Cinderella Girl (28 page)

‘You’ve been lying pretty freely up till now,’ Sjöberg pointed out sharply.

‘But, what the hell! When I realized who’d been murdered
and that someone might have seen us together … I didn’t want to admit that.’

‘Innocent people tell the police the truth as a rule,’ said Sjöberg, glancing at his watch. ‘I have to ask you to come to the station tomorrow. We’ll need your fingerprints and samples for DNA analysis.’

‘I’ve got a job to take care of –’

‘So do I,’ Sjöberg ended the conversation.

* * *

A few yards from them, but so far away she was in another world, her own world, Kerstin was trying to hear what they were talking about. She had turned off the wall-mounted TV for once; she had recognized the voice. It was the policeman’s voice, the one with the friendly eyes who had talked to her as if she were a thinking person, as if she understood. He had been upset, raised his voice, but he had talked
to
her, not
about
her. He was going to contact social services, he said, take her away from here. Was that what they were talking about out there? She was ready for it now, felt that life perhaps still had something to offer. She had rid herself of Göran; it had taken time, but now he no longer existed for her. She no longer existed for him. During the past few years she had seen him only a few times.

Kerstin had once been beautiful. Interested in fashion and careful about her appearance. She worked in one of the concession shops in NK’s men’s department. Göran
could not tolerate that she spent her days there, surrounded by men. Because of that, she had never gone back to work after her maternity leave. He had loved owning her, showing her off. But when someone looked too long he hit her. Not right then, but afterwards, when no one was watching. It was an impossible equation to solve, and she was weak, could not put up any resistance. She did not dare leave him, did not know any other way to live.

But she found a way. When Joakim was born she had a hard time getting rid of all the pounds she put on during pregnancy. Göran criticized her, wanted her to be beautiful, perfect. He didn’t stop hitting her, but it happened less often. Other men stopped eating her with their eyes and Göran lost interest in her as a woman. It was a more comfortable way to live. When he was gone she sat at home and did nothing. Watched TV and ate. She and Joakim took care of each other. As she grew, Göran shrank, as a person and as a man. He became ashamed of her, forbade her to show herself. Finally she disgusted him; he did not want to see her at all, did not want to hold her. Did not even want to hit her.

But she had Joakim. Kerstin’s world consisted of Joakim and herself. To Joakim she was someone. He took good care of her, made sure she was clean and had enough to eat, and kept her company. They talked to each other. If it hadn’t been for her, he would have left home long ago. She did not want to begrudge him that. Since the policeman with the friendly eyes had been there that morning, they had talked about the future, she and Joakim. He had money now; he had worked hard and saved. When they took her away he would go with her. He would get a
life of his own, but he would continue to be part of hers. He assured her that she would get healthy, and she wanted to believe him, she felt ready to try.

The door closed; it was not quite time yet.

* * *

Finally, finally, finally the doorbell rang! It must be Björn arriving, because now it really was evening. It was completely dark outside and the children’s programmes she had been watching had finished a long time ago. Hanna rushed out into the hall and called loudly so it could be heard outside.

‘Hello! Is that Björn?’

‘Ssh, take it easy,’ a voice hissed through the letter box. ‘Is that you, Hanna?’

‘Yes, it’s me,’ Hanna whispered back.

‘Is anyone else at home?’

‘No, just me.’

She was so excited she could not stand still. She clapped her hands together in front of her chest and her feet tramped eagerly on the spot. Her secret friend had finally come!

‘Do you think your keys work?’ she asked anxiously, but she got no answer, because the letter box closed with a bang.

She stood attentively, looking at the closed door and listening for sounds from outside. Suddenly there was a rattle in the lock and she could see the knob on the inside moving a little. Hanna made small, expectant hops, then she ran up to the door and pulled on the handle, but nothing
happened. She backed up a few steps and heard another key being put in the upper lock now and twisted around. The handle was pulled carefully down and now the door was really opening! In the doorway a man appeared; he had a finger to his lips as a signal to remain silent. Hanna did not say anything, but her whole face was one big smile. The man slipped quickly into the hall and quietly closed the door behind him. Only then did he answer her smile and get down on his knees on the rug. The tension was released and Hanna threw herself into his arms. Björn – the only one who had listened to her. It was almost as if Daddy had come home.

