Saturday Evening
Åsa was with Christoffer and Jonathan at a two-year-old’s birthday party. Conny Sjöberg had been Christmas shopping with the older children, though it was still only November. If Christmas shopping seemed stressful now, it was disastrous to wait until December rolled around. Besides, it was pure delight to sit at home in an armchair, sipping mulled wine in December, knowing that almost everyone else in Stockholm was either slogging through crowded department stores or tormented by anxiety at the prospect of doing so. That Åsa was one of the last-minute shoppers did not make it any less enjoyable.
Now he had hidden all the Christmas presents, wrapped and ready, in a cupboard to which, by tradition, Åsa and the children did not have access during the last two months of the year. The cooking patrol were gathered around the kitchen table, drawing up the guidelines for the regular Saturday dinner project.
‘Sara will get out all the ingredients for the tapenade,’ said Sjöberg, pointing to a recipe in a cooking magazine. ‘Then you’ll try to measure the exact amount it says, and put it in the blender. I’ll help you crush the garlic. Do you know what this means: “tbs”?’
‘It means “tablespoon”,’ said Sjöberg. ‘I’ll show you which one it is. Maja will roll the dough out into thin squares and then you’ll both help spread the tapenade on the dough when you’re ready. Okay?’
‘Okay,’ said the girls in unison.
‘Simon will make the salmon salad here, but it’s in the same magazine, so you’ll have to share. You’ll manage by yourself, won’t you?’
‘You bet,’ said Simon. ‘But the salmon has to marinate for three hours, so we’ll never get anything to eat!’
‘Ha, ha,’ Sjöberg gloated, ‘I’ve already marinated it! But take care of everything else first, and we’ll add the salmon last. I’ll peel the potatoes for the turbot and grate the horseradish.’
‘I don’t like horseradish,’ said Maja sullenly.
‘No, it is a bit strong, but we’re having peas too, and melted butter, so I’m sure you’ll be fine. Let’s get going!’
‘Stop!’ said Maja. ‘We’ve got to have a cooking beer too!’
‘Of course, I completely forgot about that. Can you bring it in from the balcony? Simon, help her open the door.’
The project was in progress, and this was truly the high point of the week for everyone involved. Sjöberg put on his apron and reminded himself that he was going to get an appropriate size apron for each of the children as a Christmas present. Maja came in twice with three soft drinks and a beer, and Simon opened them with a practised hand. Sjöberg set the potatoes in the sink and started to peel them. The kids were concentrating on their tasks and he wondered what the mood was like among Vannerberg’s children this Saturday afternoon. Poor things, he sighed to himself. Hans Vannerberg’s façade undeniably seemed spotless, but had there been a crack somewhere after all?
The investigation was at a standstill and nothing new had emerged as the week came to an end. Ingrid Olsson had never planned to sell her house, so she hadn’t spoken to Vannerberg or any other estate agent about it. True, Pia Vannerberg was certain her husband had said he was going to meet a seller that evening, but could you rely on that? She might have misheard or misinterpreted him, or he might have misspoken. Unless the murder was premeditated. That would mean someone had arranged a meeting with Vannerberg in Ingrid Olsson’s house, perhaps for the purpose of murdering him. In that case, what relationship did this person have to Olsson? No, that seemed too far-fetched. The guy had an irreproachable past, he had stable finances, no unpaid debts, no unusual transactions, and he was not in any of the crime registers. He was unlikely to be having an affair, had no enemies and no shady contacts.
On the other hand, the buyer at Åkerbärsvägen 13 maintained that they had not agreed to meet that particular Monday, but that Vannerberg would stop by when he was ‘in the neighbourhood’. It was most likely that he decided to stop by that very evening, to get it over with, but then wouldn’t he have called first? He was home, after all, and it would take a little while to walk there. And if it was number 13 Vannerberg was going to, what kind of lunatic had taken up lodgings at 31? Or had he been followed by someone who took the opportunity to kill him in the empty house, and in that case, how had Vannerberg got in? Had the old lady forgotten to lock the door? That didn’t seem very likely. No, this was truly a mystery.
