“You’re stressed, I can feel it,” I said, lightly rubbing his shoulders. “Negative stress isn’t good for you, Claes. Two minutes of relaxation can do wonders.”
He offered no resistance, and his shoulders sagged noticeably toward the floor. While I worked his tense neck and shoulders with my hands he sighed deeply and closed his eyes. I stood closer. My legs on either side of his. I could smell his sea-scented aftershave. I saw out of the corner of my eye that he was slowly opening his eyes, just a little. He looked at me. I continued massaging, pretending not to notice. Let him look.
We’d had sex once, Claes and I. It was the last time he’d threatened to transfer me. Afterward he’d felt so guilty about his wife that it had never happened again, which was fine with me. I’d achieved my goal — I got to stay. If I had been an emotional person I probably would have felt guilty about Peter. Although intellectually I could understand the concept of guilt, I had never experienced it. I’d often wondered why I wasted so much energy trying to feel things. Was it really something to strive for? Most people who did so seemed unhappy anyway.
Sex wasn’t interesting to me. I thought it was mostly awkward and uncomfortable. I’d never understood people’s obsession with it.
I moved even closer to him and stood there as the phone on the desk let out a loud, piercing sound. He flinched. Leaped up quickly and went around the desk, sitting down in his office chair.
“Violent Crimes, Claes Zetterlund…Then I’ll arrange it so you have it tomorrow morning…No problem…I’ll handle it.”
He hung up. His facial expression and a whispered oath showed that he wasn’t at all pleased by the phone call.
“Just a lot of fucking demands, but never anything reasonable on payday. Really makes you wonder why we keep on with this.”
“I would have thought you had a decent salary,” I said.
Claes let out a sarcastic laugh.
“We’re done, Leona. I’ll make a decision about you later. I have to get this done before tomorrow morning.”
He nodded at the computer screen.
“Seriously, Claes. I want to keep going with the bank robbery. You know what I can do. I’m going to solve it.”
“Okay, see that you do. The higher-ups have their eyes on you, just so you know. And listen — no more crazy outbursts at meetings. I have more than enough shit to think about.”
“Okay, okay,” I said, throwing up my arms as I walked toward the door.
I needed to be more careful with Claes. He was capricious. I couldn’t risk being transferred. Not now.
My phone vibrated in my pocket as I left Claes’s office.
“Christer Skoog from Aftonbladet. You know why I’m calling, don’t you?”
It was typical of a reporter from Aftonbladet to open with that line. Didn’t they understand that their whole manner doomed the conversation right from the start? If there was anything I had learned about communication with other people, it was not to start a conversation by making the person you wanted to talk to angry. Especially not if you wanted to get anything useful out of the conversation.
“How should I know that?” I said, even though I knew.
“The little girl robbery,” he answered, as if it was obvious.
So they had already given it a name in the press. The Little Girl Robbery. If you didn’t know what it was about, your first thought would be that it was a girl who had been robbed.
I realized that the case was of interest to the media, but their unrefined methods of obtaining information irritated me.
“I don’t have enough info to give you anything of value, unfortunately.”
I pretended to be sorry, exaggerating a bit.
“I can judge the value myself. Why unfortunately?” he said.
“Otherwise obviously I would have gladly given you all the information we have. Any other confidential investigation you want to know about, since you’re calling anyway?”
“I’ll call you again in an hour.”
His tone was abrupt. Evidently he did not appreciate my sarcasm. Didn’t they have a sense of humor at Aftonbladet?
“You’re more than welcome to contact me any time you —”
Christer Skoog had hung up.
SEVEN
Olivia pressed her finger against the blue-striped foam mattress. Blue had always been her favorite color. Not anymore. The thin mattress on the floor didn’t even hold up her light body. She had to roll over all the time so it wouldn’t hurt.
Besides the mattress, the only other things in the room were a desk and a Windsor chair. Not at all like her room at home with Mommy. The walls were worn, with peeling paint. She wondered who lived there when she and Daddy were not there. Probably no kids.
