Kitabı oku: «The Drowning», sayfa 2
‘So,’ he said, fixing Christian with a penetrating gaze. ‘This is your first novel, right?’
Christian wondered whether he was supposed to do more than confirm this statement. ‘Yes, it is,’ he said, clearing his throat.
‘I liked it a lot,’ said Jansson in a gruff tone of voice that belied the compliment.
‘Thank you,’ said Christian.
‘What did you intend to say with this novel?’ Jansson checked the tape recorder to make sure it was recording properly.
‘What did I intend to say? I don’t really know. It’s a novel, a story that I’ve had in the back of my mind and that needed to come out.’
‘It’s an awfully dark story. I’d almost call it bleak,’ said Jansson, studying Christian as if trying to peer inside the deepest recesses of his soul. ‘Is this how you view society?’
‘I don’t know if it’s my view of society that I was trying to communicate through the book,’ said Christian, searching frantically for something intelligent to say. He’d never thought of his writing in this way before. The story had been part of him for so long, inside his head, and finally he’d felt compelled to put it down on paper. But did it have anything to do with what he wanted to say about society? The thought had never even occurred to him.
Finally Gaby came to his rescue, arriving with the other reporters in tow, and Jansson turned off his tape recorder as they all greeted one another and sat down around the table. The whole process took several minutes, and Christian used the opportunity to gather his thoughts.
Gaby then motioned for everyone’s attention.
‘Welcome to this gathering in honour of the new superstar in the literary firmament, Christian Thydell. All of us at the publishing company are incredibly proud of producing his first novel, The Mermaid. And we think this marks the beginning of a long and amazing writing career. Christian hasn’t yet seen any of the reviews. So it’s with great joy that I can tell you, Christian, that today there were fantastic reviews in Svenska Dagbladet, Dagens Nyheter, and Arbetarbladet, just to name a few. Let me read a few quotes to all of you.’
She put on her reading glasses and reached for a stack of papers lying in front of her on the table. A pink highlighter had been used to mark phrases against the white newsprint.
‘“A linguistically virtuoso performance depicting the plight of ordinary people without losing sight of the larger perspective.” That was from Svenska Dagbladet,’ Gaby explained with a nod to Christian. Then she turned to the next review. ‘“It’s both pleasant and painful to read Christian Thydell’s book, since his pared-down prose shines light on society’s false promises of security and democracy. His words cut like a knife through flesh, muscle and conscience, which kept me reading with feverish urgency and seeking, like a fakir, more of the torturous but wonderfully cleansing pain.” That’s from Dagens Nyheter,’ said Gaby, taking off her glasses as she handed the small stack of reviews to Christian.
In stunned disbelief, he took the reviews. He’d heard the words, and it felt good to be showered with praise, but he honestly didn’t understand what the critics were talking about. All he’d done was write about her, told her story. Let out the words and everything about her in an outpouring that had occasionally left him completely drained. It wasn’t his intention to say anything about society. He just wanted to say something about her.
But he bit back the protests. No one would understand, and maybe it was better just to let things be. He’d never be able to explain.
‘How marvellous,’ he said, hearing how the words fell meaninglessly from his lips.
Then came more questions. More praise and comments about his book. And he realized that he couldn’t give a sensible answer to a single question. How could he describe something that had filled the smallest corners of his life? Something that wasn’t merely a story – it was also about survival. About pain. He did the best he could, trying to speak clearly and thoughtfully. Apparently he succeeded, because Gaby kept nodding her approval.
When the interview session was finally over, all Christian wanted to do was go home. He felt totally drained. But he was forced to linger on in the beautiful dining room of the Grand Hotel. He took a deep breath and prepared himself to meet the guests who had started to stream in. He smiled, but it was a smile that cost him more effort than anyone would ever know.
‘Could you manage to stay sober tonight?’ Erik Lind quietly snapped at his wife so that the others waiting in the queue to get into the party wouldn’t hear him.
‘Could you manage to keep your hands to yourself tonight?’ Louise replied, not bothering to whisper.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ said Erik. ‘And lower your voice, please.’