The only remarkable thing about Vannerberg was that he lacked a father. And that he had a mother who was in the striptease business, but that could not be held against him. After Petra Westman got hold of Vannerberg’s personal diary, the investigation team had mapped out his final weeks, but nothing interesting had emerged. On his computer at VM Property nothing of interest had been found either. He had nothing personal at all on the computer, and his e-mail communication was limited to a few messages a week; nothing concerning his possible meeting with the mysterious seller at Åkerbärsvägen 31. Jorma Molin had nothing to hide either, apart from a few speeding tickets and an old overdue payment notice.
As far as Ingrid Olsson was concerned, Sandén relayed that Margit Olofsson had nothing to say about her other than that she was a person who rarely smiled. Olofsson took pity on her because she was old, sick and, above all, alone, and because she had asked her for help. According to Olofsson, Olsson had a rather indifferent attitude about the murder, which was somewhat surprising. But indifference was not a crime.
Nothing had been stolen from the house either. The jewellery box, which proved to contain the only things of value that Ingrid Olsson owned, was untouched, and the technicians, with the meticulous Bella Hansson in the lead, had not found any traces of anyone other than the owner herself elsewhere in the house – only in the kitchen, hall and living room. Margit Olofsson’s fingerprints were found here and there. Vannerberg’s fingerprints were in the kitchen and on the outside door handle, which might suggest that he opened the door and entered the house on his own, if it had been unlocked. On the kitchen chair, the probable murder weapon, there was another, unidentified set of fingerprints, not found anywhere else in the house.
His musings were interrupted by the six-year-old’s happy voice.
‘Daddy, you were going to show me the “tbs”,’ said Sara enthusiastically.
‘Of course, the “tbs”,’ said Sjöberg.
He took the measuring spoons from one of the kitchen drawers.
‘Look here, this is the tablespoon measure.’
‘Which one is the “dl”?’ Sara asked.
‘That’s this one,’ Sjöberg answered. ‘It’s called “decilitre”. What’s measured in decilitres?’
‘Look, Daddy, look how nicely I’m making this!’ said Maja, showing him the slabs of dough she was rolling out.
‘Yes, look how clever you are. Now I’ll get out the baking tray and put some greaseproof paper on it, then we’ll put the spirals on there.’
Simon was busy cutting green peppers, cherry tomatoes and chillies into small pieces, and Sjöberg placed a hand on his shoulder.
‘That looks really nice.’
‘I know,’ the eight-year-old answered self-assuredly.
The sound of the outside door being opened and Åsa’s breathless voice was heard from the hall. Maja let go of the rolling pin and rushed out to her. Sjöberg followed and greeted her happily, then he lifted the twins out of the pushchair in the stairwell, closed the outer door, set one on the floor and sat down with the other one on his lap. There was a lot of clothing to take off and put on at this time of year.
‘We’ve done our Christmas shopping,’ Sjöberg said proudly, and Åsa gave him a stern look.
‘It’s only November,’ she muttered.
‘Yes, exactly, and that’s the best time to do it. Isn’t it, Maja?’
‘Yes, yes, yes,’ Maja agreed.
He put undressed son number one on the floor and attended to number two.
‘How was the party?’
‘It was really nice. Eight wild children running around, and some nice parents having coffee. Caroline is going to have a little brother.’
‘I see, they know that already?’
‘Yes. The boys are all done in. Let’s put them to bed at once. They won’t need any food after everything they’ve been stuffing themselves with. What kind of good things are you cooking?’
‘Mummy, Sara and I are making tapenade spirals,’ said Maja. ‘Come and look!’
They all went into the kitchen and Åsa seemed suitably impressed by the good food that was being prepared.
‘I’ll put the twins to bed while you make dinner,’ said Åsa.
