The lost boy, p.44
The Lost Boy, page 44
“Hmm, I suppose that’s possible.” Erica paused for a moment and then asked, “So how is Erling taking it? And what’s going to happen to Badis?”
“Erling seems mostly . . . resigned.” Patrik poured two cups of coffee and then took the warm buns out of the microwave and set everything on the kitchen table. “As far as Badis is concerned, nobody really knows what its future will be. Almost none of the suppliers or builders have been paid. The question is, which option would be more costly: to close the doors, or to continue operating the place. After the party on Saturday, reservations have been pouring in, so the town might try to run the spa and hope to make it profitable. At least that would be a way to recoup some of the money. I think it’s possible that they’ll decide to keep the place open.”
“It would be a shame to close Badis after doing such a great job on the remodeling.”
“I agree,” said Patrik, taking a big bite of a cinnamon bun.
“How did Matte know that something wasn’t right? You said that Annika’s husband Lennart didn’t find any irregularities. It does seem strange that no one from the town was the least bit suspicious.”
“According to Anders, Mats wasn’t positive, but he’d started wondering if something was wrong. On the Friday before he went to see Nathalie, he dropped by Badis and had a talk with Anders. He asked a lot of questions. For instance, he wanted to know why so many of the suppliers’ invoices hadn’t been paid. He also wanted to know when the funds that Anders and Vivianne had promised to invest would be arriving. And where that money was coming from. He wanted the names of contacts so he could verify the funds. Anders was really worried. If Mats hadn’t been killed, he probably would have uncovered the true state of the Project Badis finances and exposed Anders and Vivianne for the swindlers they are.”
Erica nodded. She suddenly looked sad. “How is Nathalie?”
“She’s going to be evaluated by a forensic psychiatrist, and I think there’s very little chance that she’ll end up in prison. She’ll probably be institutionalized. Or at least she ought to be.”
“Why were we all so stupid? Why didn’t we realize what was going on?” Erica put down the cinnamon bun. She had suddenly lost her appetite.
“How were we supposed to know? Nobody knew that Sam was dead.”
“But how did he die?” She swallowed. Her stomach turned over at the thought of Nathalie living in that house for more than two weeks while her son’s body slowly decomposed. She was filled with both horror and compassion.
“We don’t really know. And we may never find out. But I talked to Konrad last night, and apparently they discovered that another woman was booked on the flight to Italy with Nathalie’s husband and Sam. They talked to the woman and found out that the plan was for her to accompany Wester, while Nathalie would disappear out of the picture.”
“Did she know how Nathalie’s husband was planning to accomplish that?”
“He was going to use her cocaine habit to blackmail her. He threatened to make sure she would lose all custody rights if she didn’t voluntarily step aside.”
“What a bastard.”
“That’s putting it mildly. He probably confronted Nathalie with the plan the night before they were supposed to leave for Italy. The police found two blood types when they did an analysis of the blood in the double bed. It’s likely that Sam crept into the room and got into bed with his father. So when Nathalie sprayed the bed and her husband with bullets from his gun, well . . . she didn’t know that her son was there too.”
“Imagine finding out that you’d shot your own son.”
“I can’t think of anything worse. It was probably so traumatic for her that she completely lost her grip on reality and refused to accept that Sam was dead.”
Neither of them spoke for a moment.
Erica suddenly looked puzzled. “But why didn’t the mistress call the police when Wester didn’t show up?”
“Fredrik Wester wasn’t exactly known for being reliable. So when he didn’t turn up, the woman assumed that she’d been dumped. According to Konrad, there are some furious messages from her on Fredrik’s voicemail.”
Erica had already moved on to another topic. “Matte must have found Sam.”
“Yes. And the cocaine. Nathalie’s fingerprints are on the bag, and on the door to Mats’s apartment. Since we haven’t been able to interview Nathalie, we don’t know for sure, but it seems likely that Mats discovered that Sam was dead and also found the cocaine in the early hours on Saturday. Then he forced Nathalie to come to Fjällbacka to contact the police.”
“And she had to shoot him in order to protect her deluded belief that Sam was alive.”
“Yes. And it cost Mats his life.” Patrik looked out of the window. He too felt enormous compassion for Nathalie, despite the fact she had killed three people, including her own son.
“Does she know now?”
“She told the doctors that Sam is with the dead on Gråskär. She said she should have listened to them earlier and allowed him to go with them. So, yes, I think she does know now.”
“Has the boy been found?” asked Erica hesitantly. She didn’t want to think about what an awful state the child’s body must have been in. It was bad enough that she’d smelled the horrible stench inside the house.
“No. He disappeared into the sea.”
“I wonder how she could stand the smell.” Erica could almost feel it in her nostrils, and she’d been inside for only a brief time. Nathalie had lived there for more than two weeks.
“The human psyche is strange. This isn’t the first time that someone has lived with a corpse for weeks, months, or even years. Denial is a very powerful force.” Patrik took a sip of coffee.
“That poor little boy.” Erica sighed. After a pause, she said, “Do you think there’s anything to the rumors?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know. What people always say about Gråskär, or Ghost Isle—that the dead never leave the island.”