Daddy had been talking on the phone a long time now. He sounded angry.
She angled her head, but she still couldn’t see whether the heater was turned on. She huddled up, trying to keep warm. She had made a little tunnel from the blanket that had become her own little hut. There she could hum quietly without Daddy hearing. Before she used to sing on top of the covers because it echoed so funnily in the room. She wouldn’t dare do that now. Not when he was home.
Olivia had been clever and done well, she knew, because now Daddy was being nice. He had given her food and a bath, letting her bathe as long as she wanted in warm water. It had been scary in the bath. The water had turned red when Daddy scrubbed her. Like in a horror movie she had seen at a friend’s house once. The friend’s big sister had shown it to them when her parents were away. Olivia had hated horror films after that.
It stung a lot on her back and arms when she was in the bath, but that didn’t matter. She just hoped that Daddy would keep being nice for a long, long time. But he had started drinking beer, and she knew that soon he would get mean and make a mess of the apartment. There were lots of beer cans everywhere, and he put his cigarette butts in them when they were empty. He coughed a lot when he smoked. Loudly. Olivia would start coughing too, because the smell was so strong. Once Olivia had opened a window to let out all the smoke. It had made Daddy furious. He’d hit her in the stomach and screamed that she must never go near the window.
Daddy had a friend. The quiet lady. She had been there two times and when she came she would throw away the beer cans and open the window. Olivia had seen that when she peeked out through the keyhole. The lady talked so quietly that Olivia could barely hear what she said, even though she put her ear against the door. Daddy said that Olivia had to stay in the bedroom and have the door closed while the lady was there, and she did as she was told. The quiet lady never came into the bedroom. She probably didn’t want to see Olivia. She must have thought that Olivia was ugly. She was, too. She knew that because Daddy always said so.
Olivia wished her hair would dry. The pillow was so wet and cold from the water. Luckily she didn’t have to wear the wig any more, the one the quiet lady had left. Daddy had hung it over the back of the chair by the desk. What if her friends at school had seen her in it? Some of the girls’ mothers let them dye their hair, but Olivia wasn’t allowed. She had to wait until she was fifteen, Mommy had said, which had made Olivia think that Mommy was the meanest person in the world. Olivia had always wanted to have blond hair. She didn’t want that anymore, though. The quiet lady’s wig had turned completely red and the strands of hair had clumped together strangely. She never wanted to look like that again. Besides, the wig was too big, and it itched. Daddy had taped it on the back of her neck with brown tape. It burned and stung when he pulled it off afterward. She never wanted to wear the wig again.
Olivia listened. Daddy was still talking on the phone. She gathered her courage and sneaked carefully up to the radiator that was on the wall below the window. Her whole body shivered when she touched the cold metal. The knob that controlled the heat was firmly in place but she turned it as far as she could and hurried back to get under the blanket again.
Even though Daddy had been nice and let her bathe in warm wa
ter, she was shivering with cold. She turned over on the mattress, but she had to lie a certain way so that it wouldn’t hurt. She missed her teddy bear. Daddy had sprayed it and hung it up in the bathroom. She stood up as quietly as she could. It had gone well. She was clever. She could sneak like a cat. When she put on her socks and walked on tiptoe she didn’t make a single sound. She didn’t dare turn on the light until she had carefully closed the bathroom door — not too slowly, because then it creaked. The light blinded her when the bulb flicked on. The walls were white and made of shiny squares. She stood quietly awhile and listened, making sure that Daddy hadn’t noticed anything. He was still talking.
Olivia looked at the clothesline above the bathtub. No teddy bear! Suddenly it was hard to breathe. She quickly scanned the room. Then she saw it. It had fallen down into the bathtub and was lying upside down with its legs against the edge. It was looking at her. She took the bear into her arms and hugged it as hard as she could. Then she heard Daddy speaking louder.
