Leona

by Jenny Rogneby

  Peter looked at me. “Leona, you know we can’t go on like this. If there’s a chance for him to get better we have to take it.”

  I nodded. He was right. The alternative, to let Benji live in pain for the rest of his life, was too unbearable to imagine.

  “We do have the money,” said Peter. “Think about the families that can’t afford it. What a frustrating situation to have a sick child and not be able to pay for health care. How much do we have in the savings account?”

  Peter looked at me.

  “Uh…It’s been a while since I looked…I don’t really know…”

  I knew exactly. Three hundred and twenty-three kronor.

  “Considering how many years we’ve saved we should be well on our way,” said Peter.

  “Hmm.”

  I was calm. As soon as I had won back the money I would put it in the savings account again and we would have enough for the operation.

  “Thanks for the ride, darling.”

  Peter got out of the car. He leaned over and looked at me through the half-open car door.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “He’s going to get healthy if we just have the operation. We have our savings.”

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  “Look, look, Mommy on TV, Mommy on TV!”

  Beatrice laughed loudly and ran closer to the TV. She and Peter had turned it on to get a glimpse of me.

  “Yes, look, there I am. How do you think I look?”

  “You look weird, Mommy.”

  I smiled.

  “You can be a bit weird yourself,” I said, rubbing a pillow on her stomach so that she started laughing out loud. “Now you’ve seen me, run off and start brushing your teeth, then Daddy will come and help you.”

  “But I want to see, Mommy.”

  “We’ve already talked about this, Bea. It’s way too scary for kids. You’ll have nightmares. Off you go now.”

  She moved toward the bathroom with her arms hard around the pillow.

  I had managed to back out of my promise to be at the Sweden’s Most Wanted studio for the broadcast. Blamed it on too much work. Despite my opinions about Sweden’s Most Wanted I had to admit that the reporting was entertaining. With their reenactment, they managed to make the robbery resemble an action film with elements of horror.

  Presumably tips would pour in about everything under the sun, most of them completely unusable. There was always a gang of wackos who called in and gave totally irrelevant tips. But suddenly, in the middle of the tips, someone might turn up who had information of substance. I had asked Anette to turn all tips directly over to me when they came in. The fact that the Most Wanted editors knew about them didn’t matter, because they had no idea of the content of the investigation in general, but I didn’t want others on the squad snooping. Least of all Minna and Sam.

  “Mommy, why did the girl do that?”

  Without Peter and me noticing, Bea had come back from the bathroom and was standing in the doorway with the toothbrush in her hand.

  “Oh honey…Peter, please, will you help her?” I said.

  Peter got up quickly.

  “Come on, I’ll help you finish brushing.”

  “But where is she?” said Bea on her way back to the bathroom.

  “Mommy doesn’t know yet,” said Peter. “She’s the one who’s trying to find out.”

  When I thought the feature about the robbery was over, they stayed with the camera outside the crime scene in Old Town. A reporter was speaking to an elderly man who was standing beside her. The man was wearing a checked cap and supported himself with a cane. I had never seen him before but realized immediately who he was — the man who had touched the girl during the robbery. He was recorded as a witness in the investigation. I had read the interview with him, but I hadn’t seen what he looked like. It was a very emotional interview. The man had no new facts to add to the investigation, but said several times that the incident had upset him. It wasn’t particularly surprising that TV3 had chosen him for an interview.

  “I had read about the first robbery at the bank at Östermalmstorg and thought it was strange that no one could do anything for that little girl, but when I stood there in Forex and saw her…then I understood why.” He shook his head. “It was frightfully horrid…gruesome. The little girl was so fragile. The voice on the tape forbade us to touch her or contact anyone outside…Otherwise…”

  He fell silent. The reporter held the microphone by his mouth. Waited, hoping for more details. When the old man did not continue the reporter said, “What would have happened if any of you had helped her?”

  The man took a deep breath.

  “They would not let her live, to put it simply. The voice said that he could see everything that was happening in the room, so everyone did as the voice said. I wanted to take hold of her and keep her there but…I simply didn’t dare. For the girl’s safety.”

  “How is it that you dared to go up to her anyway?”

  “I just wanted to try to talk with her a little. Maybe get something out of her that might help the police later…but she didn’t answer.”

  “You touched her?” said the reporter.

  “I hoped that she would talk with me, but she ran away. Since then I’ve…”

  The man fell silent again. The reporter waited. I was astonished that they had set aside so much time for this story. The reporter didn’t speak. She let him work through his emotions, waiting.

  “…Since then I’ve been worried that my actions may have made it worse for the girl. I hope that she is still alive. I wouldn’t forgive myself otherwise…”

  His eyes filled with tears. The reporter turned straight to the camera.

  “A child’s life is in danger. If you know anything about the girl, or have any information about the robbery, it may be important. Call Sweden’s Most Wanted at 08 702 00 90.”

  They nailed it. The broadcast presumably went straight into the hearts of Swedes. A poor little girl-child who was being treated badly. It wasn’t hard to imagine people’s fantasies about what such a small child might have been subjected to.

