Hunting Game

by Helene Tursten

  But he had a hard time concentrating on the text. Images of the BMW key ring and the slip of paper that said “I remember. M” kept gliding across the pages of the book.

  Jan-Eric started moving around in his room. Anders heard him swear audibly as he searched for something in the mess. Anders put down his reading and pressed on his cell phone. The screen lit up and showed that it was 11:21. Heavy steps approached his door and stopped.

  “I’m going out to pee,” Jan-Eric announced.

  “Do that. I’m just going to finish reading. Then I’ll go down and take out the sandwiches.”

  “Marvelous!”

  Anders heard his friend’s steps go away in the direction of the stairs.

  There was only half a page left in the chapter, it would be just right to stop there. With all the concentration he could muster he started reading again.

  After a minute or so he heard a sound. It came from outside and sounded like a cry. A human one. Quickly he set the book down on the nightstand and took off his glasses. With the phone in his hand he went up to the window.

  At first he didn’t see anything, just total darkness. His gaze was attracted to the only source of light out there, the lantern by the precipice overlooking the lake.

  At the outer edge of the circle of light, turned away from him, stood M.

  Impossible! He dropped the phone on the dresser by the window. Without thinking he went over to the little closet where he kept his Carl Gustaf, took out the gun, and loaded it robotically.

  It was only as he went down the stairs that he asked himself why he had taken the rifle. If the person he had seen was still out there, the gun would not be of any help. The only thing that could possibly protect him was a skillful medium.

  After a night’s restless sleep, Embla got up right before seven and pulled on her running clothes, cap, and mittens. It was a cold, clear morning, with the thermometer showing two degrees below freezing. The rain that had fallen the night before had frozen, so she had to watch out for ice on the puddles.

  She put in the earbuds from her iPod and started jogging lightly to warm up. Her favorite song to run to was The Streets’ “Fit But You Know It.” Kolbjörn had tipped her off about the band almost ten years ago, and since then she preferred to run to their music. In recent years their rap and hip-hop had a bit of a harder edge, and the music gave her energy.

  When she realized that she was on her way toward Hansgården, she was a little embarrassed at first. It was obvious that she was drawn toward the farm. Or perhaps its owner. But she continued in that direction.

  She decided to turn when Hansgården started to be visible. She definitely did not want Peter to see her. And the five kilometers there and back was a more than adequate distance to run. Before she turned back she stopped to catch her breath for a few seconds. As she was about to start running again she glanced toward the farm. A yellow sports car turned out from the farmyard and came right toward her at high speed. It was extremely souped-up and seemed like it was lapping up the road. It must be Peter’s other car. Naturally he didn’t drive the Range Rover when he was going to meet clients in Gothenburg. A Ferrari made a completely different impression.

  As he approached he slowed down and stopped completely when he was even with her. The window glided down.

  “Hi. Did you run out of gas again?”

  “No. Just running . . .”

  She was intensely aware of the sweat sticking under the running clothes and cap. Peter looked like an advertisement for some exclusive menswear store. There was also a light whiff of a pleasing masculine aroma coming through the open window.

  “Listen, we have something to clear up. Jump in,” he said. He leaned across the passenger seat and opened the door.

  “But I . . .”

  “Jump in.”

  Decisively she rounded the car and crouched down to slide in. To hide her embarrassment she laughed. “Good thing I’m flexible.”

  He simply hummed. Quickly he backed up toward the turnout and made a U turn as Nisse had done the night before, although in the opposite direction. At high speed he drove back toward Hansgården. With squealing tires he stopped the car abruptly at the front steps. Without a word he got out of the car and went up the steps. The red cat slipped after him and started strutting around his legs. Impatiently he chased it away while he entered the code and opened the door. Only then did he turn around to look at her. She had just managed to get out of the car but remained standing by it and gave him a puzzled look.

  “Come on,” he said, nodding toward the house.

