More Bitter Than Death: A Novel Part 19

"So, what happened?" Markus asks. "Did you save her?"

"You don't need to ask that," I say. Maybe a little too curtly.

"Maybe you're feeling guilty about her dying," Markus continues, and my irritation grows.

"I think you're reading things into my dream that might not be there," I mumble, trying to keep my voice calm and controlled. Because I don't want to ruin the evening, which began so promisingly.

Aina seems to have picked up on the tension between Markus and me, because she comes to my rescue. "What do you think, Vijay? Do you also think Henrik killed Susanne?"

"My dear, you know I can't just answer that," Vijay says. "It would be totally irresponsible of me to say that without knowing more about the crime."

"Well, but you could say something. Who would actually do something like that?"

Vijay sighs deeply and squirms. "Okay," he begins slowly. "She was at home with her daughter when the murderer arrived. As far as we know she opened the door for him or her. After that she was kicked to death and the murderer left the scene. The daughter, who was sitting under the dining table, witnessed the deed but hasn't been able to identify the culprit. Is that right?"

"That's right," Markus mumbles. "The daughter says it was a man, that she saw him, that she didn't recognize him, but she couldn't describe the killer."

Vijay runs his hand over the stubble on his chin, seems to ponder something for a while, and then nods at Markus.

"What else did she say?" Vijay asks.

Markus suddenly looks dejected, shrugs his shoulders slightly. "They didn't get that much out of her, actually," he says. "They brought in a child interview specialist, and from what I hear she actually did a good job-"

Vijay raises his hand to interrupt Markus. Vijay rea.s.sures him, "It's not your fault; your colleagues seem to have done everything just right. The child was too young, pure and simple. You won't get anything helpful out of a five-year-old. What else do we know? It was a very grisly a.s.sault and the kicks were mostly aimed at the woman's face. No other weapons or implements were used. Correct?" Markus nods again. "Did they find any technical evidence at the scene?"

"Not much. The techs think the crime was committed by a man, based on the strength required and the hand and footprints that were found at the scene. They also suspect that the murderer might have worn gloves. The marks suggested that. They also found traces of some sort of talc.u.m powder, the kind you'd find on some surgical gloves. Otherwise nothing noteworthy. There were lots of different fibers at the scene, dog fur, cat fur, rabbit fur, hamster fur-all of Noah's ark seem to have lived there. And then they found some food residue and some sort of small metal shavings that the tech guys think might be soldering residue."

"Hm, that's interesting, very interesting." Vijay leans back and studies the ceiling.

"What's interesting?" Aina asks.

"That stuff about the gloves," Vijay says. "That suggests some sort of advanced planning, which in turn indicates a different kind of crime than the one you first described."

"You're going to have to explain what you mean," Markus says.

"Well, obviously there are lots of models for cla.s.sifying murderers and other violent criminals, but the one that's both simplest and the most useful divides aggression into just two types: reactive and instrumental. With reactive violence, the perpetrator kills in reaction to something: a provocation, a person, or maybe a behavior that brings up an old trauma. It's not planned. If they use a weapon, they often grab something that's available at the site, a rock or a kitchen knife, for example. The weapon or implement is usually left behind at the scene afterward. The violence can be very brutal and the crime scenes are messy and often full of technical evidence, since the deed wasn't planned. Most murders fall into this category. Domestic violence and barroom brawls are examples of typical reactive violence. The victim and the perpetrator often know each other too. So, on the surface this would look just like that kind of a crime. But . . ."

Vijay pauses for dramatic effect, looking at everyone around the table, and I have the sense that he's enjoying being the center of attention and sharing his expertise; this is his specialty. He smiles and slowly brings the palms of his hands together the way he always does when he's about to say something important.

"What?" Aina urges impatiently.

"There's something that isn't right, that business about the gloves, that the murderer might have worn gloves, I mean. That doesn't tally with the behavior pattern of a reactive perpetrator. He or she wouldn't plan the act in advance. Although, of course," Vijay mumbles almost to himself, "instrumental violence could turn into reactive violence. And then we have the fact that the violence was unjustifiably brutal. The nature of the a.s.sault might suggest that the culprit has a personal history of repeated traumatization. When he then winds up in a situation where he is perpetrating the violence, the old traumas he suffered get stirred up and cause him to behave even more brutally. That might have been what happened. The initial instrumental violence could have become reactive violence."

