Third Voice (3 page)

Sandra looked at Olivia for a few seconds and nodded almost imperceptibly. Olivia leant in a little more.

‘I’ve just heard what happened and…’

‘I don’t want to go into the house.’

Sandra’s voice was thin and virtually inaudible. She pulled the blanket over her eyes and hung her head down towards her chest.

‘You don’t have to,’ said Olivia.

‘I don’t want to stay here.’

‘I understand… you’re more than welcome to come to our house, if you want.’

‘I want to go to Charlotte’s.’

The voice came from deep within her chest.

‘Who’s that?’

‘My aunt.’

‘She’s in Copenhagen apparently. As soon as the police get hold of her I’m sure she’ll come home, but it might not be until tomorrow. Don’t you want to come over to our place?’

Sandra rocked back and forth. Olivia turned around. Ulf and Maria were standing behind her. Olivia looked at Ulf and whispered as quietly as she could.

‘Where will you take her if she doesn’t want to…’

Suddenly Sandra got up from the bench. Olivia quickly reached out her hand and helped her climb down onto the road. Maria took a step towards her.

‘Hi Sandra.’

Maria put an arm around Sandra’s shoulders and started walking away from the ambulance. Olivia turned to Ulf.

‘Is it all right if we take her with us?’

‘Absolutely, no problem, if that’s what she wants. Are you still using your old mobile number?’

What’s he after now, Olivia thought. Here?

‘Why?’

‘If we get hold of her aunt, it’s probably good if I can let you know as soon as possible.’

‘Sure. Of course. Yes, it’s the same number.’

‘Good. We’ll be in touch. Nice hat, by the way.’

Ulf nodded down at the woollen hat in Olivia’s hand.

Ulf called half an hour later. He’d got hold of Sandra’s aunt in Copenhagen, told her what had happened and said that Sandra was at Maria Rönning’s house. Charlotte had been given Olivia’s mobile number and called immediately. The conversation with Sandra was short and pretty monosyllabic. Both of them were crying down the phone. Finally Sandra passed the phone back to Olivia and Charlotte explained that she would take the first plane back in the morning.

‘Can Sandra stay with you until I get back?’

‘Of course,’ said Olivia.

‘Thank you.’

Olivia ended the call.

The three of them sat in Maria’s kitchen. Maria had lit a few candles on the table and made some tea with her special blend, a kind of universal panacea that had already healed a great many wounds. More than anything, it was soothing. Maybe mostly for Maria and Olivia, Sandra was already noticeably affected by whatever she’d been given by the paramedics and was pretty zoned out. Shocked, tired and drugged. She didn’t say anything. Maria and Olivia sipped their tea and were a little unsure about how to handle the situation when the thin voice found its way out.

‘I ran out of petrol…’

Sandra stared into her cup as she said this, so quietly that Olivia and Maria had to lean towards her.

‘…I called my dad, but he didn’t answer, I thought he might have gone out to do some shopping, he was going to buy tacos, my favourite, we were going to celebrate…’

Sandra fell silent. Heavy tears ran down her cheeks and dripped into her cup.

‘What were you going to celebrate?’

‘I don’t want to go back home.’

‘I can understand that,’ said Olivia. ‘Can you stay with Charlotte?’

‘When is she coming?’

‘Tomorrow morning. She’ll come straight here.’

‘Am I going to sleep here?’

‘Don’t you want to?’

Sandra didn’t answer. Maria put her hand on her arm.

‘You can sleep in Olivia’s old room.’

Sandra nodded slightly. She pushed her teacup away and looked up at Olivia. Her gaze was absent, her eyes bleary.

‘I want my computer.’

‘And where is it?’

‘In Dad’s office. We shared it. I have loads of school projects on it. It’s in a cork computer bag, a checked one.’

‘I’ll go and get it, then.’

Olivia stood up. Maria looked at her and Olivia shrugged her shoulders a little. If Sandra wanted her computer, she would get it. It was, after all, a source of continuity for her.

‘Have you got a house key on you?’

Sandra put her hand in her pocket and pulled out a key. Olivia took it from her.

‘I’ll be right back.’

