Cinderella Girl (16 page)

You could see traces of their common upbringing in little sister Elise, but not much of the vitality that seemed to have characterized her older sister. What would life be like for Elise without her dominant big sister? Even though they did not appear to have
communicated
with each other, they must have
talked
to each other, exchanged words and opinions. Who would be there now for Elise?

Barbro was tired. She was sleepy, and her feet were sore. She should have ended the day’s trek hours ago, but instead she sat down on a bench, finished the rest of the coffee in the Thermos and had the last sandwich. While she ate she considered going home and calling that Nyman again, being a little pushy. But when the sandwich was finished she felt stronger and dismissed that thought. Calling him now would not get her anywhere; she would only be giving in to her fatigue and backing out of what she had set out to do. She would finish off Zinken too before the day was over, and anyway it was better to wait to put pressure on the county detective unit until a full day had passed. Perhaps then, despite everything, Nyman would have managed to get the information from Telia she had tried to pressure him for.

Now it was starting to get dark. Barbro had completed what she’d made up her mind to do, but obviously, she was forced to admit to herself, without success. True, she had found no fewer than two apartment buildings in the vicinity of Zinken’s allotments where the name Bergman was on the directory inside the front door, but there had been no yellow castle to be seen. And it was doubtful whether the allotments could even be visible from the windows in those buildings.

When she had finished Krukmakargatan she finally decided to make her way homewards, and chose Zinkens väg through the green belt instead of the same route back. As she was walking across the turning area which for her marked the start of Zinkens väg, she passed for the second time several low, red buildings with an adjoining
play area, all surrounded by a green fence. On the wall was a sign announcing that the Pipemaker Preschool was inside, perhaps christened after the old tobacco factory in the vicinity. A random thought occurred to Barbro and prompted her to open the gate and go over to a closed door. Doubtful that anyone would still be there, she rang the doorbell anyway, and to her surprise someone immediately opened up. It was a young woman about twenty-five in a jacket and gym shoes, with a bag hanging over her shoulder. She showed all the signs of being on her way out.

‘Excuse me for bothering you,’ said Barbro, ‘but I need to ask a few questions. You work here at the preschool, I assume?’

‘Yes, I do,’ the woman answered, ‘but now I’m closing for the day.’

‘I can see that, but this will only take a minute. First, I’d like to know whether you know a little girl named Hanna? Hanna Birgitta to be more precise. Unfortunately I don’t know her last name, but I know she has a brother named Lukas.’

The woman thought for a moment before answering.

‘I know a few Hannas, but I don’t think any of them has a brother named Lukas. How old is she?’

‘Unfortunately I don’t know that either,’ Barbro replied, ‘and that’s what the next question is about. How old do you think a girl is who doesn’t know her last name and who says how old she is by showing fingers?’

‘Well, that does depend on how grown-up she is of course,’ said the woman, by now with an amused gleam in her eye.

‘This girl is very grown-up,’ Barbro hurried to say. ‘She knows colours and speaks extremely well. Uses whole sentences.’

‘Then I would guess three, four at the most. At five they usually know their last name. And then they’re usually very particular about half years,’ she added with a laugh. ‘There is a big difference between five and five-and-a-half, and I’m guessing she doesn’t have half a finger?’

Barbro smiled back and thanked the woman for her help. But inside she felt growing worry. The answers she got only confirmed what she seemed to remember from her own daughter’s childhood but hoped was wrong. The abandoned girl was no more than four, more likely only three years old.

* * *

Lena Johansson was tired. Of most things, but above all tired of herself. She was thirty-seven years old, but on the rare occasions she looked at herself in the mirror, she thought she looked much older. She had never been a beauty, but her early life had been easy. Even though many of the girls in school were prettier, there was something about her, her attitude to life, that made schoolmates flock around her, including the boys. The same way it had been for Jennifer. Elise was from a different mould, more withdrawn. Both of them were extremely good-looking; they got that from Janne.

Janne and she were the same age and had met during high school in Södertälje. He was a survivor, grew up in a family of substance abusers with parents who abdicated their parental roles early on. Apparently unaffected by
his background, he had everything the boys she grew up with were missing. He was big and strong, practical and industrious. He also had a kind of adultness about him that she had not encountered before, a well-filled wallet in his back pocket and a way with words that could bowl anyone over.

But above all it was his recklessness she fell for. His lack of respect for rules and authority and his attraction to adventure, to what was forbidden. She was an only child and her parents were much older than those of her friends. Maybe it was because they had not given her any siblings, or maybe it was to compensate for their advanced age that they spoiled her and gave her so much freedom.

