The Cruel Stars of the Night

by Kjell Eriksson

  Laura lost her balance and Jessica sprang to the side, lifting up a chair and using it like a shield. Stig stood frozen to the spot.

  “This isn’t happening,” he said and stared at the woman he had made love with only a few hours ago, and with a passion that he had not thought possible.

  When Laura again rushed forward with her weapon raised above her head, like a runner with the Olympic torch, Stig’s passivity was broken. He thrust his leg forward and tripped Laura so she tumbled headlong onto the floor and dropped the pipe wrench. Stig threw himself over her, gripped her wrists, and pressed her body to the floor.

  Laura’s body went completely limp and Stig was afraid he had injured her with his violent attack.

  “Let go of me,” she hissed.

  Her eyes shone with panic.

  “You damned lunatic!” he yelled.

  “No one is allowed to hold me down!” Laura screamed. “I’ll die!”

  “I don’t think so,” Stig said and pressed harder when he felt her try to get up.

  “I’ll die,” she whispered.

  “Let her go,” Jessica said. She had picked up the pipe wrench from the floor.

  “Never,” Stig said.

  He felt Laura’s body working under his own, heard her heavy breaths, and saw how she tried to bite his arm. Suddenly and for a few moments he relived their last tryst. Revolted by his own reaction he loosened his grip a little.

  “Let her go,” Jessica repeated and Stig got to his knees.

  Laura remained lying on the floor. The only thing they heard were her panting breaths. Jessica looked at Stig but he avoided her gaze. I’ve fucked this woman, he thought and had a bitter taste in his mouth. I’ve cheated on my wife with her, planned to run away with her. Shame made him get up quickly and direct a kick against the body at his feet but he stopped himself at the last moment.

  “It’s over now,” was the only thing Jessica said, and he knew that she had sensed what he must be thinking.

  Laura let out a sob and then started to crawl to the door. Stig thought she looked like a wounded animal who was trying to drag herself away from a fight.

  When she reached the door she turned her head and looked one last time at Stig before she picked herself up and on unsteady legs disappeared from their view.

  Jessica walked over to the door, looked out, and then closed it very carefully.

  “She’s crazy,” Stig said.

  Jessica simply nodded and she didn’t cease to amaze him. He wanted to hug her but knew it would be a while before that happened.

  “Lock the door,” he said. “I have to have another cognac.”

  “Pour me one too,” Jessica said and only now did she put down the wrench.

  Forty-four

  The flashlight gasped one last time and then went out for good. However Ann tried it remained dark. She tossed it away and curled up in the wine cellar.

  The rustling of the rats became louder. It was as if Ann’s rearranging of the wood drove them to gnaw even more eagerly on Ulrik Hindersten’s body. Ann also thought the smell of rotting flesh had grown stronger.

  Her hand fumbled over the bottles of wine. They tempted her. She longed intensely for a sip of red wine. She sneezed as a result of the dust she had disturbed. The rustling died down for a few seconds. The rats were aware of her presence, they heard her and perhaps with cold calculation counted on the fact that a new feast awaited them.

  She had been cold for the past half hour and regretted the fact that she had not gathered up some of the old clothes she had seen. Now that the light was definitely not functioning she was hesitant to move around in the dark basement. She told herself that it wasn’t because of the rats, but the fact was that her terror was building minute by minute in the pitch black and stinking cellar.

  Wine was her only friend, the only thing she could perceive as positive. But she was not allowed to drink it. When Laura returned, Ann had to be in good shape. She did not count on being able to free herself with physical force; she assumed the only possibility was to talk herself out of the basement and then she could not be slurring her speech. And above all, her thinking had to be clear.

  It struck her that perhaps Laura would not be coming back at all. That she had left the house for good. Ann had seen the suitcase in the hall. The sudden insight that she was going to be abandoned made her jump to her feet. Instinctively she groped around with her hand in front of her without knowing what she was going to do—it just seemed wrong to sit there completely passive. She thought she had tested all the possibilities open to her. Now she could only hope that Laura would return.

  Only seeing a hint of light if Laura was going to open the door, and even if Ann had to stand at the foot of the stairs, a glimpse of light was so enticing that she cautiously made her way out of the wine cellar and haltingly made her way closer to the staircase even if this meant she drew closer to the rats.

  She had heard that your eyes grew accustomed to darkness and that you would start to see partly after a while but it wasn’t true. The darkness was as compact as before and she regretted having wasted the batteries in the flashlight as she had looked for a way out.

  Her thoughts and yearning for Erik were the worst. At a few points she had sniffed her right shoulder. When she carried him he would rest his head there and sometimes his scent lingered, but now she picked up nothing.

  Does terror smell? It must be sweat in that case, she thought.

  She ended up standing by the staircase, crouched down, and brushed her hand over the first step. If I sit at the very top, she thought, and hold a piece of wood in my hand I can hit her as soon as she opens the door.

  In the midst of her misery she laughed at the thought of getting free. The rats quietened again. They were apparently sensitive to sound. God, how she hated rats. Were there more detestable animals?

