by Karin Nordin
When he made his way back to the front of the cabin, his father was gone, the hiking stick lying in the dirt beside the fire pit. His panic was instantaneous. He hurried down the wooden pathway, fearful that his father might have fallen into the marsh, but he wasn’t there.
‘Dad?’ he called out. No reply.
He bounded back up to the cabin. Empty.
‘Dad!’
His breath quickened. His heart beating so loudly he thought he could hear it. Where could his father have gone off to? He hadn’t left him for more than a few minutes.
A door slammed.
Kjeld turned to see his father stumbling out of a decrepit outhouse, which Kjeld had failed to notice because it was half buried in the overgrowth. Stenar was still zipping up his slacks when Kjeld caught him by the arm.
‘You can’t walk away from me like that!’ Kjeld was unsettled by his own distress. It reminded him of the time he’d misplaced Tove in the H&M at the Nordstan shopping plaza. She’d thought it’d be funny to hide under a rack of sweaters while he madly accused everyone in the store of snatching his daughter.
Stenar stared at Kjeld as though he’d just lost his mind. ‘I had to piss.’
‘Next time you tell me before you go walking off!’
Stenar tugged away from Kjeld’s grip and marched over to the fire pit.
Kjeld took a deep breath and tried to calm himself, but he could feel his temper begin to boil beneath the surface. He pressed his fingers against his temples and reminded himself that everything was under control.
Except it wasn’t.
They’d found a body in his father’s barn. And now his great-grandfather’s near-dilapidated hunting cabin was hiding a car whose cost probably exceeded his yearly salary. Things were verging on being further out of his control than he anticipated.
As he helped his father get back onto the path, a rustling behind the trees caused the hairs to prickle on the back of his neck. He peered into the forest. It was more than likely an elk. Still, Kjeld didn’t see anything but a never-ending stretch of naked trees and frost-covered forest floor. There was nothing out there. Nothing but the eerie sensation of being watched and an unexplainable urgency to get out of those woods.
Chapter 15
Måndag | Monday
Since the discovery of the body on the Nygaard property Varsund’s normally quiet half-hearted excuse for a police station was bustling with people. Gunnar had called in extra forensic technicians from Östersund, which wasn’t much of a city on its own – nothing in Jämtland was – but at least had a small unit familiar with uncovering the cadavers of lost hikers who foolishly took to trekking the northern ridge of the Sylan mountain range during the off season. A forest didn’t always need a thick labyrinth of trees to cover a person’s tracks. Sometimes all it took were miles and miles of desolate stone and a horizon of similar-looking peaks to set a person wandering in circles.
The police station was small and had the awkward appearance of looking like an afterthought. Probably because it was. When Kjeld was a boy, Varsund didn’t have its own police station. Ulf Arnö, the former police chief of Varsund, worked out of a tiny converted broom closet in the post office. Varsund never really had any problems except for the occasional fight between drunken miners at Gruva pub or the rare domestic spat that sometimes ended with a husband getting the bad end of a load of buckshot. When that happened, Ulf would just lock the intoxicated miners up in the mail room. There wasn’t much a drunk could do to a bunch of envelopes, after all. And if the situation was more than Varsund’s two-man police force could handle, like when Kristina Andersson blew off her husband’s face with his own shotgun so badly that his body had to be identified by the busty mermaid tattoo on his forearm, Ulf would call the good folks down in Östersund to help out. Or the mountain patrol in Åre if it was winter and the roads were closed.
When Kjeld and his father arrived at the station just after ten o’clock in the morning Gunnar was already there waiting for them.
‘Good morning, Stenar,’ Gunnar offered by way of forced politeness. No handshake. Then he glanced at Kjeld, lips pursed in a sneer. ‘Kjeld.’
Stenar watched absent-mindedly. As though he weren’t in the same space as the other two men. They could have been strangers for all his expression suggested.
‘Will you be doing the questioning?’ Kjeld asked.
‘I will,’ Gunnar replied.
‘Then I want to be present in the room with my father.’
Gunnar scoffed. ‘This isn’t an interrogation, Kjeld. We’ve been over that. It’s just a formality.’
