ERIK FELL ASLEEP in the middle of his bedtime story, completely exhausted by a day of outdoor play in the beautiful but windy weather. Sandra remained sitting on the edge of his bed for a while, stroking his cheek and smelling his newly washed hair. Sometimes she couldn’t get enough of this small person who played such a big role in her life.
But everything grew so uncontrollably at this time of year, and it was due to rain tomorrow. The grass needed cutting before it got soaked, because by the time it dried out again it would be more meadow than lawn, and she didn’t want that. In other words, it needed doing now because soon the Friends-on-call calls would start coming in on her mobile. She ran her hand through her son’s shock of hair, straightened the duvet one last time and left the room, closing the door behind her.
She put on her boots and stepped outside into the unusually balmy spring evening. Apart from the singing of the birds, the garden was silent—not many cars passed here. It was a shame to break the silence with the sound of the petrol lawn mower, but that was how it had to be. In recompense, she could draw comfort from the smell of freshly cut grass and the satisfaction of working with her body while her thoughts kept turning in her head.
The newly discovered knowledge of who the rapist was brought her no peace. Despite the fact that she didn’t believe in any higher powers, it felt like the information had landed in her lap for a reason. She had been given an opportunity to influence that man’s future—hopefully for the worse—and she truly wanted to take that opportunity.
Gossip was a tried and tested way of destroying a person’s reputation, but the question was whether talking crap about Hallin would have any impact on him, given the type of person he was. Sandra’s network was limited; his was probably enormous. It would likely come back to bite her with double the force and he would be unaffected by any of it.
In terms of the other crimes he had committed, she couldn’t do anything. Sandra didn’t have any photographs and as far as the police were concerned no crime had taken place. It would be impossible to prove there had been any alcohol in his bloodstream, nor that Hallin’s car had been in the accident, since it didn’t bear any trace of it. The photographs were the only thing that existed, and she didn’t have access to those.
Today she bitterly regretted that she hadn’t immediately reported the rape. If only she had brought herself to pick up the phone, everything would have been different. An investigation of the crime scene would have proven that Hallin had been there, that he had drunk whisky from one of her mugs and that his car had been parked on the gravel outside the house. A medical examination of Sandra’s body would have uncovered signs of violence, traces of nonconsensual sexual intercourse. They would also have been able to prove that Hallin was the father of the child born nine months later, and forced him to take financial responsibility.
And even if Sandra, in her self-determined isolation following the rape, hadn’t had a clue that a serious car accident had happened just a few hundred metres away, the police would almost certainly have made the connection. They might not have been able to prove his involvement, but Hallin would have compromised himself. They would have tracked his movements that day and probably found out when and what he had drunk before driving to the DIY store. Perhaps that would have been enough to put him behind bars for drunk driving, and there was always the possibility that he would have eaten humble pie and confessed to everything.
Those were Sandra’s thoughts as the sun sank below the treetops in the west, while the cut grass spread its sweet scent. Once the job was done, she put the mower in the shed, checked the pot plants and the other plants farther from the house. She decided nature would have to deal with watering them the next day and went inside to take off her boots. She quickly checked on Erik and then padded outside barefoot to the terrace and put her feet up on the table. She continued to blame herself for what had happened as she waited for the first call of the evening.
If only she had shown a little drive when it had been called for, life might have taken a different path. Sandra cursed her weakness at that moment. Not only for her own sake but also Kerstin’s. They had to struggle on with their burdens while that swine—who against all odds now had a name—carried on as if nothing had happened. All things considered, it might have been better not to find out who he was.
Sandra was dwelling on that thought when Kerstin called—the first caller of the evening.
“Something occurred to me after our last call,” said Kerstin. “You said you were sure that Hallin was alone in the car.”
Sandra waited.
“Didn’t you?” said Kerstin. “Do you stand by that?”
“I do,” said Sandra, without any further comment.
“Okay,” said Kerstin with a smile in her voice. “I know you’re trying to squeeze me, but that’s just silly.”
“I don’t think you would think so if you knew the reason why,” said Sandra seriously. “But I maintain that he didn’t have any passengers in the car.”
