The Crow Girl

They went out into the corridor and off towards the kitchen.

Just as Jeanette had taken the hot plastic cup from the machine, Schwarz came racing in, closely followed by ?hlund.

‘Have you heard about the security van robbery on Folkungagatan?’ Schwarz adjusted his holster. ‘Billing wants us to head over and help out. Looks like they’re short of people.’

‘Yeah, yeah. If that’s what he says, then you’d better get going.’ Jeanette shrugged.

Ten minutes later Hurtig passed Jeanette the phone, and she glanced at the time on her computer, then made a note: TEL BENGT BERGMAN’S DAUGHTER.

After three rings a woman answered.

‘Bergman.’ The voice was deep, almost like a man’s.

‘Victoria Bergman? Bengt Bergman’s daughter?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Right, hello, my name’s Jeanette Kihlberg, I’m calling from the Stockholm police.’

‘I see. So how can I help you?’

‘Well … I’ve actually been given your phone number by your father’s lawyer, who’s wondering if you’d be able to act as a character witness for your father in a forthcoming trial.’

Hurtig nodded and smiled in approval at her lie. ‘Smart,’ he whispered.

There was silence on the line before the woman answered.

‘I see. So you’re calling me for that?’

‘I understand if you think it’s uncomfortable, but according to what I’ve been told you have things to say about your father that might help him. Presumably you know what he’s been accused of?’

Hurtig shook his head. ‘Christ, you’re crazy!’

Jeanette held up a hand to shut him up, and heard the woman sigh.

‘No, I’m sorry, but I haven’t spoken to either him or Mum for over twenty years, and to be honest I’m surprised he thinks I’d want anything to do with him.’

The woman’s reply made Jeanette wonder if Hurtig had been right.

‘Ah, that doesn’t quite fit what I’ve heard,’ she lied.

‘No, but there’s nothing I can do about that, is there? If you’re interested, I could tell you instead that he’s bound to be guilty. Especially if it’s got anything to do with what’s between his legs. He forced that on me from when I was three or four years old.’

The candour of the woman’s response left Jeanette speechless, and she had to clear her throat.

‘If what you’re saying is true, I can’t help wondering why you never reported him.’

What the hell is this? she wondered, as Hurtig gave her a thumbs up and smiled in triumph.

‘That’s something I prefer to keep to myself. You’ve got no right to call this number and ask questions about him. He’s dead to me.’

‘OK, I understand. I won’t disturb you again.’

There was a click, and Jeanette put the phone down.

Hurtig sat in silence waiting for her to say something.

‘We bring him in,’ she eventually said.

‘Yes.’ Hurtig stood up. ‘Do you want to interview him, or do you want me to do it?’

‘I’ll take it, but you can sit in if you like.’

Her phone rang just as Hurtig shut the door behind him, and Jeanette saw that it was her boss.

‘Where the hell are you?’ Billing sounded cross.

‘In my office. Why?’

‘I’ve been waiting for you for almost fifteen minutes. Had you forgotten that we’ve got a steering-group meeting?’

Jeanette put a hand to her forehead. ‘No, not at all. I’m on my way.’

She hung up and, as she half ran to the conference room, thought that it was going to be a long day.





Gamla Enskede – Kihlberg House


WHEN JEANETTE WAS having breakfast the next morning and opened the paper and saw the picture, she felt ashamed for the second time in as many days.

In the sports section of the morning paper was a photograph of Johan’s team.

Hammarby had won the final against Djurg?rden 4–1, and Johan had scored two of the goals.

Jeanette was mortified that she’d forgotten to call the previous evening to ask how the match had gone, even though he had said it was a cup final and everything.

The steering-group meeting had dragged on, because Billing was so long-winded, then the rest of the afternoon had been spent trying to get hold of Bengt Bergman and interviewing the prostitute who had reported him. She had been very terse, and merely repeated what she had said in her original report. It was eight in the evening by the time Jeanette left police headquarters. She fell asleep on the sofa in front of the television before ?ke and Johan came home, and by the time she woke up after midnight they had already gone to bed.

Jeanette realised that the dead boys she was working on were getting more of her attention than her own living son. But at the same time there was nothing she could do about that. Even if he was upset today, and was justified in thinking that she was neglecting him, hopefully one day he would realise that that wasn’t the case. And understand that things hadn’t been so bad for him. A roof over his head, food on the table, and parents who might have been absorbed in their own affairs but still loved him more than anything else.

But what if he grew up not seeing it like that, and only remembering the things he thought were wrong?

She heard Johan emerge from his room and go into the bathroom as ?ke came down the stairs. Jeanette stood up and got two more plates and mugs out.

‘Good morning,’ ?ke said, getting the orange juice out of the fridge and drinking a few mouthfuls straight from the carton. ‘Have you spoken to him?’

He pulled out a chair, sat down and looked out the window. The sun was shining and the sky was clear blue. A few swallows were swooping over the lawn, and Jeanette was thinking of suggesting they have breakfast in the garden.

‘No, he’s only just up. He’s in the shower at the moment.’

‘He’s very disappointed in us.’

‘Us?’ Jeanette tried to catch his eye, but he went on staring out the window. ‘I thought I was the only one he was pissed off with?’

‘No.’ ?ke turned round.

‘So what have you done to make him pissed off with you?’

?ke put his mug down with a bang, pushed his chair back and stood up abruptly.

‘Pissed off?’ He leaned across the table. ‘Is that what you think it is? That Johan’s pissed off with us?’

Jeanette was taken aback by the sudden outburst.

‘But –’

‘He’s not angry, and he’s not pissed off. He’s sad and disappointed in us. He thinks we don’t care about him, and that we argue all the time.’

‘Weren’t you at the match yesterday?’

‘No, I couldn’t make it.’

‘What do you mean, you couldn’t make it?’ Jeanette realised she was about to transfer her own shortcomings onto ?ke. At the same time she still thought it was his responsibility to make sure that everything functioned at home. She worked as hard as she could, and when that wasn’t enough she called her parents and asked them for money. All he had to do was sort out the dishes, occasionally do some laundry, and make sure that Johan did his homework.

‘No, I couldn’t make it! As simple as that!’

Erik Axl Sund, Neil Smith's books