‘Fuck you, Gunnar. I know how you take care of formalities.’
Disdain spread across Gunnar’s face like a wildfire. Kjeld could see that he was doing everything in his power to keep his calm. He had to hand it to Gunnar. He may not have changed much over the years, but he had a better grip on his temper than he did when they were schoolmates. Pity Kjeld hadn’t learned to do that as well.
‘You have a lawyer and a psychologist on the way. This isn’t the big city. Our rooms get crowded with more than four people.’ Gunnar reached out and took Stenar by the elbow. ‘Come on, Stenar. Let’s go have a chat about your barn.’
Kjeld clenched his teeth at the sight of Gunnar taking his father’s arm. He could feel his self-control cracking. It took almost everything in him not to impulsively shove Gunnar away.
‘Excuse me, gentlemen,’ an unfamiliar voice interrupted.
Everyone turned their attention to the man standing nearby. The tension between them was almost palpable.
‘I’m Erik Norberg. Here to provide counsel for Stenar Nygaard.’
Erik Norberg, whose secretary Kjeld had a very brief conversation on the phone with the night before and whom Kjeld wasn’t entirely sure would pass on the message, was nothing like Kjeld had been expecting. He was a peculiar-looking man, probably in his early to mid-sixties. He was short, barely reaching Kjeld’s shoulder in height, and was bald on the top of his head. He had a thick bristly moustache that covered his top lip, which Kjeld imagined would make it difficult to understand him, but when he spoke it was with a clear, albeit snooty, accent of one of those old-money Stockholm suburbs. Kjeld got the impression that the accent was only half affected. He was also sweating profusely across his forehead and refused to look Kjeld directly in the eyes, but whether that was from self-perceived class differentiation or short stature, Kjeld couldn’t say.
‘If the two of you are done with your discussion, I’d like to proceed. I have a very busy schedule and I don’t want to take up more of Herr Nygaard’s time than is absolutely necessary,’ Erik said.
Stenar stared at the lawyer and Kjeld thought he saw a flicker of recollection in his gaze.
Gunnar cleared his throat with a cough and motioned to the officer and technician to let go of Kjeld. ‘Yes, of course. We’ll be in room two down the hall.’
Before Kjeld could say anything to the attorney, Erik turned to him, staring with wide protruding eyes that rarely blinked. ‘I think it’s best that you wait out here. The fewer distractions, the quicker this will go.’
Then he escorted Stenar into the closed-door conference room and Kjeld was left on his own in the hall. A few minutes later, a psychologist from Region Jämtland Härjedalen, who got lost on one of those “damn winding logging roads” and spent forty-five minutes circling the entire Kommun, came scurrying in; her thin snow-slick heels sticking to the frayed carpet and making an odd rip-clunking sound when she walked. She, too, disappeared into the room with Kjeld’s father and the stout lawyer.
Time ticked by slowly.
Kjeld punched the buttons on the vending machine in the hallway attaching the station to the community centre. He was annoyed at himself for allowing Gunnar to rile him up so quickly. Frustrated that he hadn’t been able to speak with the lawyer and ask him a few questions. And he worried that the scene in the lobby might have sent his father into a state of disorientation. As much
as he didn’t want Gunnar to be the one questioning his father, Kjeld wanted to know the answers to those questions. He needed to know.
The vending machine beeped and a Japp chocolate bar fell into the tray.
‘Damn,’ he said as he bent over to take the chocolate bar out of the machine. He thought he’d hit the button for a Bounty.
Kjeld wandered back to the uncomfortable folding chairs in the reception area and took a seat. The long hallway of beige carpeting, matching beige walls, and closed office doors reminded him of an elementary school without that tell-tale smell of young children. It made Kjeld feel like he was waiting to be called in by the principal.
