The Lies We Tell

by Kristina Ohlsson

  ‘Reading Buried Lies is painful. I mean, I remember it all so damn well. Lucy kept trying out different sun-creams in the office and I went on secret dates. But all that frivolous stuff stopped after Texas. So be warned. The story I’m about to tell is much weightier. Much darker. It’s no longer about Buried Lies. Now I want to talk about Mio.’

  MB

  PRELUDE

  ‘Who are you?’

  TRANSCRIPT OF INTERVIEW WITH MARTIN BENNER (MB).

  INTERVIEWER: KAREN VIKING (KV), freelance journalist, Stockholm.

  MB:

  Who are you?

  KV:

  My name is Karen Viking. I was a close friend of Fredrik Ohlander, whom you worked with before.

  MB:

  Really? A close friend?

  KV:

  Yes. But I can understand you being suspicious, so I’m going to share all the information I’ve got with you. After Fredrik died . . . you know he’s dead, don’t you?

  MB:

  Yes, I know. I’m very sorry about that.

  KV:

  Me too. He was one of my very closest friends, almost a brother to me. I . . . Well, anyway, a few days ago Verner, his partner, called me. He’d found a thick sealed envelope with my name on it in Fredrik’s safe-deposit box at the bank. Apparently it said that no one but me was allowed to open it.

  MB:

  Okay.

  KV:

  I went and got the envelope from Verner that same evening. It contained a large bundle of papers and a short letter from Fredrik explaining that if he disappeared or died, I was to contact you. He wrote that the two of you had met after you got into trouble and that it was vital that the story you had told him was preserved.

  MB:

  Did he ever mention to you the fact that we were working together?

  KV:

  No. But a few of us suspected he was working on something very sensitive.

  (Silence)

  KV:

  If I understand correctly, you and Fredrik hadn’t actually finished. Because the story was still going on. Or have I got that wrong?

  MB:

  No, and presumably that’s why Fredrik thought it was so important for the two of us to meet. Because he knew we’d only reached the interval, and that I would have wanted the second act to be as well documented as the first.

  KV:

  So what’s the current state of affairs? Is the second act over?

  MB:

  Yes. Everything’s over now.

  (Silence)

  KV:

  Okay, so how do you want to do this? Do you want to tell me what’s happened?

  MB:

  I’d be happy to. The fact that Fredrik entrusted you with this task means I can trust you. So I will. But you do need to understand and accept the ground-rules. Everything I tell you has to stay between us. You can only publish the story if I die or disappear. Is that understood?

  KV:

  Absolutely. As you can see for yourself, Fredrik said as much in his letter.

  MB:

  How much do you know, then? How much did Fredrik manage to write down before he died? All of it?

  KV:

  I think so. But perhaps it would make sense for you to read it for yourself? He wrote one long version, as well as a shorter summary. It looks like he was thinking about turning the longer version into a book. Fredrik gave it a great title.

  MB:

  Really?

  KV:

  Buried Lies.

  BURIED LIES

  Summary

  My name is Martin Benner, and I’m a lawyer. Until recently I had it all: women, a career, a seriously rich life and a wonderful daughter. My life has changed. And I’m no longer safe. Possibly because I’ve got weaknesses. I’m constantly on the hunt for the ultimate high, both professionally and in my private life. And that’s taken its toll, sadly. On my relationship with Lucy, with whom I work and occasionally sleep, for instance.

  A man came to my office. He said his name was Bobby, and he wanted my help. His sister had got herself into a hell of a lot of trouble. She had been put on trial for five murders she didn’t commit. The papers called her Sara Texas. Her real name was Sara Tell.

  Bobby asked me to represent his sister. And find her missing son, Mio. His sister’s first lawyer had done a lousy job. Bobby thought I could do better. There was just one problem. Sara was already dead. She killed herself after absconding from a supervised excursion from prison. That was the day before the verdict was due to be announced in court. All the legal experts agreed that she would have been found guilty of all the murders. There was plenty of evidence. And there was also the fact that she’d confessed.

  Despite all that, I said yes, but only to the first part of the job: clearing Sara’s name. I wasn’t bothered about Mio, her missing son. He disappeared from his preschool the same afternoon his mum escaped from her guards. The police were assuming she’d killed him as well as herself. I had no reason to think otherwise.

  Fairly soon I realised that there were holes in the police investigation. It looked like they’d been sloppy; there were several loose ends to follow up. Sara had worked as an au pair in the USA, in Texas, and that’s where she was supposed to have committed her first two murders. But her best friend Jenny, who had also been an au pair in Texas, had her doubts. Serious doubts. So Jenny came to see me, to tell me she could give Sara an alibi for the time of the first murder.

  Then everything happened very quickly. Jenny was murdered. And so was Bobby. Only the Bobby who died wasn’t the man who had come to my office. The police said there was a witness who claimed to have seen Jenny get run down and killed by a car that resembled mine. A Porsche. That witness statement, combined with the fact that I had been in contact with both victims, was enough to make me a suspect. The investigation was led by an acquaintance of mine, Didrik Stihl. A man whose company I enjoyed, and who had proved useful in the past (and who also happened to have led the investigation against Sara), but now he suddenly became a person I wanted to stay as far away from as possible.