Louise eyed her husband coldly. He was an elegant man – that much she couldn’t deny. And once upon a time that had attracted her. They’d met at the university, and plenty of girls had looked at her with envy because she’d nabbed Erik Lind. Since then he had slowly but surely fucked away any love, respect, or trust she’d ever felt for him. Not with her. God, no. On the other hand, he didn’t seem to have any problem finding willing lovers outside of the marriage bed.
‘Hi, there! You’re here too? How nice!’ Cecilia Jansdotter made her way over to them and gave them both the obligatory kiss on the cheek. She was Louise’s hairdresser, and she and Erik had also been lovers for the past year. But of course they didn’t think Louise knew about that.
‘Hi, Cecilia,’ said Louise with a smile. She was a sweet girl, and if Louise held a grudge against everyone who had slept with her husband, she wouldn’t have been able to carry on living in Fjällbacka. Besides, she’d stopped caring years ago. She had the girls. And that wonderful invention: wine in a box. What did she need Erik for?
‘It’s so exciting that we have another author here in Fjällbacka! First Erica Falck, and now Christian.’ Cecilia was practically jumping up and down. ‘Have either of you read his book?’
‘I only read business journals,’ said Erik.
Louise rolled her eyes. How typical of Erik to flirt by saying that he never read books.
‘I’m hoping that we’ll get to take a copy home with us,’ she said, drawing her coat tighter around her. She hoped the queue would move a little faster so they could get inside where it was warm.
‘Yes, Louise is the big reader in the family. But then, what else is there to do when you don’t have to work? Right, sweetheart?’
Louise shrugged, letting the spiteful remark roll right off her. It wouldn’t do any good to point out that it was Erik who had insisted that she stay home while the girls were young. Or that she slaved from morning to night to make sure that everything ran smoothly in the well-ordered home that he took for granted.
The small talk continued as they slowly moved forward. At last they were able to enter the lobby and hang up their coats before descending the stairs to the dining hall.
With Erik’s eyes burning into her back, Louise headed straight for the bar.
‘Now don’t wear yourself out,’ Patrik told Erica, giving her a kiss before she swept out the door, her stomach leading the way.
Maja whimpered a bit when she saw her mother disappear, but she stopped fussing as soon as Patrik set her down in front of the TV to watch Bolibompa. The show with the green dragon had just started. Maja had been much more fretful and difficult to handle during the past few months, and the fits of temper that followed whenever she was told ‘no’ were enough to make any diva envious. Patrik could partly understand. She must feel the excited anticipation, combined with apprehension, regarding the arrival of her two siblings. Good Lord. Twins. Even though they’d known from the very first ultrasound, done in Erica’s eighteenth week, he still hadn’t really been able to take in the news. Sometimes he wondered how they were going to manage. It had been hard enough with one baby; how were they going to cope with two? How would they handle the breastfeeding and trying to get some sleep, and everything else? And they needed to buy a new car that was big enough for three kids and their pushchairs. And that was just one of many matters to consider.
Patrik sat down on the sofa next to Maja and stared into space. He’d been so tired lately. It felt as though his energy was just ebbing away, and some mornings it was all he could do to haul himself out of bed. But maybe that wasn’t so strange. In addition to everything going on at home, with Erica so worn out and Maja transformed into a tiny defiant monster, he was having a hard time at work. In the years since he’d met Erica, he and his colleagues had handled several difficult murder investigations; the grim nature of his work and the constant battle with his boss, Bertil Mellberg, was beginning to take its toll on Patrik.
And now they were dealing with Magnus Kjellner’s disappearance. Patrik didn’t know whether it was experience or instinct, but he was convinced that something had happened to the man. Whether he was the victim of an accident or foul play, it was impossible to say, but Patrik would bet his police badge that Kjellner was no longer alive. The fact that every Wednesday he had to meet with the man’s wife, who looked smaller and shabbier each time, had really begun to wear on him. The police had done absolutely everything they could, but he still couldn’t get the sight of Cia Kjellner’s face out of his mind.
‘Pappa!’ Maja roused him from his reveries, using vocal powers that were far stronger than she knew. She was pointing her finger at the TV, and he saw at once what had caused the crisis. He must have been lost in thought much longer than he realized, because Bolibompa was over, replaced by a show for grown-ups that didn’t interest Maja in the least.
‘Pappa will fix it,’ he said, holding up his hands. ‘How about Pippi Longstocking?’
