by Karin Nordin
‘It’s a horrible thing. There are days when I’m so overwhelmed I can’t help but think that things would be easier, better even, if he weren’t around anymore. I mean, it must be so painful for him, too, you know? Knowing that he can’t remember. Getting frustrated all of the time. It must be hell. But then I think this is my dad. I can’t lose him. I can’t live without him.’
‘Can’t live with him either.’
Sara sighed. ‘When Mum died I felt so alone. And then you and Dad had that fight and you stopped coming up here and I really was alone. Except for Tom, of course. But I felt so abandoned. And when Dad got sick I just started feeling like everything was falling apart around me.’
‘Mum’s death was hard for everyone,’ Kjeld said, pulling on his earlobe.
‘She always liked you better.’
‘She didn’t like me better. Just differently.’
‘She babied you.’
Kjeld shrugged. He’d never seen it that way. He had the impression that his mother just felt sorry for him. Kjeld always imagined it was because he challenged their father. The two of them were consistently butting heads about one thing or another, all the way up to adulthood. Kjeld just assumed his mother was trying to ease the tension between them. He never felt coddled or overprotected. She made sure he fought his own battles, both at home and at school. But he did feel that she tried to allay the confrontations she seemed to know he would face growing up. She understood that for all of his self-professed hardness on the outside, he was soft on the inside. Sensitive, although she would never have used that word. Kjeld was grateful that she hadn’t.
‘I just failed to live up to Dad’s expectations of me. Mum didn’t have any. She just wanted the both of us to be happy. She didn’t care where we were or what we did as long as we were happy.’
Sara flattened the pillow in her lap. ‘And are you? Happy?’
Kjeld wasn’t sure. ‘I think I was. For a little while.’
‘With Bengt?’
‘I fucked it up. I know I did. But things just got so complicated. So serious.’
‘Mum would have liked him.’
‘Doesn’t really matter now.’ Kjeld looked down at his shirt and noticed a small spaghetti sauce stain. He tried to scratch it off, but that didn’t do anything.
Upstairs Alexander and Lykke chased each other down the hall in a typical pre-bed preadolescent ritual. It shook the lamp above their heads and Kjeld watched it begin to swing, wondering if the ceiling was strong enough to withstand two kids who’d had too much caffeine at dinner. The muffled tone of Tom urging them to go to bed sounded more like a cry for help than a demand. Did Tove do that, too? Did she argue against her bedtime and cause chaos through the house in a last-ditch effort to stay up for fifteen more minutes? Kjeld didn’t think so. Tove was uncommonly well behaved for a child of six. Clearly the result of Bengt’s meticulous nurturing, because there was nothing but chaos in Kjeld’s genes.
‘Do you think Gunnar will figure out what happened in the barn?’ Sara asked. Her voice was strained and the word “barn” came out choked. Her fingers clenched at the seams in the throw pillow.
‘I think he has to at least make an effort to try,’ Kjeld said, holding back the urge to scoff. He still didn’t know if Gunnar was more help or hindrance when it came to the discovery in his father’s barn. He wanted to believe that Gunnar would look into the situation fairly, unbiased, but he didn’t know the man anymore. ‘Do you know anything about a Peter Lindqvist?’
‘Who?’
‘Peter Lindqvist. Dad said he was an old friend of his.’
Sara shook her head. ‘I know the Lindqvists own Norrmalm Industries. Everyone knows that. I vaguely remember hearing that there was a son and a daughter, but they must not have gone to school in Varsund. They were probably sent off to a boarding school. Otherwise I would know them.’
‘You’re probably thinking of David Lindqvist. He’s the son of Roland Lindqvist.’
‘Then who’s Peter?’
‘Roland’s brother,’ Kjeld said. ‘According to Dad they were both stationed up in Boden during their military service. I think he might be the body we found in the barn.’
Sara laughed in disbelief. ‘That’s ridiculous. Don’t you think that if one of the owners of the largest mining companies in northern Sweden was missing that we would have heard about it? Besides, why would anyone bury one of the Lindqvists in Dad’s barn? He had nothing to do with that company. It must be someone else.’