Markus looks at me and discreetly raises his eyebrow. I smile, knowing he's thinking that Vijay is pontificating, fixating on theoretical models that aren't applicable in reality. But Aina is the one who actually asks the question.

"Yeah, but how does all that really apply in this case? Do you think it was Henrik or not?"

Vijay hesitates for a bit, as if he's trying to think of the right way to put something.

"I think the crime was planned. The use of gloves, for example. And I think that in some way it was personal, that the kicks aimed just at the face suggest that. So, yeah, based on my very limited knowledge of the case, I guess I think it could be Henrik."

"But Henrik has an alibi," Markus says.

"Yes . . ." Vijay pauses again. "But what was it again? It was his employees who gave him the alibi, right?"

"Yes, they work for his construction company. What about that?"

"Well, they're in a subordinate position to him, dependent on him. It could well be that they're lying to help him. It wouldn't be the first time. And Henrik shooting that woman in your group proves that he is capable of murder. The fact is that it is very improbable that the murderer is anyone other than Henrik, from a purely statistical perspective, I mean. Improbable, but not inconceivable."

"Why improbable?" Markus wonders.

"Well, for the simple reason that if that were the case, then there would be two murderers running around, which is less likely statistically speaking, even if it is completely plausible. It is absolutely . . . plausible." Vijay hesitates again a few seconds before he continues. "It could actually be that a complete stranger killed that Susanne woman. Imagine what that would have been like for Henrik. Someone kills your girlfriend. Then you're accused of the murder. The child-who is not biologically yours, but whom you're very close to-is taken away from you. People have suffered psychotic breaks after far less severe traumas, right? That would explain the killing in your clinic, wouldn't it? Anyway . . . it's very important that the police not a.s.sume the perpetrator is Henrik before they have proof. That reminds me of a case in Gavle in 2005. A twenty-nine-year-old man who was living in a shed in the yard of his adoptive parents killed two of his foster siblings within the s.p.a.ce of a few months. Both the police and the prosecutor were so sure that the first murder was committed by the first victim's boyfriend that they actually completely ignored the possibility that there could have been a different a.s.sailant, even though the evidence was suggesting that. If they had acted differently, the other girl might still be alive today."

"So, you're saying it wasn't Henrik?" Markus asks.

Vijay sighs again, even deeper this time, frustrated at not having been fully understood.

"No, I'm not saying that. I'm just saying that it could be someone else. But based solely on statistics, of course, it was probably Henrik."

"That thing you said before," I begin. "That stuff about reactive versus instrumental violence. If it were planned, if it were instrumental, what would the motive have been?"

"Well, the motive in an instrumental a.s.sault could be anything: money, revenge, s.e.x. Although of course in this case there's no indication that the motivation was s.e.xual, is there? So I would guess that this crime wasn't s.e.xually motivated. What did Henrik say when they questioned him? They must have had time to do that before he killed the woman in your group and disappeared?"

"He said he was completely innocent. That he had never beaten either Kattis or his girlfriend, Susanne. That Kattis was lying about everything, that she was trying to destroy his life. And that he was at the bar the night Susanne was murdered, which the witnesses support."

"Maybe it was a complete stranger after all," Aina suggests. "A stalker. Someone who chose Susanne and went after her, lurking around in Gustavsberg?"

"There's a lot of talk about stalkers these days, actually. How would you describe the typical stalker?" Markus asks.

"Maybe we should start by defining what a stalker is," Vijay says, looking triumphant and shoveling another forkful of beef bourguignon into his mouth.

Markus nods in surprise, and asks, "Okay, is there a definition?"

Vijay smiles unctuously, addressing Markus as if he were one of his less gifted students at the university.

