The Drowning (45 page)

When it started to get light, he climbed out of bed. Then he pulled the blanket over her again, since it had shifted during the night. Why was she sleeping so long? She never slept this long. Occasionally she might spend all day in bed, but she would wake up now and then. She would talk to him and ask him to get her a glass of water or something else. On those days when she stayed in bed she sometimes said strange things. Things that scared him. She even shouted at him once in a while. But he would have preferred that to this, when she lay in bed so quiet and so cold.

He could feel hunger tearing at his stomach. Maybe Mamma would think he was clever if she woke up to find that he’d made breakfast. The idea made him more cheerful, and he headed for the kitchen. But halfway there, he thought of something and turned back. He wanted Teddy to come too. He didn’t want to be alone. With his teddy bear dragging along the floor, he again headed for the kitchen. Sandwiches. That’s what Mamma used to make for him. Jam sandwiches.

He opened the refrigerator. There was the jar of jam, with a red lid and strawberries on the label. And there was the butter. Carefully he took them out of the fridge and lifted them up on to the counter. Then he fetched a chair and set it in front of the counter so he could climb up on to the seat. This was starting to feel like an adventure. He reached for the bread box and took out two slices of bread. He pulled out a kitchen drawer and found a wooden butter knife. Mamma didn’t let him use the real knives. Slowly he spread butter on one of the pieces of bread, and jam on the other. Then he slapped them together. All right. The sandwich was ready.

He got down from the chair and again opened the fridge. He found a container of juice on a shelf in the door. With an effort he lifted the juice out and placed it on the kitchen table. He knew where the glasses were: in the cupboard above the bread box. Up on the chair again, then he opened the cupboard and took out a glass. He didn’t want to drop it. Mamma would be mad if he broke a glass.

He set the glass on the table, placed the sandwich next to it, and pushed the chair back into place. He climbed on to the chair, kneeling so that he could pour the juice. The container was heavy, and he struggled to hold it over the glass. But just as much juice ended up on the table as in the glass. He had to lean down and slurp up what had spilled on to the oilcloth.

The sandwich tasted wonderful. It was the first sandwich he had ever made all by himself, and he ate the whole thing in a few greedy mouthfuls. Then he noticed that his stomach had room for more, and this time he knew what to do. Mamma was going to be so proud of him when she woke up and discovered that he could make his own sandwiches.

‘Did anyone see anything?’ Patrik was talking to Martin on the phone. ‘No? Okay, I wasn’t really expecting it. But keep knocking on doors. You never know.’

He ended the conversation and bit into his Big Mac. They had stopped at McDonald’s to eat lunch and to discuss how they should proceed.

‘Nothing?’ asked Paula, who had been listening to Patrik while she poked at her chips.

‘Nothing so far. There aren’t many people living in the area now that it’s winter. So it’s not surprising that they haven’t had much luck.’

‘How’s it going at Badholmen?’

‘They’ve taken the body away,’ said Patrik as he took another bite. ‘That means Torbjörn and his men will probably be done soon. He promised to call if they found anything.’

‘So what should we do now?’

Before getting their food, they had glanced through the copies of the documents that they’d been given at the social welfare office. Everything seemed to match with what Sanna had told Erica.

‘We keep moving forward. We know that Christian was
placed with a couple named Lissander shortly afterwards. Here in Trollhättan.’

‘I wonder if they still live here,’ said Paula.

Patrik carefully wiped off his hands before looking through the file to find the right page. Then he memorized the information and phoned directory assistance.

‘Hi, I wonder if you have a listing for Ragnar and Iréne Lissander in Trollhättan. Okay, thanks.’ His face lit up, and he nodded to Paula that he was in luck. ‘Could you text me the address?’

‘They still live here?’ Paula stuffed a few more chips into her mouth.

‘It seems so. What do you say we go over there and have a little chat with them?’ Patrik stood up, looking at Paula impatiently.

‘Shouldn’t we phone them first?’

‘No, I want to see what happens if we turn up un announced. There must be some reason why Christian changed his last name back to the name of his biological mother, and never mentioned their existence to anyone, not even his wife.’

‘Maybe he didn’t live with them for very long.’

‘That’s possible, but I don’t think so.’ Patrik tried to formulate why he had such a strong feeling that this was a lead worth following. ‘Because he didn’t change his name until he turned eighteen. Why wait? Why keep the name at all if he didn’t live with them for very long?’

‘I suppose you’re right about that,’ said Paula, though she still didn’t sound convinced.

But they would soon find out. In a very short time one of the missing puzzle pieces about Christian Thydell would fall into place. Or rather, Christian Lissander.

Erica hesitated, her hand on the phone. Should she or shouldn’t she? Finally she decided that it would soon be public knowledge anyway. Gaby might as well hear the news from her.

‘Hi, it’s Erica.’

She closed her eyes as Gaby showered her with the usual effusive greetings. But she cut off the publishing director in the middle of the torrent of words.

‘Christian is dead, Gaby.’

There was silence on the phone. Then she heard Gaby take a deep breath.

‘What? How?’ she stammered. ‘Is it the same person who …?’

‘I don’t know.’ Erica closed her eyes again. The words sounded so terrible and final when she said them out loud: ‘He was found hanged this morning. The police aren’t saying anything more at the moment. We don’t know whether it was suicide or whether …’ She couldn’t finish the sentence.

‘Hanged?’ Gaby gasped. ‘That can’t be true!’

Erica didn’t reply at once. She knew that the news had to sink in slowly before it became real. She’d been through the same experience herself when Patrik told her.

‘I’ll let you know if I hear anything else,’ said Erica. ‘But I’d appreciate it if the media could be kept as much out of this as possible. It’s hard enough for his family right now.’

