Camilla Lackberg - The Lost Boy

‘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 flat. 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 rumours?’

‘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 bedclothes, 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 on to 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 got 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.