The Dangerous Game (16 page)

‘If only Mamma could see you now,’ he’d said with tears in his eyes as he admired a fashion spread that she’d done for one of the biggest-selling women’s magazines. Agnes was so glad she could make her poor father happy.

She would never forget those words.

HER LEGS TREMBLING
, Jenny Levin entered the lobby of Karolinska University Hospital in Solna on Tuesday morning. She was filled with contradictory emotions. On the one hand, she longed to see Markus; on the other, she was afraid of what she might find. She went to the nurses’ station on the ward and gave her name. A young nurse whose brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail and who wore white wooden clogs led the way to Markus’s room. Jenny could tell that the nurse knew who she was. It was apparent from the way she spoke to her and because she kept looking at the clothes Jenny had on.

She felt a bit queasy as she noticed the dirty yellow walls, the green linoleum and the hospital smells. The only hospital she’d ever been inside was the one in Visby. That hospital seemed so neat and clean and pleasant compared to this sterile monstrosity. And in Visby there was a splendid view of the sea from most of the windows. Here the windows on one side faced a cemetery, and on the other a busy thoroughfare.

Markus had a private room on the ward. Just that morning he’d been moved there from intensive care. His life was no longer in danger.

‘He’s still exhausted,’ the nurse warned Jenny. ‘And he looks bad right now, but things will get better.’

‘Does he remember what happened?’ Jenny asked.

‘It’s too early to tell. It was only twenty-four hours ago that he regained consciousness after being sedated. He can’t speak. He needs lots of peace and quiet. We don’t want him to get upset.’

‘I’ll just sit with him for a while.’

‘That’s fine.’

The nurse smiled as she opened the door.

Even though she had mentally tried to prepare herself, the sight of Markus was shocking. She gasped, and her hand flew up to her mouth. The big bandage wrapped around his head, the tubes, his swollen and disfigured face. She didn’t even recognize him. At the same time, his body looked so small and thin. As if he’d shrunk several sizes.

‘Hi,’ she said, giving him a smile. She tried hard not to show how horrified she was. ‘It’s me. Jenny,’ she said as she felt her smile freezing. When she’d thought about everything and tried to picture this first meeting, she hadn’t imagined that he would look so bad or be so unreachable. He didn’t even glance at her. She was on the verge of tears but managed to hold them back.

She cautiously sat down on the edge of his bed and reached out her hand, placing it gently over his.

‘How are you?’

Not even a hint of a response. His head turned away. She waited patiently. The minutes ticked past. Here they sat, like two strangers who had never met before. Only just over a week ago they had been cooking dinner in his kitchen and laughing at the latest Woody Allen film. Markus had taken her in his arms and made love to her, wildly and passionately, until they were both exhausted. Right now, the very thought seemed utterly surreal.

‘Do you recognize me?’ she asked.

He still refused to look at her.

Jenny was feeling more and more bewildered. As if she were sitting here with a complete stranger. His face looked awful. This was not her handsome Markus. Nausea overtook her and the room began to spin. She couldn’t stay here even a minute longer.

‘I’m afraid I have to go now,’ she said and set the carrier bag with the grapes, magazines and chocolate on the bed. ‘But I’ll be back, of course.’

Without looking at Markus, she left the room and hurried down the corridor.

ON TUESDAY MORNING
Karin Jacobsson and Thomas Wittberg met with their Stockholm colleagues, who gave them an update on the interviews they’d conducted so far. No one knew of any connection that Markus Sandberg might have to Flemingsberg, which was where his mobile had been traced to. The police had done a thorough examination of his life, talking to many of his closest family members, co-workers and acquaintances. They’d come away with a clear and unequivocal picture of the man. An irresponsible womanizer with an appetite for good food, alcohol and a number of different drugs, primarily cocaine, at least when he was young. These days, he might still smoke a joint or snort a line at some party, but his level of drug use was nowhere near what it had been in his youth.