‘Of course, of course,’ said Gaby, sounding as if she actually meant it. ‘But keep me posted about what happens, okay?’

‘I will,’ said Erica, putting down the phone. She knew that even if Gaby could resist ringing the press, it wouldn’t take long before Christian’s death would be on all the front pages. He had become an overnight star, and the papers had quickly realized that he was newsworthy material.
His mysterious death would undoubtedly dominate the news placards in the days ahead. Poor Sanna, and those poor boys.

Erica had hardly been able to look at the boys when she was supposed to be taking care of them at Agneta’s house. They were sitting on the floor, playing with a big pile of Lego blocks. Carefree and happy, just squabbling a bit now and then, as siblings do. The terrifying experience with the red paint from the day before seemed to have rolled right off them. But maybe they were just keeping it all in. Maybe they were hurting inside, even though it didn’t show on the outside. And now their father was gone. How was that going to affect their lives?

She had sat on the sofa without saying a word until she finally forced herself to look at them. With their heads close together, the two little boys were discussing where to put the siren on the toy ambulance. They looked so much like both Christian and Sanna. And now they were the only thing left of him. Aside from his book, of course.
The Mermaid
.

Erica suddenly had a strong urge to read the story again. Read it as a form of memorial for Christian. First she looked in on Maja, who was sleeping soundly in her cot. Maja had been allowed to stay home from the day-care centre today, since the morning had been filled with so much commotion. Gently Erica stroked Maja’s blonde head lying on the pillow. Then she went to get the book, settled herself comfortably, and opened the novel to the first page.

They were going to bury Magnus in two days. In two days he would be put in the ground. Into a hole in the ground.

Cia hadn’t left the house since receiving the news that they’d found him. She couldn’t stand the thought of
people staring at her, couldn’t bear to see their eyes filled with sympathy as they wondered what Magnus could have done to deserve such a death. Everyone was probably speculating about what he might have done to bring this misfortune down on himself.

She knew that people were talking; over the years she’d participated in the gossiping too. Not contributing much, she was glad to say, but all the same she had listened without offering any protests.

‘There’s no smoke without fire.’

‘I wonder how they could afford a trip to Thailand. He must be getting paid under the table.’

‘You wouldn’t believe the plunging necklines she’s suddenly taken to wearing. I wonder who she’s trying to impress.’

Scattered rumours taken out of context and then patiently piled up to form a mixture of fact and fiction. Until finally it became the truth.

She could just imagine what stories were circulating through town. But as long as she could stay at home, it didn’t matter. She could hardly bear to think about the video that Ludvig had shown the police yesterday. She hadn’t lied when she said that she didn’t know about it. At the same time, it had got her thinking. She had occasionally sensed that there was something Magnus wasn’t telling her. Or had she just made that up after the fact, now that her whole life had been turned upside down in such a bewildering way? But she thought she could recall sometimes wondering what was behind the strange melancholy that occasionally came over her husband, who was otherwise such a happy person. It would fall over him like a shadow, a solar eclipse. A few times she had actually asked him about it. Yes, now she remembered. She had patted his cheek and asked him what he was thinking about. And it was always as if he switched
on the light again, chasing away the shadow before she could see any more of it.

‘I’m thinking about you, of course, sweetheart,’ Magnus had answered, leaning forward to give her a kiss.

Sometimes Cia had noticed the shadow even when there was no outward sign of it. Each time she had quickly dismissed the whole thing, since it occurred so seldom, and she had nothing more to go on.

But ever since yesterday, she hadn’t been able to get it out of her mind. The shadow. Was that the reason Magnus was no longer alive? Where had it come from? Why hadn’t he ever said anything to her? She had thought they told each other everything, that she knew everything about him, just as he knew everything about her. What if she was mistaken? What if she actually knew nothing about her husband?

In her mind the shadow kept getting bigger. She pictured his face. Not the happy, warm, and loving man that she’d been lucky enough to wake up next to each morning for the past twenty years. Instead, she saw his face as it had looked in the video. Desperate and contorted.

Cia covered her face with her hands and wept. She wasn’t sure about anything any more. It felt as if Magnus had died a second time, and she didn’t think she could survive losing him again.

Patrik rang the bell, and after a moment the door opened. A short, skinny old man peered out.

‘Yes?’

‘Patrik Hedström. From the Tanum police force. And this is my colleague, Paula Morales.’

The man studied their faces.

‘That’s a long way to come. How can I be of service?’ he said lightly, although there was a guarded edge to his voice.

‘Are you Ragnar Lissander?’

‘Yes, that’s right.’

‘We’d like to come inside and have a few words with you. Preferably with your wife as well, if she’s at home,’ said Patrik. Even though he spoke politely, it was clear that he wasn’t prepared to take no for an answer.

The man seemed to hesitate for a moment. Then he stepped aside and let them in.

‘My wife is a bit under the weather, so she’s having a rest. I’ll go and find out if she can come downstairs for a moment.’

‘That would be good,’ said Patrik, uncertain whether Ragnar Lissander expected them to stand in the front hall while he went upstairs.

‘Go in and sit down. I’ll be right back,’ he said then, as if in answer to Patrik’s unspoken question.

Patrik and Paula looked in the direction the man was pointing and then entered a living room on the left. They had a look around as they listened to Mr Lissander climbing the stairs.

‘Not exactly a cosy place, is it?’ whispered Paula.

Patrik had to agree. The living room looked more like a display in a furniture store than a room that was actually used. Everything gleamed with polish, and the occupants seemed to have a certain fondness for decorative items. The sofa was brown leather, and in front of it stood the obligatory glass coffee table. Not a fingerprint was visible on the glass, and Patrik shuddered at the thought of how it would look if the table was in his own home, with Maja’s sticky fingers nearby.