As soon as they left high school – she from the two-year social work programme, Janne from the construction programme – they packed their bags and left Södertälje for the big city. Within a few days Janne had got a job at a construction site, and soon he had also talked his way into a sublet on the apartment where she and the girls still lived. She soon got work at a screen-printer’s in Västberga, where she was very happy.

But after six months Janne broke his arm and went on sick leave. It was a typical Janne thing: he had been working up on a roof without a safety rope, slipped and fell several storeys down on to a lower roof, and the only consequence was a broken arm. The old guys who’d seen the whole thing said he had a guardian angel. When Janne couldn’t work they rented out the apartment and travelled to Thailand with the money they had saved. It was a marvellous
time: sun-drenched beaches, cheap to live and parties around the clock if you were so inclined. And both of them were. To start with she had been hesitant about all the drugs that were in circulation, hallucinogenic mushrooms and cheap diet pills that made you dance for days on end, but in Janne’s company she felt secure and let herself be talked into things she otherwise would not have dared try.

After almost a year of travelling they returned home, got married and had the children. But Janne could never really settle down again. He continued to experiment with drugs, and Lena knew he was not sober even during work hours. He became indifferent and nonchalant, and when the news of his death reached her from a bridge construction site west of the city, she was crushed but not surprised.

Elise was a newborn then and life collapsed. Right after the accident Lena’s mother died of cancer and not long after her father, who was fifteen years older, died too. But she had never betrayed her girls. Despite all the sorrows and distress she had not given up; she had always been there for them. Consoled and nursed them. For their sake she pulled herself together, even if it hadn’t always been easy. No new blokes after Janne, no drugs. Except alcohol, which she had never been able to give up, although she had promised herself many times that she would quit. And here she was now, staring at herself in the bathroom mirror. She was red-faced and bloated, swollen and wrinkled. And crying did not make it any better.

With tears streaming down her cheeks, she sat down on
the toilet seat and let out her grief for her daughter. For the first time since she had got the news of Jennifer’s death she gave in to her feelings. In her mind she saw her beloved little girl, naked and pale on a shiny metal stretcher in a white-tiled room. An unbearable sight. She needed something to drink.

That morning Hanna had thought ahead and taken all the packets out of the freezer. She could tell from the wrappers what was inside. Now she was on her knees on Daddy’s chair in the kitchen eating cold but no longer frozen meatballs straight from the table. This was her second meal of the day. In the morning she had found an unopened packet of liver pâté in the refrigerator and after hesitating for a long time she had finally used the big knife to open it. And she had succeeded, without cutting herself. Then she had eaten the entire packet without anything to go with it, but it had been good and she had felt full.

In the morning she played for a while in her room, but it had felt lonely. Even though no one besides herself was in the apartment, she felt more secure when she was in one of the rooms where the rest of the family
usually
were. She loaded her little doll’s pram full of toys and pulled it into the living room. Then she spent most of the day with her toys in front of the TV. Even if most of what was happening on the TV screen was incomprehensible, it felt better to be in a room where there was sound and voices. When she started to feel tired in the afternoon, she lay down to sleep in her parents’ bed and did not wake up until the sun was going down.

‘Silly Barbro,’ she said out loud to herself.

That silly Barbro, who had promised to come and
rescue her. True, she had said it would take time, but now Hanna had waited a really long time. And no one had called all day. Not even Mummy. Mummy could at least call and talk to her for a little while. Even if she didn’t want to live here any more. Hanna had tried calling, but no one ever answered. She stuffed another meatball into her mouth and it was so big her mouth was completely full.

‘Gilly Gaggo’ came out when she tried to speak.

It sounded funny. She laughed and pieces of meatball flew out of her mouth.

‘Gilly Gaggo,’ she said several times, until it started to sound like ‘silly Barbro’ again.

The meatballs she couldn’t eat she put back into the packet, which she left on the table. At preschool the children who were potty-trained had to go to the toilet to pee after eating, so Hanna did the same. It actually went really well. She had only got pee on her underwear once today and then she had managed to stop herself and run into the bathroom to finish peeing. Daddy would be proud of her if she could do that sort of thing when he came home. If he ever did come home.

As she was standing on her little white stool washing her hands after using the toilet, the phone rang. For the first time all day the phone was ringing. Without bothering to dry her wet hands, she rushed out into the hall, climbed carefully but not slowly up on to the children’s chair and picked up the receiver.

‘Hello!’ she called, but there was silence on the other end.

‘Hello! Hello! Is this Barbro?’