  Hesitantly she started walking up the steps. When she came into the hall he had already opened the door that she had tugged on the night before. With an exaggerated gesture he waved toward the steps behind it.

  “Please step in.”

  It was impossible to miss the sarcasm.

  “Such an honor,” she said in the same tone of voice.

  She felt a light burning pain in her stomach but wasn’t sure if it was because she hadn’t had any breakfast or if it could be traced to something else. Courteously he let her go up the steps first. She was intensely aware of the odor of sweat she left behind her.

  When they came up to a bright hallway, she turned toward him and said, “Why did you take me here?”

  “Because this is where you wanted to go yesterday. There’s not a chance that you mistook the bathroom door for this one. And the questions you asked. You wanted to see what was up here and now you’ll get to.” He went up to a door that was equipped with a digital lock. The lock buzzed before he opened it.

  “My office.”

  When she peeked into the room she got a light nudge on the back.

  “Step in.”

  “Okay, okay. But what do you really want?” She twirled around and glared furiously at him.

  The look he gave her was contemptuous, as was the tone in his voice when he answered. “I want you to see what’s in here so the bullshit stops.”

  It felt like a slap. But he was right. Gossip and rumors were the reason for her performance the night before.

  Instead of saying anything she looked around the large room. It was painted completely white, even the floorboards. The beams in the ceiling were exposed to make it feel more spacious. In the middle of the room there were two desks facing each other with various computers, monitors, printers, and even some speakers. One wall was taken up by an enormous screen. A gigantic speaker system covered the floor below it. Besides the lights over the desks and two black leather office chairs, the room was otherwise completely empty. Not even a Post-it note was visible by the computers or on the walls.

  “You don’t have any bookcases,” she noted.

  “No, why should I? I download what I want to read on my iPad or phone. There isn’t a paper book in the whole house.”

  “So this is where you sit and work all day long.”

  “Exactly. When I’m not in Gothenburg or meeting clients abroad somewhere.”

  There was nothing that seemed shady. On the contrary the room looked quite sterile. But who knew what was on those computers.

  “Of course I can’t show you what I have on the computers. Everything is confidential.”

  Once again she got the feeling that he could read her thoughts.

  “I knocked out a wall between two bedrooms to make the room large enough. Otherwise there’s just my bedroom, a small guest room, and a bathroom up here.”

  “Yes, you have plenty of space.”

  He nodded and inquisitively raised his eyebrows. “Are you satisfied with what you’ve seen in here?” he said.

  “Yes. Thanks.”

  The whole situation felt unpleasant and strange, but she kept a straight face. He walked across the polished floor of the hall and opened another door, which also was equipped with a digital lock.

  “The bedroom,” he said, again making an exaggerated gesture toward the room.

  Why did he need a lock on the bedroom door? Hesitantly s
he stepped across the threshold. The morning light shone in through the balcony windows and flooded across a wide bed. It was neatly made with a light-gray quilt and some dark violet silk pillows that matched a thick, fluffy bedside rug. It was the first rug she had seen in the house. On the high headboard was a two-armed bed lamp. One wall was covered by black, opaque glass sliding doors that, presumably, concealed closets.

  “Such a nice room!”

  “Yes.”

  She went up to the balcony doors and looked out the windows. The autumn colors dominated the peaceful landscape, which was lit up by the crooked rays of the morning sun. It looked like it was going to be a really fine day.

  The aroma of Peter’s aftershave got stronger and his voice was suddenly right behind her.

  “And as you surely know I also have alarms on the barn and the outbuilding. Do you want to inspect them, too?”

  His tone dripped with sarcasm. She felt anger rising inside her. She turned around and gave him a hard look.

  “What makes you think you’re so damn interesting that everyone is talking about you? Sure, I took the opportunity to look around the house last night. I’m a cop. It’s a hard habit to shake. But it was for my own curiosity. I wasn’t snooping on behalf of the whole village. Sorry if my presence upset you, but I can promise that it won’t be repeated!” Angrily she marched out of the room.

