The Crow Girl (23 page)

Jeanette was shaking with anger. If it hadn’t been for the prosecutor’s arrogant tone, she might have been able to accept his decision, but right now it just strengthened her determination to defy him. She didn’t care how many drugs Lundström was on, what he had said was far too interesting to dismiss.

She wasn’t about to give up.

THUNDER-BLACK RAIN
was pattering on the copper roof of the München Brewery, and every now and then the water of Riddarfjärden Bay was lit up by sharp lightning.

Sofia’s headache had got worse, and she went into the toilets, rinsed her face and took three aspirin. She hoped that would be enough to get a bit of strength back.

She unlocked the cupboard under her desk, took out the file on Karl Lundström, and read it through to refresh her memory.

Her recommendation was based on the fact that nothing had emerged during their conversations that would justify secure psychiatric care. She had explained her decision by saying that Karl Lundström’s opinions were based on ideological conviction, and that as a result she recommended prison.

That was unlikely, however.

Every indication was that the district court would decide to put Karl Lundström in a mental health facility. Because he had been under the influence of Xanor in his interviews and during their sessions in Huddinge, her conclusions weren’t regarded as valid for the basis of a court judgment.

In other words, her conversations with him were being dismissed as useless.

The district court had just seen a pathetic, confused man, but Sofia had realised that what Karl Lundström had told her wasn’t concocted under the influence of any drug.

Karl Lundström’s view was that only he could see the truth. He was convinced that strength was what mattered, and, by extension, justified his own privilege to abuse weaker individuals. He had a very high regard for his own character, was proud of it.

She remembered what he had said.

It had been one long self-justification.

‘I don’t consider what I’ve done to be wrong,’ he had said. ‘It’s only wrong in today’s society. Your morality is sullied. The urge is ancient. The word of God doesn’t forbid incest. All men have the same desires as me, an ancient urge that comes down to gender. It was expressed long ago in pentameter form. I am God’s creation and am acting on the mission He has given me.’

Moral-philosophical and quasi-religious excuses.

She could only conclude that Karl Lundström’s belief in his own greatness made him an extremely dangerous person.

One who believes himself to be highly intelligent.

And shows a severe lack of empathy.

Karl Lundström’s skill at manipulation would probably mean that after a while he’d end up on day release from Säter or some other secure psychiatric unit, and every moment he spent at liberty would put other people in danger.

She made up her mind to call Detective Superintendent Jeanette Kihlberg.

In this case it was her duty to ignore legal niceties.

Jeanette Kihlberg sounded extremely surprised when Sofia explained that she wanted to book a meeting to tell her what she knew about Karl Lundström.

‘How come you’ve changed your mind?’

‘I don’t know if there’s any connection to your case, but I think Lundström might be involved in something bigger. Has Mikkelsen followed up Lundström’s story about Anders Wikström and the video recordings?’

‘As far as I’m aware, they’re looking into it right now. But Mikkelsen believes that Anders Wikström is a product of Lundström’s imagination, and that they aren’t going to find anything. I understand that you were invited to give a recommendation? He certainly seems to be sick.’

‘Yes, but not sick enough to be able to abdicate responsibility for what he’s done.’

‘No? OK … But isn’t there a sliding scale for illness?’

‘Yes, with a range of punishments.’

‘Which means that someone can have sick values and be punished for them?’ Jeanette said.

‘Exactly. But the punishment has to be suited to the perpetrator, and in this particular case I recommended imprisonment. It’s my belief that Lundström can’t be helped by psychiatric treatment.’

‘I agree,’ Jeanette said. ‘But what do you make of the fact that he may have been under the influence of medication?’

Sofia smiled. ‘From what I’ve read, the dose wasn’t high enough to make any decisive difference. We’re talking about very small doses of Xanor.’

‘The same drug that Thomas Quick was given.’

‘Yes, but Quick’s dosage was of an entirely different order.’

