The Dangerous Game (28 page)

‘Hi. I see you found it.’

‘Uh-huh. Hi.’

She’s dismayed to feel herself blushing.

It’s a bright room with a window facing the city centre and all the high-rise buildings nearby.

‘You can even see my flat from here,’ says Per, pointing to one of the small windows lined up in a symmetrical pattern on the smooth grey façade of a building. ‘That’s my kitchen window. Do you see the Christmas star? And the red curtains?’

He points, and Agnes turns to look.

‘Uh-huh. I see them.’

She sits down on the visitor’s sofa in the newly renovated office. It still smells of fresh paint.

‘It’s nice in here,’ she said.

‘So how was your Christmas?’ he asks, looking at her with his tired blue eyes.

‘Fine. It was great to go back home and spend time with Pappa. We had a good time together. I almost felt normal. It was a relief to get away from the clinic.’

‘What did you and your father do?’

‘He cooked, and we went for walks.’ Then she corrected herself. ‘Or rather, Pappa pushed me in the wheelchair. And we watched TV.’

‘Did you see any of your old friends?’

‘No,’ she says dejectedly. ‘Not that I expected anyone to get in touch with me, but I was sort of hoping to see Cecilia.’

‘Did you happen to run into anybody else? Visby isn’t a big place, after all.’

‘A few people came over to say hello, but others didn’t dare. They don’t really know what to say. They just look away. But I did see Cecilia’s big sister, Malin. I talked to her a little.’

‘Okay. So how’s your father doing?’

‘Good, I think. He seems to be getting along okay. He has started running again, and he’s thinking about taking up orienteering. He stopped all that after the accident, even though he has done orienteering his whole life. He talked more than usual, and even told a few jokes. But maybe he was just making an extra effort for my sake.’

‘What did the two of you talk about?’

‘About Mamma and Martin, and about life in general. About his girlfriend, Katarina. I don’t really like her much.’

‘I know that.’

‘At first I was angry because he’d found a girlfriend so fast. As if Mamma didn’t mean that much to him. Then I got scared that he’d care more about her than me. But I don’t think that way any more.’

‘What’s changed?’

‘I happened to overhear my father quarrelling with her on the phone. She was upset because he wouldn’t let her come over to spend Christmas with us, and it was fantastic to hear Pappa cut her off like that. She didn’t have a chance.’

‘She came to the clinic on Christmas Eve.’

‘She did?’

‘Yes. She brought over a flower arrangement for the staff and then ended up staying all evening. She said she had nowhere to go except back home.’

‘She doesn’t have any children, but I know that she has a sister who lives in Norrland.’

‘I see. Well, at any rate, she was here. And I was on duty, so it was nice to see her. Not many people are here during Christmas.’

‘What did you do?’

‘Not much. Watched a little TV. Had some food. I don’t think you should judge her so harshly. She hasn’t done anything to you, has she?’

‘No, I guess not. But the very fact that she exists is too much for me.’

Agnes feels her annoyance growing. She really has no desire to sit here talking about Katarina.

‘There’s one more thing,’ she says.

‘What’s that?’

Agnes tells Per about her eating frenzy on Christmas Eve, even though she doesn’t want to. The most shameful thing about it was losing control like that. A real nightmare.

‘I understand how tough that must have been. But it’s not so strange.’

‘But I don’t want to be like this. I don’t want to go through that again. Never again.’

Agnes can feel the tears coming. She’s so tired. So deathly tired of all this shit.

Per gets up from his desk and comes over to sit next to her on the sofa. He puts his arm around her shoulder and lets her lean against him.

‘Go ahead and cry. But don’t be sad. I’m going to help you. I promise you that. I’ll do everything I can.’

EVEN WHILE HE
was still on Lidingö Bridge Knutas could glimpse across the water the extraordinary sculptures placed on tall pillars and looming against the sky at Millesgården, the former estate turned art museum. He hadn’t set foot there since he and Lina had spent their honeymoon in Stockholm almost twenty years ago. Back then, they couldn’t afford to travel to some exotic destination but, for them, a trip to the capital and staying in a hotel had seemed exciting enough. Lina was from Denmark and had never been to Stockholm, while Knutas had been there mostly as a student, although occasionally his work had taken him to the city. So he’d never had the time or the desire to do any sightseeing. They had spent a marvellous summer week taking a boat ride around the archipelago, visiting the most important sights, and going for endless walks along the numerous wharfs. Millesgården had been a high point, with its fairy-tale garden built on various levels and the flagstone terraces set into the steep cliffs facing the water.