  “Then I assume you don’t care to inspect the guest room?” she heard him say behind her back.

  She could still hear the sarcasm in his voice. Anger flared up as she ran down the steep stairs. Her face was flushed and she needed to get out in the fresh air. With a jerk she got the front door open and stepped out. For a moment she stopped and took a few deep breaths, which made her heart rate decrease and her thoughts clear somewhat. Forcing herself to be calm, she started jogging back the way she had come.

  The anger started to give way to the insight that she hadn’t handled the situation very professionally. As usual, her anxiety had taken over when she started to feel foolish. She should have kept a cool head. And yesterday’s stunt when she had “ran out of gas” was not exactly a high point where her acting talents were concerned. The only important result was that she had gotten to see some of Peter’s less appealing traits. As Nisse had pointed out, we all have our dark sides. Peter’s was evidently that he lacked the ability to let people get close to him. He distrusted them—that was apparent, and he seemed almost a little paranoid. And here she had imagined the two of them were trying to get to know each other, that they both wanted . . . What had she imagined actually? The guy must be completely out of his mind, isolating himself on a farm in the middle of nowhere and pumping a fortune into the renovation of the buildings, cars that cost several years’ income for a normal farmer here in the area, and locked rooms and . . . well, what? People didn’t know that much more about him. Sure, he looks good.

  Damn!

  The sound of the spinning engine of the Ferrari cut into her thoughts as it approached from behind. She continued running at the same pace. The sports car passed without slowing down. The gravel sprayed around the tires, and she was forced to stop. It took a while before the coughing subsided and her eyes stopped tearing up.

  Embla went for a hard, hour-long bout with Nisse’s punching bag and speed ball out in the barn. As she stood in the shower her thoughts started to clear. She had to admit to herself that she was more than just interested, as she had said to Nisse. She was starting to fall for the mysterious hottie. It felt as if the air between them was vibrating with feelings, both positive and negative. Which was incredibly silly, she knew, since they hardly knew each other. And in the beginning he had given signals that he was interested, too, before suddenly changing course and turning unpleasant. It was obvious he didn’t want any close contact with other people. So why had he given her hints, such as inviting her to the farm? Had she misinterpreted him and assumed an interest that wasn’t there?

  She stood there, turning over her thoughts, until the hot water ran out. Then she stepped out of the shower and energetically toweled herself off until her skin glowed.

  Tomorrow she would go up to the cabin. There they would meet again.

  “Your phone rang twice!” Nisse called from the laundry room as she came downstairs.

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  She went up to the hall table where she had left her phone. Two missed calls, one of which was from Elliot. She would call him immediately after she talked to Göran, her boss, who had also tried to reach her.

  Göran answered on the first ring.

  “Hi, Embla! Are you hunting wood nymphs up there in the primeval forest?”

  “Wood what?”

  “Just kidding. The strand of hair you sent over was unusually long, so I told Hampus you were off hunting witches in the forest. Anyway, it is human hair. Originally it was black but it’s been bleached and dyed. Sturdy, probably Indo-European. It most likely comes from a wig.”

  “I could have guessed as much.”

  “So you want to tell me what is this about?”

  She hesitated for a moment. “Well . . . to be honest I don’t really know. An extremely strange thing happened . . . but I’ll tell you about it when I’m back.”

  “Okay. See you in ten days. I’ll bake something good.”

  He knew very well that she never ate any of his cookies, but the consideration warmed her heart. My mom, Göran, she thought. It was a shame he was still single after the divorce; Embla wished he would at least try to meet a new woman. After his youngest son moved away from home last year to study in Luleå, it was as if he had adopted her and Hampus. He truly cared about them. At the same time he was a very competent policeman and the best boss she could ask for. She’d had unbelievable luck getting the position at VGM.

