The Beast (26 page)

    'See?
It works every time, I know that.'

    Two
boys, who slowly found their way down the central aisle, on the look-out. He
could hear their tense breathing, and spotted them when they were just a few
pens away. He didn't want to scare them.

    'Hi,
David!'

    Too
late. The sudden voice had obviously alarmed them.

    'Look
over here, it's me. Fredrik.'

    Now
they were looking the right way and made him out where he stood among the boxes
and chairs.

    The
dark-haired, shorter one was David, but his mate was a new face, red hair and
freckled skin. He was taller, more strongly built than David. The boys looked
at each other with the disappointment ghost-busters feel when the awful
spectral being they have been chasing turns out to be somebody's dad in the wrong
place.

    David
pointed at Fredrik.

    'Hey,
that's just Marie's dad.'

    David
had been Marie's best friend, they had been there for each other since way
back, since their first efforts to walk. They had gone off to the same
playground and the same nursery school, had supper and stayed the night in each
other's homes, woken together in the morning before everybody else, making up
for the brothers and sisters neither had.

    David
fell silent again immediately. He felt very bad about saying Marie's name like
that, because it must upset Fredrik now that Marie had become dead and would
never come back, or so he had been told. He turned away, pulling at his mate's
arm to make him come along.

    'Don't
go. You stay, boys.'

    David
looked back. He was crying now.

    'I'm
sorry,' he said. 'I forgot.'

    While
Fredrik manoeuvred himself to get out from the store, he wondered how young
children might construe death. Could they grasp that the dead were not with
them and never would be, that dead people don't breathe, or see, or hear or
come out to play ever again? He didn't think they could, and neither could he,
not really.

    'David,
come here. You too. What's your name?'

    'Lukas.'

    'OK.
You too, Lukas.'

    Fredrik
sat down on the dusty floor of reddish-brown pitted bricks, pointing to show
that he wanted the boys to come and sit next to him, one on either side.

    'Sit
here, and I'll tell you something.'

    They
did as he asked. He put his arms round their shoulders.

    'David.'

    'Yes.'

    'Do
you remember what we played in our house the last time you came?'

    'You
were the Big Bad Wolf,' David said and smiled. 'We were the Little Pigs. We
won. We always won!'

    'Sure,
you won, as usual. Was it fun, do you think?'

    'Yes
it was! It was great fun. Marie is good at playing.'

    She
was standing in front of him. She was smiling, insisting that they must play
now, just one more time. He sighed, the way he always did; she laughed and they
played again.

    'She
was good at playing. Great fun to play with. And she laughed a lot. You know
all that, don't you, David?'

    'Oh
yes. I know that.'

    'Good.
So it's important to know too that you mustn't ever feel worried about saying
Marie's name. It's fine, with me and with everybody.'

    David
looked fixedly at the brick floor for a while. He was trying to understand.
Then he spoke, first to Lukas, then to Fredrik.

    'Marie
is fun to play with and I'm friends with her. But she has become dead.'

    'Yes,
she has.'

    'But
you won't get sad if I say her name?'

    'No,
I promise I won't.'

    They
stayed there for a good half-hour, while Fredrik told them about Marie being
dead. He described her funeral, how the vicar had put spoonfuls of earth on her
coffin before it was lowered into a hole in the ground. David and Lukas kept
asking questions. Why do people have blood in their stomachs? How come a child
can die before the grown-ups? How can it be that you talk to somebody one day
and the next day you can't ever again?

    He
hugged them both before they left, realising that this was the first time he
had articulated the fact of Marie's death. The boys had made him. They had
listened to his explanations and asked more questions when they weren't satisfied,
forcing him to try harder. He had even spoken of his grief, admitting that he
had not cried once. This shocked them and they wanted to know why. He said
truthfully that he didn't know the answer, but it must have to do with the way
sadness could build up inside a person who somehow couldn't let it out.

    Then
the attic door closed behind them and he was left alone in total silence. He
pulled himself together, pushed his way back in among the objects in the store,
where he found the two sacks tucked away behind everything else. He turned them
upside down. Lots of stuff inside, books, clothes, crockery. He found what he
was looking for in the second sack.

    The
rifle was so large it stuck in the rough weave.

    It
was a first-class hunting rifle, he had Birger's word for that. Hunting
anything, elk, deer, hare, had become an absorbing pastime of his later years.
He had been proud of his rifle and cared for it meticulously. One of the images
Fredrik retained was of the old man seated at the kitchen table, laboriously
taking the gun apart, cleaning every piece and then putting it together again.
Afterwards he would sit there pointing it at anybody or anything that came to
mind.

