The Dangerous Game (31 page)

‘Okay,’ muttered Nils.

‘What are you doing for dinner?’ asked Lina.

‘Nils and I were thinking of eating here at home,’ said Petra. ‘Then I’m going over to visit Elin and Nora.’

‘Pappa and I are leaving around five. What are you going to eat?’

‘Could we do our own shopping? I feel like making my recipe for pasta with beef and truffles in cream sauce.’

‘That sounds delicious,’ said Knutas. ‘And what are you going to drink?’

‘You don’t want to know, Pappa dear,’ Petra teased him, pinching his cheek.

‘Well, you can’t—’

‘We know that. Don’t worry. We’ll drink nothing but soda – the whole evening.’

She hurried to change the subject.

‘But first I’m going over to the club. They’re having a New Year’s gathering at four o’clock for everyone who does orienteering. We’re going to ring in the New Year a little early. It’s also a welcome-back party for a former leader, a man I really like. Rikard Karlström. Do you remember him? He’s not really new, since he’s been involved with the club for years, but he stopped participating when his wife and son died in a car accident a couple of years ago. It happened outside Stenkumla. Remember?’

‘Oh, right. That was awful,’ said Knutas, who recalled the accident all too well. ‘They both died instantly.’

‘And that’s not the only thing,’ Petra went on. ‘He has a daughter named Agnes. She’s a year younger than us,’ she said, looking at her twin brother. ‘You know that girl Cecilia Johansson, who’s on the floorball team? Well, she used to be really good friends with Agnes, but then they lost touch because Agnes had anorexia. She was supposed to be in secondary school, but she had to drop out. Cecilia told me that she collapsed at home and was taken by ambulance to hospital. She only weighed ninety-five pounds.’

Knutas was just about to reach for the butter.

‘Did you say anorexia?’

‘Uh-huh. And it’s so terrible, because she got it after she was discovered by a modelling agency. Agnes won a contest at the Burmeister. It was arranged by that agency, Fashion for Life. The one you’re investigating right now. And she was forced to lose weight to be thin enough to be a model, but things got out of hand.’

‘What a sad story,’ said Lina. ‘How’s she doing now? Do you know?’

‘I heard that she’s still in the anorexia clinic in Stockholm. But she must be doing better, as Rikard is coming back to the club.’

Knutas froze. He sat there motionless, the butter knife in his hand.

KNUTAS HAD PHONED
Jacobsson and Wittberg, and they were now all seated in his office at police headquarters, which was otherwise deserted. Not many people worked on New Year’s Eve. He quickly told them what Petra had said about the unfortunate Rikard Karlström and his anorexic daughter who had worked as a model for the agency Fashion for Life.

‘You’ve got to be kidding,’ exclaimed Wittberg. ‘Where is the daughter now?’

‘I haven’t looked into that yet,’ said Knutas. ‘I wanted to talk to both of you first.’

Jacobsson glanced at her watch. It was one thirty in the afternoon.

‘I’ll ring the agency. We can only hope that someone is still working after lunch today.’

‘I’ll try to get hold of Rikard Karlström,’ said Wittberg. ‘I think I might’ve met him once. He’s a carpenter, if I’m not mistaken.’

‘In the meantime, I’ll talk to Kihlgård. Come back here when you’ve finished.’

An hour later, they again met in Knutas’s office.

‘Karlström isn’t answering his phone, but I did get hold of someone else at the orienteering club,’ Wittberg began. ‘She confirmed that he’ll be coming to Svaidestugan around four o’clock today. If we don’t get in touch with him before then, I’ll just drive over there. The woman also said that Agnes was admitted to an anorexia clinic in Stockholm, but she didn’t know which one.’

‘Good,’ said Knutas. ‘Drive over to his house first. Maybe he just doesn’t want to answer the phone. But don’t go alone. You never know.’

Wittberg nodded.

‘I talked to the agency,’ said Jacobsson. ‘Agnes worked there for only a few months before she was dropped because she was anorexic.’

‘Do they know where she is now?’

‘Afraid not. But I did find out something interesting.’

‘What?’ said Wittberg and Knutas in unison.

‘Earlier today, the woman I spoke to had received another phone call regarding Agnes Karlström.’