‘So you don’t think I should let that worry me?’

‘Exactly. I think it would be worth questioning Lundström about the dead boys. A draught from one open door can sometimes push another one open.’

Jeanette laughed.

‘The draught from an open door?’

‘Yes. If what he’s said about buying a child has a grain of truth in it, maybe there’s more you could find out from him.’

‘I see. Well, thanks for taking the time to call.’

‘Don’t mention it. When can we meet up?’

‘I’ll call tomorrow morning, and we can meet over lunch. Does that sound OK?’

‘That sounds fine.’

They hung up, and Sofia looked out the window. The sun was shining.

THAT EVENING IT
started to rain, and everything suddenly looked dirtier. Sofia Zetterlund packed up her things and left her office.

If the weather was a disaster, then her dinner with Mikael wasn’t far behind. She had made a genuine effort, since this was going to be their last meal together for a while. Mikael had been invited to work at his firm’s head office in Germany and was going to be away for a couple of months. But after some desultory conversation he had fallen asleep on the sofa after the dessert Sofia had spent almost an hour and a half making, carrot cake with cheese curd and raisins, and, as she stood at the sink rinsing their glasses to the sound of his snoring from the living room, she had to admit that she wasn’t happy.

Things weren’t going well at work. She was annoyed with everyone involved in the Lundström case. Social workers, psychologists and the forensic psychiatrist. And she was annoyed with her patients at the practice. At least she wouldn’t have to see Carolina Glanz for a while, seeing as she’d cancelled her latest appointments and Sofia knew from the evening tabloids that she was making her living these days from performing in erotic films.

Victoria Bergman was no longer coming to see her either. That felt like a loss. Now her days were filled with coaching company bosses in leadership skills and giving presentations. Most of it was routine stuff, and required practically no preparation at all. But when it came down to it, this was so incredibly dull that she was starting to wonder if it was worth doing.

She decided to give up on the rest of the cleaning and went into the study instead with a cup of coffee, and switched on the computer. She took her memory stick from her bag and put it on the table.

Victoria Bergman was struggling with a little girl who gave every appearance of being her younger self.

Had a single event had a decisive impact?

Victoria kept returning to one particular incident in her first year at high school, but Sofia still didn’t know exactly what it was, since Victoria always rushed her narrative when she got to that part.

But it could also be more than one single event. A feeling of exposure that had lasted years, possibly throughout her entire childhood.

Being a pariah, being the weaker party?

Sofia was inclined to believe that Victoria detested weakness.

She leafed through to a fresh page and made a mental note always to have her notepad in front of her when she listened to their recorded conversations.

She saw from the label on the tape that this particular conversation had taken place scarcely a month before.

Victoria’s dry voice:

… and then just standing there one day with my hands tied behind my back while everyone else’s hands were free to do whatever they liked, even if I didn’t want to. Didn’t want to cry when they weren’t crying because that could have been really embarrassing, especially when they’d come such a long way to sleep with me and not their wives. They probably thought it was nice not to have to pay the bill for being at home and pottering about all day instead of getting their arms and legs scratched from all the dragging …

She felt confused, tired and reluctant. A physical tiredness, as if she’d been exercising.

The noise of the television. The rain against the window.

And then that relentless voice. Should she stop listening?

… the old guys wanted to go off in the morning of course and then come back to food that was always good and nutritious and filling even if it tasted of sex and wasn’t spiced …

Sofia could hear Victoria start to cry, and thought it odd that she herself had no memory of it happening.

When no one was looking of course you could let your mouth drip over the saucepans and fill them up with things you really ought to flush away. And then I got left with Grandma and Grandad. That was nice because I got away from all the arguments with Dad and without him it got easier to sleep without the wine or pills that you could have a go at if you wanted to get a nice feeling in your head. Just getting that voice to shut up, and stop going on and on, asking if today was going to be the day when you were going to dare …

Sofia woke up in front of the computer at half past midnight, feeling very uncomfortable.

