s corpse.

  It looked as if she was lying down sleeping. Her skin was chalk-white. Her mouth was closed, the lips dark blue. Her hair was damp, with a few strands over her delicate face. Both macabre and peaceful in the same instance.

  She’d paid too much for coffee this time, she thought as she hurried up to the office. What a gold mine this had been for Ove! The whole thing was dirty, disgusting, and illegal, and she was ashamed to be a part of it.

  And what could she do with the picture? She didn’t want to, and couldn’t, have it on her computer. What if someone were to get hold of it?

  She sat down at her desk, but just before deleting the image along with everything else in the trash, she stopped. Why did the murderer wrap Lycke up? Was it ritualistic? Or did the murderer want to protect her?

  She looked around to make sure that no one could see her screen and then opened the image one last time. She looked at the picture of Lycke. There was something that felt familiar about it, but she couldn’t put her finger on what it was.

  Trying not to think about it too much, she quickly opened the image in Photoshop and cut out a piece of the striped blanket and towel. She saved it to the desktop and then deleted the original image.

  ‘We’ve made the world’s best broadcast — again!’ Jimmy stood up from his desk and clapped his hands. ‘First with the news, first on the scene.’ He went up to Ellen and put his hand on her shoulder. ‘Really well done! And I just heard that Harald is now offering to pay out the reward to the one who finds the murderer.’

  Ellen quickly closed the image of the blanket. Jimmy was the last person she wanted to get hold of such an image — who knew what he might force her to do with it.

  ‘What happens now? How do we continue being the first in and best dressed?’ he asked.

  She tried to sound unaffected by the situation, responding only with the facts. Before telling him about the content of the email from her source, she wanted to be clear how much of the information she should share and what she should dig into further.