The Stonecutter. Camilla Lackberg

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СКАЧАТЬ day arrived and she was forced to choose between the boy and his father, she had let her son down. How could she have done otherwise? A wife must stand by her husband, she had been taught that since childhood. But sometimes, in bleak moments, when the lamp was off and she lay in bed looking up at the ceiling, the thoughts would come. She would wonder how something she had learned to be right could feel so wrong. That was why it was such a relief that Arne always knew exactly how things should be. Many times he had told her that a woman’s judgement was not to be trusted; it was the man’s job to lead the woman. There was security in that. Since her father had been like Arne in many ways, a world in which the man decided was the only world she knew. And he was so smart, her Arne. Everyone agreed on that.

      Even the new pastor had praised Arne recently. He had said that Arne was the most reliable sexton he had ever had the privilege to work with, and God could be grateful to have such loyal servants. Arne had told her this, swelling with pride, when he had come home. But it was not for nothing that Arne had been the sexton in Fjällbacka for twenty years. Not counting the unfortunate years when that woman was the pastor here, of course. Asta would not want those years back for anything in the world. Thank goodness the woman finally understood that she wasn’t wanted, and stepped aside to make way for a real pastor. How poor Arne had suffered during that woman’s tenure. For the first time in more than fifty years of marriage, Asta had seen her husband with tears in his eyes. The thought of a woman in the pulpit of his beloved church had almost destroyed him. But he’d also said that he trusted that God would finally cast the moneylenders out of the temple. And this time, too, Arne was right.

      Her only wish was that he could somehow find room in his heart to forgive his son for what had happened. Until then, she would never again have a day of happiness. But she also realized that if Arne could not forgive Niclas now, after this terrible incident, there was no hope of reconciliation.

      If only she had gotten to know the girl. Now it was too late.

      Two days had passed since Sara was found. The prevailing gloom of that day had inexorably dispersed as they were forced to go back to their daily responsibilities which hadn’t disappeared because a child had died.

      Patrik was writing up the last lines of a report on an assault case when the telephone rang. He saw from the display who was calling and picked up the receiver with a sigh. Just as well to get it over with. He heard the familiar voice of Medical Examiner Tord Pedersen on the other end. They exchanged polite greetings before they broached the actual reason for the call. The first indication that Patrik was not hearing what he had expected was that a furrow formed between his eyebrows. After another minute it had deepened, and when he had heard everything the M.E. had to report he slammed down the receiver with a bang. He tried to collect himself for a minute as the thoughts swirled in his head. Then he got up, grabbed the notebook he’d been writing in as they talked, and went into Martin’s office. Actually, he should have gone to Bertil Mellberg first, being the chief of police, but he felt that he needed to discuss the information he had received with someone he trusted. Unfortunately his boss was not in that category. Martin was the only one of his colleagues who qualified.

      ‘Martin?’

      He was on the phone when Patrik came in, but he motioned towards a chair. The conversation sounded like it was winding down, and Martin concluded it cryptically with a quiet ‘hmm … sure … me too … hmm … likewise,’ as he flushed from his scalp downwards.

      Despite his own concerns, Patrik couldn’t resist teasing his young colleague a little. ‘So who were you talking to?’

      He got an inaudible mumble in reply from Martin, whose face flushed even more.

      ‘Someone calling to report a crime? One of our colleagues in Strömstad? Or Uddevalla? Or maybe Leif G. W. Persson, interested in writing your biography?’

      Martin squirmed in his chair but then muttered a bit more audibly, ‘Pia.’

      ‘Oh, I see, Pia. I never would have guessed. Let’s see, what’s it been – three months, right? That must be a record for you, don’t you think?’ Patrik teased him. Up until this past summer Martin had been known as something of a specialist in short, unhappy love affairs, usually because of his unfailing ability to get mixed up with women who were already taken and were mostly out for a little adventure on the side. But Pia was not only available, she was also an extremely attractive and serious young woman.

      ‘We’re celebrating three months on Saturday.’ Martin’s eyes sparkled. ‘And we’re moving in together. She just rang to say that she’d found a perfect flat in Grebbestad. We’re going out to look at it this evening.’ His colouring had returned to normal, but he couldn’t hide how obviously head over heels in love he was.

      Patrik remembered how he and Erica had been at the start of their relationship. P.B. Pre-baby. He loved her fiercely, but that stormy infatuation, all of a sudden, felt as distant as a woolly dream. Dirty nappies and sleepless nights were no doubt having their effect.

      ‘But what about you – when are you going to make an honest woman of Erica? And don’t you want to be recognized as Maja’s legal father?’

      ‘That’s for me to know and you to find out …’ said Patrik with a grin.

      ‘So, did you come here to root around in my private life, or did you have something you wanted to tell me?’ By now Martin had regained his composure.

      At once Patrik’s face turned serious. He reminded himself that they were facing something that was as far from a joke as one could get.

      ‘Pedersen just rang. He’s sending the report from Sara’s post-mortem by fax, but he summarized the contents for me. What he told me means that her drowning was no accident. She was murdered.’

      ‘What the hell are you saying?’ Martin threw out his hands in dismay, knocking over his pen-holder, but he ignored the pens that had spilled onto his desk. Instead he focused his undivided attention on Patrik.

      ‘At first he assumed, as we did, that it was an accident. No visible marks on the body, and she was fully dressed, in clothing appropriate to the season, except that she had no jacket, but it could have floated away. But most important of all: when he examined her lungs he found water in them.’ He fell silent.

      Martin threw out his hands again and raised his eyebrows. ‘So what did he find that didn’t fit with an accident?’

      ‘Bathwater.’

      ‘Bathwater?’

      ‘Yes, she didn’t have seawater in her lungs as you might expect if she had drowned in the sea. It was bathwater. Or rather, presumably bathwater, I should say. Pedersen found residue of both soap and shampoo in the water, which suggests that it’s bathwater.’

      ‘So she was drowned in a bathtub?’ said Martin, sounding sceptical. They had been so convinced that it was a tragic yet normal drowning accident that he was having a hard time adjusting to this new theory.

      ‘Yes, that’s what it looks like. It also explains the bruises that Pedersen found on the body.’

      ‘I thought you said there were no injuries to the body?’

      ‘Well, not at first glance. But when he lifted the hair on the back of her neck and checked more thoroughly, he could clearly see bruises that match the imprint of a hand. The hand of someone who held her head under the surface by force.’

      ‘Jesus СКАЧАТЬ