problem was that no job ever lived up to his expectations, or his demands that everything always had to be cool, so he usually quit after a couple of weeks. Then he would loaf about for a while, living off her until he succeeded in charming his way into a new job. He slept most of the day as well, so he almost never helped out, either with the housework or with Liam. Instead he stayed up all night playing computer games.
To be honest, Mia had begun to tire of the way they were living. She was twenty years old and felt like forty. She kept hearing herself harping and nagging, and sometimes to her horror she sounded just like her mother.
Mia sighed as she walked down one aisle of shelves. She looked at the list. Nails and some of the other things he needed she found quite easily, but she had to ask for help to find the screws. When she was finished at last and about to pay Berit at the checkout, she glanced at the clock. A quarter of an hour had flown by while she was ticking off the items on the list, and she felt sweat starting to trickle from her armpits. She hoped Liam hadn't woken up. She hurried to the door with her purchases, and as soon as she stepped outside she heard his piercing screams, just as she had feared. But they sounded different from the way they were when he was angry, hungry, or upset. This was a scream of sheer panic, and it echoed shrilly off the rock wall of Veddeberget.
Mia's maternal instinct told her that something was wrong, and she dropped her bags and ran to the pram. When she looked down at him her heart stopped for an instant as she tried to understand what she was seeing. Liam's face was black with something that looked like ashes, or soot. In his open, shrieking mouth she also saw a clump of ashes, and he kept sticking out his tongue in an attempt to get rid of the nasty stuff. The inside of the pram was coated with the black powder, and when Mia lifted up her panic- stricken son and pressed him to her breast, her coat became covered with it too. Her mind could still not form any sensible theory of what had happened, but with Liam in her arms she ran back inside Jarnboden. All she knew was that someone had done something to her son. As the clerk rang for help, Mia tried desperately to get the ashes out of Liam's mouth using a paper napkin.
Only an insane person would have done something like this.
By two o'clock they had all the information they needed. Annika had done the legwork, and Patrik thanked her in a low voice as he gathered up all the pages that had come in by fax in a steady stream. He knocked on Martin's door but walked in without waiting for him to answer.
'Hello,' said Martin, and managed to make the casual greeting sound like a question. He knew what Patrik and Annika had been working on, and he only needed to see Patrik's face to know that their efforts had paid off.
Patrik didn't reply to the greeting but sat down in the chair in front of Martin's desk and placed the faxes on his desktop without commenting.
'I presume you've come up with something,' said Martin, reaching for the stack of paper.
'Yes, after we succeeded in getting a warrant, it was like opening Pandora's box. There's all sorts of information. See for yourself.'
Patrik leaned back in the chair and waited for Martin to finish skimming through the printouts.
'This doesn't look good,' said Martin after a while.
'No, it doesn't,' said Patrik, shaking his head. 'A total of thirteen times Albin was taken to the clinic with some sort of injury. Broken leg, cuts, burns, and God knows what else. It's like reading a textbook on child abuse.'
'And you think it's Niclas and not Charlotte who did all this?' Martin nodded at the stack of faxes.
'First of all, there's no proof that it is actually child abuse. No one has found any reason to start asking questions before now, and theoretically he might just be the unluckiest kid in the world. That said, both you and I know that's very unlikely. It's possible that someone abused Albin on repeated occasions. Whether it's Niclas or Charlotte, well, that's impossible to say for sure. But at the moment Niclas is the one we have the most questions about, so I'm assuming he's the more likely candidate, at least.'
'Could it be both of them? There have been cases like that, as you know.'
'Absolutely,' said Patrik. 'Anything is possible, and we can't rule it out. But considering the fact that Niclas lied about his alibi – and also attempted to get someone else to lie for him – I'd like to bring him in for a serious talk. Are we agreed on that?'
Martin nodded. 'Yes, definitely. Let's get him in here and present this information to him and then see what he has to say.'
'Good, that's what we'll do, then. Should we go over there right away?'
Martin nodded. 'I'm ready if you are.'
An hour later they had Niclas sitting across from them in the interview room. He looked obdurate, but he hadn't protested when they fetched him from the clinic. It was as though he had no energy to make any objections. At no time during the trip to the station had he asked why they wanted to talk to him. Instead he had stared out at the passing landscape and let the silence speak for itself. For a brief moment Patrik felt a pang of sympathy. It looked as though Niclas's brain had only now registered the fact that his daughter was dead, and for the present he was devoting all his energy trying to cope with that knowledge. Then Patrik remembered the contents of the physician's reports, and his sympathy was quickly and effectively extinguished.
'Do you know why we want to talk with you?' Patrik began calmly.
'No,' Niclas replied, studying the tabletop.
'We've received some information that is…' Patrik paused for effect, 'disturbing.'
No response from Niclas. His whole body slumped forward, and his hands resting on the table were trembling slightly.
'Don't you want to know what sort of information we have?' said Martin kindly, but Niclas didn't respond to that either.
'Then we'll tell you,' Martin went on, glancing at Patrik to take over, who cleared his throat.
'First of all, it turned out that the statement you gave us about where you were on Monday morning was not correct.'
Here Niclas looked up for the first time. Patrik thought he saw a glint of surprise, which disappeared just as rapidly. In the absence of any verbal reply, Patrik continued.
'The person who gave you an alibi has retracted her statement. In plain Swedish: Jeanette has now told us that you were not with her at all, as you claimed, and she also says that you asked her to lie about it.'
No reaction from Niclas. It seemed as though all emotion had drained out of him, leaving behind only a vacuum. He showed no anger, astonishment, consternation, or any of the feelings that Patrik had expected. He waited him out, but silence prevailed.
'Would you like to comment?' Martin coaxed him.
Niclas shook his head. 'If that's her story…'
'Perhaps you'd like to tell us where you were during the hours in question.'
Niclas merely shrugged. Then he said in a low voice, 'I have no intention of making any statement. I don't even understand why I'm here and being asked these questions. It's my daughter who is dead. Why would I have harmed her?' He raised his eyes and looked at Patrik, who saw a suitable avenue to the next question.
'Perhaps because you have a habit of abusing your children. At least Albin.'
Now Niclas gave a start, and he stared at Patrik with his mouth open. A slight quiver of his lower lip was the first indication of emotion they'd seen. 'What do you mean?' said Niclas uncertainly, and his eyes flicked between Patrik and Martin.
'We know,' Martin said calmly, leafing demonstratively through the stack of papers before him. He had made copies of the faxes so that both he and Patrik had a set.