“Yes, I understand Swedish. I’m not completely…damn it!”
Not a sound. He must have hung up. Olivia cracked open the bathroom door. She couldn’t see him anywhere, so she hurried into the bedroom, moving quickly and quietly. Just as she crept under the blanket with the teddy bear, Daddy opened the door. He had a big crease between his dark eyebrows. She knew what that meant. He was angry. Olivia crept even farther down under the blanket and peeked out with just one eye. He was searching around with his eyes as if he knew that she had done something that she wasn’t supposed to.
“We’re going to do it again, Olivia, you may as well know it now,” he said.
Olivia tried to say something but could not. She was having a hard time breathing again. She couldn’t make a sound. Her stomach hurt, too. Not like when she got hit, more like from inside. He had promised. Promised that it would only be the one time and then she would get to go home to Mommy.
She didn’t want to cry, but she couldn’t stop the tears from coming. She tried to hide it from Daddy. Normally she would have just looked down as much as possible, and then he wouldn’t have noticed anything. But now she was lying down. She couldn’t pretend to be sleeping, either, because then he would just come and shake her. She pressed the teddy bear hard against her body under the blanket.
“What have you got there?” said Daddy.
He came up to the mattress. Pulled off the blanket.
“What the —?”
He tore the teddy bear out of her arms. She wanted to scream at him to be careful, but she didn’t dare.
“What have I said about this fucking teddy bear. You can have it the next time we work. Until then just leave it the fuck alone. Do you hear me?”
He stormed out of the room and into the bathroom. She heard the teddy bear thump down on the cold hard bathtub and then he started spraying it with the bottle again. The teddy bear’s fur had already gone rumpled and stiff from the spray.
“Sorry, Daddy,” she called.
Now you could hear that she was crying, even though she was trying not to show it. Maybe he hadn’t heard that from the bathroom, though. She pulled the blanket up over her head and closed her eyes as she heard his steps approaching.
“Get up!” he said.
Olivia’s whole body became rigid. She could barely breathe. When he sounded like that she didn’t know what was going to happen. She wanted to do what he said, but she couldn’t move.
“Get up, I said!” he shouted.
She tried to move, but now her whole body was shaking. She hated it when her body didn’t do what she wanted. With one arm she lifted part of the blanket but when she tried to get her legs out they’d turned soft.
“Damn it, you’re so slow.”
Daddy took hold of the blanket and tore it away, then grabbed her arm and pulled her up from the mattress. Her arm made a strange sound. It cracked. Now she started crying even more, even though she didn’t want to. He took hold of both her arms and shook her back and forth.
“I’ve told you that you can’t have the teddy bear! Why the hell did you go and get it anyway?”
She didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t make him angrier. Nothing came out when she tried to talk. Something in her throat had swollen up, and her nose ran.
“It’s because you’re stupid. You can never have a stupid girl with you on a trip. Maybe you want me to leave you here alone?”
Olivia shook her head as hard as she could.
“Well, then that was the last time you do something you’re not allowed to, do you get that? I don’t have time to keep track of you all the time. As of now you will do exactly as I say and nothing else.”
She could not think of anything except that she wanted him to let go of her arms, which had started aching. His hands were so hard. The cut on her shoulder was throbbing even more now. Something wet was seeping out from it too.
“Your sore is full of pus,” said Daddy. “Wipe it off, for God’s sake.”
He let go of her arm. The tears stung her cheeks. Her eyes ached. She felt snot running down toward her mouth.
“Jesus, you’re so disgusting! Gross!”
He pushed her down onto the mattress and went out. She pulled up the blanket and wiped her arm and the snot so she wouldn’t be so disgusting. Now that Daddy was gone she could cry all she wanted, but no more tears came. She was so tired. Her body ached. She turned her head toward the wall to avoid seeing the lady’s wig, which had fallen on the floor. It reminded her of everything that was scary. She closed her eyes and pretended that she was at home with Mommy.
