With that she had stormed out, and two days later she left for Kos without speaking to him again.
And now she was regretting it.
Things hadn’t been easy for Krister. His maternal grandparents had broken off all contact with his mother when she had gotten pregnant at eighteen. She had brought him up on her own and had provided for them both by working at Systemet. Being a single parent in the mid-1950s was no picnic, and Krister probably hadn’t been the easiest of children. When he left school with no qualifications, she had fixed him up with a job at Systemet, and he’d never left.
He had never met his father nor his maternal grandparents. They had died without ever having seen him, embittered by the scandal to the very end.
Kicki’s father had done his best to help his sister as much as he could, but he hadn’t exactly been well off either. When both of Kicki’s parents died in a car accident at the end of the nineties, Cecilia had tried to support Kicki, but she hadn’t been able to offer much in the way of consolation.
Just a few years later, Cecilia had begun to have difficulty holding the bottles when she was working the checkout counter. It was as if her left thumb simply gave way. She started to drop bottles, and the manager was always on her back. She was in a constant state of anxiety and blamed the fact that she was close to retirement. A lifetime in the service of Systemet with all the heavy lifting involved had taken its toll.
Eventually her coworkers had persuaded her to visit the company’s medical center. After a series of tests she was given a diagnosis by the doctors—she was suffering from amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, a progressive and incurable motor neuron disease that slowly paralyzes nerve after nerve, muscle after muscle. When the paralysis reaches the lungs, the patient dies.
In Cecilia’s case, it was no more than a year between the diagnosis and her funeral. She simply gave up. She lay down and waited for death, slowly stiffening in the fetal position and shrinking right in front of them. She had neither the strength nor the will left to fight.
Krister had found it very difficult to deal with his mother’s condition. He couldn’t cope with watching her fade away. He would put off visiting her in the nursing home for as long as possible and refused to talk about Cecilia’s illness. He seemed to think that everything would be all right if he just pretended that nothing was wrong.
After the funeral he had gotten so drunk that Kicki had been afraid of what he might do. He had sat at home sniveling and weeping with a bottle in each hand. After a while he had fallen asleep fully dressed on the sofa, his face red and puffy with the alcohol. It was as if he had only just grasped the fact that his mother was dead.
Kicki poured herself another glass of ouzo. Her hand was shaking as she put down the bottle; her unease over Krister was gnawing away in the pit of her stomach. She must call Thomas Andreasson first thing in the morning and find out what he wanted.
WEDNESDAY, THE SECOND WEEK
CHAPTER 9
Thomas spotted Kicki Berggren even before he reached the bottom of the stairs behind the reception desk in Nacka station.
She was wearing a white denim jacket adorned with sparkling studs. Faded jeans, a tight pink top, and high-heeled sandals completed the picture. From behind, she looked like a young girl; she had a slender figure and boyish hips. When she turned around he could see that she was a middle-aged woman, closer to fifty than forty. The blond hair was too long to be flattering. She certainly wasn’t a natural blonde; the dark roots gave that away. A fine network of lines above her upper lip revealed her to be a habitual smoker. She was very tan, almost mahogany.
He wondered how she had managed to acquire a tan like that in the Swedish summer. He also noticed that she was fiddling nervously with a denim purse. It was obvious she was dying to light up, but the sign on the wall was very clear: “No Smoking.”
Thomas walked up to her and held out his hand. “Good morning, I’m Thomas Andreasson. Thank you for coming in so quickly. I understand you’ve been away?”
“I’ve been in Greece,” Kicki said. She gave the impression of being ill at ease, presumably because she was wondering why he wanted to speak to her.
Thomas showed her to his office.
“Coffee?” He poured two cups; coffee was a good icebreaker. “I’m afraid it doesn’t taste particularly good, but it’s all we’ve got. Please sit down.” He pointed to the chair opposite his desk.
Kicki sat down and crossed her legs, her shoe dangling from one foot as if it might fall off at any moment.
“Can I smoke in here?” she asked, more in hope than expectation. She had already opened her purse and dug out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter before she asked the question.
“I’m sorry, but you’re not allowed to smoke anywhere inside the building. I hope you can manage for a little while longer?”
Kicki nodded and closed her purse. Thomas could see the anxiety in her eyes.
“What did you want to talk to me about?” she asked. “My cell phone broke about a week ago, and I just got home and heard your message and realized something had happened. I’ve tried to call Krister lots of times, but he doesn’t answer. It’s nothing serious, is it? What’s he done?”
The questions came tumbling out in one long breath.
Thomas took his time. This was the most difficult aspect of his job—how to tell a person that someone she cares about is dead. He decided to start with a question instead.
“Are you and your cousin close?”
Kicki nodded. “He’s my only relative. His mother was my aunt. We see each other all the time; that’s the way it’s been ever since we were kids. He’s only a year younger than me. We usually spend Christmas together, just the two of us.”
Thomas took a deep breath. “I’m very sorry to tell you this, but your cousin is dead. His body was found on the island of Sandhamn in the Stockholm archipelago a week ago. He drowned and washed ashore.”
Kicki’s purse landed on the floor. Her mouth opened, but she was silent for a few seconds.
“He’s dead?”
“I’m afraid so.”
Her eyes filled with tears. Thomas passed her a box of tissues; she took one and blew her nose.
“Would you like a glass of water?” he asked.
Kicki shook her head. She bent down and picked up her purse. She placed it on her knee and clutched it with both hands. Her mouth was trembling as she stared at Thomas, tension running throughout her body.
“We think he died in the early spring. When did you last speak to him?”
“I haven’t spoken to him since March. I’ve been away for three months, working in a Swedish restaurant on Kos.”
“Was there any particular reason you went there?”
“I went with a friend who worked there before. I got back last night and heard your voice mail. I called back as soon as I could.”
“How often did you usually speak to one another?” Thomas asked, offering the box of tissues once more.
Kicki squirmed uncomfortably. “It varied.” She looked down, studying her bright-pink nails.