Cinderella Girl (19 page)

‘The provider has been informed,’ answered Nyman.

Barbro wondered whether he was telling the truth.

‘As I said, it may take a week if they have a lot to do,’ he continued, ‘and most of the time they do.’

‘You also said that it can take twenty-four hours in prioritized cases. Like this one,’ Barbro added.

‘Well, this is not exactly a typical example of a prioritized case,’ Nyman began, but Barbro was quick to counter him.

‘It may turn out that that’s just what it is. If you find a dead three-year-old in a few days, perhaps you’ll regret not making this a higher priority. I think we should try to avoid that.’

‘That sounds ominous,’ Nyman laughed in the receiver. ‘But I’ll do what I can. Besides, it hasn’t really been twenty-four hours yet.’

Barbro glanced at the clock; it was only quarter past eight. Perhaps she ought to be grateful that he was even at work at this time. But she did not feel particularly grateful. On the contrary, she had a strong feeling that he was not taking her seriously this time either.

‘How hard can it be?’ she said in her sternest tone of voice. ‘See that it gets done, then you’ll be rid of me. I’ll be in touch during the day.’

Barbro ended the call, feeling no less frustrated but even more resolved to succeed in her project. With an angry snort she shook off the detective’s condescending tone and half an hour later she locked the door and was on her way out for yet another day among the allotments of south Stockholm.

* * *

Not surprisingly, it was Joakim who opened the door at quarter past eight. He gave Sjöberg a look first of surprise, then fear.

‘I was in the neighbourhood,’ Sjöberg explained. A white lie, he told himself. ‘I thought you could avoid a trip to the station today.’

Joakim looked at him, and Sjöberg could see his mind was racing behind the anxious eyes.

‘I know you have your mother to take care of,’ Sjöberg continued when he got no response. ‘I have a few questions I’d like to ask you, if that’s all right. May I come in?’

‘Uh, sure,’ Joakim stammered, taking a few steps backwards.

He remained standing there, in the entrance hall, and Sjöberg got a feeling that Joakim did not want him to go any further into his home. But he stepped out of his shoes anyway and took a few steps in Joakim’s direction, without taking off his jacket. Joakim stood as if rooted to the spot and looked at him desperately.

‘Well,’ said Sjöberg with exaggerated calm. ‘Shall we go in?’

Joakim leaned against the wall and let him past. Sjöberg went into the living room and glanced towards the three-piece suite. ‘Is this a house search or something?’ Joakim said.

‘Not at all,’ Sjöberg answered calmly. ‘I’m just looking around a little.’

He continued into the small kitchen, which only held a breakfast nook for two, by a window overlooking an inner courtyard, and a worktop with cupboards above and below as well as a cooker. On the opposite wall were the fridge and freezer and a tall cupboard that might contain cleaning things or food. The room had a somewhat shabby air, but it was clean and things were put away.

‘So where’s your mother?’ he asked, apparently unperturbed.

‘She’s sleeping,’ Joakim answered quickly. ‘What were you going to ask?’

Sjöberg was already on his way out of the kitchen and answered with a counter-question.

‘Is this where she’s sleeping?’

He went back through the unimaginatively furnished living room, with its bookshelf without books, the conventional suite and a TV that had seen better days. On the table was a half-full ashtray. In the windows hung yellowed half-transparent curtains, framing a few surprisingly vigorous monsteras. Across from the hall a small corridor with a cupboard ran past a bathroom and ended in a wall with two closed doors. Voices were coming from inside one of the rooms, like from a radio or TV. Sjöberg knocked carefully on the door and looked at Joakim with a smile that he meant to seem good-hearted.

‘You don’t need to …’ Joakim implored, but Sjöberg disregarded the sympathy he felt and let his curiosity guide him.

He pushed down the handle and opened the door, determined not to reveal any reaction.

The little room was completely taken up by a double bed. On the wall above the foot of the bed a TV was mounted. Spread-eagled on the bed was a woman, dressed in an enormous, light-blue garment like a housedress. The woman was bare legged, and the gigantic blocks of her legs led up to a gigantic body. Layer upon layer of massive rolls of fat were spread out over the bed; the head was like a colossal pumpkin without a neck, and her skin was dry, cracked and scaly.