She closed the document and went out into the kitchen to get a glass of water, but changed her mind and went back into the hall to get the packet of cigarettes from her coat pocket.

As she smoked under the exhaust fan she thought about Victoria’s story.

Everything fitted together, more or less, and even though it seemed incoherent to start with, there weren’t actually any gaps. It was one long, single story. An hour stretched out to a lifetime like a piece of chewing gum.

How far could it stretch before it broke? she thought, putting the burning cigarette down in the ashtray.

She went back into the study and got her notes. They said: SAUNA, BABY BIRDS, CLOTH DOG, GRANDMA, RUN, TAPE, VOICE, COPENHAGEN. The words were written in her handwriting, even if it was scruffier and more jagged than usual.

Interesting, she thought, taking the pocket tape recorder back to the kitchen. She pulled a chair up against the stove.

While she rewound the tape she picked the cigarette out of the ashtray. She stopped the tape halfway and pressed play. The first thing she heard was her own voice.

‘Where did you go when you went far away like that?’

She could see in her mind’s eye how Victoria changed position, adjusting the skirt that had ridden up around her thighs.

‘Well, I wasn’t very old then, of course, but I think we used to go up to Dorotea and Vilhelmina in southern Lapland. But we might have gone even further. I got to sit in the front for the first time, and I felt like a grown-up. He told me loads of things, then tested me to see if I remembered them. Once he had an encyclopedia on the steering wheel and tested me on all the world’s capital cities. In the book it said that Quezon City was the capital of the Philippines, but I said it was actually Manila, and nothing else. He got cross and we took bets on a pair of new slalom boots. When it later turned out that I was right I got a second-hand pair made of leather that he’d bought from a flea market and that I never used.’

‘How long were you away? And did your mum go with you?’

She heard Victoria laugh.

‘God, no, she never came along.’

They sat in silence for almost a minute before she heard herself point out that Victoria had said something about a voice.

‘What sort of voice was it? Do you often hear voices?’

Sofia was annoyed at her repetition.

‘Yes, sometimes when I was little,’ Victoria replied. ‘But to start with it was more like an intense noise that gradually increased in volume and tone. Sort of like a constantly rising hum.’

‘Do you still hear it?’

‘No, that was a long time ago. But when I was sixteen, seventeen, the monotonous noise turned into a voice.’

‘And what did the voice say?’

‘Most of the time it wondered if I was going to dare today. Dare you? Dare you? Dare you, today? Yes, it was pretty annoying sometimes.’

‘What do you think the voice meant about daring?’

‘Easy – daring to kill myself! Christ, if you only knew how I’ve struggled with that voice. So when I finally did it, it stopped.’

‘You mean you tried to commit suicide?’

‘Yes, when I was seventeen and had been off travelling with some friends. We were coming back from somewhere in France, I think, and when I got to Copenhagen I was completely wrecked, and tried to hang myself in the hotel room.’

‘You tried to hang yourself?’

When she heard her own voice she thought it sounded unsteady.

‘Yes … I woke up on the bathroom floor with the belt around my neck. The hook in the ceiling had come loose and I’d hit my mouth and nose on the tiles. There was blood everywhere, and I’d chipped one of my front teeth.’

She had opened her mouth to show Sofia a crown on her right front tooth. It was a slightly different colour from the one on the left.

‘And that’s when the voice stopped?’

‘Yes, seems like it. I’d proved that I dared, so I don’t suppose there was any point in it carrying on nagging.’

Victoria laughed.

Sofia heard them sit there in silence, just breathing, for what must have been a couple of minutes. Then the sound of Victoria pushing her chair back, picking up her coat and leaving.

Sofia stubbed out her third cigarette, switched off the fan and went to bed. It was almost three in the morning, and it had stopped raining.

What had happened that had made Victoria stop their sessions? They were finally getting somewhere.