Since Pippi was currently the big favourite, Patrik knew what his daughter’s answer would be. He got out the DVD, and when Pippi in the South Seas began to play, he sat down next to Maja again, putting his arm around her. Like a warm little animal, she snuggled happily into his armpit. Five minutes later Patrik was asleep.
Christian was sweating profusely. Gaby had just told him that it would soon be time for him to go up on stage. The dining hall wasn’t exactly packed, but about sixty guests with expectant expressions on their faces were seated at the tables, with plates of food and glasses of beer or wine in front of them. Christian himself hadn’t been able to eat a thing, but he was drinking red wine. He was now on his third glass, even though he knew that he shouldn’t be drinking so much. It wouldn’t be good if he ended up slurring his words into the microphone when he was interviewed. But without the wine he wouldn’t be able to function at all.
He was surveying the room when he felt a hand on his arm.
‘Hi. How’s it going? You look a little tense.’ Erica was peering at him with concern.
‘I guess I’m just nervous,’ he admitted, finding consolation in telling someone about it.
‘I know exactly how you feel,’ said Erica. ‘I made my first public appearance at an event for first-time authors in Stockholm, and they practically had to scrape me off the floor afterwards. And I can’t remember a single thing I said when I was on stage.’
‘I have a feeling they’re going to have to scrape me off the floor too,’ said Christian, touching his hand to his throat. For a second he thought about the letters, and then he was overwhelmed by panic. His knees buckled, and it was only thanks to the fact that Erica was holding on to him that he didn’t fall on his face.
‘Upsy-daisy,’ said Erica. ‘Looks like you’ve had a few stiff drinks. You probably shouldn’t have any more before your appearance.’ She carefully removed the glass of red wine from Christian’s hand and set it on the nearest table. ‘I promise you that everything will go just fine. Gaby will start off by introducing you and your novel. Then I’ll ask you a few questions – and you and I have already discussed what they’ll be. Trust me. The only problem is going to be hauling this body of mine up on stage.’
She laughed, and Christian joined in. Not wholeheartedly, and he sounded a bit shrill, but the joke worked. Some of the tension eased out of him, and he could feel himself breathing again. He pushed all thought of the letters far away. He wasn’t going to let that affect him tonight. The Mermaid had been given a voice through his book, and now he was done with her.
‘Hi, honey.’ Sanna came over to join them, her eyes sparkling as she looked around the hall. Christian knew that this was a big moment for her. Maybe even bigger than for him.
‘How lovely you look,’ he said, and she basked in the praise. She really did look lovely. He knew that he’d been lucky to meet her. She put up with a great deal from him, more than most people would have been willing to endure. It wasn’t her fault that she couldn’t fill the empty space inside of him. Probably nobody could. He put his arm around her and kissed her hair.
‘How sweet you two are!’ Gaby came striding over to them, her high heels clacking. ‘Someone has sent you flowers, Christian.’
He stared at the bouquet she was holding. It was beautiful but simple, composed solely of white lilies.
With fingers that trembled uncontrollably, he reached for the white envelope fastened to the bouquet. He was shaking so much that he could hardly open it, and he was barely aware of the surprised glances from the women standing around him.
The card was also very simple. A plain white card of heavy stock, the message written in black ink, with the same elegant handwriting used in the letters. He stared at the words. And then everything went black before his eyes.
2
She was the most beautiful person he’d ever seen. She smelled so good, and her long hair was tied back with a white ribbon. It shone so brightly that he almost felt the need to squint. He took a tentative step towards her, uncertain whether he would be allowed to partake of all this beauty. She held out her arms to give him permission, and with quick steps he leapt into her embrace. Away from the blackness, away from the evil. Instead he was enveloped in whiteness, in light, in a floral scent and with silky soft hair against his cheek.
‘Are you my mother now?’ he said at last, reluctantly taking a step back. She nodded. ‘Really?’ He was waiting for someone to come in and, with some brusque remark, smash everything to pieces, telling him that he’d only been dreaming. And that this wonderful creature couldn’t possibly be the mother of somebody like him.