Patrik smiled. “No. And now you’ve got me worried that the blow to your head has addled your brain. It’s an old wives’ tale. Nothing but a ghost story. That’s all.”
“I suppose you’re right,” said Erica, but she didn’t look entirely convinced. She was thinking about the newspaper articles that she’d shown Nathalie, about the lighthouse keeper and his family who had disappeared from the island without a trace. Maybe they were still out there.
Nathalie felt so strangely empty inside. She knew what she had done, but she felt nothing. No grief, no pain. Just emptiness.
Sam was dead. The doctors had cautiously tried to tell her that, but she had already known. The moment the water had closed over Sam’s head, she understood. The voices had finally reached her and made her release her hold, persuading her that it would be best if he was allowed to join them. They would take good care of him. And she was glad that she had listened.
As the boat carried her away from Gråskär, she had turned around to take one last look at the island and the lighthouse. The dead were standing on the rocks, gazing at her. Sam was with them, standing next to the woman. On the other side of her stood her son. Two little boys, one with dark hair, the other blond. Sam looked happy, and his expression assured Nathalie that he was fine. She had raised her hand to wave, but then lowered it. She couldn’t bear to say goodbye to him. It hurt too much that he was no longer with her. He belonged to them now. To Gråskär.
The room she was in was small but bright. There was a bed and a desk. She spent most of her time sitting on the bed. Occasionally she was required to talk to someone, a man or a woman. Both of them spoke in kindly voices as they asked her questions that she wasn’t always able to answer. But day by day she began to see things more clearly. It was as if she’d been asleep and had now awakened. Slowly she was being forced to distinguish between what had been a dream and what was reality.
Fredrik’s scornful voice was real. He had enjoyed watching her pack for Italy before telling her that he was going without her. And that the other woman would be accompanying him instead. If she offered any objections, Fredrik said he would tell the authorities about her cocaine habit, and then she’d lose custody of Sam. In his eyes, she was nothing more than a weak woman. Superfluous.
But Fredrik had underestimated her. She’d gone into the kitchen and sat down to wait in the dark until he’d gone to bed. Once again he’d taken pleasure in crushing her and exerting his will over her. This time, however, he had made a serious mistake. She might have been weak before Sam was born, and she still was to a certain extent. But her love for Sam had made her stronger than Fredrik would ever be able to understand. She sat on one of the bar stools in the kitchen, with her hands resting on the cold marble of the countertop, waiting for Fredrik to fall asleep. Then she got out his gun, went upstairs, and with a steady hand fired it again and again into the bedding, into the bed. And it felt good. It felt right.
It wasn’t until she went to Sam’s room and saw his empty bed that panic took hold and a fog slowly settled over her. She knew at once where he must be. Yet when she lifted the blanket and saw his little bloodstained body, it came as such a shock that she collapsed in a heap onto the thick carpet. The fog intensified, and even though she knew that she was living in a dream, Sam still seemed so alive.
And then there was Matte. Now she remembered everything. The night they spent together, and the feel of his body against her, so familiar and beloved. She remembered how safe she felt, and how a possible future became linked to the past they had shared, erasing everything in between.
Then came the sounds from downstairs. She woke up to find Matte gone. The warmth of his body was still there, and she realized he must have just gotten out of bed. She wrapped a blanket around her and went downstairs, only to see his look of disappointment as he held up the bag of cocaine. She had put it in a drawer, which she apparently hadn’t shut properly. She wanted to explain, but the words wouldn’t come out. She really had no excuse, and Matte would never understand.
As she stood there, wrapped in a blanket, her bare feet cold on the wooden floor, she had watched Matte open the door to Sam’s room. Then he turned around and gave her a look of alarm. He made her put on some clothes, telling her that they needed to go back to the mainland and summon help. Everything had happened so fast, and she had passively done as she was told. In the dream, in the world that wasn’t real, she had protested with all her heart over leaving Sam behind on the island. But neither of them had said a word as they crossed the bay in Matte’s boat.
Then they were driving in his car. Her mind felt strangely empty of all thought, except for her concern for Sam. And the fact that once again something was happening that would take him away from her. Without thinking, she had grabbed her purse from the house when they left the house and brought it along. Sitting in the car, she could feel the weight of the gun inside the purse.
As they walked toward the block of apartments, an insistent buzzing had started up inside her head. Through a haze she saw Mats toss the paper bag in a litter bin. Standing in the front hall of his apartment, she had reached into her purse and felt her fingers touch the cold steel. He hadn’t turned around. If he had, and she had looked into his eyes, she might have been able to stop herself. But he was moving away, with his back turned, and she had raised her hand, gripping the butt of the gun, with a finger on the trigger. A loud bang, a thud. Then not a sound.
She had to get back to Sam. That was the only thought in her head. She went back to the dock, took Matte’s boat over to the island, and then let it drift away. After that there was nothing to keep her from being with him again. Fog took over her mind. The rest of the world disappeared. The only thing left was Sam, and Gråskär, and the thought that they had to survive. That was her only refuge; otherwise nothing but emptiness remained.