No answer, but still she felt as if someone were there. She happened to remember what Barbro had said; that if someone called – whoever called – she should tell them the same thing she had told her.

‘My mummy has moved away and Daddy is in Japan and I’m all alone!’

The words poured out of her like a flood.

‘Can you come and rescue me, because I fell down and hurt myself and there was blood although it’s almost gone now. I can’t come out because Mummy locked me in ’cause I’m so noisy. Barbro was supposed to come and rescue me, but that was days and days ago and I’m all alone.’

Still no answer, but now she was sure she heard someone breathing, so she continued.

‘I can see a castle from my window. A nice, yellow castle with a tower for the princess and red and blue squares on it. And letters …’

‘I know where you live,’ a husky voice suddenly said in the receiver.

‘You do?’ said Hanna surprised. ‘Then come and save me, please, please! I won’t be noisy, I’ll be good.’

‘That sounds nice,’ the man said in a slightly drawling voice.

‘What’s your name?’ asked Hanna.

‘Björn,’ the voice replied.

Hanna did not know that a man could be called that. She thought it sounded sweet, and a little strange too. But she didn’t say so. She did not want to make the man sad.

‘What’s your name?’ asked the man.

‘Hanna. Do you think that’s a nice name?’

‘I think it’s a very nice name,’ the man said politely. ‘Are you the only one home?’

‘But I already said that! Are you coming now?’

‘I can’t come this evening, because it’s already too late. But maybe tomorrow?’

‘Yes!’ Hanna cheered. ‘Will it take long?’

‘Well,’ the voice answered hesitantly, ‘that depends on what you think is a long time. First you sleep all night and then it’s tomorrow. I’ll come when it’s dark outside.’

‘But Mummy locked me in and I can’t open the door,’ Hanna suddenly realized.

‘We’ll figure that out tomorrow. I have a lot of keys. I’m sure one of them will fit your lock. Do you have any food?’

‘I’ve been eating meatballs that I found in the freezer. And liver pâté. But there are no more sweets.’

‘Then I’ll bring some sweets with me when I come tomorrow. And maybe hamburgers, would you like that?’

‘Yes, that’s good! I like that!’

‘You must be very dirty, Hanna. Are you?’

‘I took a bath, but I got water in my nose and –’

‘You shouldn’t do that,’ said the man. ‘We can take a bath tomorrow, you and me. I’ll bring hamburgers and sweets, then we’ll have a little party and then we’ll take a bath so you get really clean and nice.’

‘Yes, we’ll do that,’ said Hanna.

‘But listen, don’t tell anyone about this. It will be our little secret …’

‘Okay,’ said Hanna. ‘I promise to do just what you say. I will never be naughty again, I’ve decided that.’

‘That’s good. Bye for now, Hanna.’

The call was over, but Hanna was as happy as a lark. Once again she had something to hope for, and she was so exhilarated that she stayed up late that evening. Not until the voices and the music that had been streaming out of the TV all day were replaced by an angry buzzing did she withdraw to the bedroom, curl up in a foetal position in the big double bed and fall asleep.

* * *

She never would have believed she could feel this way. She, who always had such a hard time concentrating in school, now had nothing in her skull besides this one incident; those moments when she had done the stupidest thing possible. How could she be so dense? Nothing was worth this anxiety. And all for a couple of stupid hundred-kronor bills.

She had barely slept since it happened. She pictured those empty, hazy eyes, eyes that wandered back and forth over her but never met hers, that gaze that looked at her without seeing. The hand that moved up and down, up and down. Those strange sounds, repeated, again and again. The fingers that pawed her, that sought their way between her thighs as she sat with her legs parted, her skirt pulled up and her knickers in her jacket pocket. Again and again she had to say no, to push back; again and again there he was.

At last, after an eternity, that drawn-out, smothered shriek, the gaze turned inside out, the wallet lying there begging to be stolen, the disgust, and a moment’s inspiration. The voice that echoed in her head long afterwards,
the words that were still hanging there: ‘You damn little whore! What the hell are you doing? I’ll –’

And then her jump, the screeching tyres and car door slamming. But she was already away from the car, running for all she was worth. Before she turned the corner she looked back towards him one last time – suddenly he was out of the car, intending to run after her instead. Then she was out of earshot, could no longer see him. She had run incredibly fast and he could not catch up with her.

Still he was there all the time. She was so afraid that she hardly dared leave the apartment. What if she ran into him again, what would she do? When she did go out she took the back way, out towards Tjurberget. She did not dare set foot on Götgatan. She took long detours to avoid the area around the cursed Pressbyrån shop.