But no voice spoke. Instead, she simply nodded, and he couldn’t help himself. He threw himself into her arms again and never, ever wanted to leave. Somewhere inside his head there were other pictures, other scents and sounds that wanted to surface, but they were drowned out by the floral perfume and the rustling of her dress. He pushed those images away. Forced them to disappear, to be replaced by all that was new and amazing. All that was unbelievable.
He looked up at his new mother, and his heart beat twice as fast with joy. When she took his hand and led him away from there, he went with her quite willingly.
‘I heard that things took a rather dramatic turn last night. What was Christian thinking, getting drunk at an event like that?’ Kenneth Bengtsson was late arriving at the office after a rough morning at home. He tossed his jacket on the sofa, but a disapproving glance from Erik made him pick it up again and hang it on a hook in the hall.
‘You’re right. It was undeniably a lamentable end to the evening,’ Erik replied. ‘On the other hand, Louise seemed determined to escape into an alcoholic haze, so at least I was spared that experience.’
‘Are things really that bad?’ asked Kenneth, looking at Erik. It was rare for Erik to confide anything personal to him. That was how he’d always been. Both when they were kids, playing together, and now that they were adults. Erik treated Kenneth as if he barely tolerated him, as if he was doing the man a favour by deigning to spend time with him. If it hadn’t been for the fact that Kenneth actually had something to offer Erik, their friendship would have been over long ago. That was exactly what had happened while Erik was studying at the university and working in Göteborg, while Kenneth had stayed in Fjällbacka and started up his small accounting firm. A company that over the years had become a very successful business.
Because Kenneth was, in fact, quite talented. He was aware that he wasn’t particularly good-looking or charming, and he had no illusions about having more than average intelligence. But he did have a remarkable ability to work wonders when it came to numbers. He could juggle with the sums in a profit-and-loss report or balance sheet as if he were the David Beckham of the accounting world. Combined with his ability to persuade the tax authorities to see his side of things, Kenneth had suddenly, and for the first time ever, become a highly valuable person for Erik. He was the natural choice when Erik needed an associate as he entered the construction market, which had lately become such a lucrative enterprise on the west coast of Sweden. Erik had, of course, made it very clear that Kenneth needed to know his place, since he owned only a third of the company and not half – although he really should have done, considering what he contributed to the firm. But that didn’t matter. Kenneth wasn’t interested in amassing wealth or power. He was content to work with the things he was good at, and to be Erik’s associate.
‘I really have no idea what to do about Louise,’ said Erik, getting up from behind his desk. ‘If it weren’t for the children …’ He shook his head as he put on his coat.
Kenneth nodded sympathetically. He knew full well what the situation was. And it had nothing to do with the children. What was stopping Erik from divorcing Louise was the fact that she would then be entitled to half of their money and other assets.
‘I’m going out for lunch, and I’ll be gone for a while. A long lunch today.’
‘Okay,’ said Kenneth. A long lunch. Oh, right.
‘Is he home?’ Erica was standing on the porch of the Thydell home.
Sanna seemed to hesitate for a few seconds before stepping aside to let her in.
‘He’s upstairs. In his workroom. He’s just sitting in front of the computer, staring.’
‘Is it all right if I go up to talk to him?’
Sanna nodded. ‘Sure. Nothing I say seems to do any good. Maybe you’ll have better luck.’
There was a bitter tone to Sanna’s voice, and Erica paused for a moment to study her. She looked tired. But there was something else that Erica couldn’t quite put her finger on.
‘Let me see what I can do.’ Slowly Erica made her way up the stairs, supporting her oversized stomach with one hand. Lately even such a simple task sapped her of all energy.
‘Hi.’ She knocked gently on the open door, and Christian turned around. He was sitting in his desk chair, but the computer screen was blank. ‘You really gave us a scare yesterday,’ said Erica, sinking on to an armchair in the corner.
‘Just a bit overworked, I guess,’ said Christian. But there were dark shadows under his eyes, and his hands were shaking. ‘Plus I’ve been worried about Magnus disappearing.’
‘Are you sure there’s not some other reason?’ Her voice sounded sharper than she’d intended. ‘I picked this up yesterday and brought it along.’ She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out the note that had come with the bouquet of white lilies. ‘You must have dropped it.’
Christian stared at the card.
‘Put that away.’
‘What does the message mean?’ Erica looked with concern at this man she had started to regard as a friend.
