Camilla Läckberg - The Drowning

In reality she had nothing against either the child or the woman. She didn’t really mean them any harm. Yet she couldn’t allow them to continue to live. They did something that no one had ever done before. They made Christian happy.

He laughed often now. A carefree, hearty laugh that came from his stomach and bubbled upward. She hated that laugh. For her part, she was no longer able to laugh; she was empty and cold inside, dead. He had been dead too, but thanks to the woman and the child, he was now alive.

Sometimes he would watch them in secret. The woman carrying the child in her arms. They would dance, and he would smile when the child laughed. He was happy, but he didn’t deserve it. He’d taken everything from her, lowered her down into the water until her lungs felt like they would burst, until her brain took in no oxygen, and it was as if she were slowly extinguished while the water rose up to cover her face.

Yet in spite of it all she had loved him. He was everything for her. She didn’t care about the others, didn’t care about how they looked at him. For her, he was the nicest and handsomest person on earth. Her hero.

But he had betrayed her. Allowed them to take her, violate her, and hit her until the bones in her face were broken. He had allowed her to lie there, staring up at the starry sky with her legs apart. And then he had fled.

Now she no longer loved him, and no one else would be allowed to love him either. Just as he would not be allowed to love anyone. Not the way he loved the woman in the blue dress, and the child, who wasn’t even his.

He wasn’t at home right now. As usual, the door wasn’t locked. The woman was careless. He was always scolding her about it, telling her that she should lock the door, that they never knew who might try to get in.

Cautiously she pressed down on the handle and opened the door. She heard the woman humming in the kitchen. A splashing sound came from the bathroom. The child was sitting in the tub, which meant the woman would be going into the bathroom at any minute. She was careful about such things. Never leaving the child alone in the bath for very long.

She went into the bathroom. The boy’s face lit up like a sun when he saw her.

‘Shhh,’ she said, opening her eyes wide as if it were a game. The child laughed. As she listened for approaching footsteps, she went over to the tub and stared down at the naked child. It wasn’t the boy’s fault, but he made Christian happy. And that was something she couldn’t allow.

She took the child by the arms and lifted him up a bit so she could lay him down on his back in the tub. The boy was still laughing. Happy and secure in the belief that nothing bad could happen in the world. When the water closed over his face he stopped laughing and starting flailing his arms and legs about. But it wasn’t difficult to hold the child down. She simply put one hand on his chest and pressed lightly. The child flailed harder and harder until his movements began to taper off, and then he lay still.

Now she heard the woman’s footsteps. She looked down at the child. He looked so calm and peaceful lying there. She stood up with her back against the wall, just to the right of the door opening. The woman came into the bathroom. When she saw the child, she stopped abruptly. Then she screamed and rushed forward.

It was almost as easy as it had been with the child. Silently she slipped forward and grabbed the neck of the woman, who was leaning over the edge of the tub. She used her own weight to hold the woman’s head underwater. It took less time than expected.

She didn’t look back as she left. Merely felt a sense of satisfaction spreading through her body. Christian was not going to be happy any more.

Patrik was looking at the drawings. And all of a sudden he understood. The big figure and the small one – Christian and Alice. And in one of the drawings the black figures that were so much darker than the rest.

Christian had taken the guilt on to his own shoulders. Patrik had just talked with Ragnar, who had confirmed it. When Alice came home that night, he and his wife assumed that it was Christian who had raped her. They were awakened by a scream, and when they got out of bed to find out what was going on, they found Alice lying on the floor in the front hall. She was wearing only a skirt, and her face was bloody and swollen. When they rushed over to her, she said only one word.

‘Christian,’ she whispered.

Iréne rushed upstairs to his room and yanked him out of bed. She smelled the booze on him and immediately drew her own conclusions. To be fair, Ragnar had thought the same thing, although he did have some doubt. Maybe that was why he kept sending Alice’s drawings to Christian. Because he’d never been certain about what actually happened.

Gösta and Martin had managed to nab Erik before he got on the plane. Patrik had just received a report, telling him that they were on their way back from Landvetter. That was always something. Later they would have to see what was legally possible, so many years after the fact. At least Kenneth was not going to keep silent any more; Erica was convinced of that. And if nothing else, Erik had a lot of explaining to do with regard to his financial dealings. He’d probably end up behind bars, at least for a while. But considering the circumstances, that seemed like small comfort.

‘The newspapers have started ringing!’ Mellberg came rushing in, beaming like a sun. ‘It’s about to get very lively around here. Great publicity for the station.’

‘I suppose so,’ said Patrik, still looking at the drawings.

‘We did a really good job on this case, Hedström! I have to admit it. It took us a while, but once we picked up the pace and did some good old-fashioned police work, the path was clear.’

‘Right,’ said Patrik. Today he didn’t even have the energy to feel annoyed by Mellberg. He rubbed his hand over his chest. It still hurt. He must have banged himself harder than he thought when he fell off the ladder.

‘It’s probably best that I go back to my office,’ said Mellberg. ‘A reporter from Aftonbladet just phoned, and it’s only a matter of time before somebody from Expressen calls too.’

‘Hmm,’ said Patrik as he kept rubbing his chest. Damn, it hurt. Maybe the pain would ease up if he moved a bit. He got up and went into the kitchen. How typical. Whenever he wanted a cup of coffee, the pot was empty.

Paula came in. ‘We’ve finished over there. I’m completely speechless. I would never have suspected any of this.’

‘I guess not,’ said Patrik. He realized how unkind that sounded, but he was so tired. He didn’t feel like talking about the case, didn’t want to think about Alice and Christian, or about a little boy who kept vigil over his dead mother’s body as it rotted in the summer heat.

Keeping his eyes fixed on the coffee machine, he put in several scoops. How many was that? Two or three? He couldn’t remember. He tried to concentrate, but the next scoopful landed outside the machine. He put the scoop in the package of ground coffee to take out some more, but a sharp pain in his chest made him gasp for air.

‘Patrik, what’s the matter? Patrik?’ He heard Paula’s voice, but it was coming from far, far away. He ignored it, wanting to finish putting more coffee in the machine, but his hand refused to obey. He saw a flash of light before his eyes, and the pain in his chest was suddenly a thousand times worse. He managed to think that something was wrong, that something was about to happen.