Jenny Levin had a photo shoot out there that was going to last all day, and Knutas wanted to take the opportunity to speak to her in person about the circumstances surrounding Robert Ek’s death. Their brief phone conversation on the 23rd had proved less than satisfactory.

Knutas parked and then got out, to stand in bewilderment in front of the shuttered entrance. A sign stated that the museum was closed on Mondays. There wasn’t a soul in sight. Across the way was a hotel, but that, too, seemed silent and deserted. Knutas stamped his feet on the ground. It had been a cold night, with the temperature dropping to minus twenty Celsius. Suddenly, a wrought-iron gate opened and a long-haired man wearing green overalls came out. Knutas introduced himself and showed the man his police ID.

‘Follow me,’ said the man. ‘They’re taking the photos indoors. It’s too cold out here.’

They went inside the building that had once been Carl Milles’ home and proceeded through a gallery with a beautiful marble floor and sculptures placed in niches along the walls.

The photo-shoot crew was working in a big studio, an immense white space with a ceiling that looked to be close to ten metres high. The room was filled with plaster models of Milles’ sculptures. In the centre towered an impressive work that Knutas recognized:
Europa and the Bull
. Leaning against the bull’s stout neck was Jenny Levin, though he could hardly recognize her. She was wearing a horizontally striped dress that was practically a body stocking and bright-blue shoes with sky-high heels. Her hair was pulled up into a tall, cone-like shape on top of her head. She was heavily made up, and she kept changing her pose in front of the camera with slight, deliberate movements. An entire array of spotlights had been positioned around the room, and the photographer had three assistants who ran about fine-tuning the lights and holding up reflectors. The make-up artist and stylist watched everything like hawks, and in between takes they would rush over to Jenny to touch up her make-up, apply more powder and adjust her dress. Knutas was fascinated by the whole drama. He’d never seen a photo shoot before, and he was impressed by Jenny’s professionalism in front of the camera. It was obvious she was in her element.

It took a few minutes for her to notice him. She froze for a moment but then calmly continued to pose.

‘Okay. I’m happy with that,’ said the photographer after a while. ‘Good job.’

‘Maybe we should break for lunch,’ suggested the stylist. ‘What time is it?’

‘Five past twelve.’

‘Okay. Lunch until one o’clock. There’s food at the hotel next door.’

Knutas went over to Jenny.

‘Hi. I’m glad you have a break right now. I need to talk to you.’

‘You’ll have to do that while Jenny eats lunch,’ the stylist interrupted them. ‘We’re on a really tight schedule.’

‘That’s fine with me.’

‘I just need to change first,’ said Jenny.

‘I’ll wait.’

A few minutes later, they walked across the courtyard to the hotel, where a buffet lunch was laid out. Knutas and Jenny each filled a plate with food and then sat down at a vacant corner table some distance away from the others.

‘There are a few things I need to clear up. That’s why I wanted to meet up with you today,’ Knutas began. ‘You told me on the phone that you didn’t know what happened to Markus’s mobile. Is that right?’

‘Yes. I wasn’t the one who sent that text message. It wasn’t me. I haven’t seen Markus’s mobile since the photo shoot on Furillen. I’ve tried to remember if I saw it in the cabin, but I don’t think I did.’

‘And you have no idea who could have sent that text to Robert Ek?’

‘Absolutely not. I think this whole thing is horrible.’

In spite of her make-up, Jenny looked pale, and she was nervously fidgeting with her knife and fork.

‘According to the medical examiner, Ek died sometime between one and five o’clock on Saturday morning. What I want to know is this: what were you doing during that time?’

Jenny’s eyes filled with tears, but Knutas refused to be swayed.

‘Where were you between 1 and 5 a.m. on Saturday, 20 December?’

‘Do you think I did it?’ she stammered in fright. ‘Do you think I murdered Robert?’

‘It’s too soon for us to be drawing any conclusions. But we need to know where you were during that time period.’