He didn’t answer.
Erica repeated her question, this time a bit more gently: ‘Christian, what does it mean? Your reaction was awfully strong yesterday. So don’t try to make me believe that you were just feeling overworked.’
Still he said nothing. Suddenly the silence was broken by Sanna’s voice from the doorway.
‘Tell Erica about the letters,’ she said.
Sanna stayed where she was, waiting for her husband to respond. A few more minutes of silence ensued before Christian sighed, pulled out the bottom drawer of his desk and took out a small bundle of letters.
‘I’ve had these for a while.’
Erica picked up the letters and cautiously leafed through the pages. White sheets of paper with black ink. And there was no doubt that the handwriting was the same as on the card she’d brought along. Some of the words were familiar too. The sentences were different, but the theme was the same. She began reading aloud from the letter on top:
‘She walks at your side, she follows along with you. You have no right to your life. It belongs to her.’
Erica looked up in astonishment. ‘What’s this all about? Do you understand any of this?’
‘No.’ Christian’s reply was swift and firm. ‘No, I have no clue. I don’t know of anyone who would want to harm me. At least, I don’t think so. And I have no idea who “she” is. I should have thrown out those letters,’ he said, reaching for them. But Erica had no intention of relinquishing them.
‘You should tell the police about this.’
Christian shook his head. ‘No, it’s probably just someone having fun at my expense.’
‘This doesn’t sound like a joke to me. And I can see that you don’t think it’s funny, either.’
‘That’s exactly what I said,’ Sanna interjected. ‘I think it’s really creepy, especially since we have children, and everything. What if there’s some mentally disturbed person who …’ She stared at Christian, and Erica could tell that it wasn’t the first time they’d had this conversation. But he stubbornly shook his head again.
‘I don’t want to make a big deal out of it.’
‘When exactly did this whole thing begin?’
‘When you started writing the book,’ said Sanna, receiving a look of annoyance from her husband.
‘I guess that’s about right,’ he admitted. ‘A year and a half ago.’
‘Could there be some sort of connection? Did you put any real person or event in your book? Someone who might feel threatened because you wrote about them?’ Erica kept her eyes fixed steadily on Christian, who was looking extremely uncomfortable. It was obvious that he had no desire to discuss this topic.
‘No, it’s a work of fiction,’ he said, grimacing. ‘No one should be able to recognize themselves in my story. You’ve read the manuscript. Does it seem autobiographical to you?’
‘That’s not something that I would be able to tell,’ said Erica with a shrug. ‘But I know from my own experience that writers weave parts of their own lives into their manuscripts, whether consciously or not.’
‘Well, I didn’t!’ exclaimed Christian, pushing back his chair and standing up.
Realizing that it was time for her to leave, Erica tried to get up from the armchair. But her heavy body resisted her efforts, and all she could manage were a few grunts. Christian’s stern expression softened, and he reached out a helping hand.
‘It’s probably just some lunatic who heard that I was writing a book and started getting strange ideas about it. That’s all,’ he said, sounding calmer.
Erica doubted that was the whole truth, but her opinion was based more on a gut feeling than any concrete evidence. As she walked towards her car, she hoped Christian hadn’t noticed that were now only five letters in his desk drawer instead of six. She didn’t know what had made her take such a bold step, but if Christian wasn’t going to tell her the truth, then she was just going to have to find out more on her own. The tone of the letters was clearly threatening, and she was worried that her friend might be in danger.
‘Did you have to cancel any appointments?’ Erik nibbled on Cecilia’s nipple. She gasped as she stretched out on the bed in her flat. The beauty salon that she owned was within easy reach on the ground floor of the building.
‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you? To hear that I had to cancel clients in order to make room for you in my calendar. What makes you think you’re so important?’
‘What could be more important than this?’ He ran his tongue over her breast, and she pulled him down on top of her, unable to wait any longer.
Afterwards she lay next to him, her head resting on his arm. A few rough hairs tickled her cheek.
‘It was a bit strange, running into Louise yesterday. And you.’
‘Mmmm,’ replied Erik, dozing. He had no wish to discuss his wife or his marriage with his mistress.
‘I like Louise, you know,’ said Cecilia, playing with the hairs on his chest. ‘And if she knew …’
‘But she doesn’t,’ Erik snapped, propping himself up on his elbows. ‘And she’s never going to find out.’