Sjöberg had never seen anything like it. This was not a person; this was a monster lying there on the bed before him. In the middle of that giant head was a little face, with a mouth, nose and two small embedded eyes, looking at him in terror. As he had resolved, Sjöberg managed to
conceal his immediate reaction of horror and disgust, even though he could not have imagined what he would encounter behind the door. He gave her a friendly smile and introduced himself with exaggerated heartiness.

‘Good day, good day. Conny Sjöberg is my name. From the Hammarby Police.’

She still looked terrified, but answered in an uncannily light, beautiful voice, ‘Good morning.’

Sjöberg did not know what to say next. He considered leaving after a few polite phrases, but after a moment of hesitation the official in him took over.

‘You appear to need professional care. Is it Joakim who takes care of you?’

‘Yes, and he does it very well. We get along fine.’

‘Do you ever see a doctor?’

‘No, I’m not sick exactly …’

She switched her gaze from the frightening stranger to her son.

‘Why did you bring the police here?’ she wanted to know, but Sjöberg answered for him.

‘This is just a routine matter. It has nothing to do with you. I’m here because we’re investigating a murder. An acquaintance of Joakim’s was murdered. Didn’t you know about that?’

‘No,’ she answered with surprise, looking at Joakim as if she expected an explanation.

The woman was spending her life in this bed. God knows for how many years she’d been here, cut off from the outside world, disconnected from all responsibility, happily ignorant of what was going on beyond her bedroom.

‘You can’t carry on like this,’ Sjöberg asserted. ‘This is indefensible. You need medical care. You can’t lie here like this, it won’t do. Joakim can’t be solely responsible for you in this condition. He has no training for this sort of thing. He’s twenty-four years old and has his whole life ahead of him. I’m going to contact the social authorities. It’s my duty.’

‘But what will people say?’ was the only thing that came out of her mouth.

How he loathed that phrase. Those words that controlled life for so many people in this country. He had a mind to tell her that she should have thought of that earlier. But what did he know about what had driven her into this room? Perhaps it had been a way for her to escape, thought Sjöberg. Perhaps she had eaten herself away from her husband’s abuse of her son, eaten herself away from the hardships of life and into the corner of the world that was her own. A hiding place where there was only room for her, where she was cared for without being in an institution, a place where she was free from harsh words and accusations. She had become a family secret, an eyesore that must be kept away from the world. But what she really was, thought Sjöberg, was a monument. A monument to this family’s secrets.

He turned to Joakim, who was standing behind him in the corridor, looking at his feet.

‘Now we’ll get to those questions,’ he said, but then he caught sight of the other door and on impulse decided to find out what was behind it too.

He opened the door and looked into a bedroom that was smaller than the other one, furnished with a single bed, wider than normal, and a bedside table. The blinds
were drawn, but despite the darkness Sjöberg could see that the bed was unmade. At first he saw only an ordinary bedroom, like any other, and furnished like the rest of the apartment without any attempt to make it cosy. But as he was about to close the door he was struck by the insight that more than one person slept in this room. On a chair in one corner were clothes that must be Joakim’s, tossed into a heap. Over a valet stand in front of the window hung a cardigan and tie that evidently belonged to the father. In the bed he saw three pillows and two blankets. He remained standing in the doorway, unable to bring himself to say anything, for a long time. What could he say? What should he say?

‘So, this is your bedroom?’ he asked simply.

Joakim nodded self-consciously.

‘And your dad’s?’ Sjöberg added, in a tone that was as neutral as he could make it.

‘Uh-huh,’ mumbled Joakim.

Sjöberg felt a growing sense of unease. A distaste for the whole situation, for this musty, run-down, cramped little apartment with its gloom and its colourless walls. A suspicion was taking shape in his mind, a suspicion that this family had more secrets than he had at first thought.

He closed the door and went back out into the living room.

‘Can we sit here?’ he asked Joakim, gesturing towards the dark-green suite.

‘Sure,’ Joakim answered guardedly.

They each sat down in an armchair and Sjöberg tried to brush aside what he had just seen. He put the MP3 player on record and tackled his actual business.