EIGHT
The electric toothbrush emitted a buzzing, pulsating sound, signaling that I had completed the two minutes required to maintain good oral hygiene. I rinsed off the brush and spat out the foam. There was less risk of periodontitis with an electric toothbrush than an ordinary one, Peter maintained. I didn’t care either way. I used the brush for the sake of domestic tranquillity. I refused to use the new toothpaste he insisted on, though. The husband of one of Peter’s colleagues was a dental hygienist and had recommended a toothpaste made from herbs. It looked like liverwurst, tasted salty, and produced no foam. There was a limit to what I would put in my mouth. Now we each bought our own toothpaste.
I spat out the last of my mint-flavored Sensodyne super-blue gel with extra whitening and made sure all the foam drained away before I turned off the tap. I removed my makeup and went into the bedroom.
Peter was reclining under the covers with his computer on his lap. He didn’t react when I came in. After combing my hair at the dressing table we had inherited from Peter’s mother I got into bed, reaching for the light switch on the nightstand.
“I’ve found a few here that are probably worth looking at,” Peter said.
I sighed inwardly. No matter how late it was, he always managed to find the energy to look at real estate ads. Our tiny five-room apartment on Allhelgonagatan in Södermalm was possibly a bit cramped, but living in the suburbs wasn’t an option. Södermalm was always humming. The outdoor cafés and the parks in the summer gave the area an atmosphere you couldn’t find anywhere else in Stockholm.
“A pretty big terrace out the back,” he continued. “No southern exposure, but the price is reasonable. We should look at this one.”
Looking at houses wasn’t only remarkably boring, it was also completely pointless, because I didn’t have the slightest intention of moving. Having to put up with a young brat in a pink shirt with slicked-back hair, who showed up in a brand-new BMW three minutes before the start of the showing, completely irritated me. The real estate agents were always poorly informed about the houses they were selling and referred you to the seller as soon as a question was asked. At best they knew whether the house had any damage, but in those cases they generally kept quiet about it unless they were asked a direct question. At a previous showing Peter had nagged me into attending I had pointed out some obvious water damage. The agent stood there like a fool and mumbled that the wa
llpaper was probably just a little discolored.
Despite all this, I went to the showings. I picked my battles with Peter.
“Mmm.”
“I’ll add it as a favorite on the computer in the guest room along with the other interesting showings so you can look at them later. It’s in Spånga and has…”
I tuned out. I only used the desktop computer in the guest room at night, and for a completely different purpose. One night Peter had stuck his head into the guest room when I was in the middle of something. I had explained that I couldn’t sleep so I’d gotten up to check a few real estate ads. He’d been happy with that response and had gone back to bed without any further questions.
“Can we turn out the light, do you think?” I said in a gentle voice.
Peter shut down the computer and turned off the bedside lamp on his side. He lay down close beside me with his arm around me. After only a minute or two his breathing became heavy. I never knew anyone else who fell asleep as quickly as he did.
I carefully moved his relaxed arm away and slipped out of bed. He never woke when I got up at night, but because he had just fallen asleep I was particularly cautious. He was completely unaware. If he suspected something, he never said anything.
I put on the champagne-colored terry cloth bathrobe he’d given me for Christmas last year. Moved soundlessly across the floor. By the dresser there was a spot where the wood always creaked. I stayed clear of it.
I had been looking forward to this all evening. Longed to flee into a world that was only concerned with the present. A place where I could feel the same rush I used to get at work, but which lately had become harder and harder to achieve.
A world of thrills.
Where everything around me disappeared.
NINE
I didn’t get much sleep that night. As usual I had been so consumed that I didn’t notice as the hours flew by. The morning at work went okay. The afternoon was harder. At the two o’clock break I knocked back three heavily sugared cups of coffee in a row to get the caffeine and sugar hit I needed to conduct the interview I was about to hold.
Leona Page 5