"There are many definitions, but I think the best is Meloy's from 1998. He said that, fundamentally, stalking is the conscious, malevolent, and recurrent pursuit and hara.s.sment of another person. And then if you look at the perpetrator, he is typically male, often with a doc.u.mented criminal background and psychiatric problems or a history of drug abuse. On average they are more intelligent than other types of criminals, although there are subsets of stalkers who have lower-than-average IQs and lack social skills."

"So they could be either smarter or dumber than your average guy? That's not really much to go on," Markus says, looking dubious, but Vijay just shrugs and smiles.

"This isn't an absolute science. At any rate with stalkers there is usually some other underlying psychiatric disorder: borderline personality disorder, narcissism, schizophrenia, antisocial personality disorder. And then of course environmental factors can also play a role. Often some form of emotional episode precedes the behavior, for example a relationship ending, or a death, or maybe just the loss of a job."

"Does that make a person crazy?" Markus asks.

"Well, if you're a vulnerable individual," Vijay says, dipping a piece of baguette into the gravy and smiling widely. Markus shakes his head as if he doesn't agree, doesn't believe what Vijay is saying.

"No, Markus," Vijay says, still smiling, his white teeth sparkling against his dark skin. "No, you wouldn't go crazy if you lost your job. You would probably just play a s.h.i.tload of computer games, right?"

Markus, who suddenly looks embarra.s.sed, pours some more wine for himself and Aina.

"But," Aina begins, "aren't there female stalkers?"

"Yeah, sure, but they're way, way less common. I recently read a study done on eighty female stalkers in the United States, Canada, and Australia. It's actually very exciting, because it showed that they have a slightly different profile than male stalkers. They tend to be single, heteros.e.xual, well-educated individuals in their thirties. Here too there's usually an underlying psychiatric disorder, usually borderline personality disorder. Female stalkers are a little less likely to resort to violence than male stalkers, but if the woman was previously romantically involved with the victim, the risk rises substantially."

I feel a cold gust of wind from the uninsulated window sweep over my body and I shiver. This whole conversation-all the death, all the hatred-makes me feel sick.

"Was the person who killed Susanne necessarily a man?" Aina asks.

"The tech guys say the perpetrator was almost definitely a man; the daughter also said that when they questioned her," Markus says.

"And purely statistically speaking, this type of crime is almost exclusively committed by men. Nine out of ten felonious a.s.saults are committed by men," Vijay added.

"Could Susanne's murder have been a robbery homicide? That little girl, she said something about the killer taking money, didn't she? I didn't think about that before," Markus says.

"Do you remember exactly what she said?" Vijay asks.

"Not really," Markus replies. "Something about him taking money, and that he could do magic."

Vijay smiles sadly and says, "Hm, except even though she said he took money, you can't be sure that that's what actually happened. You never know with kids. They have vivid imaginations, don't they? Personally I'd be very surprised if it was a robbery homicide." Vijay pauses and slips a pinch of snuff in under his lip. "Although, people do so many sick things that of course in theory, yes, it's possible. But the violence was too brutal for-" He scratches his neck a little, pondering, looks up at the ceiling, pauses for effect, and then continues.

"Kicking someone in the face, that is really very personal and suggests profound rage. Robbery homicide usually looks different from that. The perpetrator might flip out if the victim refuses to hand over their wallet, car keys, or purse. But there are exceptions of course. If the perpetrator, or perpetrators, were on drugs, that could explain the extreme violence. For example 'roofies'-Rohypnol, or flunitrazepam as the drug is technically called-could create an emotional dulling which would enable the perpetrator to commit a vicious crime. Criminals use it a lot; they call them 'crime pills.' Did you know that? It's frequently recommended on various Internet message boards for people who want to reduce their level of anxiety and dread before committing a burglary, robbery, or maybe a planned a.s.sault. Anyway, you said that the girl said that the perpetrator took money. That doesn't necessarily mean this is a robbery homicide. It may just mean that the killer took something with him. Murderers often take things from their victims: money, souvenirs."

Suddenly the nausea overtakes me, invading every cell in my body. I get up without a word and rush out of the room with Aina and Vijay's eyes burning a hole in my back. This time too I make it to the outhouse before I throw up Markus's stew into our small, rustic toilet.

I sit there on the floor for a bit.

