by Karin Nordin
‘Never did pay your old man back,’ Valle said, truly apologetic. ‘But it looks as though he doesn’t remember.’
Kjeld thought about mentioning that Stenar wouldn’t have expected his friends to reimburse him for his help. There was a lot about his father that Kjeld didn’t like, but he wasn’t vindictive or ungenerous. When he offered someone his help it was always out of the goodness of his heart, not because he expected something in return.
Esme returned from the kitchen with a bucket and mop, but her attention was on Valle. She’d been listening in from the other room. ‘But where have you been? According to the police, no one has seen you in years.’
‘I’ve been living out of a hunting cabin about two miles west of here.’
‘The one on my dad’s land?’ Kjeld asked, thinking of the bottles he’d found scattered on the cabin floor.
‘He said I could stay there until I got back on my feet.’
‘Hold up,’ Kjeld interrupted. ‘Have you been following me?’
Valle turned his head and coughed again. ‘I keep an eye on the goings-on in these woods.’
Kjeld should have been more relieved to discover that his paranoia had not been unwarranted, but he wasn’t.
‘When did you move into the cabin?’ Esme asked.
‘Going on about three years now, I imagine. I think he might’ve forgotten about me over the years. He doesn’t get out there much. Saw you two the other day though.’ The snus slipped down to his teeth and Valle pushed it back up into his gums. ‘I expect most people would have thrown me out by now. But not Stenar. He and I are of the same mind when it comes to this land. I learned my lesson after working for the Lindqvists. The land is best left for the critters. I only take what I need to survive and I don’t leave a trace.’
Except when it came to leaving empty beer cans on the floor, Kjeld thought.
‘What about the car?’
Valle shook his head. ‘That ain’t mine. That was already there when I moved in. Figured it was Stenar’s.’
Esme gave Kjeld a solid look.
‘Sounds like you know the land pretty well. Maybe you even know what’s been going on out here with the mining,’ Kjeld said.
‘Like I said, I’ve seen some things,’ Valle admitted, using his tongue to move the snus further up against his gums.
The room went silent as Kjeld thought about what else Valle might have seen. But surely if he’d witnessed the situation in the barn then he would have mentioned it.
Stenar fidgeted nervously on the edge of the sofa, watching Kjeld with frightened eyes. ‘I thought you were dead.’
Kjeld pulled a quilt over his shoulders, leaning in closer to the heater. He couldn’t decide if he was too hot or too cold. ‘Not yet it would seem.’
‘You can’t die,’ Stenar said.
‘Don’t worry, Dad. I don’t intend to.’
It was then that Kjeld remembered his reasoning for going out in the woods in the first place. He dug his fingers into his pockets. Empty. ‘Where’s the contract?’
‘It’s not on you?’ Esme wiped a rag across the floor.
‘Shit. He must have taken it.’
‘I don’t want you to die, Kjeld.’
‘All right, Dad.’ But Kjeld wasn’t really listening to his father. He was mentally cursing himself for not being able to hold his own out in the snow. Granted his attacker did have a knife on him, but just like the chase through the forest, Kjeld thought he should have been able to get an upper hand on the man. If his chest hadn’t been hard as metal that is. He looked down at his knuckles. They were already bruised.
‘Did you get a look at the man in the woods?’ Kjeld asked Valle.
Valle shook his head.
Dammit.
‘Do you have a copy of the contract?’ Esme asked.
‘No, that was the only one.’ Kjeld cursed beneath his breath.
‘You looked like you were dead,’ Stenar said, fingers fidgeting in his lap.
Kjeld felt like he was in a dream, but he was too hurt to argue. Stenar’s worried commentary was impeding his ability to think clearly. Kjeld tried to remind himself that dementia could cause people to say things that were misplaced or to become fixated on a single topic, but the way his father spoke was strange. Or, at least, to Kjeld it was strange. His words sounded like they were scripted. Not what he would expect his father to say to him. Not ever. Not even after almost getting himself killed.