He took a bite of the Japp bar, disappointed in the lack of coconut but satisfied to have something to stave off the urge to stand outside and smoke half a pack of cigarettes. His phone buzzed and he opened up a message from Esme. It was a picture of his cat lounging on his couch with extra emphasis on his belly, which hung partly over the edge of the cushion. The accompanying message was: “Your cat is obese. I replaced his food with a diet brand. It’s Hill’s Science Plan. You owe me 569 kronor.” The app indicated that she was still typing. Another buzz followed by “Make that 600 kronor. Petrol money.” Kjeld sighed and was about to put his phone back into his pocket when Esme sent another message: “Giving my statement today. I’ll let you know how it goes.”
Fuck. He’d forgotten all about the Aubuchon case. Kjeld knew his suspension meant that he wasn’t obligated to complete the work he’d started on it, but dumping it all in Esme’s lap after everything she’d done for him had been uncommonly callous. He could probably write up his version of the events and send them off to the chief before the start of the week, but then he’d have to remember what version of the events Esme was sticking to. The actual version, no doubt. The truth. And she could do that, of course, because she wasn’t the one who shot Nils. She didn’t put her best friend in the hospital. She didn’t come close to killing a colleague. Kjeld did.
* * *
The second Sara saw her brother sitting in the lobby of the police station she could feel her blood boil. And while he sat there focused on his mobile phone, she walloped him in the shoulder with her handbag.
He responded by looking at her like she was a lunatic. She was not. As far as she was concerned, she was the only person in their family with any common sense. Let alone any respect for the well-being of other people.
Kjeld was selfish. And clearly he’d only gotten worse with age.
‘What the fuck, Kjeld?’ Sara said. She hated using profanity and absolutely refused to do so in front of her children, but Kjeld just brought it out in her. Whenever she was around him, she couldn’t help herself. He aggravated her beyond belief.
‘What?’ he asked.
Sara didn’t trust his play-acted naivete for a minute.
‘I just got your messages. What did you do? Where’s Dad?’
There was a pause where Kjeld averted his attention away from her and Sara knew he was hiding the urge to roll his eyes. He was so predictable that way. He never could take a challenge head on. Not from her, at least. He always acted like she was making up reasons to be angry with him. Like she was purposefully trying to provoke him. And then he would shrug his shoulders or roll his eyes like she was the one who didn’t see what was going on. But that’s where her brother misjudged her. Sara saw everything that was going on. And she wouldn’t fall for his sly attempts to make it seem otherwise.
Still, if he rolled his eyes she would, without hesitation, whack him with her purse again.
Kjeld turned in the chair so he was facing her. She could see he was about to go on the defensive.
‘I tried all night to get ahold of you,’ he said. ‘Actually, I started calling Saturday afternoon. You didn’t pick up. I’m sure your call log will back me up on that.’
‘I had to drive Tom to work. He’s been on a temporary project in Östersund and the truck wouldn’t start yesterday. Then I had to take the kids to sports practice, drive back to Östersund to pick Tom up, and make dinner. I haven’t been on vacation, Kjeld. It’s not like I’ve been lying on a beach somewhere purposefully ignoring you. And why didn’t you call me yesterday?’ Sara sat down on one of the folding chairs beside him, shoving her purse in her lap.
‘I did call you yesterday.’ He didn’t look too certain about that. ‘You could have texted.’
‘You do not have the right to lecture me about not answering the phone,’ she snapped, knowing Kjeld couldn’t argue with that. When it came to getting back to people, he was completely unreliable.
Kjeld stretched his legs out in front of him and glanced back to the beige hallway of closed doors. Sara followed his gaze.
‘Tell me what’s going on.’
‘We found a body.’
‘Don’t fuck with me, Kjeld.’ This time she didn’t wince when she swore. Kjeld seemed to notice because he raised a brow.
He took a bite of a chocolate bar. ‘We found a body in the barn.’
Sara’s response caught in her throat. She felt a chill go through her and she clenched her fingers around the handle of her purse like she was wringing out a wet rag.
Kjeld scrutinised her face as though he was searching for the answer to a question he hadn’t yet formed. She looked away from him, afraid that if he saw her frustration that it would overpower every other emotion she had and prevent her from speaking to him calmly. But before she could say anything, Kjeld spoke.
‘Dad’s okay. I don’t think it even really registered with him.’