‘How do we know Dad didn’t have anything to do with Norrmalm?’ Kjeld asked.
‘Because he didn’t.’
‘But he knew him.’
‘Kjeld, stop.’ Sara sighed. ‘You’re making it sound like it’s possible that Dad was involved in something. He wasn’t. And I don’t even believe he really saw what he thinks he saw. He’s not well. He hasn’t been well for a long time. And, sure, maybe he was friends with the Lindqvists when he was younger, but that doesn’t mean anything.’
‘What if Gunnar finds evidence that Dad was to blame?’ Kjeld pulled idly on his beard, which had grown too long.
‘Dad can’t remember. He can’t stand up for himself. And even if he did—’ She shook her head. ‘You can’t blame someone for a crime they can’t remember, can you?’
Kjeld thought about it before replying. ‘No, I wouldn’t think so.’
Sara nodded. She looked a tad more relieved but not entirely satisfied with his answer. Then again, neither was Kjeld.
‘Is it true what they said in the papers?’ Sara asked.
‘About what?’
‘The Kattegat Killer. Did you really know him?’
Kjeld leaned his elbow on the armrest, resting his face in the palm of his hand. ‘Yeah.’
‘Were you close?’
Not close enough apparently, Kjeld thought. Not as close as he’d wanted to be. But that had been years ago, back when Kjeld was new on the force. Green in all the ways a young police officer could be and should be. And Nils wasn’t in his league. Not professionally and least of all personally. Still, they’d become friends. Nils had been a mentor to him. Nils got him over that hurdle from parking fines and parade routes to honest-to-goodness police work. And then to detective.
‘He was my partner for six years before he transferred into administration. We saw each other almost every day in that time.’
Did that make them close? Kjeld had been racking his brain for weeks on that account. How could he have spent years as Nils’s partner, sat with him for hours on stakeouts eating drive-through takeaway, celebrated birthdays and holidays with him, and not realised that he was a cold-blooded killer? How was it possible to be close to someone and not know anything about them?
‘Are you all right?’ Sara turned to him, her expression softened to one of concern. She looked like their mother in that moment. Not in stature or appearance. She definitely took after their father in that respect. But something in her eyes. Maybe it was just that maternal look. Something that said she was really worried about him and that her worry was unconditional.
‘I’m fine,’ Kjeld said, offering a half-hearted smile.
‘Really?’
‘As fine as anyone who found out their best friend was a murderer and shot him in cold blood could be.’
Sara paused. ‘Is he dead?’
Kjeld shook his head. ‘No. That’s the one thing I did do right.’
Not that Kjeld hadn’t wanted to kill him in that moment. He had. He’d wanted to watch him die for all the reasons a person wanted to see someone suffer, not the least of which was the betrayal he felt. Betrayal to the police force. Betrayal to the truth. Betrayal to their friendship and to everything he’d ever taught Kjeld, which amounted to nothing more than a pile of lies.
Thankfully Kjeld had restrained himself against his own selfish desires. Now Nils could stand trial for his crimes and rot in a cell for the rest of his natural life.
Sara nodded. It was clear from her
silence and her tight-lipped expression that she didn’t know what to say. Kjeld saved her from having to come up with any comforting pleasantries by standing up and stretching his arms above his head.
‘I should get going,’ he said.
‘You sure you don’t want to stay?’ Sara asked. Kjeld could hear in her voice that she was just being polite.
‘No, but thanks anyway,’ he said, making his way to the front door. ‘I’ll see you around. Thanks for the pasta.’
‘Kjeld?’
‘Mm?’
‘Thanks for getting Dad to the hospital.’
Chapter 29
The drive back to his father’s house was quiet aside from the elk that jumped out into the road, causing Kjeld to wear his brake pads down to almost nothing in order to avoid it. He drove the rest of the way home at half his original speed, high beams glaring into the black nothingness that was the deep forest roads around Varsund Kommun. These were the things he’d forgotten since he’d moved to the western coast. The wild animals, the small-town people, the perpetual night.