  The closer she got to the woodpile the more it stank. In order to control her revulsion and urge to vomit she tried to imagine which state of decomposition the corpse was in. Ryde could have informed her. He could have given her a long lecture about the various decomposition processes of the human body depending on temperature and other factors, if he was in the mood. Otherwise he would simply snort.

  She recited the names of her colleagues while she searched for a weapon. She had thrown some logs to the side and after a while her foot bumped up against a heavy piece of wood, which she quickly bent down and picked up.

  She crept carefully up the stairs and sat down on the top step, extremely pleased with her new position, raised above the rats and within striking distance of Laura.

  Normally she didn’t hate the criminals she came into contact with, even if she at times had wanted to castrate some of the rapists she had arrested. But she hated Laura without reservation. Not because she had killed her father and most likely three other men but because she had robbed Ann of her freedom in the most ignominious way. The feeling of having been tricked probably played into this, but Ann convinced herself that Laura was an evil person through-and-through who deserved to get a piece of wood in the face.

  Hell, how she would strike! That witch would get a real bonk on the nose. Then down into the basement with her and only after a good long while would Ann alert the rest of the police corps. Red alert. Bring the bitch to jail. Lock her up. A cell. Under lock and key. High-security prison. Rats. Bleached bones that are raked away after fifty lonely and painful years.

  Thoughts of revenge were the nourishment to keep Ann’s spirits up, at least at such a level that the anxiety did not completely get the upper hand.

  “Erik,” she said softly.

  Why do I expose myself to this? she thought and the anger at herself that had been lurking beneath her venting at Laura broke out. She had acted in such an amateurish manner. She had broken her own ground rule: to always maintain contact.

  She could hardly keep still in the darkness. The air seemed more stale and smelly for every minute that went by. She had the strange feeling
that the stench of Ulrik Hindersten would follow her for the rest of her life, seep into her pores and constantly make itself known.

  Perhaps it was her own aching arm that made her think of Allan Fredriksson. Bird-watching was for sissies. She shook her head in the dark. It was envy, nothing more. Fredriksson had an interest outside of his work. Ann felt as if she didn’t have anything, except caring for Erik. Not mushroom-picking and bridge, like Sammy; or gardening, like Bea, with her flourishing vegetable beds that she was always talking about; or Ottosson with his summer cottage where he happily pushed a lawn mower around in shorts and a straw hat.

  Ann was like a robot with three stations: her home, day care, and the station. She snorted when a thought of Charles fluttered by.

  She retreated into self-pity and nodded off with her head against the door.

  Forty-five

  As if by a miracle Laura Hindersten arrived at the house in Kåbo without crashing or driving off the road.

  She felt empty, like a shell. It felt as if the last ounce of humanity had drained out of her. She regarded her surroundings with a dull gaze, without really taking in what was happening around her. She might as well be driving on the moon. Everything was strange. Even her friend, the car, that she during the past few weeks had set such great store in, was like an unfamiliar object.

  She parked on the street, didn’t cast a glance at the professor’s house but walked straight onto her property. There, she ended up standing like a zombie in front of the door before it occurred to her to get out her keys and open it.

  Somewhere she understood that Stig had rejected her but the memory of what had transpired in his house was diffuse. What had happened? What she recalled most clearly and with the greatest degree of pain was that he had pinned her arms and legs and held her to the floor. The pressure on her chest had been unbearable. It was as if something broke inside.

  She walked into the kitchen and sank onto a chair. Slowly fragments of the events returned. She remembered that Jessica had been holding the pipe wrench in her hand. It was confusing, as if their roles had been reversed. The tool belonged to Laura. She looked around the kitchen as if she would be able to find the tool there. Her gaze fell onto the letters on the table. She hadn’t read them yet. She reached out for the bundle and loosened the string, picked up a letter and started to read.

  You can’t imagine what beautiful landscapes we have seen. I would love to settle down in Tuscany if only Ulrik could do it. Laura was quite whiny, sometimes obnoxiously so, on the trip. She complained of the heat and I can partly understand her, it was so terribly warm, but it is as if one’s life spirit is awakened by the heat. I can tell from the people here that they are really alive. You should know how romantic the Italians are! I am constantly complimented, while Ulrik walks around like a prehistoric monument.

  Laura sat there with the letter in her hand. Certainly she remembered the heat and the crowds in Florence, how they had forced their way through the throngs to the palaces and the churches. She had thought she was going to suffocate.

  She took out the next letter. It was from October of the same year. Mårten had offered to come into town and help out with the garden but Alice had declined.

  I don’t think Ulrik would appreciate it. You know how touchy he is. He doesn’t want to have a debt of gratitude to anyone, especially no one from our side of the family. Sometimes I dream that I am still in Skyttorp. What would my life have looked like then? How are Jan and Martin? And Lars-Erik. You have to write and tell me. I want news. I love to get letters. The few times Ulrik sees your letters he stares at them but he doesn’t dare say anything.

  Laura put the letter down and looked out the window. The branches of the apple tree were bare. She mechanically took out a new letter.