‘You mean he was there?’
Now she was fuming.
‘He’s the one who found it.’
Sara punched him in the shoulder. ‘What do you mean he was the one who found it? What the hell were you doing while he was in the barn finding a goddamn dead body?’
The more she spoke the shriller her voice became.
The station receptionist looked up from her desk and peered at them through her angular glasses. Sara recognised her as being the daughter of their old primary school librarian. She couldn’t remember her name, but she had that same shushing sneer and high-angled brows of the woman who used to wave the “be quiet” ruler at her during study breaks.
Kjeld seemed to recognise that librarian look as well because he lowered his voice to avoid any more unwanted attention. ‘I was chasing the person who was trying to dig up the body. That’s what I was doing. I was trying to find the person who uncovered it in the first place, without whom Dad never would have found the body.’
‘Don’t be a smartarse,’ Sara said, digging into her purse for a bottle of prescription pills. That Kjeld could be so nonchalant about all of this was driving her up a wall. She shook one circular tablet into her palm and tossed it into her mouth.
Kjeld leaned toward her, trying to read the label, but Sara quickly covered it with her palm.
‘What’s that?’ he asked.
‘It’s for my anxiety,’ she said. She clicked the lid back onto the bottle and dumped it back into her bag.
‘Since when are you on anxiety pills?’
‘Oh for Chrissakes, Kjeld. Since I’ve become a mother of two with a husband who’s been laid off from his full-time job. Since my family has been living hand-to-mouth on government assistance to cover the weeks when Tom can’t get any work. And since I’ve had to quit my own job to take care of my demented father from dawn until dusk because my shithead brother can’t get off his fuckin’ high horse and pick up the goddamn phone.’
Breathe, she told herself. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest. She’d forgotten how difficult her brother could be. How aggravating. It was a wonder to her that he managed to make it this far in his life being as irresponsible as he was. She would never say it out loud, but she thought it was a blessing that Tove was with Kjeld’s ex. If Kjeld couldn’t be entrusted to take care of an old man then there was no way he was capable of looking after a child.
It broke her h
eart to think that because she loved her niece. But as much as it pained her to admit it, Tove was better off with Bengt. Sara wondered if Kjeld realised that. If he knew that Bengt was still sending her Christmas cards. Back when they were together he used to scribble Kjeld’s name on the cards, no doubt hoping that Sara wouldn’t notice the forgery. She assumed it was his way of keeping the wary peace between her and Kjeld. But Sara knew that Kjeld had never signed a Christmas card in his life. And he never would. It would never cross his mind to do so. That wasn’t important to him. Bengt had always kept up appearances for him when it came to family things. He never missed a holiday or one of her kids’ birthdays. Sara wasn’t even certain that Kjeld knew his own daughter’s birthday. He was careless and unreliable. He was an infuriating brother, a neglectful son, and probably an absent father.
But it wasn’t Sara’s place to tell him that. Besides, she suspected that he already knew.
She pitied him, but she didn’t feel bad for him.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said.
‘Don’t be sorry. Be present. Pay attention. The world doesn’t revolve around you and your woe-is-me wall of emotion. You’re not the only one who’s gone through shit. You’re not the only one who has a monopoly on hating their life.’
Kjeld nodded. Then, seemingly out of the blue, he asked, ‘Do you know anyone with a Mercedes?’
That took her off-guard.
‘What? No?’
‘Dad didn’t buy one and forget about it?’
‘If Dad had a Mercedes do you think I’d be spending my days chauffeuring everyone around in my piece-of-crap station wagon? Which is on its last leg, by the way.’ Sara huffed. ‘Now where’s Dad?’
Kjeld tilted his head towards the first closed door in the hallway catty-corner from the reception area. ‘In questioning.’
‘Questioning?’ Sara’s eyes widened. She could feel that fury beginning to stew inside her again.
‘With a lawyer and a psychologist,’ Kjeld added before she could interject. ‘Like I said, I tried to get ahold of you. But they’re just trying to get a picture of what happened. It’s a formality. They’re going to question me too.’