‘Maybe there’s one at Norrmalm Industries.’ Esme dropped the vomit-covered rag into the bucket.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean let’s assume Norrmalm has been illegally mining on your father’s property. They must have some kind of documentation of it. If your father sold over the land then they would have a bill of sale. If he didn’t then they would have to have some kind of proof that they have permission to mine on the land they’re on. To have that they’d need to know where the boundaries were so they could come up with a reliable argument as to why they were digging there in the event that anyone discovered what they were doing. They’d have to have original documents so they would know what they were covering up. Including the contract that proves they’re not allowed to dig there in the first place.’
‘Sounds like a long shot.’ Kjeld pinched the bridge of his nose, hoping it might relieve some of his headache. ‘But assuming that’s true, that’s not something they would keep out in the open. That’s something you’d lock up.’
‘Or stuff in the back of the old paper filing system that they’ve probably had on site since the company first opened.’ Esme carried the bucket towards the kitchen, her voice calling out from the other room. ‘A lot of companies don’t bother throwing out the old stuff unless they’ve had everything digitally transferred. And even then, there’s always something remaining from the old days.’
Kjeld shook his head. ‘No. They wouldn’t be that naive. It would be kept someplace where it couldn’t get out easily. Where it would be limited to as few people as possible. Probably to the people who were involved.’
Esme walked back into the living room, wiping her hands on the sides of her jeans. ‘Your father, Peter Lindqvist—’
‘And the attorney who witnessed the document.’
‘Norberg.’
‘Bingo.’
Kjeld cursed himself for not realising it sooner. Norberg was the link between everyone. His father, the Lindqvists, Norrmalm Industries. His name was on everything. If he didn’t have the documents in his possession, he at the very least knew how they were connected and how they might fit into the mystery of Peter Lindqvist’s death.
‘Dead. Dead.’ Stenar scratched at a damp spot on his slacks where a few tears had fallen. ‘You looked dead. Kjeld. My son.’
Kjeld slowly stood up and made his way over to the couch, plopping down beside his father. ‘I was just unconscious. No big deal. Don’t worry yourself about it. It’s okay. I’m fine.’
But when Kjeld looked into his father’s face he saw something more than worry. It was the look of a man who was terrified. Terrified that he might lose something precious to him. Seeing his father that way shook Kjeld to the bone. He’d never seen such affection in his father’s eyes before. Not directed towards him.
‘I saw you on the floor. You looked just like him. Cold. Lifeless. I didn’t do anything to help him. I wanted to, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t help him. And then you—’ Stenar reached over and pulled Kjeld into a frail embrace. ‘I can’t lose you, too, son. I can’t.’
* * *
Kjeld stood on the back porch, watching as Valle disappeared into the trees. The man promised to make his way into town the next day to give Gunnar a statement and while it was reckless to believe Valle on his word, Kjeld accepted the risk. As much as Valle despised the Varsund community for how it had treated him over the years, he hated the Lindqvists more. And that alone convinced Kjeld that he would keep his word.
He brought a cigarette to his lips and took
a drag. Each inhalation increased the dull throbbing sensation at the back of his head. Each exhalation relieved it. The thick expanse of spruce and birch that engulfed everything beyond the barn cast heavy black shadows on the dark snow. The moonlight barely reached through the crowded cluster of trees. The snow looked like an oil slick. Sleek and polished, occasionally iridescent when the moon was at its height directly above the house.
Kjeld missed the rainy days in Gothenburg.
Esme leaned into the open doorway between the porch and the kitchen, arms crossed to hold in the heat from the house.
‘Are you going to call the police?’ she asked. Her voice was quiet. Concerned.
‘And tell them what? That someone, perhaps that same person I chased from the barn, attacked me and ran off with half of a vague contract and a property survey?’ Kjeld shook his head. ‘I don’t know. I’m not sure if Gunnar would even look into it.’
‘Someone came at you with a knife, Kjeld. He has to take that seriously.’