‘We have been able to chart another few hours of the end of Jennifer’s life,’ he said matter-of-factly.

Joakim showed no reaction.

‘You said the last time you saw her was when she was sitting in the dance hall together with two considerably older men, is that so?’

‘Yes.’

‘When they’d had a few drinks they left the bar together, all three of them.’

‘Yes,’ said Joakim tonelessly.

‘Then they went to the two men’s cabin.’

No comment.

‘I think you already know this, Joakim. Am I wrong?’

Joakim did not say anything, just looked down at his hands.

‘You’re not answering, Joakim. I want you to answer me when I ask you a question.’

‘Shouldn’t I have a lawyer then?’

‘You’re not suspected of anything. Yet.’ Sjöberg emphasized. ‘But I do get suspicious when you refuse to answer questions and when you lie to me. Wasn’t it the case that you followed them to the cabin and stood outside until they had finished whatever they were doing inside? Wasn’t that how it was?’

Joakim let out a heavy sigh and answered without looking Sjöberg in the eyes, ‘Yes, I guess that’s how it was.’

‘Why didn’t you tell us that to begin with?’ asked Sjöberg, even though he already knew the answer.

‘Then you would just think I’d followed her.’

‘But you did, didn’t you?’

‘Yes, but then. You’d think that I killed her.’

‘And you didn’t do that?’

‘No.’

‘But you did follow her. Why did you do that?’

‘I wanted to know what she was doing. What she was thinking.’

‘About the two of you, you mean?’

‘Yes.’

‘What do you think she thought about the two of you?’

‘I don’t think she thought about me at all.’

‘That’s just what I think too,’ said Sjöberg provocatively. ‘I think she’d lost interest in you.’

Joakim did not answer, did not change his expression. Sjöberg studied him for a while in silence before he continued.

‘Well, what do you think Jennifer was doing there in that cabin? With those men.’

No answer.

‘Joakim, you must answer when I ask you something. I can take you down to the station if you prefer.’

‘They … They probably had sex,’ Joakim almost whispered.

‘Yes, they did, Joakim. They had sex. That must have been a bit of a shock to you. That she would betray you like that.’

‘Not exactly. I didn’t expect anything else.’

‘You didn’t expect anything else,’ Sjöberg repeated. ‘Personally I would have been extremely angry in that situation. I think you were too. I think you were so angry that you did not know what to do with her. So you kept track of her the whole evening. Followed her when she left. Waited until an opportunity arose when you could be
alone with her. When no one was looking. Like in the toilet behind the gambling machines. And then you strangled her. That’s what I think.’

‘I didn’t kill her,’ said Joakim. His voice betrayed him and it sounded thick when he spoke.

‘I think you did, Joakim. You killed her, and you had planned it for several hours. You just waited for the right moment.’

‘That’s not true.’

‘We’re going to find out the truth. There are traces of the murderer inside that toilet. If we find as much as a strand of hair from you inside there, you’re caught.’

‘You won’t. I wasn’t there. Besides, it wouldn’t be so strange if you did find traces of me on her; she was sitting on my lap at the pre-party.’

‘So what did you do, Joakim? What did you do when you discovered that Jennifer was having sex with two strange men in that cabin?’

‘I just stood outside, because I wanted to know. I wanted to know for sure what they were doing. I stood there for several hours, because I didn’t know what else to do. Then they came out.’

‘All three of them?’ Sjöberg interjected.

‘I don’t know. I only saw the men, and then I left. Pretended that I just happened to be passing by.’

‘And then?’

‘Then I just wandered around. I didn’t know what to do.’

‘Did you meet anyone who can confirm that?’

‘I saw a couple of the others in the group a few times. But I kept away from them. Didn’t want to talk to anyone.’

‘And when you went to bed the girls were already asleep?’

‘Fanny and Malin, yes.’

‘So they can’t tell us what time it was when you came back?’

‘Apparently not. Or I guess they would have.’

‘That was a bit of bad luck. So what time was it?’

‘Two, maybe.’

‘But how did you get in? You told us yourself you didn’t have a key.’

‘I banged on the door until Fanny opened it for me.’

‘She has no recollection of that.’

‘That’s what happened anyway.’