Lars Kepler - The Nightmare

“Stefan Bergkvist survived Carl Palmcrona by just three days,” Nathan says softly.

“What happened?”

“I don’t really know. Something about his motorcycle,” Pollock says. “I’ve asked for the preliminary autopsy report-”

“What do you have so far?”

“I’ve talked to his mother several times now. Her name is Siv Bergkvist. She lives with her partner, Micke Johansson. It appears that Siv was a substitute secretary for Palmcrona when he was working at the Fourth Navy Flotilla. They had a short relationship. She became pregnant. When she told him, he wanted her to get an abortion. Siv returned to Vasteras instead, had the baby, and never told anyone the name of the father.”

“Did Stefan know that his father was Carl Palmcrona?”

Nathan shakes his head and thinks back on the mother’s words: I told my son that his pappa was dead, that he had died before my little honeybee was born.

Another knock on the door. Anja walks in and puts a report on the table. It’s still warm from being printed out.

“An accident,” Anja says grimly, without further explanation, and then leaves the room again.

Joona picks up the plastic folder and begins to read the report from the initial technical investigation. Death was not from carbon monoxide poisoning but as a direct result of burns. Before the boy died, his skin had swollen and split as if from deep cuts, and then all the internal musculature shrank. The heat had exploded the skull and the long bones. The coroner had put the cause of death as heat-related hematoma, due to the fact that the blood began to boil between the skull and the hard brain membrane.

“Unpleasant,” Joona mutters.

Basically, nothing was left of the shed where Stefan Bergkvist’s remains were found, which hindered the work of the fire investigators. The shed was now nothing more than a smoldering pyre of ashes, a few blackened pieces of metal, and a charred body in a fetal position next to what had been the door. Police based a preliminary theory of what had happened on the testimony of a single witness: the train engineer who’d called the fire department. He’d seen the burning motorcycle wedged next to the shed. Indications pointed to an accident in which sixteen-year-old Stefan Bergkvist had been trapped inside the old shed when his motorcycle had fallen over and blocked the door. The gas cap was not secure and gasoline had leaked out. The spark that led to the fire was still not accounted for, but the guess was that it was due to a cigarette.

“Palmcrona dies,” Pollock says slowly. “He leaves his entire fortune to his son. Three days later, his son is also dead.”

“Does the inheritance go to the mother, then?” Joona asks.

“Yes.”

In silence they listen to the slow, halting steps in the hallway before Tommy Kofoed comes in.

“I’ve gotten into Palmcrona’s safe,” he says triumphantly. “Only this inside.”

Kofoed holds up a beautifully bound book.

“What is that?” asks Pollock.

“It’s a summary of his life,” Kofoed says. “Very common among the nobility.”

“So a kind of diary?”

Kofoed shrugs.

“Just a simple memoir not really meant for publication. Like a genealogy, it’s meant to pass along another part of the family history. These pages are handwritten. It starts with a family tree and mentions his father’s career and then a boring recitation of his school years, his diplomas, his military service, and his career… He’d made some bad investments and he needed money, so he sells some property and some other possessions. Everything in a very dry manner.”

“What about his son?”

“At first, his relationship with Siv Bergkvist is described, short and sweet, as an ‘unfortunate event,’ ” Tommy Kofoed answers. He takes a deep breath. “Soon, however, he begins to mention Stefan in his memoirs. All the entries for the past eight years are about his son. He follows his son’s developments from a distance. He knows which school he’s attending, what interests him, who he hangs out with. He says he’s going to build up the inheritance again. It appears that he’s saving everything he has for his son. Finally, he’s decided to contact the boy when he turns eighteen. He hopes that his son will forgive him and that they will be able to get to know each other after all these years. That’s the only thing he cares about… and now, they’re both suddenly dead.”

“What a nightmare,” Pollock mutters.

“What did you say?” Joona looks up.

“I just said, I thought it’s a nightmare come true,” Pollock says, wondering why Joona’s face is suddenly alive. “He does everything he can for his son’s future and then it turns out that his son survives him by only three days. His son never even knew who he was.”

Beverly is already in his bed when Axel enters the bedroom. He’s gotten only two hours of sleep the night before and now feels a little dizzy with fatigue.

“How long does it take for Evert to drive here?” she asks in a small, clear voice.

“It would take about six hours to get here,” he replies succinctly.

She gets up and starts to the door.

“What are you doing?” Axel asks.

She turns around.

“I thought maybe he’s sitting in the car waiting for me.”

“You know that he doesn’t drive to Stockholm,” Axel says.

“I just want to look out the window and make sure.”

“We can give him a call-should we call him?”

“I’ve already tried,” she says.

Axel reaches out and brushes her cheek with his hand and she sits back down on the edge of the bed.

“Are you tired?” she asks.

“So tired I’m feeling sick,” he replies.

“Do you want me to sleep in your bed tonight?”

“Yes, that would be nice.”

“I believe that Pappa would like to talk to me tomorrow,” she says softly.

Axel nods. “I’m sure it’ll go well tomorrow.”

Her large shining eyes make her look younger than ever.

“Come lie down,” she says. “Lie down so you can sleep, Axel.”

He blinks tiredly at her and then watches her lie down on her side of the bed. Her nightgown smells like freshly washed, pure cotton. As he lies down beside her, he wants to cry. He wants to tell her that he’ll arrange psychiatric help for her. He’ll help her out of this mess. Everything will get better. Everything always gets better.

He slowly clasps one of her upper arms and lays his other arm over her stomach. He hears her squeak as he pulls her closer to him. He presses his face into her neck, breathes moistly against her skin, and holds her tight. After a while, he hears her breathing soften. They lie completely still as their body warmth together brings sweat to their skin, but he does not let go of her.

The next morning Axel is up early. He’s slept for only four hours and his muscles ache. He stands awhile at the window looking out over the dark outlines of the lilac hedge.

When he comes into his new office, he’s still feeling frozen and tired. Yesterday he’d been one second away from signing his name to a dead man’s contract. He would have put his personal honor into the hands of a man who’d hanged himself-trusted the judgment of a suicide and not his own.

He’s glad he decided to wait, but regrets drawing the cartoon on the contract.

He knows he’s obligated to approve the export of ammunition to Kenya in the next few days. He opens the report folder and begins to learn about Sweden’s trade there.

One hour later, the door to Axel Riessen’s office opens and Jorgen Grunlicht comes in. Without a word, he pulls a chair up to the desk and sits down. He opens the folder, takes out the contract, flips to the page where Axel’s signature was supposed to be, and then meets Axel’s eyes.