Camilla Lackberg - The Lost Boy

Neither of them spoke for a while, until Erica suddenly remembered the other reason for her visit. She took a deep breath and said:

‘There’s something I have to tell you, Nathalie.’

Nathalie looked up. ‘Is it about Matte? Do they know who …?’

‘No, not yet, although they have a few leads. But this does have to do with Matte.’

‘What is it? Tell me,’ said Nathalie. Her hand still rested on top of the article.

Erica took another deep breath and told her what had happened to Gunnar.

‘No. That can’t be true. Why?’ Nathalie looked as if she could hardly breathe.

With a heavy heart Erica told her about the little boys who found the cocaine, about Matte’s fingerprints on the bag, and about what happened after the press conference.

Nathalie started shaking her head. ‘No, no, no. That can’t be, that just can’t be.’ She turned away.

‘Everyone says the same thing. And I know that Patrik was sceptical too. But everything points in that direction, and that might also explain why Matte was murdered.’

‘No,’ said Nathalie. ‘Matte hated drugs. He hated everything that had to do with drugs.’ She clenched her teeth and then said, ‘Poor, poor Signe.’

‘Yes, it must be terrible to lose both your son and your husband in a matter of weeks,’ Erica murmured.

‘How is she?’ Nathalie’s eyes were filled with empathy and sorrow.

‘I’m not really sure. All I can tell you is that she’s in hospital, and apparently not doing well.’

‘Poor Signe,’ said Nathalie again. ‘So much misfortune. So many tragedies.’ She looked down at the article lying on the table.

‘Yes.’ Erica didn’t know what else to say. ‘Do you think I could go up in the lighthouse?’ she asked at last, wanting to change the subject.

Nathalie gave a start, as if she’d been lost in thought.

‘Oh … sure. I just need to get the key.’ She hurried off towards the house.

Erica stood up and walked over to the lighthouse. When she stood at its base, she tilted her head back to look up. The white paint gleamed in the sunlight. A few seagulls circled overhead, shrieking.

‘Here it is.’ Nathalie was panting a bit as she approached. She was holding a big, rusty key.

The key did not turn easily in the lock, but finally she pulled open the heavy door. It creaked and groaned on its hinges. Erica stepped inside and began climbing the narrow, winding stairs, with Nathalie right behind her. Halfway up, Erica was breathing hard, but when she reached the top, she saw that it was worth the effort. The view was spectacular.

‘Wow,’ she said.

Nathalie nodded proudly. ‘Yes. It’s amazing, isn’t it?’

‘But imagine spending hours in this cramped space,’ said Erica, looking around.

Nathalie came over to stand next to her, so close that their shoulders almost touched.

‘A lonely job. Like being on the very edge of the world.’ She seemed far away in her thoughts.

Erica sniffed at the air. She smelled something strange, and yet it seemed familiar. She knew that she’d smelled it before, but she couldn’t really place it. Nathalie had taken a step forward to look out of the window at the open sea. Erica moved closer too.

Her brain was working feverishly to identify that smell. Then she realized where she’d encountered it before. Thoughts continued whirling through her mind, and slowly the pieces began falling into place.

‘Would you mind waiting here while I run down to the boat to get my camera? I’d like to take a few pictures.’

‘Okay,’ said Nathalie reluctantly. She went over to the small bed and sat down.

‘Great.’ Erica ran down the stairs and then raced down the hill on which the lighthouse stood. But instead of heading for the dock, she dashed for the house. She tried to tell herself that this was all just one of her crazy ideas. At the same time, she needed to find out for sure.

After casting a glance over her shoulder at the lighthouse, she pressed down the handle and opened the front door to the cottage.

Madeleine had heard them yesterday from upstairs. She hadn’t known they were police officers until Stefan appeared and told her. In between hitting her.

She dragged her bruised body over to the window. With great effort she pulled herself up and looked out. The small room had a slanted ceiling, and the only light came from the narrow window. Outside, she saw farmland and woods.

They hadn’t bothered to blindfold her, so she knew that she was at the farm. This room had been the children’s when they lived here. Now the only reminder of their presence was a discarded toy car lying in one corner.

She pressed her hands against the wall and felt the pattern of the wallpaper under her palms. This was where Vilda’s cot had stood. Kevin’s bed had stood against the wall at the end of the room. That all seemed so long ago. She could hardly recall living here. It had been a life filled with fear, but at least she’d had the children.

She wondered where they were now – where Stefan had taken them. Probably they were staying with one of the families that didn’t live here on the farm. One of the other women must be taking care of them. Missing the children was almost worse than the physical pain. She pictured them in her mind: Vilda coming down the slide in the courtyard back in Copenhagen, as Kevin proudly watched his brave little sister, and that lock of hair kept falling into his eyes. Madeleine wondered whether she’d ever see them again.

Sobbing, she sank down on to the floor and curled up in a foetal position. Her whole body felt like one enormous bruise. Stefan had vented all his anger on her. She had been mistaken, terribly mistaken, when she thought that it would be safer to come back to Sweden, that she would be able to ask forgiveness from him. The second she saw him standing in her parents’ kitchen, she understood. There would be no forgiveness, and she’d been a fool to think otherwise.

Her poor mother and father. She knew how worried they must be, and how they were probably discussing whether to contact the police or not. Pappa would be in favour of doing that. He would say that was the only option. But Mamma would object, terrified that it would mean the end, that all hope would then be lost. Her father was right, but he would allow her mother to win, as usual. Nobody was going to come here to save her.

She curled up even more, trying to shape her body into a little ball. But the slightest movement hurt, so she forced her muscles to relax. She heard a key turn in the lock. She lay perfectly still, trying to will him to leave. A rough hand grabbed her arm and yanked her to her feet.

‘Get up, you fucking whore.’

It felt like her arm was being pulled out of its socket, as if something broke inside her shoulder.

‘Where are the children?’ she pleaded. ‘Can I see them?’

Stefan gave her a contemptuous look.

‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you? So you could take my kids and run away again. Nobody, and I mean nobody, is going to take my kids away from me.’ He dragged her out of the door and down the stairs.

‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,’ she sobbed. Her face was streaked with blood and dirt and tears.

Stefan’s men had all gathered downstairs. The inner circle. She knew them all: Roger, Paul, Lillen, Steven, and Joar. Now they stood in silence, looking at her as Stefan dragged her through the room. She had a hard time focusing. One eye was so swollen that it was practically closed, and blood from a cut in her forehead was clouding the vision of her other eye. And yet she knew exactly what was going to happen. She could see it in the faces of the men – some of them stared at her coldly, while others looked at her with pity. Joar, who had always been the nicest to her, suddenly looked down at the floor. That was when she understood. She considered fighting back, trying to resist, trying to get away. But where would she go? It was hopeless. All it would achieve would be to prolong the agony.