Knutas stared at his colleague in surprise.

‘And it was from none other than the editor-in-chief of that big fashion magazine. Signe Rudin.’

‘What did she want?’

‘The same thing we do. She wanted to know where Agnes Karlström is now.’

JOHAN AND EMMA
were back on Gotland to celebrate New Year’s with their friends Tina and Fredrik Levin in Gammelgarn. They were also going to spend the night there. And without any children, for a change. The younger kids were staying with their maternal grandparents on the island of Fårö. They were too little to care about New Year’s. Sara and Filip were spending the holiday with their father.

‘How beautiful it is out here,’ sighed Emma as they approached Gannarve Farm. ‘The Östergarn countryside is so marvellous.’

‘It really is,’ Johan agreed. ‘Maybe we should move here.’

For a long time they’d been talking about buying a new house that would be completely their own. Johan liked the house in Roma well enough, but he still felt as though he could sense the presence of Emma’s ex-husband, Olle, in the walls. There was no getting around the fact that the house had been theirs for a long time. They had bought it when they still shared dreams about their married life; their two children had spent their early years there. It had been Emma and Olle’s house for many years before Johan appeared on the scene.

He longed for a different place, and he read with great interest all the listings of houses for sale. He’d always had a weakness for the eastern part of Gotland.

The dinner they’d been invited to was going to be a big affair, with forty guests. The farmhouse wasn’t especially large, but the renovated old barn, which had been converted into a gallery and shop for selling sheepskins and art, had been turned into a banqueting hall for the evening. It was already crowded with guests, all of them dressed in their finest and filled with anticipation. Candles were everywhere, and the welcome drinks were served by young people from the area who wanted to earn a little extra money on New Year’s Eve.

As their hosts greeted them in the doorway, Emma could tell that something was wrong. Fredrik and Tina gave everyone warm smiles, the tables were beautifully set for the party, and a crackling fire blazed in the hearth. But Emma saw that Tina looked strained, and her face was pale in spite of the make-up she had so carefully applied. Had they quarrelled? Fredrik also seemed stressed as he mingled with the guests. As soon as she had a chance, Emma took Tina with her to the kitchen.

‘What’s happened?’ she asked.

Tina bit her lower lip.

‘Something terrible is going on. I don’t know what to do about it. Can we go outside and have a cigarette?’

Emma looked at her friend in surprise. She never smoked.

‘Of course. Whatever you like.’

They slipped out the back so they could be alone.

‘It’s just crazy,’ Tina began. ‘We almost cancelled the party, but then we remembered that some people were coming all the way from the mainland. So we both agreed we had to carry on. Although, now, I can tell that this is going to take more of an effort than I thought.’

Tina told Emma about the man with the doll who had been sitting outside Jenny’s building that morning.

‘She ran inside and, luckily, he didn’t follow her. But she was terrified and rang me right away. She was crying on the phone. Thank God another girl is staying in the flat, so she wasn’t alone. But that man scared her out of her wits, and I suppose that was what he meant to do.’

‘Did she phone the police?’

‘No. I think all she wanted to do was come home as fast as possible. Fortunately, there was a three o’clock flight that still had seats. I called the police in Visby, and they wanted us to come over to headquarters as soon as I picked Jenny up at the airport. They questioned her and said that they would provide her with police protection but, since it’s New Year’s Eve, they can’t do anything about it today.’

‘Did Jenny recognize him? Had she ever seen him before?’

‘That’s the worst part. Because she had seen him before. But this was the first time she mentioned to anyone that, several weeks ago, she’d had a feeling that a man had followed her to the front door. But she wasn’t certain. Now, she realizes it was the same man she saw this morning.’

Tina shook her head.

‘How’s Jenny doing?’ asked Emma.

‘She was worried and upset, but eventually she calmed down and had something to eat. She’s really worn out and doesn’t want to see anyone tonight. She’s upstairs in her room with the dogs, watching TV.’

Tina took a deep drag on her cigarette and gave Emma an anxious look.

‘Do you think the murderer is after her?’ Tina asked.

