The Drowning

‘Turn right here. We’re getting close,’ said Patrik. ‘This is going to be interesting. Apparently the documents still exist, and the woman I talked to on the phone knew instantly what case I was talking about. But then, it’s not the sort of thing that would be easy to forget.’

‘It’s great that everything went so smoothly with the prosecutor. Otherwise it would have been difficult to get access to these kinds of documents.’

‘You’re right,’ said Patrik, focusing his attention on the map.

‘There it is,’ said Paula, pointing at the building that housed the social welfare offices in Trollhattan.

A few minutes later they introduced themselves to Eva-Lena Skog, the woman that Patrik had spoken to on the phone.

‘There are plenty of people here who remember the story,’ she told them, taking out of her desk a folder containing papers that had turned yellow with age. ‘It was a long time ago, but that kind of thing stays with you,’ she said, pushing back a lock of grey hair. She looked like the stereotypical schoolteacher, with her long hair pulled back in a neat bun.

‘Did anyone suspect that the situation was as bad as it was?’ asked Paula.

‘Yes and no. We’d received some reports, and we’d made…’ She opened the folder and ran her finger over the page on top. ‘We’d made two home visits.’

‘And there was nothing to indicate that some sort of intervention might be necessary?’ asked Patrik.

‘It’s hard to explain, but those were different times,’ said Skog with a sigh. ‘Today we would have stepped in at a much earlier stage, but back then… well, we simply didn’t know any better. Apparently things improved during certain periods, and most likely our visits took place during those times when she was doing better.’

‘And there weren’t any relatives or friends who reacted?’ asked Paula. It was difficult for her to understand how something like this could have happened without anyone noticing.

‘There were no other family members. I don’t think there were any friends either. They lived a very isolated life, and that’s why things happened the way they did. If it hadn’t been for the smell…’ She swallowed hard and looked down. ‘We’ve made a lot of progress since then. It would never happen today.’

‘Let’s hope not,’ said Patrik.

‘As I understand it, you need this information in connection with a murder case,’ said Skog, pushing the folder across her desk towards them. ‘But you’ll be careful how you handle the material, won’t you? It’s only under special circumstances that we allow access to this sort of file.’

‘We’ll be extremely discreet. I promise,’ said Patrik. ‘And I’m positive that these documents are going to help us move forward with our investigation.’

Skog looked at him with ill-concealed curiosity.

‘What could your case possibly have to do with this? It all happened so many years ago.’

‘I’m afraid I can’t discuss that,’ said Patrik. The truth was that he had no idea whatsoever. But they had to start somewhere.

20

‘Mamma?’ He tried again to shake her, but she didn’t move. He didn’t know how long she’d been lying there like that. He was only three and didn’t know how to tell time yet. But it had turned dark twice. He didn’t like the dark, and his mamma didn’t either. They always left the lamp on when they went to bed, and he’d turned it on all by himself when it started getting too dark in the flat to see. Then he had crept close to her. That was how they usually slept. Close to each other, very close. He pressed his face against her soft body. There was nothing angular about his mamma, nothing that poked out or felt hard. Nothing but softness, warmth, and security.

But last night she no longer felt warm. He had nudged her and pressed closer, but she didn’t stir. Then he got an extra blanket out of the wardrobe, even though he was afraid to set his feet on the floor when it was dark. He was afraid of the monster under the bed. But he didn’t want Mamma to freeze. He didn’t want to freeze either. Carefully he tucked around her the striped blanket that smelled so strange. She still didn’t get warm. He didn’t either. Shivering, he had lain next to her all night, waiting to wake up so this odd dream would be over.

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 Torbjorn 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 Trollhattan.’