Jonathan and Christoffer were both standing next to Simon, whining imploringly and pointing. He gave them a cherry tomato each, and they fell silent at once. With some prodding, Åsa managed to herd them into the bathroom, and Sjöberg finished his potato peeling and put the saucepan on the stove. He assembled the food processor and poured in Sara’s black olives, anchovies, capers and oil, and added some crushed garlic cloves that she had prepared. They mixed the ingredients to an evenly blended black paste, and the girls then helped spread the tapenade on Maja’s rolled-out squares of dough. Sjöberg cut three-inch-long strings out of the dough, which the girls twisted into neat spirals and put on the tray.
Meanwhile Simon rinsed the marinated fish in a colander. Then he carefully stirred the salmon cubes into the chopped vegetables and a little coconut milk in a bowl, adding cut chives and spices.
The dishes were ready at the same time, but Simon had prepared his dish himself, while Sjöberg and the girls were a team of three on theirs, so in his personal opinion, he was the best. Which, of course, annoyed the girls. Sjöberg pointed out that actually he had marinated the salmon and therefore they were all equally good, after which Simon retreated with a snarl and peace was restored.
After ten minutes in the oven the dough was crisp, and the little boys had been cleaned up, put to bed and were already asleep. Åsa uncorked a bottle of white wine and a big bottle of fizzy passion-fruit juice, and the wakeful part of the family sat around the table, each with a glass and a bread basket full of tapenade spirals, waiting for the potatoes to be ready.
The children noisily told first one story, then another: mostly episodes from school, the playground and nursery. Sjöberg leaned back contentedly, enjoying these stories from the uncomplicated side of real life that he so rarely came in contact with in his job.
The starter was an unqualified success, as were the tapenade spirals, and Åsa was very impressed by her children’s cooking talents. Both Sara and Maja were already so full they couldn’t eat any of the main dish, and were excused to watch a children’s programme instead. After the turbot, Simon, too, disappeared from the table and adult conversation took over.
‘I want to try something out on you, Conny,’ said Åsa. ‘One of the psychology teachers at school tried an amusing test out on us in the staff room.’
Åsa taught the unusual combination of mathematics and physical education at Frans Schartau High School.
‘It’s an ethics test. I’ll start by telling you a story. Then you rank all the individuals in the story by how well you think they behave, in purely ethical terms. Do you follow me?’
‘Yep,’ Sjöberg answered enthusiastically.
He loved games, play, the romance quizzes in the tabloids – all that sort of thing.
‘Stina lives in a cottage on one side of the river. On the other side lives Per in his cottage, and they are in love. The problem is that the bridge over the river has collapsed and the river is full of crocodiles, so it’s not possible to swim across. Stina longs to see her Per so much that her heart is almost bursting. So she goes to her neighbour Sven, who has a boat, and asks to borrow it. He just laughs and says that of course she can, but she has to sleep with him first.’
Sjöberg grinned and Åsa continued.
‘Stina is desperate and goes to her other neighbour Ivar, who is the strongest, most authoritative person in the village. Everyone respects him and does what he says. She tells him about her desperation and asks him to make Sven see reason, but he just says that he doesn’t care. Sven can exploit the situation any way he wants, Ivar does not intend to get involved. Stina is now completely exasperated and tells herself that Per, who loves her so much, will surely understand and forgive her, so she goes to Sven and sleeps with him and gets to borrow the boat. When Stina makes it across the river, she does not spare her beloved the painful truth, and tells Per at once about the terrible thing she had to do and asks him to forgive her. Per is furious and kicks Stina out and makes it clear that he never wants to see her again. Stina then goes to Per’s neighbour Gustav, who is a reliable person, and cries her heart out. He consoles her and gets so angry when he hears how Per has treated her that he goes over to Per and punches him on the nose.’
Sjöberg laughed and shook his head.
‘Well,’ said Åsa, ‘now you have to rank these people according to what you think of their ethics. Not the law, remember that. One is best and five is worst.’
‘Well, that little floozy, Stina …’ said Sjöberg with a grin.
‘Conny, be serious now!’ Åsa interrupted.
