“When I think about myself,” says Joakim, “when I think about the way I was before Johan was born, it’s like thinking about a total stranger. I had a pretty tough time when I was growing up; I ended up in an institution for young offenders. I had been fostered out, but that doesn’t really mean anything; they just want you out of the system. But when I met Isabella, I pulled myself together and started studying properly. I qualified as an engineer the year Johan was born. I remember once we took a holiday. I’d never been on holiday before. We went to Greece. Johan had just learned to walk.” Joakim Samuelsson shuts his eyes, shakes his head. “So long ago. He was so much like me . . . the same . . .”
He falls silent. A rat, damp and grey, scuttles along the dark pavement by bushes littered with rubbish.
“What did you want to tell me?” asks Joona after a while.
Joakim rubs his eyes. “Are you sure it was Lydia Everson who did this?” he asks, his voice weak.
Joona nods. “I’m absolutely sure.”
“Right,” whispers Joakim Samuelsson. He turns his exhausted, furrowed face toward Joona. “I do know her,” he says simply. “I know her very well. We were in the youth offenders’ institution together. When Lydia was only fourteen they found out she was pregnant. They were shit-scared at first: then they forced her to have an abortion. It was supposed to be kept quiet, but they botched the job. There were all sorts of complications, infections. But after a while she recovered.”
Joakim’s hands are shaking as he places them on the steering wheel.
“We moved in together when we left the institution. We lived in her house in Rotebro and tried to have a baby. She was completely obsessed with the idea. But nothing happened. So she went to see a gynaecologist. I’ll never forget that day, when she came back from the doctor’s.” He runs his shaking hands through his hair. “They said there was too much scarring from the abortion and the aftermath. The doctor told her she could never get pregnant.”
“And the one time she was pregnant,” says Joona, “was it yours?”
“Yes.”
“So you owed her a child,” Joona says, almost to himself.
Chapter 98
sunday, december 20 (fourth sunday of advent): morning
The terminal buildings at Arlanda Airport are covered with dense, heavy snow that falls ceaselessly from the dark sky. The runways are constantly being cleared. Erik stands by the huge window in the cafeteria, watching luggage swing around and around in a slow circle on the carousel.
Simone arrives with coffee and a plate of saffron Lucia buns and Christmas ginger cookies. She puts the two cups down in front of Erik, then looks out at the runways. They watch a crew of flight attendants heading across the tarmac on their way to one of the smaller jets. They are all wearing red Santa hats, the women in their heels jogging on tiptoe through the deep slush underfoot.
On the windowsill in the cafeteria, a mechanical Father Christmas is moving his hips rhythmically. His batteries seem to be running out; his movements are becoming increasingly spasmodic. Simone meets Erik’s gaze, and raises her eyebrows ironically at the sight of the thrusting Santa.
“The buns were free,” she says, staring blankly into space; then she remembers. “The fourth Sunday in Advent. It’s the fourth Sunday in Advent today.”
They look at each other, not knowing what to say. Suddenly Simone gives a start and looks upset.
“What’s the matter?” Erik asks.
“The factor concentrate,” she says, her voice choked. “We forgot . . . If he’s there, if he’s alive . . . It’s been too long. He won’t be able to stand up.”
“Simone, I’ve got it,” says Erik. “I’ve brought it with me.”
She looks at him, her eyes red-rimmed. “Really?”
“Kennet reminded me. He called from the hospital.”
Kennet. Simone thinks about how she drove her father home, watched him get out of the car— and fall head first into the slush. She thought he’d tripped, but when she ran around to help him up, he was almost unconscious. She drove him back to the hospital, where they took him in on a stretcher; his reflexes were weak and his pupils slow to react. The doctor thought it was a combination of the after-effects of the concussion and the fact that he had seriously over-exerted himself.
“How is he?” Erik asks.
“He was asleep when I was there yesterday, but the doctor doesn’t seem to think it’s too serious.”