When he pulled up in front of the house, the living-room light still lit from when the ambulance arrived, Kjeld noticed a small car parked a little way up the road. His headlights illuminated the vehicle’s side panel and Kjeld got a good look at that familiar shade of serpentine green.
‘Fuck.’ He groaned and turned off the ignition.
He was barely out of the car when the shadowy figure rushed at him. Kjeld wasn’t sure if he should expect a hug or a punch. What he got was a semi-serious shove in the shoulder.
‘I’ve been calling you for five hours!’ Esme yelled.
‘You’re always calling, Esme. You make it impossible to tell if it’s really urgent.’ Kjeld’s tone was intentionally flippant. ‘You didn’t have to come. I can’t believe you drove all the way out here. Is there an emergency I don’t know about?’
‘Get over yourself. I just spent half a tank of fuel driving around these scary back roads. Did you know GPS doesn’t work out here? There aren’t even any street signs. I had to ask some kid at a kebab shop how to find this place.’ Esme’s southern accent thickened with her level of frustration.
‘Could he understand you?’
Esme huffed. ‘That’s not funny. I’ve been sitting out here for almost two hours freezing my arse off.’
Kjeld gave a half-hearted smile and then nodded to her car. It was a Volvo 66 DL that Esme had inherited from her uncle a few years ago. She loved it, which was all the more reason why Kjeld mocked it, but it was in good shape for its age, despite looking like pea-green baby vomit. ‘It’s a miracle you were even able to make it up the hill with that piece of shit.’
‘Oh, fuck you, Kjeld.’
‘Well, my parents aren’t home,’ he joked.
Esme shoved him again and then rolled her eyes before walking back to the car. She was what some people might consider elfish in appearance. She was petite, not quite a foot shorter than Kjeld but close, and had a slim physique that was hidden beneath a puffy winter coat. Her hair was dark brown, almost black, chopped unevenly just below the shoulders like a punk rocker, with a fringe that covered her eyebrows. On the left side of her face, just below the corner of her lips, was a small mole that was so dark against her pale skin it almost looked drawn on. Her ears were pierced, but she never wore earrings, and around her thumb was a broad silver band. She’d once told Kjeld it was her grandfather’s wedding ring, but he never did believe that story.
Kjeld exhaled a frosty breath against the cold, still air. Seeing Esme filled him with an unexpected sense of comfort. He was glad she was there. Glad that he wasn’t the only one willing to drop everything and make the drive up to Varsund on little more than a notion that something wasn’t right. Esme was a good friend. A better friend than he was to her. And whatever the reasons for her concern, he didn’t deserve it. Not that he would ever tell her that.
Kjeld took out his keys and started for the house when Esme shouted at him.
‘You could give me a hand, you know!’
‘The Discrimination Act of 2009 protects the right of gender equality among all Swedish citizens, particularly co-workers in a shared workplace. If I help you, I might inadvertently demean your ability to do things on your own. Don’t blame me. I’m a feminist.’
It was a joke, but Esme didn’t look amused. She rolled her eyes and tugged a pet carrier out from the back seat of the Volvo. A shrill hiss cut through the air.
‘Shut up and get your fuckin’ cat.’
* * *
Kjeld measured out the new Science Diet kibble and poured it into a small bowl while Esme made a fresh pot of coffee.
Oskar lay on the kitchen floor like a dog, his thick ginger-furred belly blobbing out to one side. Maybe it was Kjeld’s imagination, but he actually thought his cat looked slimmer since the last time he saw him. Then again if this week had proved anything to him it was that his memory wasn’t entirely reliable. Not when it came to people who were close to him. He set the bowl on the ground. Oskar reached out with one paw and tried to scoop the dried food out of the dish without getting up. He managed to get one piece of kibble out of the bowl, which he ate lying down.
Pathetic.
‘Is your dad going to be all right?’ Esme asked.
Kjeld had already forgotten their short exchange between the front door and the kitchen, where Kjeld told her in as few words as possible about the body in the barn, the photographs, the unfamiliar car hidden behind the family hunting cabin, the missing town drunk, the CEO on sabbatical, the untimely email sent to the Norrmalm employees, and his father’s heart attack. He slumped down in the chair his father usually sat in. The springs were definitely broken.
