The Dangerous Game (15 page)

Jacobsson cast a glance at Wittberg. His face was impassive.

‘So how did Markus react?’

‘He tried to laugh it off.’

‘He didn’t take it seriously?’

‘No, and that’s putting it mildly. But I do think that, lately, he’s been on his best behaviour. Or maybe he’s just been more discreet about managing his love life.’

‘But his frequent affairs must have caused other problems,’ said Jacobsson. ‘Were there any that were particularly significant, or had serious consequences?’

Robert Ek’s face darkened. For the first time during the conversation his expression seemed genuine. He looked honestly worried, almost distressed.

‘That makes me think of the incident with Marita. A Finno-Swedish model he was dating. Marita Ahonen.’

‘And?’

‘She was a very promising model who came to us a couple of years ago. Just under six feet tall, legs like a gazelle, platinum-blonde hair like a wood nymph, her complexion like the smoothest Meissen porcelain, and you wouldn’t believe her eyes. They were like Finland’s 100,000 lakes all in one glance, so pure that one look could make you blush. She was dream-like, a fairy-tale figure. Unlike anybody else. We predicted a brilliant career for her. The whole world lay at her milky-white feet. Until she met Markus. She fell for him hard. She was so young, only sixteen. I don’t think she’d ever had a boyfriend before. It was the classic scenario. He played with her until, as usual, he grew tired of the relationship, and after six months he dumped her for the next cute girl who started working as a model for the agency. I mean, that happens all the time. There are always new girls. Well, Marita was shattered, and she’d also just found out that she was pregnant, but Markus was through with her. He was no longer interested in her or the baby. He persuaded her to have an abortion, and she never recovered after that. She started using cocaine and got very depressed. She let herself go and had to stop modelling a few months later because she wasn’t taking care of herself. Towards the end she was more or less high all the time. It just couldn’t go on.’ Ek’s eyes filled with tears. ‘I feel so guilty about the whole thing. Haven’t been able to put that girl out of my mind. It was awful.’

‘What happened to her?’ asked Jacobsson indignantly.

‘Someone said that she eventually went back to Finland. I haven’t heard anything about her since.’

‘And when did this happen?’

‘It was about two years ago that she came here, and then she disappeared six months later. It all happened so fast.’

‘You said her name was Marita? Marita Ahonen?’

‘That’s right. Just a minute.’

Ek summoned his assistant and asked him to get the file for Marita Ahonen. He looked from Jacobsson to Wittberg as they waited.

‘Do you think the assault on Markus Sandberg could have something to do with what happened to Marita?’

‘We have no idea,’ said Jacobsson. ‘But we need to look into every possibility. And speaking of girlfriends, what other women have been part of his life, besides Jenny?’

‘The first that comes to mind is Diana Sierra.’

‘Diana Sierra?’

‘Yes, she’s his girlfriend.’

‘You mean his ex-girlfriend?’

‘I don’t know about that. She’s working in New York right now.’

‘And they’re still together?’ Jacobsson persisted.

‘Yes. That’s what I understand.’

‘But what about Jenny?’

Robert Ek shrugged.

‘This is what Markus always does. He’s hopeless. Thinks only about himself. Doesn’t give a damn how many hearts he breaks along the way.’

BY THE TIME
Jenny caught a cab from Bromma Airport, it was already evening and dark outside. She phoned the hospital. Visiting hours were over, so she’d have to wait until the next day. Just as well, she thought. She needed time to prepare herself mentally for seeing Markus again.

The flat where she stayed whenever she was in Stockholm belonged to the agency and was out on Kungsholmen, very close to the water at Kungsholm beach. It was a four-room flat used by foreign models when they were working in the city. Jenny had stayed there many times before. Occasionally, she had the place to herself, but sometimes she shared the flat with other models. It was pleasant and modern, with all mod cons. Right now, she was hoping that no one else would be there. She needed to be alone.