Cecilia looked up at him, and he knew from experience exactly how this discussion was going to proceed.
‘Sooner or later she’ll have to know.’
Erik sighed to himself. Why did they always have to talk about the past and the future? He swung his legs over the side of the bed and began getting dressed.
‘Do you have to leave already?’ asked Cecilia. The hurt expression on her face annoyed him even more.
‘I’ve got a lot of work to do,’ he said curtly, buttoning his shirt. He had the smell of sex in his nostrils, but he would take a shower at the office. He always kept a change of clothes there, for just such occasions.
‘So this is the way it’s going to be?’ Cecilia was still lying on the bed, and Erik couldn’t help staring at her naked body. Her breasts were pointing upwards with big, dark nipples that were stiff from the cool temperature in the room. He made a quick calculation. He really didn’t need to hurry back to the office, and he wouldn’t mind having another go-round. It would take a bit of persuasion, so to speak, but the excitement that was already starting to build inside his body told him that it would be worth the effort. He sat down on the edge of the bed and softened his voice and expression as he caressed her cheek.
‘Cecilia,’ he said, and then he went on to speak words that rolled as easily from his lips as they had so many times before. When she pressed her body against his, he could feel her breasts through his shirt. He reached up and began unfastening the buttons.
After a late lunch at Källaren restaurant, Patrik parked his car in front of the low, white building, which would never win any sort of architectural prize, and entered the reception area of the Tanumshede police station.
‘You’ve got a visitor,’ Annika told him, peering over her reading glasses.
‘Who is it?’
‘I can’t say, but she’s a real looker. Maybe a bit on the plump side, but I think you’re going to like her.’
‘What on earth are you talking about?’ said Patrik, bewildered. He wondered why Annika suddenly seemed to have taken on the role of pimp for happily married colleagues.
‘You’ll just have to go and see for yourself. She’s waiting in your office,’ said Annika, giving him a wink.
Patrik went to his office and came to a halt in the doorway.
‘Hi, sweetheart,’ he said. ‘What are you doing here?’
Erica was sitting in the visitor’s chair in front of his desk, paging absentmindedly through an issue of the journal Police.
‘You’re certainly late getting back from lunch,’ she said, ignoring his question. ‘Is this what a busy day at police headquarters is like?’
Patrik merely snorted. He knew that Erica loved to tease him.
‘So, what are you doing here?’ he asked, sitting down in his desk chair. He leaned forward to study his wife more closely. Again he saw how beautiful she was. He thought about the first time she had visited him at the police station, in connection with the murder of her friend Alexandra Wijkner, and it seemed to him that she’d grown even lovelier since then. It was something that he occasionally forgot, caught up as he was in daily routines. One day followed another, filled with work, dropping Maja off at the day-care centre and then picking her up again, grocery shopping, and weary evenings spent on the sofa watching TV. But occasionally he was struck by how far from ordinary his love for Erica was. And now that she was sitting right here in front of him, with the winter sun shining through the window and lighting up her blonde hair, and with those two babies inside her stomach, the love he felt for her was so strong that it was enough to last an entire lifetime.
Patrik suddenly realized that he hadn’t heard what Erica said, so he asked her to repeat it.
‘I was just saying that I went over to see Christian this morning and have a talk with him.’
‘How’s he doing?’
‘He seemed okay, just a little shaky. But …’ She bit her lip.
‘But what? I thought he simply had a little too much to drink, on top of being nervous.’
‘Hmmm. Well, I don’t think that’s all of it.’ Erica took a plastic bag out of her purse and handed it to Patrik. ‘Yesterday that card was attached to a bouquet of flowers that was sent to him. And the letter is one of six that he’s received, starting about a year and a half ago.’
Patrik gave his wife a long look as he opened the bag.
‘I think it would be best if you read them without taking them out of the plastic. Christian and I have already touched them, but we don’t need to add any more fingerprints.’
Patrik looked at her again but did as she asked and read the text of the card and letter through the plastic.
‘What do you think it means?’ asked Erica, scooting forward to sit on the edge of her chair. But when it almost tipped over, she quickly had to redistribute her weight by moving back again.
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