Mind's Eye by Håkan Nesser

happened to your son? Rolf?”
    “He emigrated. Signed on with a ship when he was only nineteen. It must have been a girl, but he never said anything about it. He was introverted, a bit like his father. I hope he grew out of it.”
    There was something in her tone of voice that suggested…well, what did it suggest, Van Veeteren wondered. That she had already given up on everything, but nevertheless was determined to live life through to the end?
    “Do you go to church, Mrs. Ringmar?”
    “Never. Why do you ask?”
    “It doesn’t matter. What happened to Rolf?”
    “He settled down in Canada. I have…I’ve never seen him since that evening he left.”
    Even though she had been living with that fact for a long time, she found it difficult to say so, that much was obvious.
    “He wrote letters, presumably?”
    “Two. One came in 1973, the year he left. The other came two years later. I think…”
    “Yes?”
    “I think he was ashamed. It’s possible he wrote to Eva. She claimed he did, in any case, but she never showed me anything. Perhaps she made it up, to make me feel better.”
    They sat in silence for a while. Van Veeteren sipped at his coffee; she slid the cookie plate in his direction.
    “When did Eva leave home?”
    “Six months after Rolf. She did well in her school-leaving exams and won a place at the University of Karpatz. She was the bright one, I don’t know where she got it from. She read modern languages, and became a teacher, French and English—but you know that, of course.”
    Van Veeteren nodded.
    “And then she married that man Berger. Maybe it would have turned out all right, despite everything. After a few years they had a child. Willie. Those were happy years, I think, but then came the accident. He drowned. Our family is jinxed, Mr. Van Veeteren. I think I’ve been aware of that the whole of my life. That’s the way it is for some people…. There’s nothing you can do about it…. Don’t you think so too?”
    Van Veeteren drank the rest of his coffee. Thought fleetingly of his own son.
    “Yes indeed, Mrs. Ringmar,” he said. “I think you’re absolutely right.”
    She smiled wanly. Van Veeteren realized that she was one of those people who have learned to find a certain grim satisfaction in the midst of all the misery. A sort of: What did I tell you, God! I knew You had led me up the garden path from the very start!
    “I gather they divorced after the accident?”
    “Yes, it wore Eva down, and Andreas couldn’t cope with it all.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Well, the loss of Willie, and Eva turning to drink and carrying on…she was in a home…for six months—I suppose you know about that?”
    Van Veeteren nodded.
    “Ah well, that’s the way it went.”
    She sighed. But there again, it was not total dejection. Only resignation, a sort of stoic calm in the face of the repugnant realities of life. Van Veeteren found himself feeling something that must have been sympathy for this long-suffering little woman. Warm sympathy. It was not an emotion he was normally prone to feeling, and it was totally unexpected. He sat in silence for a while before asking his next question.
    “But she got back on her feet again, your daughter?”
    “Oh yes. You could certainly say that. I thought her husband could have helped her a bit more, but she pulled through. Oh yes.”
    “Did you have a lot of contact with your daughter, Mrs. Ringmar?”
    “No, we were never close. I don’t know why, but she had a life of her own. She didn’t turn to me for help, not even then. I think…”
    She fell silent. Chewed at a cookie and appeared to be searching through her memory.
    “What do you think, Mrs. Ringmar?”
    “I think she thought I had let her down. And Rolf as well.”
    “In what way?”
    “That I could have protected them more from Walter.”
    “Didn’t you do that?”
    “I tried to, I suppose, but perhaps it wasn’t enough. I don’t know, Chief Inspector. It’s hard to know