“Good,” says Erik. He contemplates the mechanical Santa; then, without a word, he picks up his red Christmas napkin and places it over Santa’s head.
The napkin waggles rhythmically back and forth. Simone starts to laugh, spraying Erik’s jacket with biscuit crumbs.
“Sorry,” she whimpers, “it just looks so sick. A sex-crazed Santa . . .”
She succumbs to a fresh attack of the giggles and ends up bent double over the table. Then she begins to cry. After a while she stops, blows her nose, wipes her face, and drinks her coffee. Her mouth has just begun to twitch again when Joona Linna comes over to their table.
“The Umeå police are on their way there now,” he says, without preamble.
“Are you in radio contact with them?” Erik asks.
“I’m not, but they’re in touch with— ”
Joona stops abruptly when he catches sight of the napkin covering the thrusting Santa. A pair of brown plastic boots is protruding from beneath the paper. Simone turns her head away, her body shaking with laughter or weeping or a combination of both. It sounds as if she’s choking. Erik quickly gets up and leads her away.
“Let go of me,” she says, between convulsions.
“I just want to help you, Simone. Come outside.”
They open a door leading onto a balcony and stand in the chilly air.
“I’m all right now, thank you,” she whispers.
Erik brushes the snow off the railing and holds her naked wrist against the cold metal.
“All right now,” she repeats. “All right . . . now.”
She closes her eyes and wobbles. Erik catches her. He can see Joona looking at them from inside the cafeteria.
“How are you really, Simone?” Erik whispers.
She peers at him. “Nobody believes me when I tell them I’m just so tired.”
“I’m tired too; I believe you.”
“But you’ve got your pills, haven’t you?”
“Yes,” he replies, without even thinking of defending himself.
Simone’s face crumples and Erik suddenly feels hot tears trickling down his cheeks. Since he’s stopped taking drugs he feels more defenceless than he has in years, totally open and without protection.
“All this time,” he goes on, his lips trembling, “I’ve only had one thought: he can’t be dead.”
They stand there motionless, their arms around each other. The snow falls on them in large, fluffy flakes. A plane takes off in the distance with a low roar. When Joona taps on the glass, they both jump. Erik opens the door and Joona comes out. He clears his throat. “I thought you should know that we have identified the body on Lydia’s property.”
“Who was it?”
“It wasn’t Lydia’s child . . . The boy had disappeared from his family thirteen years ago.”
Erik nods and waits. Joona sighs deeply. “Remains of excrement and urine show that . . .” He shakes his head. “. . . show that the child lived there for a fairly long time, probably three years, before he was killed.”
He waits as the information sinks in. Another plane roars in the distance, on its way up into the sky.
“In other words, Erik, you were right the whole time. Lydia did have a child in a cage, and she regarded that child as her own.”
“Yes,” Erik says.
“She killed the boy when she realized what she had said under hypnosis, what that meant and what it was going to mean.”
“I actually thought I was wrong. I accepted it,” says Erik dully, gazing out at the wintry runways.
/> “Was that why you stopped?” asks Joona.
“Yes.”
Simone runs a shaky hand over her forehead. “Lydia spotted you when you broke your promise. She saw Benjamin,” she says quietly.
“No, she must have been following us all the time,” Erik whispers.
“Lydia was released from Ulleråker two months ago,” Joona says. “She approached Benjamin cautiously. Perhaps your promise never to use hypnosis again was holding her back.”
Joona thinks that Lydia held Joakim Samuelsson responsible for the abortion that led to her inability to have children, so she took his son, Johan. And by the same twisted process of reasoning, Lydia held Erik responsible for her having murdered Johan, so she took Benjamin when Erik began to practise hypnosis again.
Erik’s expression is grave, his face hard and closed. He opens his mouth to explain that he actually saved Evelyn’s life by breaking his promise but is forestalled by the arrival of a police officer.
“We have to go now,” the officer says. “The plane is taking off in ten minutes.”
“Have you spoken to the police up in Dorotea?” Joona asks.
“It’s not possible to make contact with the patrol who went to the house,” the officer replies.