‘I wouldn’t be so sure.’
‘What is it between the two of you?’
‘I’ve known him since school. He wasn’t my best friend, but we were close. We had all these plans of going to police college together, getting assigned as partners, solving crimes. But we had a falling-out during our traineeship period,’ Kjeld said. He dropped his arm to the side and flicked the ash to the ground.
‘Let me guess. You both fell for the same person? He looks like someone who fancies himself a Casanova.’ Esme offered a smile as though it were meant to be a joke, but her eyes told him she was serious.
‘Not exactly. There was a drug case we were both assigned to and it went wrong. Really wrong.’ Kjeld took another drag on his cigarette. ‘It should have been a simple open-and-shut case, but we thought we were something back then and we got complacent about tailing our suspect. There was a girl. Our informant. She had a connection to the dealer that was going to help us put him away for a long time and end this epidemic of drug-related deaths among teens in the area. The dealer caught her wearing a wire. It was a shit-stupid idea. We had no business thinking we were in control. She died because of our negligence. Gunnar didn’t want to get kicked out of the programme so he falsified evidence to place blame on the guy we suspected. The guy’s serving a life sentence for homicide.’
‘Did he do it?’
‘Probably.’ Kjeld paused. ‘I think so.’
‘Then wasn’t justice served?’
‘Maybe.’ Kjeld smudged the cigarette out on the side of the house. ‘But we didn’t follow protocol. We subverted the law. He might have done it, but we didn’t have enough evidence on our own to convince a judge.’
‘If you thought it was wrong, why didn’t you say anything?’
‘I was afraid.’
It would have been a cop-out to blame the situation on peer pressure, although Gunnar had laid the guilt on him pretty hard back then. The truth was that Kjeld was afraid of what would happen if he didn’t become a police officer. What would he do? Where would he go? At the time the only thing that he could think of was that he’d have to return to Varsund. That he would live and die in that isolated house in the woods, spending his days feeding the mangy ravens that had been passed down through generations of crazy Nygaard bird fanatics, probably get involved with a local who’d tie him down to the middle of nowhere with a second mortgage and a dog, and spend the rest of his life regretting every minute of it. It scared him then and it scared him now.
Esme placed a hand on the side of his arm. ‘You have to stop beating yourself up for something you can’t change. Does it suck? Yes, but it’s in the past. All you can do is be better in the future.’
‘That’s what Bengt used to say.’
‘Yeah, I know.’
Esme pulled her hand away, tucking it underneath her sweater for warmth. ‘I’m worried about you.’
‘Don’t be.’
‘You’ve just walked out of one stressful situation and into another. I know you think you’re up to this, but maybe you’re not. Maybe you should consider dropping your personal investigation into this situation with your father.’
Kjeld looked at her in disbelief. ‘You’re the last person I expected to hear that from.’
‘I don’t want you to hurt yourself.’
‘Hurt myself?’ He scoffed.
‘You know what I mean. Emotionally. That’s not exactly your strong suit.’
Kjeld shook his head. ‘You don’t understand. I need to know the truth. That’s what this is all about. Finding answers.’
‘Are you sure this isn’t about something else?’ Esme asked.
‘Like what?’
‘Like you trying to prove yourself to your dad? Or trying to come to terms with the fact that he has dementia and can’t give you closure?’
Kjeld turned away from her, turning his focus out towards the empty yard.
‘I don’t know what you’re going through because you won’t tell me,’ Esme continued. There was a hint of sadness in her voice. ‘But I understand loss and not having the opportunity to say the important things while it’s possible. If you want to make peace with your father, make peace with your father. And if you want to push forward with this, then I’ll help. But if you keep digging, you might not like what you find.’
Kjeld nodded, but he didn’t say anything. He wanted to thank her, but the words were stuck in his throat.
‘You should go inside. Lie down. Get some rest. I’ll check in on your dad and make myself comfortable on the couch,’ Esme said.
