Berit stopped abruptly, chest heaving. Lennart was smiling tauntingly at her, but she could see fear in his eyes, and for a moment she felt a twinge of guilt. His smile stiffened into a grimace, a macabre mask, behind which a desperate anguish became more and more apparent. He drew back, out of the apartment and into the stairwell, still with lifted head but then the twitch came, the one Berit knew so well. He drew air in through his nose, bent over and sobbed. It was as if her dagger had only now reached his heart. His eyes grew dim and restless, he turned and charged down the stairs with thundering steps.
She heard the door downstairs shut. As if in a fog she shut her own door and sank to the floor. The only noise was the sound of the aquarium pump. There was only silence from Justus’s room. Berit looked up. It was as if the boy’s anxieties and questions pulsated through the closed door. She should go in and talk to him, but couldn’t summon the strength. Her body no longer obeyed her. Lennart’s talk and her attack had drained her completely. She had held herself together for so long, spent so much time talking to Justus. They had watched TV in the evenings, ostensibly watched, that is, but really talking. Berit had reminisced about times in her and John’s life, tried to create images that Justus would be able to treasure. She had told him about John’s youth, leaving out the worst, talked about how skillful and admired he had been at work, his knowledge of cichlids and how much he loved his son. She knew that the dead walked alongside the living. Now the myth of John was born, the image of a man who put his family first, whose goal in life had been to create a secure childhood for Justus.
The night before, she had told Justus that John had opened a bank account when Justus was born and that every month, no matter how hard up they were, he deposited 150 kronor. She had shown him the latest deposit and he had sat with the slip of paper in his hand for a long time.
Now Lennart was threatening to tear this all down, and this double pain knocked her to the ground. How long would she be able to carry on? Her work as a disability attendant did not provide her with enough income, and the possibilities of going to full-time were slim. She had no education, no contacts. Of course she would receive something after John, she didn’t know how much yet, but it would be hard. She wanted to spare her son the worst of it, especially now.
She got up with a great effort and stopped outside Justus’s door. It was completely quiet in there. She knocked and opened the door. He was sitting on the bed and took no notice of her when she came in.
“You don’t believe him, do you? He’s full of lies.”
Justus stared down into the bed.
“He’s confused, Justus. He’s heard some rumors and he’s looking for someone to blame. Do you understand?”
He nodded.
“As if we don’t have enough to deal with,” she said with a sigh and sat down at his desk. “I have never been unfaithful or as much as looked at another man. Your father was enough for me, do you understand? We had a good relationship. People are surprised that we stuck together for so many years, but for John and me there was nobody else.”
“But there was something,” Justus said and gave her a hasty look.
“No, nothing,” she said. “Absolutely nothing.”
“Then why did Lennart say that stuff?”
Again she tried to explain to him that Lennart was living in another world, one in which there was nothing other than John’s death.
“You and I can talk about him, remember him together, and we have each other. Lennart has nothing.”
“Daddy liked Lennart,” Justus said very quietly. “Why did you say those things to him?”
He didn’t say anything else, but in his eyes she saw something she had never seen before. Grief and hate, which aged his face, as if the hate didn’t have enough place in his youthfulness. She damned her brother-in-law. She stood up, wanted to say something else, but sighed and left him, walking out into the hall. She heard him close the door behind her.
His words about John having wanted to move worried her. They had talked about it before, but never seriously. They had both been born in Uppsala, and for her part she couldn’t see herself living anywhere else. Shit hole, he had said to Justus.
She felt let down by the fact that he had talked to Justus-not to her, just the boy. What else had they talked about that she didn’t know about?
Ann Lindell looked at the building in front of her. The yellow brick house reminded her of something, probably a building involved in a case from the past. Now she was out on her own, which felt strange. Normally she would have been here as part of a team, with a defined strategy and a definite goal. And although she had had to improvise somewhat before, she now had to question her every step. It was a feeling of freedom mixed with a bad conscience.
She had called Information and received Berit Jonsson’s phone number and address. She lived in one of these brightly lit apartments. She took out her cell phone, put it back, and then looked up at the building again. She should call Haver, but it was late and perhaps this impulse was ill-founded. If she had been working she wouldn’t have hesitated for a second, but now she would be obliged to explain to Haver why she was out on her own. She sighed heavily, dialed his number, and after a few more seconds of hesitation pressed the Talk button. Rebecka Haver answered after the first ring. Lindell heard in the way she answered that she expected it to be her husband.
“May I speak to Ola Haver?” Lindell asked without introducing herself.
There was a second’s pause on the other end before Rebecka answered.
“He’s at work,” she said.
Silence.
“Who is this?”
“Thank you, I’ll call back,” Lindell said and hung up. You idiot, she thought to herself. They must have caller ID.
She was overcome with shame and she cursed her clumsiness. He was at work. She could reach him there but now it felt as if it would simply compound her mistake.
The phone rang and Berit lifted the receiver as if she was expecting news of another death. But the caller was a woman she had read about in the paper and heard John talk about: Ann Lindell, with the police. What surprised Berit was that she sounded so tired, and that even though it was late she wanted to come by and have a few words with her.
Ann Lindell came in a few minutes later. She was carrying a little baby in her arms.
“This is Erik,” she said.
“You bring your children to work with you?”
“I’m not officially on duty right now,” Lindell said. “But I’m still helping out a little.”
“Helping out a little,” Berit repeated. “And there’s no one else to look after the baby?”
“I’m a single mom,” Lindell said and carefully laid Erik on the sofa. He had woken up as soon as they entered Berit’s building but fallen asleep again when she took him out of the stroller and carried him up the stairs in her arms. Berit turned off one of the lamps so that it wouldn’t shine in his eyes. The two women quietly watched the sleeping baby for a while.
“What do you want?”
There was a note of impatience in her voice, as well as something that Lindell judged to be fear.
“I’m genuinely sorry for what has happened,” Lindell said. “John was a good man.” She unconsciously used Ottosson’s words.