Olivia hurried out through Maria’s gate. Ulf was probably no longer at the house. Maybe I should check with him, she thought. She got out her mobile and called the last dialled number.

‘Molin.’

‘Hi, it’s Olivia.’

‘Hi! How’s it going? How is she feeling?’

‘Crap. Ulf, she’s asked me to collect her computer from the house, is that all right? She’s given me the door key.’

‘No problem, we’re done there. But you should tread carefully, you know.’

‘I know. We did the same training.’

‘Did we?’

‘Stop it.’

Olivia ended the call. ‘Tread carefully.’ Where did they pick up these idiotic expressions? In the sauna? But she understood what he meant and realised that she should have been wearing gloves. She checked the pockets of her jacket and pulled out some tattered mittens. Mittens? She put them back in her pocket and turned in towards the Sahlmanns’ house. It had started raining again and the wind was whipping between the houses. She squinted and hesitated a little. There was a dark figure standing by the gate. Or was it the shadow of a tree? She carried on walking up towards the house. The ambulance and the police car were gone, but the neighbours were still hiding behind the curtains. She felt their peering eyes following her down the poorly lit street.

She reached the gate.

There was no one there. Probably a shadow, she thought, and walked up to the front door. She opened it with Sandra’s key and stepped into the house. Suddenly the door slammed shut behind her with a loud bang.

It was pitch dark in the hallway.

In the whole house.

And totally silent.

A dead man had been hanging here not so long ago. Right in front of her. Hanging by a rope from the ceiling. Olivia suppressed these thoughts and started feeling for the light switch. Then her police training kicked in. She quickly pulled out the
mittens and put them on. A few seconds later, she realised what a sensitive instrument the human hand really is. Feeling around for a switch in the pitch dark wearing thick mittens is no easy feat. Finally she found it. The hallway light showed her the way into the living room, where she found another light switch. The room lit up. Olivia looked around. An ordinary living room with a sofa, a television, bookshelves, a floor lamp, an armchair, some paintings on the wall. She went to have a look at some photographs on a bookshelf. In quite a large photo she saw a younger Sandra and a younger Bengt Sahlmann with a dark-blonde woman of Bengt’s age. Therese, Sandra’s mother. Olivia vaguely recognised her.

A family.

And now there was only Sandra. Olivia felt her stomach tighten. She carried on into the adjoining room and turned on the ceiling light. Along one wall was a large square desk with various electrical devices, a modem, a printer, a router and a tangle of wires.

But no laptop.

And no checked laptop bag made of cork.

She had a good look around. On the shelves, chairs, and again on the desk. It wasn’t there. Perhaps it was in another room? Although Sandra had been very clear: ‘It’s in the office.’ But she could have been wrong. Her father could have moved it.

Olivia turned off the light and went back into the living room. A shiver ran down her spine. She looked back up at the ceiling, at the lamp hook that Sahlmann had probably used to hang himself, since Sandra had seen him immediately as she came into the hallway. She realised that she was breathing quietly. Why was she doing that? There hadn’t been a murder in here. Just an unhappy man who’d ended his life with a rope. The only unsettling thing that might be found here was his soul. But Olivia was the last person in the world to engage with such hocus-pocus, so she headed towards the kitchen.

The ceiling lamp was casting a dim light across the room. Olivia had another look around. No laptop. Just a kitchen like
any other. White cabinets, magnets on the dishwasher, a fruit bowl, a worktop with various little bottles, a table in the middle with a green plastic tablecloth, a half-drunk glass of water next to the cooker. Just a mundane, everyday place until only a few hours ago.

Now it was something else entirely.

Olivia felt that stinging sensation in her stomach again, how life could suddenly be thrown into disarray, from the safety of daily life to shock and sorrow. She looked at the kitchen worktop. A packet of taco shells, a jar of taco sauce, a can of sweetcorn and a bag of corn chips lay on the side. She remembered Sandra talking about her favourite food, and saying that her father was going to buy it to celebrate whatever it was they were going to celebrate. She opened the fridge. There was an unopened packet of mince on the top shelf.

All the ingredients for her favourite meal.

And then he’d gone and taken his own life.

