The Stonecutter. Camilla Lackberg

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СКАЧАТЬ after another, for everything from incorrectly drawn property lines, a path that went through the lot behind her house, a garden shed that she claimed stood too close to her property, and not least the fine old birch tree they’d been forced to cut down a couple of years ago. And it had all started when they began building the house they lived in now. Kaj had just sold his office supply business for several million kronor, and they had decided to take early retirement, sell the house in Göteborg, and settle down in Fjällbacka where they had always spent their summers. But they certainly hadn’t found much peace. Lilian had voiced a thousand objections to the new construction. She had organized petitions and collected complaints to try and put obstacles in their way. When she failed to stop them, she’d begun to quarrel with them about everything imaginable. Exacerbated by Kaj’s volatile temperament, the feud between the neighbours had escalated beyond all common sense. The balcony that the Florins had built was only the latest bone of contention in the battle. The fact that it looked as though the Wibergs would win had given Kaj the high ground, and he was happy to exploit it.

      Kaj whispered excitedly as he stood peering out behind the curtain. ‘Now two guys are coming out of the house and getting in the police car. Just you wait, now they’re going to come knock on our door any minute. Well, whatever it’s about, I’m going to tell them the facts. And Lilian Florin isn’t the only one who can file a police report. Didn’t she stand there screaming insults over the hedge a couple of days ago, saying she’d make sure I got what I deserved? Illegal intimidation, I think that’s what it’s called. She could go to jail for that …’ Kaj licked his lips in anticipation and prepared for the coming battle.

      Monica sighed and went back to the easy chair in the living room. She picked up a women’s magazine and began to read. She no longer had the energy to care.

      ‘We might as well drive over and talk to the friend and her mother, don’t you think? As long as we’re here.’

      ‘All right,’ said Patrik with a sigh, backing out the driveway. They didn’t really need to take the car since it was only a few houses up the street to the right, but he didn’t want to block the Florins’ drive with Sara’s father on his way home.

      Looking solemn, they knocked on the door of the blue house, which was only three houses away. A girl about the same age as Sara opened the door.

      ‘Hello, are you Frida?’ asked Martin in a friendly voice. She nodded in reply and stepped aside to let them in. They stood awkwardly in the hall for a moment as Frida observed them from under her fringe. Ill at ease, Patrik finally said, ‘Is your mother at home?’

      The girl still didn’t say a word but ran a little way down the hall and turned left into a room that Patrik guessed was the kitchen. He heard a low murmur and then a dark-haired woman in her thirties came out to meet them. Her eyes flitted nervously and she gave the two men standing in her hall an inquisitive look. Patrik saw that she didn’t know who they were.

      ‘Good afternoon, Mrs Karlgren. We’re from the police,’ said Martin, apparently thinking the same thing. ‘May we have a word with you? In private?’ He gave Frida a meaningful glance. Her mother blanched, drawing her own conclusions about why they didn’t think what they had to say was suitable for her daughter’s ears.

      ‘Frida, go up and play in your room.’

      ‘But Mamma —’ the girl protested.

      ‘No arguments. Go up to your room and stay there until I call you.’

      The girl looked as if she had a mind to object again, but a hint of steel in her mother’s voice told her that this was one of those battles she was not going to win. Sullenly Frida dragged herself up the stairs, casting a few hopeful glances back at the adults to see whether they might relent. No one moved until she reached the top of the stairs and the door to her room slammed behind her.

      ‘We can sit in the kitchen.’

      Veronika Karlgren led them into a big, cosy kitchen, where apparently she’d been making lunch.

      They shook hands politely and introduced themselves, then sat down at the kitchen table. Frida’s mother took some cups out of the cupboard, poured coffee, and put some biscuits on a plate. Patrik saw that her hands were shaking as she did so, and he realized that she was trying to postpone the inevitable, what they had come to tell her. But finally there was no putting it off any longer, and she sat down heavily on a chair across from them.

      ‘Something has happened to Sara, hasn’t it? Why else would Lilian ring and then hang up like that?’

      Patrik and Martin sat in silence a few seconds too long, since both hoped the other would start. Their silence was a form of confirmation that made tears well up in Veronika’s eyes.

      Patrik cleared his throat. ‘Yes, unfortunately we have to inform you that Sara was found drowned this morning.’

      Veronika gasped but said nothing.

      Patrik went on, ‘It seems to have been an accident, but we’re making inquiries to see whether we can determine exactly how it happened.’ He looked at Martin, who sat ready with his pen and notebook.

      ‘According to Lilian Florin, Sara was supposed to come over here and play with your daughter Frida today. Was that something the girls had planned? It is Monday, after all, so why weren’t they in school?’

      Veronika was staring at the tabletop. ‘They were both ill this weekend, so Charlotte and I decided to keep them home from school, but we thought it was okay if they played together. Sara was supposed to come over sometime before noon.’

      ‘But she never arrived?’

      ‘No, she never did.’ Veronika said no more, and Patrik had to keep asking questions to get more information.

      ‘Didn’t you wonder why she never showed up? Why didn’t you ring and ask where she was?’

      Veronika hesitated. ‘Sara was a little … what should I say? … different. She more or less did whatever she liked. Quite often she wouldn’t come over as agreed because she suddenly decided she felt like doing something else. The girls sometimes quarrelled because of that, I think, but I didn’t want to get involved. From what I’ve heard, Sara suffered from one of those problems with all the initials, so it wouldn’t be good to make matters worse …’ She sat there shredding a paper napkin to bits. A little pile of white paper was growing on the table before her.

      Martin looked up from his notebook with a frown. ‘A problem with all the initials? What do you mean by that?’

      ‘You know, one of those things that every other child seems to have these days: ADHD, DAMP, MBD, and whatever else they’re called.’

      ‘Why do you think something was wrong with Sara?’

      She shrugged. ‘People talked. And I thought it fit quite well. Sara could be utterly impossible to deal with, so either she was suffering from some problem or else she hadn’t been brought up right.’ She cringed as she heard herself talking about a dead girl that way, and quickly looked down. With even greater frenzy she resumed tearing up the napkin, and soon there was nothing left of it.

      ‘So you never saw Sara at all this morning? And never heard from her by phone either?’

      Veronika shook her head.

      ‘And you’re sure the same СКАЧАТЬ