Some Kind of Peace (26 page)

“How do you know that?”

I can sense a slight skepticism in Markus’s voice—the same hesitation I felt when I suggested we visit Vijay in the first place. But Vijay doesn’t seem to notice; he is used to arguing for his case.

“The crime scene was neat. The perpetrator left no evidence, beyond what he had planned to leave, that is to say, the farewell letter. We usually distinguish between two main groups of perpetrators with this type of crime. There are the disorganized, impulsive ones who literally beat someone to death in the heat of the moment or happen to kill someone when a robbery goes wrong. As a rule, they don’t plan the deed in advance, and they often leave lots of physical evidence, like cigarette butts, fingerprints, fibers, body fluids, and so on. Then we have the well-organized, structured ones who plan their deed a long time in advance. These are considerably less common. In this group of perpetrators, there are many different types, everything from sexual sadists to psychopaths. Because they leave behind less evidence and are, well, smarter, you might well say, they are often more difficult to link to the crime.”

“So what does this type of murderer look like?” I ask.

“Hmm, if you’re speaking in general terms, and not referring specifically to a very organized murderer, as in your case, he is most often young, around twenty to twenty-five, has low socioeconomic status, is unmarried, and is often a substance abuser. He has recently experienced an emotional loss, for example, his girlfriend left him. It is also common that there are several criminals in the immediate family, such as siblings or parents. The typical murderer also often has a long criminal career behind him, despite his young age. It could be anything, but he often has a criminal record. And then there are other, earlier problems, such as pyromania, problems in school, and that sort of thing. Also common. Many have psychiatric problems, like paranoia, depression, or schizophrenia. There are female murderers, too, of course. Studies indicate they have a different background. Often they come from dysfunctional
families and have been subjected to assault, although that can apply to men as well.”

Vijay’s voice has taken on a lecturing tone and it is clear that he is talking about his favorite subject. I know he can continue his lecture endlessly if no one intervenes. I clear my throat to get his attention. Vijay looks at me and smiles wryly. He has understood my message.

“But in this case, not many of the ordinary descriptions apply. This murder has not been performed by a—”

There is a knock at the door and Vijay gets up to open it. A middle-aged woman wearing sturdy boots and a thick moss-green cardigan looks in tentatively.

“Coffee?” she inquires.

Of course, I think, but say nothing. Vijay’s words about sexual sadists and psychopaths are gnawing at my insides.
Evil people
. Wasn’t that what Kerstin Matteus said?

“So, based on what you know about this perpetrator—our guy—
who is he
?”

Markus leans forward toward Vijay with renewed curiosity.

“I would guess a middle-aged man, highly educated and able to function successfully in social situations. The farewell letter is well written and lacks misspellings and that sort of thing. It indicates a socially adapted individual. The crime seems well planned and the crime scene—excuse me, the place where the body was found—lacks physical traces. This indicates that he is intelligent and can plan in advance. Then he seems to have the capacity to emotionally shield himself from the victim, that is, he is a coldhearted bastard. The victim is only a chess piece in his game, a person he can do without. He is
a man with a mission
. Based on what you have told me about what happened after the murder, I believe the crime is not aimed at Sara, but at you, Siri.”

Vijay looks at me searchingly.

“No,” I say and answer the question he hasn’t asked. “No one would want to harm me in that way.”

“That’s what you think,” Vijay says cheerfully, popping a cookie in his mouth.

“When you figure out who the perpetrator is, I think the motive is going to be personal, very personal. Someone you offended or whose toes you stepped on earlier in your life. Someone who feels that you have treated him unjustly.
A perceived injustice
.”

“What do you mean?” I ask uncertainly.

“I mean that even though you can’t immediately think of anyone who hates you enough to kill, you will understand his motive when the whole picture becomes clear to you. Remember that the injustice that may have caused this is simply a
perceived
injustice. A normal, healthy person perhaps would not think you had done anything wrong. Or at least would not be prepared to kill because of it. It may be someone you rejected sexually or someone who feels wronged by you in some other way. Perhaps a patient who thinks you’re incompetent? Someone who is easily offended.”

“How can you be so sure it’s personal?” I ask.

“As I said in the beginning, you can never be one hundred percent certain in this job. But there is a lot that indicates that the crime is aimed at you. For example, the body was found on your property, below the pier, where you swim every day. Right?”

I nod.

“Besides, this so-called farewell letter is nothing but a long finger pointed right at you. Sara’s finger, from the other side. And then the other letter to, what was her name? The anorexic, excuse me, the bulimic.”

I study Vijay in silence. He doesn’t know everything. I haven’t told him about the DUI. It’s just too embarrassing.

“I’d like to know,” I begin, “if this person hates me enough to kill, why not attack me directly? Kill me?”

“Ahh,
that
is an interesting question,” Vijay replies, smiling broadly.

He brings his index fingers together and leans back pensively in his chair.

“I think he wants you to suffer. The way he thinks he has suffered. He wants to see you shamed, deprived of all dignity, your position taken away from you. If he had killed you right off, he wouldn’t have achieved that, would he?”

“And now?” My voice is only a whisper.

“Yes, the risk is probably pretty great that the situation will escalate. He didn’t achieve what he wanted with Sara’s murder. I would be careful, Siri,
very careful
, if I were you.”

I sit, speechless, incapable of uttering anything as silence settles in the room. Through the small window I can see students, or perhaps teachers—it’s hard to tell the difference these days—leaning against the wall, smoking. A guy in a knit cap comes toward the small group of smokers. His T-shirt says
INSTANT ASSHOLE—JUST ADD ALCOHOL.
Students, I decide.