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. They said they’ve been trying for fifty minutes.”
“What the hell. Then they need to send backup,” says Joona.
“That’s what I told them, but they said they wanted to wait and see what happened.”
As they set off to walk the short distance to the plane that is waiting to take them to Vilhelmina Airport in southern Lapland, Erik suddenly feels a brief, strange surge of relief: he was right all along.
He lifts his face to the falling snow. The flakes whirl and swirl, heavy and light at the same time. Simone turns and takes his hand.
Chapter 99
thursday, december 17: evening
Benjamin is lying on the floor, listening to the rocking chair creak stickily against the shiny surface of the plastic mat. His joints ache painfully, an ache that has intensified over the past few days. The chair rocks slowly back and forth. The wind blows across the tin roof. Suddenly the crude hinge on the porch door sings its metallic song. Heavy footsteps approach down the hall. Someone stamps the snow off their boots. Benjamin raises his head, but the dog leash tightens around his neck when he tries to see who has come into the room.
“Lie down,” Lydia murmurs.
He lowers his head to the floor, once again feeling the long coarse pile of the woven rug against his cheek, the dry smell of dust filling his nose.
“It’s the fourth Sunday in Advent in three days,” says Jussi. “We ought to make ginger biscuits.”
“Sundays are for discipline and nothing else,” says Lydia, continuing to rock.
Marek grins at something but doesn’t speak.
“Go on, laugh,” says Lydia.
“It was nothing.”
“Laugh,” says Lydia, her voice subdued. “I want my family to be happy.”
“We are,” Marek replies.
The floor is cold, and a cold draft seeps through the walls. The dust bunnies among the cables behind the television are drifting around. Benjamin is still wearing only his pyjamas. He thinks back to their arrival at Jussi’s haunted house. There was already snow on the ground, and since then it has snowed, thawed, and frozen hard again. Marek led him through an area crammed with dilapidated vehicles at the front of the house, old buses covered in snow and scrap cars piled high. The snow burned Benjamin’s bare feet. It felt like walking in a dry moat between the great heaps of snow-covered cars in the failing light.
There was a light on in the house, and when Jussi came out onto the porch, his elk gun over his arm, and caught sight of Lydia, it was as if all his determination abandoned him. She was not expected, nor was she welcome. But he was not about to offer any resistance, he would simply submit to her will, as usual. He merely shook his head when Marek took the gun from him.
Then there were footsteps on the porch, and Annbritt came out. Jussi had mumbled that Annbritt was his partner and they ought to let her go. When Annbritt saw the dog collar and leash around Benjamin’s neck, the colour drained from her face and she tried to go back into the house and shut the door, but Marek stopped her by inserting the barrel of the gun between the door and the frame and asked her with a smile if they might come in.
“Shall we discuss Christmas dinner?” Annbritt asks now, her voice uncertain.
“The most important things are the herring and the boar,” says Jussi.
Lydia sighs irritably. Benjamin gazes up at the gold-coloured ceiling fan, four gold lamps clustered beneath the blades. Its shadow looks like a grey flower against the white ceiling.
“I expect the boy will want meatballs,” says Jussi.
“We’ll see,” Lydia replies.
Marek spits into a potted plant and looks out into the darkness. “I’m getting hungry,” he says.
“We’ve got plenty of elk and venison in the freezer,” says Jussi.
Marek goes over to the table, pokes about in the bread basket, breaks off a piece, and stuffs it in his mouth.
When Benjamin looks up, Lydia automatically yanks the leash. He coughs and puts his head down again. He is hungry and tired.
“I need my medicine soon,” he says.
“You’ll be just fine,” replies Lydia.
“I have to have an injection once a week, and it’s been more than a week since— ”
“Shut up.”
“I’ll die if I don’t.”
Lydia jerks the leash so hard that Benjamin whimpers with pain. He starts to cry, and she jerks it again to shut him up.