Jenny pushed aside her plate of food and took several sips of water. She refused to look him in the eye.

‘Let me think. I was very drunk. And there were so many people. A bunch of us spent a long time in the club, talking. I think Robert was there, too.’

Knutas nodded encouragingly.

‘Go on.’

‘Some guy invited me to dance, so I did. I don’t know for how long. Then we sat down on a sofa somewhere. I think it was in the VIP lounge. And a lot of other people came in.’

‘Who were they?’

‘I have no idea. I didn’t know them. After that, my memory is pretty hazy. The fact is that I think someone put something in my drink, because I really don’t remember anything after that.’

‘Where did you spend the night?’

Jenny turned to look out of the window. She hesitated for a long time before answering.

‘To be honest, I have no idea. I woke up in bed with some guy, and I didn’t even know his name. It was embarrassing. He was still asleep when I slipped out of the flat. I wanted to get out of there as fast as possible.’

‘Where was this flat?’

‘Somewhere in Östermalm, on a little side street. I’m not all that familiar with Stockholm. I wandered about for a while, and suddenly I found myself in Karlavägen and then I knew where I was. I took the subway to the agency’s flat on Kungsholmen.’

‘Was anyone else there?’

‘No. It was empty, and I was grateful for that. I felt terrible all day.’

‘What did you do?’

‘I just stayed indoors, except for going out to rent a film and buy a pizza. The same thing on Sunday. On Monday I went home.’

‘And you really have no idea who you spent the early-morning hours of 20 December with?’

Jenny gave Knutas a worried look.

‘No, I don’t.’

‘Is there anyone who might know? Someone who was at the club?’

‘I don’t think so. The place was packed.’

‘So that means you have no alibi for the time of the murder. Is that right?’

Knutas was interrupted by the stylist calling from the photo crew’s table.

‘Five more minutes, then it’s back to work!’

Jenny looked like she was going to throw up.

SIGNE RUDIN HAD
just got to the office when the post was delivered. Ever since the arrival of that threatening letter, her heart had skipped a beat every time she emptied Fanny’s in-tray. She was glad that Fanny had gone abroad. It bothered her that the letter had been addressed to her colleague personally; she was one of the best editors Signe had ever worked with in her long career. It would have been better if she’d received that letter herself. She was more thick-skinned. Signe had hoped that the letter would be a one-off, but the moment she looked inside Fanny’s in-tray, she realized that was not going to be the case. She recognized at once the sprawling and somewhat feeble handwriting. She took a deep breath, then opened the envelope. Words cut out of a magazine, just like before. This sentence was equally short. ‘I am a killer.’ She automatically turned the paper over, but there was nothing on the back.

Thoughts began whirling through her head. There were a few people working in the editorial offices, but no one in a position of authority. No one she could turn to for advice.

Should she ring the police herself? She read the brief sentence again. It could only be regarded as a threat. But what did this person mean? ‘You are all killers.’

‘I am a killer.’ Should she call Fanny and tell her about this letter? She had the right to know. Yet Signe didn’t want to bother her while she was on holiday in Thailand. She really needed time to unwind. Fanny had sent a few text messages to ask if anything new had happened, or if the murderer had been caught. Unfortunately, Signe hadn’t been able to give her any positive news. She couldn’t understand why the police hadn’t made any progress in the case.

Filled with annoyance, she studied the envelope again. What kind of idiot would do this? And why on earth would he be targeting the magazine, or rather, Fanny Nord? If it was the same person, that is. The sender could be anybody; maybe someone who was goaded by all the attention the crime had attracted.

Suddenly, Signe Rudin had an idea. She put down the letter, closed the door to her office, and pulled down the blinds on the window facing the corridor. That was the signal that she didn’t want to be disturbed. Next she switched off her phone for incoming calls and set her mobile on vibrate. Then she began looking through the file folders on the bookcase. She had decided to wait to ring the police.

First, there was something she wanted to check out on her own.

AFTER HIS VISIT
to Millesgården, Knutas drove to police headquarters on Kungsholmen. From there, he rang Dr Palmstierna to find out how Markus Sandberg was doing. There was no change in his condition. With each day that passed, hope diminished that Sandberg would be able to help by shedding any new light on the investigation.