Linnea is dead? Sofia thinks.
There are brief periods of lucidity even in psychosis. Sofia realises that this is one of them, and quickly formulates another question to stay in contact with Annette Lundstr?m.
‘What’s happened, Annette?’
The woman smiles. ‘My beloved daughter is with God. It was predetermined.’
Sofia realises she won’t get any further with that question now. ‘What was Linnea’s relationship with Viggo Dürer?’ she asks instead.
Annette’s rigid smile fills Sofia with disquiet. ‘Relationship? Oh, I don’t know … Linnea liked him. They played together a lot when she was little.’
‘She told me that Viggo Dürer abused her.’
Annette’s face darkens, and she goes back to gnawing at her fingers. ‘Impossible,’ she says defiantly. ‘Viggo’s so prudish, so concerned about not upsetting anyone.’
Annette lets out a deep sigh and lowers her head. She starts to talk in a quiet voice, and Sofia realises she’s quoting something.
‘Outside the Home of Shadows you shall behave with modesty in body and spirit,’ she says. ‘There are people who do not understand you and wish you harm, slandering you and then imprisoning you.’
Sofia understands where the words come from.
She glances at the clock. The orderlies from the psychiatric clinic will be here any moment. ‘You’re talking about the Home of Shadows,’ she begins. ‘Karl did that as well. He described it as a sort of sanctuary.’
Silence. Annette Lundstr?m needs questions rather than suppositions.
‘What is the Home of Shadows?’ Sofia asks instead.
She’s right. Annette looks up at her.
‘The Home of Shadows is the original country,’ she says, ‘where mankind can be close to God. It’s the land of children. But it also belongs to adults who understand how ancient man lived. Men, women and children, hand in hand. We are all children inside.’
Sofia shudders. A country for children, created by adults for their own desires.
She is beginning to suspect that Annette Lundstr?m’s psychosis not only contains an element of truth, but might even be some sort of confession. What she is saying sounds logical if you are aware of what she’s talking about. Her psychosis is prompting her to confess.
‘Do you meant a physical place, or is it a state of mind?’
‘The Home of Shadows exists where the faithful are; it only exists in the presence of the chosen children of men. On sacred ground in beautiful Jutland, and in the forests up in Polcirkeln.’
Sofia pauses to think. Denmark and Polcirkeln again.
She forces herself to smile. ‘Who was it who led the faithful?’ she goes on in a breezy tone of voice, as if to make light of everything.
It works, and Annette lights up. ‘Karl and Viggo,’ she begins. ‘And P-O, of course. He and Viggo took care of all the practical matters. They made sure the children were happy, that they had everything they could have wanted.’
‘And what was your role? And the children’s?’
‘I … we women probably weren’t that important. But the children were obviously among the initiated. Linnea, Madeleine, and the adopted children, of course.’
‘Madeleine? The adopted children?’
It’s as if everything Annette says demands a follow-up question. But her answers are unforced, and Sofia can only assume that what the woman is telling her is true.
‘Yes. We called them Viggo’s adopted children. He helped them come to Sweden from terrible conditions abroad, and they lived on the farm until he found new families for them. Sometimes they only stayed a matter of days, and sometimes a few months. We raised them in accordance with the word of Pythia –’
Annette jumps at the sound of the internal phone, and Sofia realises that the orderlies from Rosenlund have arrived.
One last question.
‘Who else was at the farm? You said there were several women?’
Annette Lundstr?m’s smile is still in place. Sofia thinks it looks dead, empty and hollow.
‘Everyone from Sigtuna,’ she says happily. ‘And of course there were others who came and went. Other men as well. And their Swedish children.’
Sofia knows that this is something she’s going to have to tell Jeanette, and makes a mental note to call her as soon as possible.
The handover takes place without drama, and five minutes later Sofia is sitting alone in her office, tapping a pen against the edge of her desk.
Psychosis, she thinks. Psychosis as a form of truth serum.
Highly unusual, not to mention improbable.
She’s just found out from the Rosenlund staff that Linnea Lundstr?m hanged herself in her home while Annette was watching television in the living room.
It feels as if Linnea was there very recently. Sofia can see her in her mind’s eye, sitting in the chair on the other side of the desk. A young girl who wanted to talk, wanted to feel better. They had been making progress in their sessions, and she feels deep sorrow about what has happened.
She looks out of the window. The two orderlies who came to collect Annette Lundstr?m are leading her towards a car park on the other side of the street. The woman’s thin, hunched figure looks so frail, as if the wind and rain out there could tear her apart.
A slender, grey silhouette dissolving into air.
A life torn to shreds.
Glasbruksgatan – Silfverberg House
HURTIG GETS IN the driver’s seat and pulls out his mobile while he waits for Jeanette to finish talking to Ivo Andri?. Before Jeanette has time to open the car door he manages to type a quick message. ‘Talk tonight? Are you sending the pictures?’
He starts the car and winds down the window to let some fresh air in as Jeanette jumps into the passenger seat and smiles at him.
Ivo Andri?’s good mood seems to have been infectious, and she pats Hurtig cheerily on the thigh.
‘So what do we do now?’ he says.
‘We should probably go and see Charlotte Silfverberg and tell her what we know. Her husband was murdered, and it looks like these two women did it, and she’s got a right to know before she reads about it in the papers.’
Hurtig drives through the cordon, out of the open gate and onto the street.
They sit in silence all the way past S?dra ?ngby and Brommaplan, and as they’re passing Alvik and can see the boats down at Sj?paviljongen he turns to Jeanette. ‘Do you like boats?’
‘Not much,’ she says. ‘I’m probably the type that prefers a summer cottage.’
‘You mean you prefer simplicity?’ he says.
‘Yes, something like that.’ Jeanette sighs. ‘Simplicity. God, that sounds dull.’
He can see that she’s contemplating saying something. ‘Billing and von Kwist will probably be pleased that these cases are solved,’ she says eventually. ‘But I’m not, and you know why?’