Marek switches on the television; it makes a crackling noise and a distant voice can be heard; it could be a soccer game. Marek flicks between the channels without getting a picture and switches it off.
“I should have brought the TV from the other house,” he says.
“It’s not the TV. There just aren’t any cable channels up here,” says Jussi.
“You’re an idiot,” says Lydia.
“Why doesn’t the dish work?” asks Marek.
“I don’t know,” says Jussi. “It gets very windy here. It’s probably twisted.”
“Fix it then,” says Marek.
“You fix it!”
“Shut up,” says Lydia.
“There’s nothing but crap on television anyway,” Jussi mutters.
“I like Let’s Dance,” says Marek.
“Can I go to the toilet?” Benjamin asks quietly.
“You piss outside,” says Lydia.
“All right.”
“Take him out, Marek,” Lydia instructs.
“Jussi can do it,” he replies.
“Why can’t he go by himself?” complains Jussi. “He can’t run away, it’s minus five out there, and it’s a long way to— ”
“Get off your ass and go with him,” Lydia breaks in. “I’ll keep an eye on Annbritt in the meantime.”
Sitting up makes Benjamin feel dizzy. He sees that Jussi has taken the dog leash from Lydia. Benjamin’s knees are stiff, and a sharp pain shoots up his thighs when he starts to walk. Every step is unbearable, but he grits his teeth in an effort to remain silent. He doesn’t want to annoy Lydia.
There are diplomas hanging along the wall in the hall. Dim light comes from a brass sconce with a frosted glass shade. A plastic bag from the ICA supermarket with the words quality, courtesy, service has been dropped on the cork-coloured vinyl floor.
“I need to take a shit,” says Jussi, letting go of the leash. “Wait on the porch when you come back.”
Jussi clutches his belly, disappears into the bathroom, puffing and blowing, and locks the door behind him. Benjamin can see Annbritt’s curved, strong back through the gap in the door. He hears Marek rhapsodizing about Greek pizza.
Lydia’s dark green padded jacket is hanging on a hook in the hallway
. Benjamin looks around and then goes through the pockets rapidly, finding the house keys, a gold-coloured purse, and his own mobile. The battery is very low, but there should be enough life in it for at least one call. His heart quickening, he creeps out into the bitter cold. The snow has been cleared from the path leading down to the woodshed, and he sets off on his bare feet, trying to ignore the pain in his aching joints. In the darkness he can just make out the round shapes of the snow-covered cars and old buses in the yard. His hands are stiff and shaking with cold.
Reception is poor. He calls his mother’s number and presses the phone to his ear, his hand trembling. He hears the first crackling signal just as the door opens. It’s Jussi. They stare at each other. It doesn’t occur to Benjamin to hide the phone. Perhaps he ought to run, but where would he go? Jussi strides toward him, his face pale and agitated.
“Are you finished?” he asks loudly, looking behind him.
Jussi reaches Benjamin and looks him in the eye; they have made an agreement. He takes Benjamin’s phone and continues on down to the woodshed as Lydia emerges from the house.
“What are you two up to?” she asks, her voice oddly cheerful.
“I’m fetching some more wood,” Jussi shouts, hiding the phone in his inside pocket.
“I’m finished,” says Benjamin.
Lydia stands in the doorway and lets Benjamin into the house.
It’s almost pitch dark inside the woodshed. The only light comes from the pale blue display of the phone. Jussi sees that it shows mum. He puts it to his ear in time to hear someone answer.
“Hello?” says a man’s voice. “Hello?”
“Is that Erik?” asks Jussi.
“No, this is— ”
“My name is Jussi. Can you give Erik a message? This is important; we’re up here at my house, me and Lydia and Marek and— ”
A sudden guttural scream comes from the person who answered the phone. There is a sound of crashing and crackling, someone coughs, a woman whimpers and weeps; then there is silence. The connection is broken. Jussi stares at the phone in astonishment. Just as he thinks he might try someone else and begins scrolling through the numbers, the battery gives out. And then the woodshed door opens and Lydia steps inside.