Kerstin evaluated what Sandra had said—perhaps the tone of it frightened her. But soon enough she collected her thoughts.
“If the photographer didn’t have anything to do with Hallin, he or she was probably just as much to blame for my husband’s prolonged suffering. And even his death. It might have been possible to save him if he had received medical attention in time. The photographer documented the scene of the accident but didn’t call emergency services.”
“Another person to hate then,” Sandra noted quietly.
“But it might be worse than that,” said Kerstin. “As you’ve noticed, I’ve thought a lot about this since we last spoke. There’s another possibility. What if the photographer was involved in the accident?”
“Then why document the fallout?” Sandra responded.
“To direct suspicion elsewhere? Hallin might just have been passing. Stopped and taken in the situation, but concluded there was nothing he could do, that the situation appeared to be under control. He may have assumed that someone—the photographer—had already raised the alarm. The photographer took a photo of the Audi above the ravine, and then implied that it was the car that had caused the accident and then left the scene.”
“Shouldn’t Hallin have contacted the police later on then, when the newspapers reported it as a single-car crash that was only discovered after four days?” Sandra queried.
She wanted Hallin to be guilty. At the same time, the scenario set out by Kerstin was completely plausible. And the fact that Hallin hadn’t contacted the police immediately was hardly surprising: he had been driving while drunk and had just raped a woman. The fact that he didn’t contact them later on was because he didn’t want to admit to having been in the area at that time if the woman—Sandra—had unexpectedly reported the rape.
“Perhaps he doesn’t read the papers,” Kerstin speculated without conviction.
“That may be the case,” said Sandra, whose thoughts were heading in a different direction.
“It would explain why he didn’t take the blackmail attempt seriously,” said Kerstin. “He wasn’t involved in the car accident, so he ignored the whole thing.”
“That’s true,” said Sandra, who really didn’t want it to be that way. “But then surely he would have reported the blackmail attempt to the police?”
“He probably thought it was just a joke,” said Kerstin, with a laugh. “When you think about it, six million is a pretty daft sum to demand.”
Sandra grinned too. They had come so far in their conversation that they could laugh at it all. It was a big step forward for Kerstin—for both of them. Even if Kerstin wasn’t aware that this therapy was operating in both directions.
When the call was over, Sandra lost herself in her thoughts once again. Hallin could be innocent in relation to the tragic accident. It bothered her very badly, but the possibility was there. But what other reasonable explanation could there be for the photographer handing over their evidence—which implicitly implicated Hallin as the guilty party—to the widow without calling 112?
There wasn’t one. Hallin was certainly a rapist, but there was nothing to suggest that he made light of life and death in the same way. He had let Sandra live even though she could report him. He hadn’t bothered to threaten or punish the blackmailer. And not raising the alarm when passing the scene of an accident wasn’t punishable, especially not if you were acting in good faith.
Kerstin’s subdued rage would probably be directed in a different, unknown direction, while Sandra was henceforth alone in her aversion towards Hallin. His only crime was a rape almost four and half years ago, of which no trace remained. Except for her son, who no one except Sandra could claim had been conceived in circumstances that weren’t consensual.
She shivered when she thought about that afternoon and about that dreadful wretch who had taken the liberty of turning her body and integrity into his temporary plaything. She wanted to torture him, crush him—a feeling that had grown stronger than the unwillingness to hear his voice, perhaps even meet him. She hadn’t felt that way before she had known who he was, when she had stoically plodded on in resigned ignorance.
And she could do something small to Hallin, it occurred to her. Even if it was out of proportion to the crime he had committed. She could shake him up, drive a wedge into the idyll of family life.
She could demand child support.
That ought to be straightforward and painless. All he had to do was cough up a one-off fee to cover the years that had passed and what remained of Erik’s school years. Without getting the authorities involved, of course, which he would probably want to avoid—as would Sandra, on reflection. She had no other intentions other than claiming what was rightly hers. It would be a welcome addition to her limited funds, while also functioning as an acknowledgment from Hallin. And it was definitely better than nothing.
But did she dare?
Sandra remembered how during a previous call she had told Kerstin off for putting herself in danger by attempting blackmail against a man with a lack of respect for human life. But now there was no longer anything to suggest that Hallin had such a careless disregard for life. And a demand for a sum equal to the state-regulated child support levels wasn’t extortion.