‘I’m just joking. I have to think a bit.’
‘I’ve already decided what I think,’ said Åsa. ‘It will be interesting to see if we think the same way. Then we can discuss it.’
He loved her habit of planning how the conversation would proceed. He loved her enthusiasm and her way of letting it rub off on others. He loved Åsa, to put it simply, the whole Åsa. Though I don’t think I’d be too happy if she went to bed with Sandén, just to see me, Sjöberg thought.
‘So, we have Stina, who is honest and good-hearted, but a little dense,’ Sjöberg summarized. ‘She lives in the present, with no concern for the consequences of her actions. We have Per, who is selfish and unforgiving. Gustav has a good heart; he has empathy and stands up for his opinions but uses his fists and sets himself up as a judge over others. Sven is unhelpful, scornful and undependable and takes advantage of the misfortunes of others. Ivan is indifferent and lacks empathy. I say that Per is the most ethical, then Stina, Ivar, Gustav, and Sven last.’
‘But surely you can’t mean that Ivar is better than Gustav!’ Åsa exclaimed. ‘He could easily have told Sven what to do and solved Stina’s problem!’
‘Yes, I guess Gustav is somehow the most ethical, but he’s really the only one who commits a crime here. You can’t just attack people willy-nilly. And indifference is not a crime,’ Sjöberg added, suddenly struck by a feeling of déjà vu.
‘But how can you put Per before Stina? There’s nothing bad about Stina, is there?’
‘Per didn’t like Stina’s actions and simply broke up with her. He has the right to do that. It’s like he’s not involved. Stina actually behaved really stupidly, I think anyway.’
‘But it was for a good cause. Although you’re right, in principle, that you wouldn’t have done the same thing yourself. Well, purely in terms of goodness, I think that Gustav is best. I like people who stand up for what they think and take an active part in what is happening around them. Ivar is a real jerk. I can agree that Sven is the very worst, but Ivar is almost as bad. And Stina is two and Per three.’
They cleared the dinner things off the table and Åsa went out to the children. It was almost their bedtime. Sjöberg cleaned up in the kitchen. His musings about indifference stayed with him. It was certainly no crime. No one could get involved in all the problems of humankind. You chose certain people and certain wars and certain natural disasters to care about more than others. Then there were those people who did not choose anything at all. It was undeniably simpler to live like that. Then it struck him that indifference was actually a deadly sin, that some philosopher had actually thought it was among the worst crimes a human could commit. He dug in his memory for the other deadly sins. Gluttony, lust, pride, wrath, greed and envy. In purely legal terms, Gustav was the only one who committed a crime, but according to the medieval understanding of morality, Ivar was guilty of indifference, Gustav of anger, Stina of fornication, Sven of greed and fornication, and Per perhaps of anger, perhaps pride. They were all cut from the same cloth.
In the Sjöberg family, elements of gluttony, wrath, greed and envy all appeared. Life is hard. He happened to think about those poor teachers in Landskrona who lost several children in the waves at the beach. What was their crime? Indifference to danger? What about the racist murder of John Hron? That third guy, was he guilty because he hadn’t called for help on his mobile? Perhaps indifference was a crime, after all. In the eyes of some, indifference was undeniably a crime in certain situations. You could say that. In the eyes of some, perhaps Ingrid Olsson was a criminal.
When the kids were in bed, he mixed drinks for himself and Åsa. He had a rum and Coke, but Åsa preferred a vodka and Red Bull, with a little squeezed lime. It was his brother-in-law Lasse’s invention, and it was surprisingly good. According to some sources, however, the combination of alcohol and energy drink was considered unhealthy, about which Sjöberg did not miss an opportunity to remind his wife. They sat down in front of the TV to watch the news. A forty-four-year-old prostitute and mother of three had been found tortured and murdered in her apartment in Skärholmen. No suspects. The police were looking for witnesses. It was not a good week for forty-four-year-olds, Sjöberg thought absentmindedly. After the news they played cards and had another drink. Then they went to bed.