Olivia turned the light off in the kitchen and went back out into the living room. Something was bothering her. She didn’t really know what, but something wasn’t right. She sat down on the sofa and looked down at her mittens. The silence in the room enveloped her. What had happened in here? Slowly she turned her head and looked towards the hallway where Sandra had come in, up at the ceiling where her father had been hanging, down at the floor where the remains of a stain showed where the police had cleared up, and then at the dark corridor that led into the bedrooms.

Should I go and have a look there as well?

She rubbed her mittens together and made a decision. It wasn’t far from the sofa to the corridor. A couple of metres in, she stopped. She had heard a noise. A scraping noise.

Was it the branches brushing against the bedroom windows?

She took another step forward and stood still outside the half-open door. The scraping noise had stopped. It was deadly silent. She reached for the door. Just when she was about to push it
open, a sharp sound cut through the house. A phone. A shrill signal that made her rush back out into the corridor. With a few quick steps she was back in the living room. The phone was on the shelf opposite the sofa. It rang again. She approached the shelf. When it rang a third time, she picked up the handset and almost dropped it on the floor because of her mittens.

But she answered.

‘Yes?’

‘Hi, it’s Alex Popovic. I’d like to speak to Bengt. Is that Sandra?’

‘No.’

‘Is Bengt there?’

‘No. Are you a friend of the family?’

‘…who am I speaking to?’

‘Olivia Rivera. Bengt Sahlmann has committed suicide. If you’d like more information, you should contact the police.’

Olivia put the phone down and went towards the front door.

She’d done what Sandra had asked her to do.

Almost.

There was no sign of any computer.

The ash at the end of his cigarillo was just a centimetre from his yellowed fingertips. Soon it would fall down in front of his bare feet. Nevertheless he’d hardly smoked it: he’d lit the cigarillo, taken one big puff and then been swallowed up by the music, and
Scheherazade
. And that’s where he remained. He’d positioned the speakers so that the sound intertwined just where he was sitting, naked, eyes closed, in the middle of the large room. The light from a couple of alabaster lamps shone onto the beautiful floorboards, the shadow of his lean body crept up as a silent figure on the wall. The large, bare north-facing wall that he loved so. The opposite wall was covered from floor to ceiling with books with dark spines, thick, quiet books that he’d
never read and never planned to read. They’d been there when he moved in. He turned his naked body slightly, as though there was a bar of music he couldn’t reach. There wasn’t. All the tones and sounds had gathered in there, in his head. In the same place as that woman. The woman who bled and screamed and died, over and over again, right in front of his helpless eyes, until his closed eyes lost sight of her and just the music remained. The loud, beautiful music had done it again. Purified him. Cleansed him. Eliminated all the horror from his brain.

This time.

He lowered his head slightly and opened his eyes. A new sound had forced its way in, a sound he didn’t want to hear. He stepped to the side and turned off the music. His mobile was on the amplifier. He saw who was calling and answered, the familiar voice reaching into his consciousness.

‘Bengt Sahlmann has hanged himself.’

The ash fell onto the floor.

Sandra’s eyes closed straight away. Maria tucked her in and saw that she was already asleep before the blanket was pulled over her. She looked at the young girl for a few minutes before switching off the bedside lamp. She subconsciously avoided drawing parallels between Sandra and Olivia – she didn’t want to face those thoughts tonight.

‘There was no laptop there.’

Olivia threw the jacket over a chair in the kitchen and slumped down at the table. Maria filled up her teacup.

‘Sandra has fallen asleep.’

‘Good. I basically looked all over the house and it wasn’t there.’

‘Well, you can’t do any more.’

‘I can check if it’s at Bengt’s work.’

‘Yes. But her aunt can do that too.’

‘She asked me to do it.’

Maria nodded. She realised that the parallels she had wanted to avoid had taken root in Olivia. She had already made room for Sandra.

‘What did Bengt do?’ Olivia asked.

‘He worked for Customs and Excise. Are you staying the night?’

‘Yes.’

What did she think? That she was going to go back to Söder in the middle of the night and let Sandra wake up here on her own? Not that she mistrusted Maria’s kindness or her ability to serve Sandra an excellent and nutritious breakfast. But it was Olivia who’d made a connection with Sandra.