  Lucy and I went to Texas. I thought that if I could manage to prove that Sara was innocent of one of the murders, I’d be able to get her cleared of the rest as well. And I thought that if I managed to clear Sara’s name, then my own problems would sort themselves out. I wouldn’t end up being prosecuted for the murders of Jenny and Bobby, and my life would go back to normal. To a great extent I was driven by my love for Belle, my four-year-old niece, whom I’d looked after since she was nine months old and her parents died in a plane crash. I do my best to be a good father, and I love Belle more than anything and anyone. Something which, I might add, turned out to be a serious weakness.

  In Texas we found out more than we could ever have imagined. It became clear that Sara had in fact committed the first murder of which she was accused. But it had been self-defence. We also found out that Sara had worked as a prostitute and belonged to a network run by a mafia boss. A network built around the trade in drugs and women’s bodies. The mafia boss’s name was Lucifer.

  Sara had had a very particular relationship with Lucifer. She had been his secret lover, and fled home to Sweden when she realised she was expecting his child. But she couldn’t get away that easily. Lucifer was a man with plenty of contacts, and an extensive network of informants. It wasn’t long before he knew both where she was, and why she had left.

  Lucifer flew to Stockholm and asked Sara to go back to Texas with him. She refused. As punishment, and as a way of putting pressure on her, he told her that each time she said no he would have someone murdered, someone who in the future she risked being accused of having murdered. She said no three times, and Lucifer killed three people in Stockholm. Before long, Sara w
as in police custody, accused of no fewer than five murders. Two in Texas, three in Stockholm. Her son, Mio, was placed with foster parents.

  Sara escaped when she was on a supervised excursion from prison. I assumed it was so she could get herself and her son to safety, but exactly how that was supposed to happen we didn’t actually know. Either way, her son had vanished. He wasn’t at his preschool, nor with his foster parents. In her despair, Sara jumped from Västerbron. Mio was never found.

  He wasn’t the only child to disappear. My own beloved Belle was abducted. I had left her in Sweden when Lucy and I went off to the States. To make her as safe as possible I’d taken her to stay with her grandparents out in the archipelago. She was also under the protection of a man named Boris, an old client of mine. A client – and also a mafia boss. But not even that helped. She disappeared while I was in Texas, and wasn’t returned until two days later. Lucifer wasn’t a child-killer, he just wanted to stop me. An anonymous man called my mobile to tell me that I could have her back on loan. He had already taken her once, and he could do so again. Unless I helped him find Lucifer’s missing son, Mio. As long as I agreed to help, I would be allowed to keep Belle.

  Which is where I am now. My daughter has already been kidnapped once, and if I don’t get my act together I could lose her forever. I have to do everything I can to find the missing boy, Mio. And I also have to try to find out who’s trying to frame me for two murders. Because Lucifer claims not to be behind that particular aspect of the story.

  Lucifer. I would dearly love to know who he is. To give the evil a face, and to help me rid myself of the bastard. There’s some evidence to suggest that Lucifer is a sheriff I met in Houston, Esteban Stiller. But I daren’t poke about in that. Because then Belle would die.

  There’s nothing more important in my life than Belle. I know that now. So for her sake I’m trying to stick to the rules of the game and not seek out too much information. But the hunger’s there in my blood, and I can’t do anything about that. It’s like walking a tightrope. I have to keep my eyes focused firmly ahead of me and not look down.

  Because if I do, I know I’d fall.

  PART 1

  ‘When Mio vanished.’

  TRANSCRIPT OF INTERVIEW WITH MARTIN BENNER (MB).

  INTERVIEWER: KAREN VIKING (KV), freelance journalist, Stockholm.

  KV:

  So what did you think of Buried Lies?

  MB:

  Bloody good. So, let’s get started. I talk, you write. Just like I did with Fredrik.

  KV:

  Where are you going to begin? With what happened right after you got Belle back?

  MB:

  Of course. The first few days can be summed up pretty easily. First we went to hospital to get Belle checked over. Then we went home to my flat and stayed there. I only went out to see Fredrik and the police, nothing else. And then I set to work with the tasks I’d been given.

  KV:

  And what were they, exactly? Just so we know we’re on the same page.

  MB:

  I had to find out what happened to Sara Texas’s son, Mio. That was the task Lucifer had given me. And then find out who was trying to frame me for two murders, and why. Because Lucifer wasn’t involved in that; he’d made that very clear.

  KV:

  There was no reason to think he might be lying?

  MB:

  We’ll get to that. But first there’s something else I need to make clear.

  KV:

  Okay?

  MB:

  Reading Buried Lies is painful. I mean, I remember it all so damn well. Lucy kept trying out different sun-creams in the office and I went on secret dates. But all that frivolous stuff stopped after Texas. So be warned. The story I’m about to tell is much weightier. Much darker. It’s no longer about Buried Lies. Now I want to talk about Mio.