‘I think that would be very unlikely. As far as I know, neither Robert Ek nor Markus Sandberg received any threats before they were attacked. In Jenny’s case, this man seems to have settled for scaring her. To me, he sounds more like a stalker, someone who’s been set off by all the reports in the media. Jenny isn’t exactly unknown. Almost half the Swedish population knows who she is, and anyone who reads the papers or watches the news on TV would realize she knew both victims.’

Tina looked a bit calmer now.

‘I hope you’re right.’

LINA ENDED UP
having to drive out to Ljugarn alone, even though she did so reluctantly. Knutas said he might be able to join her later in the evening. Given the new situation, celebrating the New Year was the furthest thing from his mind.

As soon as the meeting was over, he rang editor-in-chief Signe Rudin. She didn’t answer her phone. Damn the woman, he thought. It was so frustrating to know that she had apparently ferreted out some important piece of information and he didn’t have a clue what it might be. Something that had led her to Agnes Karlström.

He rang the airline, only to hear that there were no more afternoon flights from Visby to Stockholm. The ferry wasn’t operating at all on New Year’s Eve. He booked himself a seat on the first flight out the next morning and decided to go with Wittberg to Svaidestugan. He was much too restless to sit in his office. His colleagues had dropped by Karlström’s house on Endre väg, but no one was home.

Svaidestugan was a few kilometres outside Visby in a popular open-air recreation area. It had been the location of the orienteering club for years.

As soon as they turned on to the bumpy road that led to the building, they could see plenty of activity. The car park in the woods was filled with vehicles, and the small red-painted wooden buildings that housed a sauna and changing rooms were decorated with wreaths made from spruce boughs and coloured lights that glowed in the winter darkness.

Knutas and Wittberg went into the clubhouse. It was crowded with people holding cups of coffee and mugs filled with
glögg
, chatting in small groups. Everyone looked so healthy, with their rosy cheeks and sporty clothing, as if at any moment they might set down their drinks and go out for a hike. Knutas didn’t much care for the whole club and orienteering scene, even though he was fully aware that it meant a great deal to a lot of people. The spirit of camaraderie was all well and good, but he couldn’t ignore the slightly sectarian feeling he’d noticed. There was something exclusive about their meetings, no matter how pleasant and lively everyone might seem outwardly. It was as if only those who fitted the mould could belong – those who were fit, healthy and upstanding citizens. With set routines, everything in its proper place, everything neat and tidy. Preferably no weaknesses. If you’re not as healthy and fit as we are, you’re not good enough. Eat oatmeal, muesli and whole-grain bread. Keep your back straight, wear barefoot trainers on your feet. Hallelujah.

Knutas and Wittberg had barely stepped inside when a woman in her sixties came over to greet them. She introduced herself as the club secretary, Eva Ljungdahl. She was the one Wittberg had spoken to on the phone. She was a wiry woman with a firm handshake. Her suntan told them that she had celebrated Christmas somewhere at a much warmer latitude.

‘Rikard is here. He’s in the kitchen. Come with me.’

They made their way through the crowd to the kitchen. Knutas immediately recognized Rikard Karlström.

About forty-five, Knutas surmised. The timid type. Short, slender and sinewy. Typical runner’s physique. On his shaved head he wore a cap that said ‘O-Ring’ on the peak.

They formally introduced themselves. Karlström seemed self-conscious, and his anxiety was obvious. As soon as the woman left the kitchen, he spoke.

‘What’s this about?’

‘I assume you know about the assault on Markus Sandberg on Furillen in November, right? And the murder of Robert Ek, which occurred just before Christmas?’

Karlström nodded.

‘Both of them worked for the agency where your daughter, Agnes, worked before she fell ill.’

‘She was only there a short time,’ stammered Karlström. ‘She hardly knew those awful people. They kept talking about her weight. I think that’s what caused the anorexia.’

‘Where is Agnes now?’

‘She was admitted to a clinic in Stockholm. It’s called the Anorexia Centre.’

‘How long has she been there?’

‘Since the end of September. So about three months.’

‘And how is she doing?’

Rikard Karlström’s expression softened a bit.

‘Better. She was home for a few days at Christmas, and I think that did her good. For the first time, it seems like she might get well. She’s started to respond to the treatment, and I’m really happy about that.’

‘Have you or Agnes had any contact with the modelling agency since she stopped working there?’

Karlström paused to think.