Patrik’s back again.
As she pulled into the drive in front of their house, she saw in the rear-view mirror that a police car was not far behind. That must be Patrik, she thought. But why wasn’t he driving his own car? She lifted Maja out of the car seat as she cast a glance at the vehicle that drove up and parked nearby. She was surprised to see Paula behind the wheel instead of Patrik.
‘Hi, where’s Patrik?’ asked Erica.
‘He’s in the house,’ said Paula, getting out of the car. ‘He was so tired that I ordered him to go home and get some rest. I know I was overstepping my authority, but he didn’t offer any objections.’ She laughed, but the laugh didn’t chase away the concern in her eyes.
‘Is something wrong?’ asked Erica, suddenly seized by misgiving. As far as she knew, Patrik had never come home early from work like this.
‘No, no. I think he’s just been working too hard lately. He looks a bit run-down. So I managed to convince him that he’s no good to anyone if he doesn’t get some rest.’
‘And he agreed? Just like that?’
‘Well, we compromised. He agreed as long as I drove back to the station and picked up the materials he wants to look at. I was just going to leave them inside the door, but now I can give them to you.’ And she handed a paper sack to Erica.
‘Okay, that sounds more like Patrik,’ said Erica, feeling immediately calmer. If he couldn’t stop working, that meant that his health couldn’t be all that bad.
She thanked Paula and lugged the sack into the front hall. Maja scampered after her. Erica smiled when she saw the note that Patrik had left for her on the bureau. He knew that she would have been scared to death if she hadn’t known he was home and suddenly heard someone moving about upstairs.
Maja began to cry with frustration because she couldn’t get her shoes off. Erica hurried to hush her.
‘Shhh, sweetie. Pappa is asleep upstairs. We don’t want to wake him.’
Maja stared at her, wide-eyed, and put her finger to her lips. ‘Shh,’ she said loudly as she peeked up the stairs. Erica helped her take off her shoes and outdoor clothes. Then Maja ran inside to play with her toys, which were scattered all over the living room floor.
Erica took off her jacket and tugged at her shirt a bit. She was always sweating these days. She had a deep- seated aversion to the smell of sweat, so she changed her shirt two or three times a day. She also applied such a generous amount of deodorant under her arms that Nivea must have experienced a noticeable upswing in sales during her pregnancy.
She cast a glance upstairs. Then she looked at the paper sack that Paula had left. Again she looked upstairs, then at the sack. She was waging an inner battle, even though she honestly knew beforehand that it was a battle doomed to failure. A temptation like this was too much to resist.
An hour later she had gone through all the documents in the sack, but she felt none the wiser. In fact, even more questions had piled up. Among the documents she’d also found notes that Patrik had made: What is the link between the four men? Why did Magnus die first? Why was he upset the morning that he disappeared? Why did he phone to say he’d be late? Why did Christian start getting letters so much earlier than the others? Did Magnus ever receive any letters? If not, why not? Page after page of questions, and it bothered Erica that she didn’t know the answer to a single one of them. And she had questions of her own to add: Why did Christian move without leaving his new address? Who sent the drawings to him? Who was the little figure in the pictures? And above all: Why was Christian so secretive about his past?
Erica made sure that Maja was still busy playing with her toys before she went back to the investigative materials. The only thing left was an unmarked cassette tape. She got up from the sofa to get out her tape recorder. Luckily it was the right kind of tape for the player. She cast a nervous glance up at the ceiling before she pressed the ‘Play’ button, turning down the volume as much as possible and then holding the tape recorder up to her ear.
The tape lasted twenty minutes, and she listened tensely to the whole thing. What she heard didn’t really tell her any new information. But there was one thing that made her suddenly freeze, and she pressed ‘Rewind’ to listen to it again.
After she was done with the tape, she carefully removed the cassette from the player and put it back in its case, which she then placed in the paper sack along with everything else. Having spent several years interviewing people for her books, she was good at catching details and nuances in a conversation. What she had just heard was important. She was sure of that.
She would have to deal with it tomorrow morning. Right now she could hear Patrik moving about upstairs, and with greater speed than she’d been able to muster for several months, she returned the sack to the front hall, went back to the sofa, and tried to look as if she were deeply engrossed in playing with Maja.
Darkness had settled over the house. He hadn’t switched on any lights; it seemed pointless to do so. At the end of the road, lights weren’t necessary.
Christian was sitting semi-nude on the floor, staring at the wall. He had painted over her words. In the basement he’d found a brush and a can of black paint. Three times he had painted the black over the red. Three times he had blotted out her judgement of him. Yet he still thought that he could see the words as clearly as before.
He had paint smeared on his hand and his body. Black as tar. He looked at his right hand. It was sticky, and he wiped it off on his chest, but the black just seemed to spread.
She was waiting for him now. He had known that all along. All he had done was postpone things, fooling himself and almost dragging his sons into the trap. The message was clear.
He saw the child carried in the arms of the woman he had loved. Suddenly he wished that he could have loved Sanna. He had never meant her any harm, yet he had betrayed her. Not with other women, the way Erik frequently did, but in the worst imaginable way. Because he knew that Sanna loved him, and he’d always given her just enough to allow her to live with the hope that someday he might love her – even though that was an impossibility. It was something he was no longer capable of. It had disappeared with the blue dress.
The boys were a different story. They were his flesh and blood and the reason why he had to let her take him. It was the only way to save his sons, and he should have understood that before things went so far. He shouldn’t have told himself that it was all just a bad dream, and that he was safe. That they were safe.
It had been a mistake to come back, to try again. But it had seemed like such an irresistible temptation to return here and be so close. He didn’t really understand it himself, but he’d felt an urge to return from the moment the opportunity presented itself. And he had thought that there might be a second chance for him. A second chance to have a family, as long as he kept them at a distance and chose a wife who meant very little to him. But he was wrong.
The words on the wall told the truth. He loved the boys, but he didn’t deserve them. He hadn’t deserved the other child either, or the woman whose lips tasted of strawberries. And they had paid the price. This time he would see to it that he was the one who paid.
Christian slowly stood up and looked around the room. A ragged-looking teddy bear sat in one corner. It had been a present to Nils when he was born, and he had loved it so hard that by now it had lost almost all its fur. Melker’s action figures were carefully lined up in a box. He took such good care of them, and his fist would immediately appear if his little brother touched them. Christian could feel himself waver as doubts began to build, and he realized that he needed to leave. He had to meet her before he lost his nerve.
He went into the bedroom to put on some clothes. It didn’t matter what he chose; that was no longer import ant. Then he went downstairs, grabbed his jacket from the hanger, and took one last look around the house. Dark and silent. He didn’t bother to lock the door behind him.
During the short walk he kept his eyes fixed on the ground, not wanting to look at anyone, not wanting to talk. He needed to concentrate on what he was about to do and the person he was about to meet. The palms of his hands had started itching again, but this time he had no trouble ignoring the sensation. His brain felt as if it had switched off all communication with his body, which was now superfluous. The only thing of importance was what was inside his head, the images and memories. He was no longer living in the present. He saw only what had once been, like a film slowly playing as the snow squeaked under his feet.