Due to roadworks, the taxi couldn’t drive her to the door, so she had to get out quite a distance away, in the dreariest part of Pipergatan, near an office complex down by the Karlberg canal. Since it was past eight, the offices were empty, and the big windows facing the water were all dark. The cab driver apologized, but Jenny assured him that it didn’t matter. She had hardly any luggage, so she could easily walk the rest of the way. Taking a firm grip of her carry-on suitcase, she went down the stairs to the street that ran parallel to the canal. Her high heels clacked on the damp stone stairs. The water was black and still. The street was deserted. The street lamps stood at attention like silent sentries along the canal. She heard the sound of her own footsteps, mixed with the roar of traffic from the Sankt Erik Bridge a short distance away.

Suddenly, she noticed a shadow moving among the trees down by the water. Probably someone walking their dog, she told herself, trying to stay calm but casting an uneasy glance at the trees. But the man seemed to be standing still, and she couldn’t see or hear a dog. In her mind she saw Markus’s lifeless body in the cabin on Furillen. And the blood sprayed all over the walls. What if it was her turn now? The man in the dark might be a lunatic with an axe. Good Lord, pull yourself together, she thought.

After walking on for a bit, she couldn’t help turning around. The man was heading in her direction. And she was all alone on the street, which stretched out dark and empty in front of her. Rigid with fear, she walked as quickly as she could without actually running. All she wanted was to get safely inside the flat. And now she was hoping that some other models would be there. Anyone at all. She walked even faster. She could see the building now. She was almost there. Unfortunately, the entrance was not on the street. She had to go around the building and into a small courtyard. She didn’t dare turn around, trying to convince herself that the man in the trees had gone off in another direction. Then she went around to the other side of the building and sighed with relief. She rummaged in her purse for the keys and took out a cigarette at the same time. She needed a smoke after such a nerve-racking walk. But now she was safe. Lights were on in all the surrounding buildings.

As she raised the match to light her cigarette, she saw him. He was standing only a short distance away, but the cap he wore shadowed his face.

With a gasp Jenny dropped the match. It went out the instant it hit the ground.

THE COMMON ROOM
, which is in the centre of the ward, is furnished with sofas and armchairs strewn with soft pillows and stuffed animals. Even though the staff have tried their best to smarten up the place, they can’t erase the institutional feel. It seems to be ingrained in the walls. Woollen blankets are everywhere, and placed several metres apart are extra heating units which can be plugged in if anyone is in need of more warmth. Anorexic patients are always cold. Everyone is dressed the same: loose trousers, big warm jumpers and thick socks or fleecy slippers. The TV is always on. Linda is huddled on the sofa under a woollen blanket, watching Oprah Winfrey. Ironically enough, the popular talk-show host has the fashion designer Valentino as her guest. The interview is interspersed with photos of thin-as-a-rake models on the catwalk and comments about how beautifully the clothes drape their bony figures. Agnes doesn’t want to watch, but she doesn’t dare ask Linda to change the channel. Her request could easily turn into a quarrel. Josefine is sitting in one of the armchairs, frantically knitting, not paying attention to anyone else. And Sofia is sitting in front of the coffee table, studying her maths. No one is talking. It’s quiet in the room except for Oprah’s ingratiating remarks about how wonderful Valentino is.

They are immersed in their own thoughts, ignoring everyone else.

Agnes is restless and bored. Per hasn’t been at work for several days, and she misses him. He’s the only one she can confide in here. Not that he ever says much, but he’s a good listener. And that’s exactly what she needs. The other girls are so paranoid. She has nothing in common with them. She wonders what he’s doing right now.

She listlessly leafs through a copy of the women’s magazine
Svensk Damtidning
. She’s not interested in any of the boring magazines here:
Illustrerad Vetenskap, Sköna Hem, Kamratposten, Min Häst
. All fashion magazines and most weekly tabloids are forbidden, because photos of models and any articles about dieting might have a negative effect on the patients. And yet this is exactly what they’re showing on TV. How absurd.

She sighs. On the news this morning there was another report about that horrible assault out on Furillen. Markus had almost been beaten to death. It seemed so unreal. She couldn’t believe it was true. The reporter had stood outside the hospital and said that Markus was still hovering between life and death. The girl who found him, Jenny Levin, is from Gotland, but Agnes doesn’t know her personally. They’re from different parts of Gotland, and Jenny is several years older than she is. Things have gone well for her in the modelling world, unlike for Agnes. And now it was being reported on the news that Jenny and Markus were in a relationship, and that might have something to do with the assault.