‘Yeah. The doctor said it was just a mild attack. He should be able to come home in the morning.’
Esme took a bottle of milk out of the fridge, eyed the date with a heavy dose of suspicion, took a sniff, and then put it back. ‘Do you have any sugar?’
‘Check the cupboard above the bread box.’
After a minute of shuffling through various tins and easy-make boxed dinners, Esme found the sugar, tucked away in a corner but sealed. She poured two spoonfuls into the mug for herself and then joined Kjeld at the table.
Kjeld sipped his coffee, black like it had been that morning, but not quite as strong.
‘Tastes good,’ he said between slow sips.
‘That’s why I’ve been trying to get you to switch from that instant shit. That stuff’s not real coffee anyway. And it’s worse than that sludge they serve at the station.’ Esme swiped the thick fringe from her face and tucked some of the loose strands behind her ear.
The ravens, seemingly aware that someone had returned home, began cawing in the barn.
‘What was that?’ Esme asked.
‘The birds.’
‘Birds?’
Kjeld blew across the top of his coffee to cool it down. ‘My dad keeps ravens. It’s kind of a family tradition passed down from my great-grandfather. They’re out in the barn.’
‘You come from a family of ornithologists?’ Esme looked sceptical.
‘More like nature enthusiasts.’
‘I always knew you were a little weird, but … birdkeeping?’
‘They’re not mine,’ Kjeld insisted.
‘Not yet,’ Esme said playfully. She was trying to lighten the mood. It wasn’t working, but it was a welcome distraction. ‘Do I need to be concerned that you might have a midlife crisis next year and decide to give up the murder squad in exchange for a career in poultry?’
Kjeld sipped his coffee. ‘Poultry only includes domesticated fowl. It doesn’t include ravens. There’s a distinction.’
‘Distinctions are for the birds.’ Esme grinned.
Kjeld gave her a blank stare.
‘It’s a joke. You know. It’s for the birds.’
‘That was terrible.’
‘Yeah, it was.’
Kjeld didn’t laugh at Esme’s
tired joke, but he couldn’t stop the small quirk of a smile from tugging at his lips. He appreciated her efforts. As annoyed as he could be with her at times, Kjeld could never stay frustrated with her for long. Esme knew better than anyone, except for perhaps Bengt, how to coax him out of his mood.
Still, the sound of the ravens cawing reminded him of the responsibility he had to them now that his father wasn’t home. He tried to recall the last time someone went out to feed them, but couldn’t remember. He’d have to go out there soon. If there was one thing his father was sure to remember when he came home it was those damn birds. And Kjeld had a suspicion that if anything happened to them, his father would lose all ability to communicate on any meaningful level.
They were all he had, after all.
‘I should probably go out and feed them soon.’
Esme frowned. Kjeld didn’t look at her, but he could sense she was giving him that dreaded look of concern she was so good at. It had taken a few years of working together before they’d come to understand each other. Before they learned to work as a team. Kjeld hadn’t treated her well in the beginning. He was always running off after his own leads and forgetting to keep her in the loop. Whether that had been on purpose or out of habit from having worked on his own for so many years he couldn’t say, but eventually she stood up to him. She asserted herself as his equal. She proved to be a more than competent investigator and an even better friend. Despite Kjeld’s standoffish and sometimes difficult personality, she supported him. He felt she knew him. Or, at least, knew him as much as any one person could really know another person. Recent circumstances were beginning to make Kjeld question whether he knew anyone at all.
‘Are you okay, Kjeld?’
He canted his head to the side and looked across the table at her. He felt this sudden urge to cry, but he didn’t. It was as though a pit of untouched emotion finally decided to crawl up his throat and attempt to break his resolve. He swallowed it back down to his stomach with a sip of the coffee. Hot, heavy liquid to quash the cold threat of despair.
‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I really can’t say. I don’t even know what to think right now. And I’m not exactly unbiased here.’