She could not see his face now when they were hugging, but she felt his big, warm hands as he caressed her hair and back, and it felt so nice to have someone with her again. She wanted to fall asleep like that, right there in Björn’s soft embrace, but then her eyes fell on the familiar paper bag he had set down on the floor when she came running towards him, and hunger got the upper hand.

‘McDonald’s!’ she cried.

He set her down on the floor and stood up.

‘Of course!’ he said with a smile. ‘A promise is a promise.’

He looked at her as she stood there beaming at him.

‘You’re a pretty little person,’ he said. ‘How old are you, Hanna?’

‘I’m this many,’ answered Hanna, waggling the three fingers that she held up in the air before him. ‘But soon I’ll be this many,’ she continued, raising another finger.

‘How clever you are to manage all by yourself here at home,’ he praised her. ‘But it smells a little bad in here. I think we’ll have to take a bath once we’ve eaten.’

‘Yes!’ said Hanna. ‘Are you going to take a bath too? Are you dirty?’

‘I’m probably a little dirty. If you want, we can take a bath together.’

Hanna was not used to this. Her parents never bathed with her. They always said the bathtub was too small, that it was cramped to sit in if you were a grown-up. But Björn – he didn’t care about that; she had made a really good secret friend.

‘Of course,’ said Hanna. ‘But first I want to eat hamburgers.’

She took him by the hand and led him into the kitchen. Half-empty and empty packets lay in a mess of melted ice and food scraps. The kitchen didn’t smell that good either, but he didn’t scold her like Mummy would have.

‘Is there another table we can sit at?’ he asked. ‘Then we won’t have to clean in here,’ he added with a wink.

That’s a good idea, thought Hanna. ‘We can sit in my room, because you can’t eat in the living room. Everything’s so nice and expensive there.’

She went ahead of him into the children’s room and sat down on one of the little chairs by the little table. She swept the bookmarks and toys on to the floor with her arm and looked up at her secret friend with a happy smile.

‘Now we can eat!’ she said, pulling him down on to the chair beside hers.

Just as they were about to begin the phone rang. Hanna got up and started running towards the hall.

‘Don’t answer, Hanna,’ said Björn. ‘Don’t worry if it rings. I’m here now.’

Hanna stopped in the doorway.

‘But what if it’s Mummy!’

‘It’s not. Sit down.’

Another ring.

‘But what if it’s the police!’

‘The police?’ said Björn, looking concerned.

‘There was an angry policeman who called and said that he would come if he didn’t get to talk to Daddy,’ Hanna explained.

A third ring sounded in the apartment.

‘Where’s the phone?’ asked Björn, suddenly getting up and rushing out of the room.

‘In the hall!’ Hanna called after him.

Just after the fourth ring, Hanna heard Björn’s calm voice from out in the hallway.

‘Hedberg residence … Of course … I understand … No problem … Bye.’

* * *

Einar Eriksson had called that number many times without getting any answer. When someone finally picked up it was a little girl, who said that her father was only out for a little while. That proved to be correct. Eriksson removed the Hedberg family at Ploggatan 20 from his list.

* * *

Hoping that the train would soon start moving, Hamad decided to stay seated. The alternative was to go by foot
to Fridhemsplan and then look for a bus that might take him in the direction of Skanstull. While he waited he took the opportunity to call Westman, whom he had not had a glimpse of in several days. Except when she – as he interpreted it – left Sjöberg’s office in tears a few hours earlier.

‘It’s Jamal. How are you doing?’ he asked gently.

‘Fine,’ Westman answered curtly. ‘How are things going for you?’

‘Moving along. Was something wrong before?’

‘No, why do you think that?’

‘Petra, I
saw
it. Tell me what’s happening.’

‘Nothing is happening.’

‘Don’t try. I could see on your face when you went into Sjöberg’s office that you were prepared for the worst. I heard in his voice that he wasn’t very happy either. Did he reprimand you?’

‘On the contrary,’ Westman answered cryptically.

‘Later he basically interrogated me about what we were doing last Friday evening,’ Hamad continued stubbornly. ‘Did something happen after we went our separate ways?’

