46
Jan stays up reading crime reports on the internet until half past two in the morning in order to find out more. He discovers that John Daniel Nilsson was nineteen years old when he disappeared from the school dance on the outskirts of Gothenburg. One of his friends had smuggled in some vodka, and John Daniel had got drunk and been sick. He had gone outside alone at about eleven thirty, either to try and sober up or to go home — no one knew for certain — and he hadn’t been seen since. The family had searched for him, along with the police and lots of volunteers, but John Daniel had vanished without a trace.
It remained an unsolved mystery. Rössel was a suspect, but had stayed silent. Until now, when, according to Hanna, he had begun to hint that he had been the last person to see the boy alive.
Jan goes on reading until his eyes begin to smart, and he starts to see William Halevi’s boyish face in front of him, instead of the missing nineteen-year-old. He shuts down the computer and goes to bed.
The following morning he goes to work with a heavy head. Lilian is already there, and they nod wearily to one another.
‘Everything OK, Lilian?’
‘Mm,’ she mumbles.
She looks hung-over, and she probably is, but Jan looks at her differently today. Lilian is the sister of a missing boy. She is a victim.
He is about to broach the subject tactfully, but then he hears Marie-Louise shout from the kitchen, ‘Jan? Could you go up and collect Matilda?’
‘No problem.’
He knows the drill. Everyone must be kept busy.
He spends all day taking children up to the visitors’ room in St Patricia’s and collecting them, but these excursions down the stairs and along the underground corridor are just part of his daily routine now. He doesn’t give them a second thought.
But with Leo it isn’t just routine. Jan brushes the boy’s shoulder with his fingers as they travel up in the lift for his hour-long visit with his father. ‘What are you going to do?’ Jan asks.
‘Play cards,’ Leo replies.
‘Are you sure?’
Leo nods. ‘Dad always wants to play cards.’
‘Ask him to tell you a story.’
Leo looks uncertain.
Jan feels no sense of joy or confidence when he gets back to the Dell, and he doesn’t get the chance to speak to Lilian today. She doesn’t talk to him either, doesn’t even look at him; she is always with the children. But she doesn’t play with them, she simply sits and watches them with tired eyes, or pats one of them on the head with a limp hand.
Hanna also seems to be avoiding Jan, and spends most of her time in the kitchen.
Marie-Louise is the only one who wants to talk to him. ‘It’s a relief, isn’t it?’
‘What is?’ he asks.
‘Knowing we don’t have to do any more night shifts. Knowing that the children are all taken care of... that we’ve found good homes for all of them. I’m so pleased.’
‘Will they be OK?’
‘Oh yes, I’m sure they will.’
‘I’m just a bit worried about Leo... He’s so restless.’
‘Leo will be fine too,’ Marie-Louise says firmly.
Jan looks at her. Will all the children really be all right? Most children are, but not all of them. Some children turn into adults with mental-health issues, some end up in poverty, some turn to crime. Those are the statistics; there’s nothing anyone can do about it.
But does that mean their work at the Dell is pointless?
At quarter to six Jan is in the kitchen. All the children have been picked up, and he has put a final load in the dishwasher. The working day is over, and when he hears Lilian close her locker in the cloakroom, he rushes to finish off what he is doing. He turns out the light and manages to get away a minute or so later, just after Lilian has left.
He locks the front door and hurries after her.
It is November now, with a frost and a biting wind. Out in the street he can see a figure in a dark jacket heading towards the town centre. He breaks into a jog and catches up with her.
‘Lilian?’
She turns around without stopping and looks wearily at him. ‘What?’
His first impulse is to ask if she fancies going to Bill’s Bar, but he stops himself. He doesn’t want to go there any more. ‘Could we have a little chat?’ he asks.
‘What about?’
Jan looks around. Over by the wall two figures emerge through the steel door; he can’t see their faces, but assumes that they are security guards who are heading home after their shift. And there are several people waiting at the bus stop. Eyes watching, ears listening.
‘Let’s just walk for a bit,’ he says.
Lilian doesn’t look pleased, but goes with him anyway. They pass the bus stop, and after a little while he says, ‘We could talk about the pre-school... about what we could do for the children.’
Lilian gives a tired laugh. ‘No, thanks. I just want to go home.’
‘Shall we talk about Hanna, then?’
Lilian doesn’t respond; she just keeps on walking, so Jan asks, ‘Or about Ivan Rössel?’
She stops dead. ‘Do you know him?’
Jan shakes his head and lowers his voice. ‘No, but Hanna’s told me a few things.’
Lilian glances over at the hospital. ‘I can’t talk here,’ she says after a moment. ‘Not now.’
‘We could meet later.’
She seems to be thinking things over. ‘Are you free tomorrow evening?’
Jan nods.
‘Come round to my place at eight.’
‘Can we talk then?’ Jan says. ‘About everything?’
Lilian nods, then looks at her watch. ‘I’ve got to get home, my older brother is waiting. My husband’s gone...’
She starts walking, but turns her head. ‘Do you want to know why we split up?’
Jan says nothing, but she carries on anyway: ‘He thought I was too obsessed with Ivan Rössel.’
47
The first snowflakes of winter are big and wet, and start falling on the Dell after lunch on Thursday. They land heavily on the ground around the pre-school, covering the sandpit and the swings like a dirty-grey fluffy blanket.
Jan watches the falling snow through the window, but with none of the excitement he used to feel when he was little. These days the winter weather just means even more layers of clothes on the children: vests, woolly socks, snowsuits and hats with ear flaps — it takes longer and longer to get them outside. They end up looking like little barrels, or little fabric robots lumbering across the playground.
He helps them get ready and goes out. Andreas and Marie-Louise are still working as a team, joking and laughing behind him. Hanna and Lilian are already outside, and have stopped for a cigarette break. They are not laughing; they are whispering, their heads close together.
Marie-Louise and Andreas. Hanna and Lilian.
Jan feels excluded from both pairings, so he turns his attention to the children as usual.
‘Look at me!’ they shout. ‘Look at me!’
The children want to show how clever they are, playing on the swings and jumping around and building fragile sandcastles in the middle of the sandy, snowy slush. Jan helps them, but glances over at Lilian and Hanna from time to time, wishing he could hear what they are talking about.
When Marie-Louise comes outside the conversation stops, cigarettes are stubbed out and Lilian and Hanna help to gather the children together. But Jan sees them exchanging looks as they go back inside, like conspirators.
Marie-Louise doesn’t appear to notice anything; she stands on the steps with Jan, smiling at the children as they stomp back indoors. ‘They’re so good,’ she says.