“Do I know him?”

“It’s possible. In any case, I’m pretty sure that you have some kind of relationship or connection to him.”

“How do you know that?”

“The letter contains information that not just anyone could have about you. Furthermore, the crime is extremely personal per se. It’s you, your person, he wants to get at.”

“Could he be a colleague of mine?”

Vijay shrugs. “I assume it’s a possibility.”

He must see how discouraged we feel, because he says, “Don’t lose hope now. Try to think, Siri, who could want to harm you? Combine that knowledge with what you know that I’m not aware of, that is, who could have had the opportunity to carry out the crime and have access to the information that it required. There, you have your perpetrator.”

“Vijay, what should I do?”

My voice fades away.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to ask Markus that.”

I look at Markus, but his gaze is lost in the distance, out the window and over toward the horizon.

We leave the office and walk back toward our car. Vijay accompanies us.

“Vijay, tell me, how do you cope with… all this? The death, all the evil you see?”

“Well, now, I don’t think about it in terms of good and evil. Besides, people would murder and torment each other just as much even if I
didn’t exist. It doesn’t go away just because you close your eyes. As I see it, maybe I can make a difference. Maybe I can discover something that leads to a criminal being arrested, that prevents him or her from committing more crimes. That protects an innocent person. That’s enough for me. If I’ve saved one person, I’m satisfied.”

Vijay pauses and lights a cigarette.

“But I must admit it’s hard to talk with victims’ relatives. It gets under my skin, the realization of how… how fragile life is.”

He suddenly looks older, huddled up against the wind, with the cigarette in his hand. Deep creases run from his nose down toward the corners of his mouth. His mustache has streaks of gray in it and his shirt is a little tight around his belly. Why didn’t I notice before? Taken out of his context, the liberal academic environment, Vijay suddenly appears lost, like any man taking his first steps toward middle age. I feel a sudden tenderness for him as we say good-bye. This time the hug is longer and more intimate. I burrow my nose down in his flower-print shirt and take in the aroma of aftershave, cigarette smoke, and sweat.

“Take care of her,” Vijay says slowly, looking at Markus for a moment before he turns and goes back into the massive red-brown brick building.

“Bloody hell!”

Charlotte is rocking back and forth, her slender arms around her knees, which are drawn up on the chair. Her hair is unwashed and plastered against her cheeks soaked with tears. Her glasses, which she doesn’t usually wear, are so fogged up I can’t see her eyes, and the obligatory suit has been replaced by a gray tracksuit.

Although she was the one who wanted to end therapy, she called yesterday and asked to come back because she was feeling so bad. We booked her for an emergency appointment today.

“What happened?”

I lean toward her, pushing the box of Kleenex to her side of the table. She nods and hesitantly takes a tissue. The cold light of the fluorescent bulb and the room’s green walls are reflected in her pale face. She looks sick and haggard, cowering in my armchair.

“I told my boss straight to his face. That I knew he was screwing Sanna. That I thought he was a pathetic creep. That he ought to be happy that such a young, smart girl wants to sleep with him even though he is such a loser. I quit my job. Did I already say that?”

Charlotte takes off her glasses and rubs away the steam as she looks searchingly at me, as if I had the solution to her problems at my fingertips. But all I can do is nod encouragingly to get her to continue talking.

Through the wall I can hear Sven, who has kitchen duty this week, unloading the little dishwasher. All the silverware is being tossed resolutely
with a clattering thud into a drawer, even though Aina and I are always nagging him to sort them properly.

“Did I say that I quit my job?”

I nod at her. She is still frenetically rubbing her eyeglasses against her speckled-gray sweatpants, as if trying to remove an invisible but intolerable stain.

I take a deep breath before speaking. “I think it’s best if you tell me what happened from the beginning. When did this happen?”

Charlotte blows her nose noisily in a paper tissue, and sets it on the table before she resumes rocking back and forth on the chair.

“It was… uh… the day before yesterday. We had a performance review, that is,
he
had a performance review with me.”

Charlotte grimaces and the tears rise again. I lean over and gently stroke her arm.

“Take your time. It’s okay.”

She shakes her head. “It’s
not
okay. I don’t have a job anymore.”

These words are just a whisper.

“Wait a moment. Let’s take it from the beginning. You had a performance review.”

“
He
had a performance review.
With me
.”

Charlotte, as usual, is careful to get the details correct, even in her distress. She sighs, slowly and dejectedly shaking her head. When she continues she speaks deliberately, with exaggerated clarity, articulating every word as if I were a child.

Or perhaps simply not very clever.

“And. He. Said. A. Lot. Of. Shit. That. Doesn’t. Make. Sense.”

“Like what?”

“That I wasn’t sufficiently proactive. That I have to learn to take ownership of my area of responsibility in a more proactive way. Uhh… There’s no point in explaining. You wouldn’t understand anyway…”

I feel a sting of irritation at being dismissed by my patient but let it pass without comment.

“He said I had to develop my leadership skills. That I wasn’t ready
yet for a promotion. In brief: a lot of bullshit. It doesn’t make sense. It’s so unfair. I’ve given up… everything. And then that pretentious piece of shit stands there and criticizes me for no reason at all. When he himself… Although he himself…”

Charlotte sobs, unable to finish her sentence.

“Although he himself what? Tell me, Charlotte.”

Charlotte hesitates and massages her calf with one hand while she wipes away tears and blows her nose with the other.