    Fredrik
wrapped the rifle in one of the sacks and left with the package under his arm.

    Siw's
voice was booming, loud enough to make the walls tremble.
'You've Just Been
Playing With Me', originally called 'Foolin' Around' in 1961.
As the sound
bounced around the room, it amplified itself, became louder still and more
insistent.

    
You've
just been playing with me, so Here's your ring back and off you go
Ewert
Grens had snubbed his visitors, told them that as far as he was concerned three
was a crowd, but that they could hang around if they stayed put and shut up.
This was the third track from the tape he had picked, turning the volume up a
little for each new tune. Sven Sundkvist and Lars Ågestam looked at each other.
Ågestam was baffled. Sven shrugged dismissively: nothing doing, this is how it
goes. All they could do was wait until Siw had sung her way through the
programme. Ewert had produced the special photo of her that he had snapped
himself in the Kristianstad Palais back in 1972 and was singing along. He knew
every word and become louder each time the refrain came round.

    At
one point the singing stopped, the crunching sound of the needle on the
long-playing record took over, and Ågestam was just opening his mouth to speak
when the intro to the next item started up. Ewert waved irritably in his
general direction, shut your face, and turned the volume up a bit more.

    It's
clear you're going to leave me, all they say about you is true

    Ågestam
had heard enough of Siw. He was in a hurry and, besides, he was in charge.

    He
was fed up to the teeth with sex maniacs, rapists, flashers, paedophiles. Not
another pervert, he wanted something else, something better, to advance advance
advance.

    And
then they handed him this brief. A sex crime. But also his ticket to
advancement.

    He
had found it hard to stop himself from laughing wildly when he learned that he
was to be the head of the pre-trial investigation of Bernt Lund, while the
chase was still on. Every newscast, every front page was devoted to it, the
whole country had ground to a halt; the murder of a five-year-old girl by an escaped
convict, a known sex killer, this demanded every ounce of spare media capacity.
So, this was his big chance. His breakthrough. For the duration, the nation's
interest was focused on his case and, therefore, on him.

    I'm
in love with you but it cannot be

    You
won't get a single thing more from me

    That's
it. No more crap like this, not one more daft line.

    He
rose, walked over to the bookshelf, had a look at the awkward tape recorder,
found the off button and pressed it.

    Silence.

    The room
was totally silent. Sven stared at the floor. Ewert was trembling with rage and
his face had gone bright red.

    Ågestam
knew he had just broken the oldest unwritten rule in the building. Actually, he
didn't give a shit.

    'Grens,
I'm sorry, but I've had enough. No more pathetic rhymes for today.'

    'Fuck
off then!' Ewert shouted. 'Out of my room, you little arselicking creep!'

    Ågestam
had made up his mind.

    'You
sit here listening to folk-pop from the nineteenth century instead of doing your
job. Of course I had to shut off this bloody tosh!'

    Ewert
rose, still shouting at the top of his voice.

    'I've
listened to this music and worked harder than anyone else while you were still
filling your nappies. Now fuck off before I do something I shouldn't!'

    Defiantly,
Ågestam returned to his chair and sat down.

    'No.
I want to know where we're at. And when you've told me what you know, I'll let
you have a clue that I think you don't know about. If I'm right, I stay. If
not, I'll leave. Deal?'

    Ewert
had just made up his mind to manhandle the little prat, throw him out bodily.
He despised the prosecutors, the whole fucking lot of them were academics,
career boys, who had never been out there getting hurt. This one would crawl
away from here if he had anything to do with it. He was on his way when Sven
got up.

    'Ewert,
cool down. Think. Give him a chance. If he's got a clue he must tell us. If we
know about it already he'll go away.'

    Ewert
hesitated and Ågestam grabbed the opportunity, turning quickly to Sven.

    'Fine.
Now, where have we got with this case?'

    Sven
cleared his throat.

    'Ah.
Well, we've investigated all Lund's past addresses. Nothing so far, but we're keeping
an eye on them. And we've checked up on all his paedophile pals. Again, they're
under observation.'

    'Any
hints from the public?'

    'Flooding
in, we're up to our necks already. What with the news, broadcast and press,
people know what's happened and think they see things. Lund has been observed
everywhere in the country by now. We're sifting through the tip- offs, checking
everything, but so far there's been nothing worth while.'

    'What
about Lund's possible targets?'

    'We're
keeping watch on as many as possible. Which also means that we're in regular
communication with all nursery and primary schools within a fifty-kilometre
radius of his last one.'

    'Anything
else?'

    'Not
really, no.'

    'In
other words, you're stuck?'

    'That's
right.'