Bowie smiles at me from the wall, but if I'm not mistaken, his eyes look worried under his blue eye shadow.

A November night.

I'm lying up against Markus's body, his hands on my belly.

"Have you made that appointment yet?" he asks.

"Next Thursday. Are you coming?"

"Of course I am. I want to see our baby. It's totally incredible. Hey, when are you going to tell Aina? She's going to be disappointed if she doesn't find out from you."

I don't respond, because I know he's right. Instead I press my body closer and listen to the sound of the waves crashing and the wind racing around the corners of the house.

"I love you," Markus says, gently kissing the nape of my neck.

I don't respond to that either, but that night, for the first time in a week, I don't dream about Hillevi. Instead I sleep peacefully, like a child, without waking up even once.

Something is different in the office.

It's as if the fluorescent lights have a warmer glow. The light-green walls seem lit from within. And I realize that what's making my office suddenly look so different is the couple sitting across from me. They've changed. Patrik is sitting upright with a smile on his face, possibly a satisfied grin. Mia is a different woman than I remember from our last session. It has been awhile since they came in together. Sick children and Patrik's job have forced us to postpone our appointments a couple of times, but the change is striking. Mia's hair falls in soft, light brown waves around her face. She's wearing makeup-I can't say that I find it particularly tasteful; green eye shadow has never been my thing-but the effort makes her look infinitely more cheerful, and so do the clothes. Dark blue jeans and a black blouse with a plunging neckline have replaced the shapeless sweat suits she normally wears.

But maybe most important of all: Mia is sitting in the armchair and Patrik is in the upright chair. I don't know why this detail catches my attention, but it feels like an important sign, a peace offering from Patrik, maybe. His bony rear end chafing against the hard wood in exchange for her more active partic.i.p.ation.

"You look unusually chipper. I hope you're doing as well as you look," I say.

Mia giggles and looks embarra.s.sed for a second. Almost as if I had asked about something intimate.

"Yeah, it's actually . . . a little bit of a miracle," she says in a voice I don't recognize. Her frail, hoa.r.s.e voice has been replaced with a full-bodied alto.

She looks hesitantly at Patrik, who still has that grin on his face. It looks mischievous somehow, as if they were two teenagers who have just had s.e.x in my bathroom. And what do I know? Maybe they did.

He scratches at his bleached hair, revealing the black roots, and pushes his horn-rimmed gla.s.ses a little further up his nose.

"Mia's right. It's . . . fantastic, actually. It feels like we're on the right track again."

"Do tell," I say. "What did you do to get everything to work?"

Mia looks up at the ceiling, seeming to think it over for a bit, and then says, "Well, we actually did everything we talked about last time. You know, draw up a chart to divide the housework and stuff. And we worked on that model you gave us for problem solving. It's definitely working but . . ."

"But what?" I ask.

"Mia stopped taking those pills," Patrik says quietly and squeezes Mia's hand hard. I can see how a redness spreads up Mia's pale throat as she nods mutely. We sit like that for a while, in silence.

"Was it hard?" I ask finally.

Mia doesn't seem to be able to answer at first. Just slowly shakes her head.

"Nah, that's what was so . . . strange. It really wasn't hard. Because as soon as Patrik stopped being mad . . . As soon as he sort of let me in . . . well, I don't know. I don't think I needed the pills anymore, not really."

"And how are you doing now?" I ask.

"Better, better than in ages. It's weird. I feel so . . . strong, as if I could climb a mountain, rock puking children night after night without sleeping, run a marathon . . . Oh, I don't know. Maybe that sounds absurd?"

"No, not at all," I say, and gently touch her arm, feel the thin, shiny synthetic material of her blouse slip away beneath my fingertips, cold and slippery like a fish.

Mia and Patrik both smile, a little shyly maybe. It all sounds a little too easy. A relationship in crisis, a partner, a mom who's taking benzodiazepines to get by, then a few weeks later everything is back to normal again: no addiction, no conflicts, gently caressing each other when they meet in the kitchen, cheeks blushing, mutual understanding and desire, cooperation, a sudden willingness to understand where the other is coming from, empathy. Is that it? Can it be so simple, so ba.n.a.l?