Markus Sandberg was the son of one of Sweden’s foremost defence lawyers. He had grown up in a huge flat in Stockholm’s Östermalm district, where his parents still lived. He was used to moving in upper-class social circles, and he’d always had plenty of money. Yet he was the black sheep of the family. His three brothers had all followed in their father’s footsteps and each in his own way had dedicated his life to the law. They were all married and lived in large homes in the posh suburbs. They had steady jobs within the banking sector and with various law firms. The fact that Markus had chosen photography as his profession had been hard for his family to swallow, and it was even worse when he gravitated towards porn. The family’s patience finally ran out when that scandalous TV programme debuted with Markus as the controversial host. When the police interviewed his family members, it became clear that he was regarded as their
enfant terrible
– charming and charismatic, but a temperamental rogue who was impossible to rein in or control. When Markus left the TV show and stopped taking pornographic pictures to become a respectable photographer, as his father expressed it, the entire clan had heaved a collective sigh of relief.

When Markus Sandberg’s name began to attract notice in the most exclusive fashion circles, his family finally stopped disapproving of him. Instead, he became the son of whom his parents were most proud. He was not only successful in his profession and made lots of money, he was also a celebrity. A star who hobnobbed with Sweden’s elite. And that was what impressed Markus’s family most. He was the one son who could measure up to his father’s fame, and for that he was greatly admired.

So the brutal assault and its consequences were the worst thing that could have happened to his family. Both parents were utterly distraught, and his father had quarrelled with the hospital every single day, demanding that all sorts of experts be called in. His brothers were better at keeping their composure, although they, too, were worried and upset.

As far as his colleagues and friends were concerned, they had all told the police much the same story. Markus Sandberg was a well-liked and charming rogue who managed nevertheless to carry out his work brilliantly. Even though he was pushing forty, he still lived very much for the present and didn’t seem at all interested in settling down. Nor did he worry about the future. He earned a huge salary, but he spent it fast. There were always new trips, new parties, new girlfriends.

‘I wonder where his restlessness comes from,’ Jacobsson said as she and Wittberg left police headquarters. ‘Markus seems to be constantly on the move, as if he’s either searching for something or running away.’

‘His behaviour sounds perfectly normal to me,’ said Wittberg. ‘If you’ve got the money and the opportunities and don’t feel like settling down for the moment, then why not? To me it sounds like a great life – one day jet-setting to Cannes, the next day going to a nightclub in Milan and mingling with Hollywood stars. I could see myself doing that.’

‘I’m sure you could,’ said Jacobsson, laughing. ‘Your life isn’t that much different, just on a more modest scale. Surfing at Tofta in the summer, partying at the Gutekällaren, and showing off your muscles at the Kallis beach club. And in the wintertime you keep your summer romances going by taking exotic trips to see Eva in Haparanda, Sanna in Skövde, and Linda in Lund.’

‘What about you?’ said Wittberg, irritated. ‘You should talk. You haven’t exactly settled down either. And don’t forget that you’re ten years older than me.’

Jacobsson ignored his remarks and merely walked faster. But Wittberg wasn’t about to give up.

‘You’re always so bloody secretive. So tell me. How’s it going with that photographer you met – Janne Widén?’

‘None of your business,’ said Jacobsson, annoyed to feel herself blushing.

They weren’t exactly a couple, but they did spend a lot of time together.

At the same time she’d made contact with her daughter, she had met Janne. All of a sudden, two new people had come into her life, which was otherwise quite solitary. And ever since, she’d been preoccupied with both of them, although for very different reasons. Right now, she was looking forward to Janne coming home. But that was nothing compared to how much she longed to see Hanna.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of her mobile.

‘Hi. My name is Anna Markström, and I work on the reception desk at the Grand Hotel.’

‘Yes?’

Jacobsson and Wittberg hadn’t yet managed to pay a visit there.

‘My boss told me that the police are interested in a phone call that was made from here on 15 November by a man who rang the Hotel Fabriken on Furillen.’

‘That’s right.’

‘Well, when I heard about that, I remembered that we had a big fashion show here that day – in the Winter Garden – and all the models were from the same agency, Fashion for Life. Jenny Levin was one of the models.’

‘Are you sure? This was on 15 November?’