  “I don’t get what makes people tick,” said Peter, throwing the pillow back on the couch that Bea had taken with her to the bathroom. “This is just a child. Some people have no boundaries at all.”

  He left to look after Bea.

  “Hope you get hold of those sick people soon,” he called on his way. “Lock them up and throw away the key.”

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  “You did so well on Most Wanted yesterday, Leona,” Anette called as I walked past in the corridor in the morning.

  I went into my office, set the pile of incoming tips on the desk and took a deep breath. Needed caffeine. At least one cup. I took off my jacket and went into the break room to get some coffee.

  “Leona! As seen on TV!”

  Julle, one of our local crime scene investigators, gave me a thumbs-up from one of the armchairs. He and his constant companion, Bubble, had the habit of hanging around in our break room when they had extra time, of which they seemed to have a fair amount. Now they were sitting on our sofas making comments as people walked past.

  “Well now, if it isn’t my favorite technician,” I answered sarcastically. “In need of another cup of coffee?”

  “Equally attractive and sarcastic,” Julle continued with a smile. “It’s more than you can say about that half-baked program host they have on Most Wanted.”

  “Were you thinking about inviting us in for coffee in your office?”

  Bubble was looking at the two cups of coffee I had taken from the machine.

  “You wish! Unlike you, I take responsibility for my work, which requires serious concentration. For that I need to get high on a double dose of caffeine.”

  “Sure, it probably takes a lot of concentration to turn over all the papers on your desk. Don’t forget to turn them back over later.”

  The two of them looked at each other and laughed loudly. It had been many years since I had tho
ught that Julle and Bubble, or Jacob Nordlund and Bengt Sandström as their real names were, added anything humorous to life at the agency. To begin with it had been amusing to hear their drivel, making fun of everything and everyone. These days I found them irritating.

  “Don’t you ever deserve a pastry down there at your squad — is that why you always come up here and mooch?”

  “We work during the day, you see, Leona. We don’t have time for coffee breaks down there. How’s work going for you? I heard you’re investigating the girl robbery and that you have Nina Wallin as preliminary investigation leader. Congratulations! You’d have to search hard for a more zealous prelim leader.”

  Julle laughed loudly at Bubble’s commentary and added to it as usual.

  “There won’t be any reclining in your chair with your footsies on the desk for you, Leo. Now you’ll have to toil for your daily bread.”

  I went into my office and quickly skimmed through the bundle of tips from Most Wanted. Most were total trash. Either whoever had turned in the tips was completely incoherent or else the police interns transcribing them had limited knowledge about how you put an oral statement down on paper. One tip, however, seemed interesting and suited my needs. There was a witness who claimed to have seen a man running from the scene at the time of the crime at SEB. I put that tip on my desk and continued browsing. Another witness described standing on the other side of the street and seeing a child with bare legs walking along the sidewalk on Nybrogatan on her way from SEB. A delivery van had come along the street between them and when it drove past the girl was gone. The witness had crossed the street to look, but hadn’t seen the girl anywhere. She thought that she must have seen wrong, until she heard the news on P3 a few hours later. I set the tip aside and continued browsing.

  A witness by the name of Madeleine Lundby, a manicurist at a salon on Scheelegatan, a block from the police building, remembered a strange man who came in and bought fake blood early the same morning as the robbery at Forex. The man had spoken with a Finnish accent and had said to Madeleine that the blood was for his children who were going to a Halloween party. According to Madeleine, everyone who bought blood also got a cheap Halloween mask along with it. She had thought it was strange that the man only wanted the blood and didn’t take the mask, and that he’d bought three bottles. According to Madeleine one bottle is enough to cover a grown man from head to toe. Madeleine was not sure it had anything to do with the robbery but she wanted to contact the police to be on the safe side.

  I stared at the piece of paper. It was inconceivable that Ronni had managed to fuck up that one simple thing. How could he be so stupid that he hadn’t taken the mask? Not to mention buying three whole bottles at once. I felt my own blood pulsing in my veins. I tore the tip into pieces and went directly out to the document shredder. While I pressed the tip down I reeled off a string of words in my head, swearing to myself that I would never work with criminals again.

  Never.

  They were simply unable to commit crimes.

  In yet another tip, a man who had driven past in his car saw another car stop a block or two away and let out a girl who had been “strangely dressed.” He hadn’t thought about it until he saw it on the news. It was fine to contact him at any time of day if that was needed, he said.

  “Thanks but that won’t be necessary,” I said out loud to myself, putting the tip in the top drawer of the desk.

  “What isn’t necessary?” asked Claes who was suddenly standing in the doorway, looking at me.

  “What? Uh, nothing in particular, I’m just babbling to myself as usual.”

  “Nice appearance on Most Wanted yesterday, by the way. They should have you in the studio, damn it, instead of those old bores they have. You’re much more photogenic.”

  He winked.

  “Thanks. Don’t forget that I’ve now represented the agency in the media and hopefully increased our credibility. That should make my coin purse jingle at the next salary negotiation,” I said.