SHE WAS IN such turmoil that she had felt like she needed beta blockers ahead of this conversation. But she didn’t really understand what those were—she suspected they were some sort of prescription drug that was difficult to obtain unless you had some kind of heart problem. Instead, she helped herself to two glasses of red wine to dampen her anxiety, and it helped a little.
It’s just one phone call, Sandra, she told herself. Show your best side. He can’t see you—don’t show your uncertainty.
She was carefully prepared, had written down all the points that were to be ticked off, and had gone over the list several times so that she knew it by heart. She had practiced her tempo and tone and tried out various phrases, but her mind still went blank when he picked up.
“My name is Sandra,” she began. “I’m the mother of a three-and-a-half-year-old boy who was conceived through rape in January 2014.”
There was silence for several eternally long seconds, then he said, “That’s an interesting conversation starter. Would you like me to congratulate you or commiserate? Never mind—how can I help?”
“It just so happens that you are the father of the child. Do you remember?”
Why the hell had she said that? Talking over old memories with the rapist was not what she had planned. Now there was an even longer silence.
“Now I definitely think you’re mistaken, Sandra,” he said, finally. “Perhaps you’ve dialled the wrong number?”
“I’m sure I haven’t,” Sandra said. “And you know that too.”
“You know, this is a startling conversation at this time of evening—even if I do say so myself. Are you sober?”
“Let’s skip the bullshit and get to the point.”
“Oh right—there’s a point to this. Exciting.”
Not a trace of worry in Hallin’s voice. All comments so far had been condescending—in an almost amused tone. What exactly had she been expecting? That he would break down and beg for forgiveness?
“I’m offering you the opportunity to make things right.”
“I’m afraid I’ll have to decline. I suggest you contact the child’s father instead—he’ll probably pay up.”
“That’s exactly what I’m doing. I thought you might be more inclined to take responsibility if we talked about this tête-à-tête, as it were. But if you would rather involve the authorities and so on, we can do it like that.”
“You’ve come to the wrong person,” Hallin said, this time without the ironic tone she had begun to get accustomed to.
Sandra was unsure whether it was a threat or yet another attempt at denial.
“I can always speak to your wife,” she said. “I assume she takes the same view as I do that men should take responsibility for their children.”
“Don’t even try it, sweetheart. My wife and I don’t keep secrets from each other, so that’s a nonstarter.”
Well, of course. It seemed highly probable that Hallin had gone straight home after raping a young woman and told the missus about the day’s big news . . .
“I take it you would prefer me to contact the authorities about the matter?” Sandra said provocatively.
“What the hell is it you want?” Hallin snarled in a way that suggested pent-up rage.
“I had a package deal in mind,” Sandra said. “In return for a one-off fee, you will never hear about the kid again, you will not hear from the authorities, and you won’t hear from me.”
“What sort of sum are we talking about?” he said angrily. “I’m asking out of curiosity, not because I have any intention of even considering your so-called offer. Since I don’t have a fucking clue what you’re talking about.”
“Patchy memory? Doesn’t surprise me given how drunk you were. I thought three thousand kronor per month for nineteen years would be about right. A total of six hundred and eighty-four thousand kronor.”
“Six hundred and eighty-four thousand? You’re having a laugh.”
“I would say it’s a very generous offer. You won’t have to buy Christmas presents or birthday presents. We can set up an instalment plan if you like—in that case it’ll be three thousand seven hundred and seventeen kronor per month up to and including December 2033, assuming you start payments immediately.”
“So you’re a gold digger trying her hand at extortion are you?” Hallin said in a tone completely devoid of human warmth.
“I consider it a comfortable way out for you, without all the bother of involving the authorities. Police, prosecutors, social services—well, you know. And as for my son and me, we avoid being associated with a slimeball who has to rape to get some.”
“Way out? Ha ha. Call it what you want. But let me tell you that things didn’t work out well for the last person who tried to blackmail me, so don’t count your chickens.”
“I’ll text you my account details,” Sandra said coolly. “Thanks for your time.”
“Crazy bitch,” Hallin said and hung up.