Nathalie sat on the bed, staring straight ahead. In her mind she pictured Sam, holding the woman’s hand. They would take care of him now. They had promised her that.
Fjällbacka 1875
Mamma!”
Emelie instantly stopped what she was doing. Then she dropped the saucepan on the floor and dashed outside as fear fluttered like a little bird inside her heart.
“Gustav, where are you?” She looked all around.
“Mamma, come here!”
Now she could hear that he was calling from the shore. She lifted her heavy woollen skirts and raced over the rocks that formed a ridge in the middle of the island. From on top she saw him. He was sitting at the water’s edge, holding his foot and crying. She ran to her son and knelt at his side.
“It hurts,” he sobbed, pointing at his foot. A big piece of glass was sticking out of his sole.
“Hush . . .” She tried to calm her son as she thought about what to do. The shard was buried so deep. Should she pull it out right now or wait until she had something to use as a bandage?
Quickly she made up her mind.
“We’ll go see your father.” She glanced up at the lighthouse. Karl had gone over there a few hours ago to help Julian. She didn’t usually ask her husband for advice, but she wasn’t sure what would be the right thing to do in this situation.
She picked up Gustav, who was still sobbing pitifully. Carrying him like a baby, cradled in her arms, taking care where she set her feet. It wasn’t easy for her to carry him, now that he’d grown so big.
As they approached the lighthouse, she called out Karl’s name, but he didn’t answer. The door stood open, presumably to let in some fresh air. It could get unbearably hot inside when the sun was shining.
“Karl!” she called again. “Could you come down here, please?”
It wasn’t uncommon for him to ignore her, and she realized that she would have to make the effort of going up in the lighthouse to find him. She couldn’t carry Gustav up the steep flight of stairs, so she carefully set him down on the ground, then gently patted his cheek.
“I’ll be right back. I’m going to get your father.”
He gave her a hopeful look and then stuck his thumb in his mouth.
Emelie was already out of breath after carrying Gustav from the shore; she tried to calm her breathing as she went up the stairs. On the top step she paused and raised her eyes. At first she couldn’t understand what she was seeing. Why were they lying on the bed? And why didn’t they have any clothes on? She stood there, frozen to the spot, and stared. Neither of the men had heard her. All their attention was focused on each other, on the forbidden place of their bodies, and Emelie saw with growing astonishment, that they were caressing each other.
She gasped, and now they noticed her. Karl looked up, and for a second their eyes met.
“You sinners!” Words from the Bible burned inside of her. The Holy Scriptures strictly forbade such things. Karl and Julian would bring misfortune and damnation upon themselves, and upon her and Gustav too. God would curse everyone here on Gråskär if they didn’t atone for their sins.
Karl still didn’t say anything, but it was as if he could see straight through her and knew what she was thinking. His eyes turned cold, and she heard the dead start to whisper. They told her to flee, but her feet refused to obey her. She was incapable of moving or tearing her eyes away from the naked, sweaty bodies of Julian and her husband.
The voices got louder, and something seemed to jostle her, so that she could finally move again. She raced down the stairs and picked up the sobbing Gustav. With a strength that she didn’t know she had, Emelie ran, unaware of where she was headed. She heard Karl and Julian coming after her, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to outrun them. The house wouldn’t provide any sort of safe refuge. Even if she managed to get inside and lock the door, they could easily break it open or get in through a window.
“Emelie! Stop!” yelled Karl behind her.
Part of her wanted to do just that. Stop and give up. And she would have done that if she had only herself to think about. But she kept going because of Gustav, who was now crying in fear as she carried him in her arms. She had no illusions that they would spare him. Gustav had never meant anything to Karl. The boy existed only to placate Karl’s father, to convince him that everything was as it should be.
It had been a long time since Emelie had thought about Edith, her confidante during those years on the farm. She should have listened to her friend’s warnings, but she had been young and naive and hadn’t wanted to see what was now crystal clear to her. Julian was the reason that Karl had returned home so abruptly from the lightship and been forced to marry the first available girl. Even a farm maid was good enough to save the family’s reputation. And everything had been arranged according to his parents’ wishes. The scandal concerning their youngest son never got out.
But Karl had duped his father. Behind his back, he had hired Julian to be his assistant on the island. He had decided it was worth the risk that he might again suffer the brunt of his father’s anger. For a moment Emelie actually found herself feeling sorry for Karl, but then she heard his footsteps getting closer and she remembered all the harsh words and blows, and the night when Gustav was conceived. He hadn’t needed to treat her so badly. But for Julian she felt no sympathy. He had a cruel heart, and he had directed all his hatred toward her from the very beginning.
No one could save her now, but Emelie’s feet kept on carrying her forward. If it were only Karl chasing her, she might have had a hope of reasoning with him. He was once a different person; he changed when he was forced to live a lie. But Julian would never let her get away. Suddenly it was very clear to her that she was going to die on this island. She and Gustav. They would never leave.
She felt a hand reaching out toward her from behind, almost touching her shoulder. But she pulled away at exactly the right moment, as if she had eyes in the back of her head. The dead were helping her. They urged her to run toward the shore, toward the water that had been her enemy for so long. She now realized that it would be her salvation.