  What a spring! The lilacs are so early. They will have finished flowering when the schools let out. The girl is being difficult. A couple of weeks ago they called from school and complained about her behavior. I reprimanded her severely but it didn’t help because they called again today. She harrasses her schoolmates, calls them names, and teases. At home she is all smiles, pretends to listen and understand, but it is all an act. I don’t know what to do. Ulrik is no great help. He is the same way. The situation at his work is worse than ever. He makes trouble over everything, with everyone. Sometimes I think he is crazy.

  dLaura forced herself to unfold the next letter.

  If Laura were not so little I would immediately leave Ulrik. The problem is that he is unable to control the girl, who is becoming more unruly by the day. I have met a man again. Yes, I know what you are going to say, but you would like him. His name is Petrus and he is a farmer, or has been, and you can tell from his straightforward manner. Ulrik hired him once to help out in the garden. He referred to Petrus as “our man.” If he only knew! This time it is not only the lust of the flesh but I am in love for real, but again Laura is the big obstacle. I cannot escape. I don’t know why fate—I no longer believe in God—led me to Ulrik. Of course I was charmed by his fancy language and manners but I should have seen through the facade. Then Laura came along and you know how I hesitated to the last minute. You advised me to keep the child, but Laura has become my ball and chain. You think I am unfair to her. She is my love but not my life. Otherwise I have received mostly good advice from you. You have been the rock I can lean on in difficult times. I know that you wanted me and many times I have regretted the fact that I didn’t yield to you but you know why and we have talked about it so many times, that it would be hard for me to share a bed with you, my beloved little sister’s husband.

  Laura was unable to keep reading. She crumpled up the pages in her hand and swept the other letters onto the floor.

  Ann Lindell woke up with a start. She squeezed her piece of wood and listened with her ear pressed to the door. It was deathly silent in the house and she thought it was perhaps the scuttling and rattling of the rats that had woken her. But then she heard a scraping sound, as if someone was pulling a piece of furniture along the floor.

  Had Laura returned? Ann didn’t know how long she had been gone. Ann had heard the phone ring, and a distraught Laura. Then it had not taken long before the front door was slammed shut.

  Ann listened intently but heard nothing more. She rose warily to her feet. This is the moment of truth, she thought and the terror gripped her again. She had to get out of the basement! The dark, the rats, the stench, and above all the fact that she was locked in was suffocating her. It felt as if the air was running out. She drew a deep breath and hyperventilated. Nausea shot up, she burped, and noticed a sour taste in her mouth.

  “Laura, open up!” she screamed in a shrill voice that she didn’t recognize as her own.

  No reaction.

  “Talk to me!”

  She started to cry.

  “Laura!”

  Her screams echoed in the basement. The rats froze. She dropped the piece of wood that clunked down the steps.

  The compact silence that followed was suddenly broken by something that sounded to Ann like tin cans rattling against each other. Thereafter there was intense movement. Laura must be walking around the house and her heels smacked against the parquet floor. She appeared to be in a great hurry. The steps came from the right, then from the left. For a while Ann thought someone was walking around on the second floor. The tapping of steps went past the basement door. A door was shut and then the taps returned.

  “Laura!” Ann screamed.

  There was silence for several seconds, then Laura continued.

  She doesn’t care about me, Ann thought. What is she doing? Watering the plants? But Ann didn’t remember seeing any. Why is she running around in this way?

  Then everything was quiet for a few seconds before Lindell heard a poof, followed by swift steps across the floor. The front door opened and shut. It was quiet for a couple of seconds before Ann started hearing a sound she couldn’t place. It sounded as if a great many people were in the house tittle-tattling, w
hispering secrets to each other. The sound intensified and became a whining, low-level roar.

  She listened for a few seconds before she understood what it was: Laura had set fire to the house.

  Forty-six

  After the group communication that Ann Lindell was missing there was a restless atmosphere at the station. There were those who connected the disappearance with the impending visit by the queen. One of these was Säpo-Jern. He claimed with deliberation that it was very likely that Lindell had found a significant lead and either been stopped or had been stopped from communicating with the outside world.

  He expressed annoyance at the crime team’s apparent lack of ability to communicate with each other.

  “How is it possible that no one in Violent Crimes knows what their colleague is doing?” he asked rhetorically in a small-scale conference in Ottosson’s office.

  If you only knew, Ottosson thought but held his tongue.

  “We don’t have time for an internal investigation,” he said curtly and tried not to show his irritation at Jern’s insistent voice or his own concern for Ann.

  He had been pondering this, tried to remember something that Ann had mentioned over the past few days and that could bring them forward in their search. Often she tried out a new idea on him. It could be a new angle of a problem or a stab in the dark. Ottosson had become increasingly good at reading the various nuances of Ann’s work method. In fact, this was one of the things he had appreciated most in her. He felt a bit flattered that she showed him the confidence of sometimes presenting completely bizarre ideas and impulses, which in many of their colleagues would have elicited snickers and perhaps future teasing when it became clear how insane the idea was.