‘Yes, that’s right. I checked to be sure, and that’s when it was.’

JENNY CAME OUT
of the hospital and sank down on to a bench next to the front entrance. She lit a cigarette and took a deep drag, trying to calm down. She quickly realized that she was sitting at a taxi rank, since cabs kept driving up to ask if she needed a ride. After this happened five times, she got up and left. She needed to take a walk, to regain her composure and gather her thoughts. She headed along the path which passed under the thoroughfare, went through a dark tunnel, and then over to Brunnsviken and Haga Park. She wandered along the shore, thinking about Markus. What would happen if he didn’t regain his memory? She was filled with despair when she recalled the way he had looked. She tried to tell herself that he’d be better soon. The swelling would go down, his wounds would heal, and whatever disfiguring marks didn’t disappear on their own could be dealt with by plastic surgery. She shivered when she thought how vain Markus was and how important his appearance was to him. She sincerely hoped that the hospital staff wouldn’t allow him to look in a mirror.

She stopped at the water’s edge. Several ducks glided towards her on the smooth surface. Winter was approaching, but they hadn’t yet had a proper snowfall, and a few leaves were still stubbornly clinging to the tree branches. The air felt damp and raw. She pulled up the zip on her jacket, then continued walking to stay warm as she tried to clear her head. Again, she pictured Markus’s lacerated and bruised face. He simply had to get well. She left the waters of Brunnsviken behind and moved further into the woods. The trees, tall and cold, crowded in around her. The smell of damp earth made her long for home. For her mother and father and all the farm animals: the lambs and horses and dogs. She wanted to bury her face in Miranda’s thick coat and forget everything else. Miranda was her favourite ewe. All the sheep had names, and her parents knew every one of them. Jenny had more trouble telling one from the other because she was so seldom home, but she could always recognize Miranda among the hundreds of sheep. She had a shimmering, dark-grey coat and such a gentle expression on her face. Her eyes, set so wide apart, radiated warmth and intelligence. She would always come running on her skinny legs, bleating loudly, whenever Jenny called her name. Jenny had been present in the sheep barn when Miranda had been born five years earlier. The lamb had been in the breach position, so the birth had been difficult and taken a long time. At one point, it wasn’t certain that Miranda would survive.

Jenny’s reverie was interrupted by the sound of a branch snapping right behind her. She turned around and peered into the trees, but didn’t see anything. She realized then that she hadn’t seen anyone in quite some time. Near the water, plenty of people had been out walking, some of them with their dogs. But here in the woods no one was about. Just her and the big, mute oak trees. She decided to go back the same way she had come. A few minutes later the path divided and she was suddenly in doubt; she couldn’t remember which way to go. She paused and looked around.

Jenny was not familiar with the area. She’d heard about Haga Park, but she’d had no idea it was so big. Again, a snapping sound in the trees. She knew there were deer that lived very close to central Stockholm. She took a chance and chose one of the pathways, picking up her pace. She wanted out of here. The overcast skies made the light dim, even though dusk was several hours off.

After a while she realized that she’d made the wrong decision, because she found herself going deeper into the woods and further away from the most frequented paths. Good Lord, she thought, am I really lost in a stupid city park? In broad daylight? What a joke. She felt both nervous and irritated. What was she doing out here? Right now, all she wanted was to go back to the warmth of the flat, which even had a fireplace. She would make a fire and ring up a friend. Then they could make dinner together. She needed company, didn’t want to be alone after everything that had happened. She thought about the man who had seemed to be following her when she’d arrived in a taxi from the airport and had to walk the short distance to the block of flats. He had appeared out of the dark, and stared at her. She had asked him what he wanted, but he merely turned on his heel and left. She wasn’t certain that he’d been following her. Maybe she had just imagined it. But there had definitely been something odd about that man.

Now, as she continued on, all alone, her uneasiness grew. She had to find her way back to the main path. How could she feel so isolated when she was so close to the middle of the city? She hurried along. The ground was soggy, and she stumbled over some wet leaves, coming dangerously close to falling, but then she regained her balance. She was aware of how quiet it was all around her. She could no longer hear the traffic.