The wallet was burning a hole in the wire basket of clothes under the bed. She did not even dare open it, did not dare take the money she had wanted so badly that she had committed her first crime. She had no idea what she would do with it. She could not get rid of it, because what if he found her and demanded the wallet back. She could not imagine keeping it either; she was having a hard enough time as it was, without having to share a room with the cause of her misfortune too.

And then she sometimes thought of Jennifer. Jennifer and
her
misfortune. This wallet problem had occupied her mind so much that she had not had time or really been able to start grieving for Jennifer. Jennifer was gone; she was dead. Murdered. But Elise was occupied with other things. She felt a sting of bad conscience for Jennifer’s sake. Everyone else was grieving for Jennifer. Elise missed
her, of course she did. But it was also nice to be left alone. To have the room and her thoughts to herself. Jennifer would have teased her, laughed at her if she had known what she’d got herself into. If she were here.

Who would miss Elise if she died? Absolutely no one. Her mum would escape that inconvenience too and could party as usual with her disgusting pals. Nina and her other friends? They might shed a few tears for the sake of appearances, but then she would be forgotten. Life had to go on. If you didn’t take up any room on earth, there was no vacuum when you died. But Jennifer had left a big vacuum behind her.

Then she happened to think about Joakim. With his beard and those friendly eyes. Maybe he missed Jennifer. Yes, of course he did.

If they had been together. Of course, that wasn’t crystal clear exactly. Maybe he was the one who had killed her. That’s usually how it was. Jealous boyfriends or married men or exes – they were usually the ones who murdered women. She shuddered as she pictured Joakim and Jennifer. He a head taller, with his strong hands around her throat. Jennifer terrified, spluttering, gasping for air. A long, long time later she finally gives up; he lets her go and she collapses.

And then that wallet again. She tried to think logically. Wallets get stolen all the time. She wasn’t the first thief in the history of the world. What happened to thieves? They mostly went free. Otherwise – what then? The police arrested them and they had to serve their sentence. What might that be in her case? Prison? Not likely for a first offence. A fine? Juvenile detention? She would end up with a criminal record. So what? That was nothing to worry about.

Still this paralysing state of terror. It was that gaze. The eyes that saw, yet didn’t see. She had no more worth than a cigarette butt under a shoe to that disgusting pervert. But yet – he wouldn’t kill her just because she stole his wallet. People weren’t that sick. Unless, it suddenly struck her … unless there was a lot of money in that wallet.

She was lying on her back with her hands clasped behind her head, staring up at the underside of Jennifer’s bed. Years earlier she had taped a poster of Robbie Williams up there. The tape had yellowed and curled up at one corner. The room still smelled faintly of Jennifer’s perfume. It was quieter than usual. She could hear a few voices from the kitchen, but most of her mother’s friends had not shown up today. Maybe they had found some other place to hang out this evening.

Otherwise her mother went on as if nothing had happened. It was possible that somewhere inside the fog she was grieving for Jennifer, that she had some feelings for her girls, but it didn’t show. Whenever she talked to sober people, like the two police officers who had visited them in the afternoon, she had such a hard time pretending to be sober that you could not see the person behind the awkward attempts to appear normal. All Elise noticed was how artificial and ridiculous her mum was; her efforts to precisely pronounce all her consonants made her words overly drawn out and the ‘r’s ridiculously prominent. On such occasions Elise was ashamed of her mother. She liked her better when she was really loaded, like she usually was. Then at least she was herself.

Elise sat up on the edge of the bed. With a deep sigh she leaned over and pulled out the wire basket. She removed a
few layers of clothing and there it was. A thin wallet of what looked like black leather. She weighed it in her hand as if to get a sense of what it might contain. Then she opened it very carefully, as if she were afraid it would fall to pieces or explode in her hands. It contained no credit cards, just a medical card, an ICA supermarket card, a Co-op card and a membership card for Buylando. In the bill compartment she found six five-hundred kronor notes: three thousand kronor. That was a lot of money to her, but was it to him? Was it enough for him to take the law into his own hands, hunt her down and perhaps hurt her? She did not know for sure. But now she knew who he was. He stared at her with a serious expression from his driver’s licence. She knew his name, his personal ID number and his address. But what could she do with that information?

* * *

Conny Sjöberg was sitting with Hamad in Eriksson’s office, ploughing through the lists of staff and passengers on the big boat. Einar Eriksson had produced new lists: lists of names sorted by gender, age and nationality, lists of families with children, lists of convicted individuals, individuals who appeared in crime investigations, who were in contact with social services, minors, and lists organized by various other criteria.