‘Nada. Nothing.’

‘Okay, then I guess there’s nothing –’

‘Okay.’

Hamad sighed audibly and gave up.

‘You know you can come to me, Petra.
If
there is something. See you.’

‘All right. Thanks for calling anyway.’

‘You’re welcome,’ he muttered to himself as he stuffed the phone into his pocket and went back to staring alternately out of the window and at his watch.

The train was stuck between stations for forty-five minutes. The satisfaction of getting Joakim’s father identified as the man seen in the bar with Jennifer gradually diminished as time passed. It was sheer luck. If Elise had not gone to see Joakim and run into his father, perhaps they never would have discovered it.

Andersson. That was not a name that leaped out at you when you were staring intently at long lists. And another Andersson had also shown up as a person of interest in the investigation: Sören Andersson. It struck Hamad how their interest in him had suddenly diminished. How had that happened? Hamad tried to replay the conversation with Elise Johansson. They had pressured her concerning Sören Andersson and his wallet. After a lot of evasion she finally admitted that she had acquired it on Friday and not on Sunday as she had said earlier. But she still refused to admit that she had stolen it.

Then she blurted out that bit about Joakim’s father, which they had quickly followed up. All suspicion was now focused on him. Correctly perhaps, but where did
Sören
Andersson go? Could it be pure coincidence that Elise shows up at the police station with a wallet that belongs to a passenger on the ferry where her sister was murdered? The thought was gnawing at him during the whole journey back to Södermalm. He tried several times to call Sjöberg, but he seemed to have his phone turned off. Not until Slussen did he get a response. They agreed to meet outside the barriers at the metro entrance at Skanstull.

Sjöberg took his jacket from the hook, pulled it on and stuffed the MP3 player in his pocket. He went out to the corridor and was walking in the direction of the stairs when it struck him that perhaps he ought to check in with Petra before he took off. He turned and went over to her office a little further down the corridor. The door was open and she was sitting at the desk, looking as if she was working. He knocked softly on the doorpost and stepped in. She looked up at him with a tired smile.

‘Have you heard anything?’ he asked, sitting down on the visitor’s chair with his hands pushed down in his jacket pockets.

‘No, I’m still here,’ Petra answered a little wearily. ‘Have you heard anything?’

Sjöberg shook his head.

‘No news is good news,’ he answered, without for a moment believing that. ‘But we’re going to get through this, don’t worry.’

Petra sighed and set her elbows on the desk, letting her chin rest on her thumbs.

‘Thanks for your support, Conny. I appreciate it.’

‘The centre of gravity, Petra. Make sure you have your centre of gravity in the right place when they come after you.’

Petra straightened up and leaned back in the chair with a laugh. She laced her fingers behind her neck and suddenly looked completely relaxed, almost at peace, Sjöberg noted. Maybe that thing about centre of gravity wasn’t so silly after all.

Yet another knock at the door and the deputy police commissioner stepped into the room with a serious
expression. Sjöberg gave him a tired glance and then looked at his watch.

‘Gunnar,’ he said guardedly. ‘Are you here this late?’

‘Good that you’re here, Sjöberg. I need to talk to both of you. We’ve looked at your case now, Westman, and have decided that we should go easy on you. At the police commissioner’s recommendation we’re choosing to avoid court. On condition that you resign. That way this will stay between us, and you’ll be spared the embarrassment of being fired … and the gossip among your colleagues that would follow.’

Factually and without a trace of Schadenfreude. He was simply doing his job. Petra sat as if petrified as the information sank in.

She did not know how to react. Was this positive – losing your job but escaping jibes in the corridor?

‘Court?’ said Sjöberg. ‘What would the classification of the crime be in that case?’

‘Sexual harassment, of course,’ answered Malmberg, standing with his legs apart and his hands in his trouser pockets.

He looked like a well-ironed cowboy. On most men this would have appeared pathetic, but for him it seemed quite natural. A ten-pointer, thought Petra. A winner on all levels. Sjöberg was thinking nothing of the kind as he sat, still with his hands in his jacket pockets, lightly tapping his fingers on the MP3 player.