  He laughed and started to head back toward his office. After a few steps he turned and said, “I want you to set up a meeting where you account for the incoming tips from Most Wanted. I also want to be updated on the case as such.” He took out his phone. “Three o’clock on Thursday. Then you’ll have plenty of time. Be sure to make some progress.”

  I understood what this was about. Claes wanted to be able to tell the head of investigations and the county police chief that he had the situation under control. I would check further on the tip that concerned the man seen running from the scene. He needed to be brought in.

  I took the rest of the tips to Minna and Sam.

  “Check through this bundle. These are tips from Most Wanted yesterday. Concentrate on what might concern the girl.”

  None of the tips would give any lead as to where the girl was, but I needed to keep them busy.

  “On Thursday at three o’clock we’ll have a meeting in the conference room. I’ll update Claes and the head of investigations about what has emerged in the case. Have you found anything interesting?”

  They looked at each other as if they both wanted the other to say something. Did they know something they hadn’t told me?

  “What?” I said.

  “Not yet,” Sam answered.

  “Okay, keep working then. I know you’re doing what you can.”

  I could afford a little praise, since they had been so obliging and not managed to produce any evidence at all. I was starting to realize the advantage of working with two inexperienced investigators.

  I dialed the number of the person who claimed to have seen a man running from the scene. It was best that it was me who took his information and no one else.

  A stressed voice answered on the other end.

  “Sandström.”

  “Kent Sandström?” I said.

  “Yes?”

  “Leona Lindberg. I’m calling from the city police in regard to the robbery at SEB at Östermalmstorg. I have received information that you were in the vicinity when it happened.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “I see that you live in Uppsala. Do you know the streets in Stockholm well?”

  “No, not really. But I wonder if the street isn’t called —”

  “I’d like you to come in here as soon as possible. We’ll do the interview here at the station so you can show us on a map. It’s important that it’s right.”

  “I can’t come now. I’ve got an important meeting in ten minutes.”

  “Kent, this is a police investigation that concerns a serious crime with a child involved.”

  “Yes, I realize that, but —”

  “Where are you?”

  “At Sveavägen 147. I’m only in Stockholm for today, for this meeting.”

  “Okay. I’ll come there.”

  People were so troublesome. He sounded like a typical businessman in a suit who thought that his meeting with other businessmen in suits was more important than anything else. That really provoked me. If I had the option, I would have used coercive measures against him. Sent a marked car with blue lights and sirens. Made sure that four uniformed, muscular, male officers thundered in with guns drawn, and dragged Kent Sandström out of his “important” meeting.

  It was a flashy office I stepped into at Sveavägen 147. The floor was made of large white tiles so well polished you could see your reflection in them, and from the ceiling hung what must have been the biggest crystal chandelier in the city. Flashing prisms hung in twisted lines toward the floor. The light from it made an impressive formation on the shiny surface. Sound was dampened by large white curtains that hung from the high ceiling down to the floor by the windows. The whole place resembled a grand hotel lobby. I went straight to the reception area on the other side of the entrance.

  “I’m here to see Kent Sandström.”

  The older, well-dressed woman behind the counter did not respond. She looked at me with an expressionless face and let out a deep sigh bef
ore she began tapping on her computer. After a moment or two she stopped and said in a monotone, “There’s no such person here.”

  “I just spoke with him.”

  “We have no such person here.”

  The woman, whose nametag read Siri von Platen, didn’t look up at me.

  “Would you please look again?” I said. “He is supposed to be here today.”

  “You do hear what I’m saying?” Siri raised her voice. “We have no such person here. You’ll have to go somewhere else.”

  “I’m not going anywhere until you’ve seen about getting Kenny.”

  It felt good to say Kenny. As if we were good friends.

  “Are you having a hard time understanding?” said Siri, raising her voice even more. “There is no such person here!”

  It was obvious that Mrs. Siri von Platen wasn’t in the best mood today. I thought I had given her enough elbow room. Now my irritation had been transformed. Not to fury, but to an amused calm. I waited, with enjoyment, for the familiar phrase to come. It probably wouldn’t take long.

  “Now you need to get out of here!”

  Siri truly had the capacity to look terrifying when she wrinkled her whole face up into a raisin and fixed her small eyes on me. I leaned over.

  “No. Get Kenny!”

  I deliberately expressed myself like a defiant teenager. Siri looked around. She seemed to be searching for someone to come to her rescue. When there was no one there she pushed a button on the side of the counter that made the screen of glass between us slowly slide down. I calmly put my hand on the counter under the screen. Siri let go of the button.

  “What are you doing? Remove your hand!”

  I smiled. Waited for the phrase to come. Come on now, say it!

  “Remove your hand, I said!” Siri roared with the screen half-closed.

  “No,” I said calmly.

  “Remove it now, or I’ll call the police!”

  Ha! There it was. Now it was Christmas Eve. With my other hand I pulled the badge I had around my neck from under my jacket. I pressed it hard on the glass between us and smiled.

  “That won’t be necessary. I’m already here.”