‘I will in a few minutes.’ He fumbled through his pockets for another cigarette, but didn’t find one. ‘I’m glad you’re here, Esme.’
‘Who wouldn’t be?’ She smiled, but Kjeld suspected she was hiding her true feelings. ‘Don’t be long. And get some sleep. Tomorrow we’ll figure out how to get into Norberg’s office.’
When the door shut behind her, Kjeld turned his gaze towards the barn. A faint glimmer of moonlight peeked through the trees. He listened carefully, but there were no sounds. The ravens must have been sleeping.
Or waiting, that timid voice from his childhood thought and Kjeld felt a shiver crawl up his spine. If only those birds could speak. What stories could they tell? What secrets would they share? And would Kjeld be prepared to hear them? He feared that he wasn’t.
A whining mewl cut through the silence, pulling Kjeld out of his thoughts. It was Oskar begging for food. Seconds later he was scratching at the door to get Kjeld’s attention.
Kjeld inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the icy air. It might have been refreshing were it anywhere else in the world. He gave one last glance to the barn and made his way into the house.
Chapter 46
‘Who were you talking to?’
Sara finished brushing her teeth, spat in the sink, rinsed, and then stepped out of the cramped bathroom that only qualified as a master bath because it was attached to the largest bedroom. The room was actually a hallway closet that had been converted to a bathroom as an afterthought when they first moved in. But Tom had done much of the work himself to save on the cost of hiring a professional contractor and there was nothing masterful about it.
‘What do you mean?’ she asked, removing her bathrobe and hanging it on the back of the door. Underneath she wore the same grey nightgown she’d had for the last three years. The fabric was so thin it was a miracle it survived the wash.
Tom watched her from the bed. In his lap was his new self-help book, Unlocking Your True Potential, which he had been reading for the last hour, but whenever Sara glanced over at him she could have sworn he was on the same page. Tom had always been an anxious man, but he’d been even more jittery over the last few days. She wondered if she should count the pills in his prescription bottles.
Tom closed the book and set it on the nightstand beside a glass of water and his mouth guard. The mouth guard was supposed to help him stop grinding his teeth at night, but he’d worn a hole
right through the rubber and woke up every morning complaining of a tension headache. Clearly it wasn’t helping.
‘I heard you on the phone earlier. Who were you talking to?’
Sara hesitated, but only for a second. She doubted Tom would notice.
‘I wasn’t talking to anyone. You probably overheard one of the kids.’ Sara pulled back the covers and climbed into her side of the bed. ‘Or maybe that was when Kjeld called.’
Tom frowned. Sara imagined she could see the wheels turning in his head like he was trying to solve some complicated puzzle. But it wasn’t all that complicated.
Recently she’d felt like they weren’t husband and wife anymore. Granted, she took a lot of responsibility for that. She’d become cold and distant since her father’s disease had progressed. Adding to that the stress of the kids and Tom’s unemployment, she just felt empty and unfulfilled. And while she and Tom slept in the same bed, they hadn’t made love in almost a year. She knew that because she could remember the last time clear as day. It was after the Saint Lucia concert at the children’s school. Alexander had been one of the star boys in the procession. Lykke’s class had baked saffron buns with raisins. One of the raisins in the bun Tom ate had been uncommonly hard and when he took a bite he thought he’d broken a tooth. Sara, overwhelmed by the stress of the holiday season and Tom’s unemployment, drank an entire bottle of dessert wine and managed to forget for an evening that her life wasn’t her own. Her life belonged to the people around her who she had to take care of. She’d woken up the next day with this sobering realisation and was back to her standoffish self.
It wasn’t that she wanted their relationship to be this way, but she didn’t know how else to handle the responsibilities of being a parent to her father, her children, and her husband.
‘Is it another man?’ he asked.
Sara stared at him, mute with surprise. Tom looked at her with an expression she could only describe as frightened. Was she so detached? Was she so unreadable? What did he see when she looked at him? Did he imagine he was staring into the eyes of a stranger?