  KV:

  Okay, let’s try something, then: if you were going to write this story yourself, what would the first sentence be?

  (Silence)

  MB:

  This: ‘In my nightmares, I was buried alive.’

  1

  SUNDAY

  In my nightmares, I was buried alive. It was the same scenario every time. At first I never understood what was about to happen. Tight-lipped people held my arms fast and forced me to walk forwards. Not slowly, not quickly. It was night, and the sky was black. The air was warm and close. We were moving through what looked like an abandoned industrial estate. The outlines of huge, dark machines rose up around us, like shadows cast in iron. I wanted to ask where we were, where we were going. But the gag wouldn’t let me speak. It chafed in my mouth, tugging at the corners of my lips. The fabric was rough against my tongue. And there was something going on with my legs. They were tied together with rope, meaning I could only take short steps. I was forced to take many more steps than my guards. And that terrified me.

  How many times do you feel afraid as an adult? Not many. Mainly because there aren’t all that many things that scare us. We know that most things sort themselves out, that it’s silly to get hung up on little things. It’s one of the blessings of growing older: escaping the constant paranoia and fears of youth and getting some perspective on things. The only drawback is that this liberation from fear makes us so painfully aware of what is really worth being frightened of.

  The loss of our nearest and dearest.

  The loss of our own health or life.

  And, in rare instances, fear of pain or anxiety.

  As I half-walked and was half-dragged through the abandoned industrial landscape, I knew I was going to die. That’s one of the most interesting things about nightmares in general. We often know how they’re going to end. Because on a subconscious level we already have an idea of why we dream the things we do. We know which real events and experiences have triggered different reactions inside us, and it’s partly from these events that fear takes its nourishment. Memory has almost unlimited power over our thoughts.

  The nightmares started to torment me as soon as I got Belle back. After I’d been to Texas. In my sleep I tried both to resist and wake up at the same time. I never once succeeded. The nightmare continued without me being able to influence it at all. The silent, black-clad men moved as relentlessly as the tide. I chewed and chewed on the gag, trying to make some sort of sound. It was impossible. No one wanted to explain where we were going. No one wanted to tell me what I’d done.

  Eventually I realised anyway. I started to recognise where I was. Understood what the machines surrounding us were, and what they had once done to the earth. I had been there before. I had never planned to go back. I started to howl and tried to resist. But the men just carried on. I was left dangling from their arms and my feet and lower legs scraped along the ground. The jeans I was wearing were ruined, and soon it started to hurt.

  I never stopped trying to make myself heard. Not even when we were standing beside the hole that had already been prepared. I wanted to ask for forgiveness, explain that it had all been a terrible accident. But I couldn’t get a single intelligible sound out. That was when the sobbing would start. Hoarse, hot, corrosive. My whole body would shake as I pleaded for my life. No one listened. Instead I was shoved headfirst into the pit. It was deep, at least two metres. I landed hard on my stomach and felt something break. A rib? Two? Something caused a sudden flash of pain in my left lung and I tried to roll over.

  By this point they had already grabbed their shovels and started to rain soil and sand down on top of me. They worked silently and systematically, burying me alive. They never slowed up. Not when I got to my knees, nor when I stood up. My hands were tied behind my back and I knew I wouldn’t be able to climb out. So I stood there and screamed silent screams while mortal dread galloped off with the last of my reason. I met death standing up. When the earth reached my chin my vision was already starting to fade.

  I never woke up until the top of my head was covered.

  ‘What do you dream about, Martin?’r />
  Lucy tried to catch my eye across the breakfast table. She had seen me sweat between the sheets far too many nights in a row. When I didn’t reply she went on: ‘It seems like the same dream recurring over and over again. Is that what it is?’

  ‘I don’t remember. Is it really so surprising that I’m dreaming a load of fucked-up nonsense after everything we’ve been through?’

  After everything we’ve been through. A lie, but there was no way Lucy could know that. The dreams had a single source: Texas. I kept quiet about that.

  I took a mouthful of coffee and burned myself.

  ‘Damn.’

  Lucy was still looking at me.

  ‘You keep tossing about,’ she said. ‘Screaming.’

  I put the mug of coffee down.

  ‘Really?’ I said. ‘So what do I scream, then?’

  I asked mainly because she expected me to.

  ‘ “I know where he is.” You scream, “I know where he is.” But you don’t, do you?’

  For a moment time stood still.

  ‘Martin, you don’t, do you? Where Mio is?’

  I came to my senses and shook my head.

  ‘Of course I don’t.’

  We ate the rest of our breakfast in silence. I thought about how secrets are like every other sort of shit. You can bury them as deep as you like, but sooner or later they find their way up to the surface anyway. Especially if you return to the scene of the crime of your own accord.

  Lucy thought I was screaming that I knew where Mio was. Only I knew what I was really going on about. Who I was talking about.