Agnes wonders how he’s been treating Jenny Levin. She still feels ashamed when she thinks about the things they did together. She even slept with him, although she was only fifteen. After that first kiss, it had been difficult for her to act natural with him. She had felt awkward and embarrassed. Couldn’t think of anything else as he photographed her.

That summer she had taken classes on how to pose for the camera. She had learned to walk in high heels, and they had tried to get her to relax. They had also told her that she needed to lose weight, as fast as possible. She was sent to a nutritionist, and they showered her with tips on special exercises and diet foods. She had every chance of becoming a successful model, if only she were thinner. In the autumn, she did get a number of modelling assignments because she was exceptionally beautiful. That’s what they told her, but it was obvious that she needed to lose weight. Their clients would not be happy if the agency sent out a model who wore almost a size ten and let her appear in flashy fashion spreads. She understood that, didn’t she?

Everyone at the agency was constantly talking to her about her weight. The boss, the staff that booked the modelling jobs, and Markus, too. Whenever he was tired and in a bad mood, he would complain that she was hard to photograph because she looked so heavy. He did the best he could, but even he couldn’t work miracles.

Naturally, Agnes wanted him to be happy with her, admire her, think she was cute. She was in love and lived for those occasions when she was allowed to go home with him. She didn’t care that this occurred only on his terms. She would go to his flat late in the evening, and sometimes they’d eat together. Then they’d have sex. At the same time he would taunt her about her figure. He would study her body intently and say, ‘Hmm, lose eleven pounds and you’d be almost perfect.’

She was determined to show him.

Agnes’s reverie is interrupted by the clanging of something hitting the floor. Josefine has dropped a knitting needle but doesn’t seem to notice. She is no longer knitting but instead has turned her attention to Oprah. As she watches, she is jabbing the other knitting needle at the soft flesh between her thumb and index finger. Agnes stares in horror. Josefine is jabbing harder and harder, her eyes fixed on the catwalk on TV. Finally, she punctures the skin and blood runs out.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ snaps Linda when blood drips on to the sofa. ‘Are you out of your mind?’

Josefine doesn’t answer, just lets the blood flow, keeping her eyes on the TV. As if she’s not really aware of what’s just happened.

‘I can’t even watch TV in peace and quiet in this damned place!’ shouts Linda, jumping up with tears spilling down her cheeks. She sweeps a vase of hyacinths off the table and on to the floor, where it breaks into a thousand pieces. A nurse comes running, and another opens the door from a conference room and peers at them, wanting to see what all the noise is about.

‘What’s going on here?’ cries one of the nurses. ‘What happened?’

Agnes shrugs. She doesn’t want to get involved. The nurse makes a great fuss when she discovers that Josefine’s hand is bleeding. She hurries the girl out of the room to be bandaged. Agnes doesn’t move a muscle. She has the ability to close down when any quarrels or conflicts arise in the ward. Such things don’t concern her. When calm has been restored in the room, she sinks back into her own thoughts. Returning to the memories of her brief modelling career, which ended before it really began.

She had never felt fat before; she’d always been quite pleased with how she looked. But then things had changed, and she started to hate herself. All the sighs and criticisms about her size, all the disapproving looks, made her feel sick to her stomach. She started dieting in earnest and quickly lost weight. At first, the reactions were invariably positive. Everyone praised her new, thin figure. The agency was finally pleased, as was Markus. Agnes took on more modelling jobs, while trying to keep up at school. Her father, Rikard, was both proud and happy. This was an excellent way for his daughter to escape from her grief and give her life new meaning. He was also, gradually, starting to live again. He met a woman named Katarina in Stockholm, and they began seeing each other more and more often. Agnes was happy for her father, even though she had not the slightest desire to meet this Katarina. At the same time, Agnes felt he was beginning to distance himself from her. He no longer gave her the same amount of attention he used to. But if she became a successful model, that would probably change. He would be even prouder of his daughter. She would become as important to him as she’d been before.