  Elliot had lots to talk about. He was naturally most interested in the moose she had shot. Next year he wanted—no, he demanded—to go with her on the moose hunt. She didn’t have the energy to argue with him, but instead simply cowardly mumbled that they would have to see then. Carefully she guided the conversation onto different paths.

  “What do you think we should do when we get together next time?”

  “Go to a concert! Iron Maiden!”

  “Oh boy. Heavy metal. What does Jason say about that?”

  “I can like whatever I want!”

  “Absolutely. But have you ever really listened to Iron Maiden?”

  There was silence for a moment before he finally answered. “No. Maybe not. But a guy in fourth grade has a really cool T-shirt with them on it. His dad bought it. I want a shirt like that too. But they only sell them at their shows.”

  “Okay. I understand. Hold on a sec.” She did a quick search on her phone. “It looks like there won’t be any Iron Maiden concerts in Gothenburg for a while, but I can try to get you a shirt like that.”

  “Great! I want one with a skull.”

  “I’m not promising anything, but I’ll do some digging online. So what do you want to do instead?”

  “Go to Lerum’s water park.”

  “Then that’s what we’ll do.”

  She became aware that she had been smiling for a long time after she ended the call with Elliot. She had to admit it: he was the man in her life.

  The rest of the day they devoted to stocking up on food for the weekend, doing laundry, and a thorough gun cleaning. At lunch, which consisted of potato pancakes with lingonberry jam and crisply fried pork, Nisse said, “Ingela really wants us to come over to her place for dinner tonight. What do you think?”

  “That would be great!”

  “Okay, then I’ll call her and say yes.”

  Before they left for Ingela Gustavsson’s, Embla picked a big bouquet of red and blue fall asters from Nisse’s garden. Those were the only flowers still blooming that were at all beautiful, given the cold snap during the week. A few more cold nights and they would also start to look decayed. They would have to do.

  The house was a trad
itional red wooden Swedish house. They went up the neatly raked gravel path and knocked on the door. Embla heard footsteps at once and the door opened.

  “Welcome!”

  Ingela was rather short and a little plump, with light, curly hair and lively blue eyes behind a pair of red eyeglass frames. Besides glowing red lip gloss she used no makeup. The silk blouse she wore was white with narrow blue stripes in the same shade as her pants. And she knew the art of walking elegantly in her red high-heeled shoes.

  They stepped into the hall and hung up their jackets. Happily chatting, Ingela showed them into the kitchen. It was easy to see that she and Nisse did not have the same taste where kitchens were concerned. Hers was new, with smooth, light oak cupboard doors. There were handwoven rag rugs on the floor. All the appliances were new and of the latest model, including the induction cooktop and hot-air oven. The kitchen windows were filled with plants and the white curtain valances were hand-embroidered with flowery garlands.

  Whatever was in the oven smelled good. Given the hint of cinnamon that was floating in the air, Embla guessed it must be a dessert.

  On the kitchen counter their hostess had set out a small tray with three tall wine glasses. She traipsed over to the refrigerator and took out a bottle with gold foil around the cork.

  “Would you like a glass of bubbly before dinner?”

  Both her guests said yes. Ingela invited them to relax on the sofas in the living room, and she would join them with the wine and some snacks.

  The oak parquet floor and eggshell-white walls made the room light and cozy. In front of the open fireplace were two light-blue sofas facing each other. They sat down on the sofas and soon the hostess came with champagne glasses and some snack bowls on a tray. Ingela’s toast was a little solemn, but the mood quickly brightened and they talked happily about all kinds of things. Ingela was especially interested in Embla’s job in the mobile unit and asked lots of questions.

  After a while they brought up this year’s moose hunt, and once again Embla had an opportunity to talk about the moment she felled her magnificent animal. They also talked about how the others had done and gossiped a little about the members of Anders von Beehn’s hunting party. Ingela thought Embla’s description of Greger Liljon’s English hunting outfit was particularly amusing; she laughed heartily for a long time. While she dried the tears from her eyes she asked how things had gone for Peter.