Leona

by Jenny Rogneby

  I would have paid a lot for a framed photo of Siri von Platen’s face. The raisin face with the narrow squint was transformed into an oblong horse face with wide-open, globular eyes. Siri stared at the badge. She didn’t make a sound.

  “Raise the window,” I ordered.

  I loved how the whole process was reversed. Now I was the one in control. Without a sound and with her eyes still fixed on my badge, Siri pressed the button so the screen went up.

  “So, now you can start tapping on your little keyboard again and find my buddy Kenny.”

  Now we had become buddies too, Kent Sandström and I. Funny how different situations can bring people closer together.

  Siri began to search nervously. Tapped on the keyboard, rooted in binders and lists. I took out my phone. This seemed to be taking a while. Better that I called him myself.

  “Kent. Leona here from the police. I’m in reception and waiting for you. I see…What? Okay. I’ll go there.”

  I turned to Siri von Platen.

  “Well, it looks like you’ll be rid of me now. But I think you need to start thinking about how you conduct yourself. This kind of behavior is unacceptable for a receptionist. If you’re going to sit behind that window anyway, why not do it with a little dignity, Mrs. von Platen?”

  She nodded slowly. I started to walk away, making my way to the entry next door. Kent had obviously said the wrong street number. I stood outside and waited. He came out and shook my hand. He didn’t look as formal as I had imagined, but was instead dressed casually in jeans, a jacket, and sneakers.

  “Is there a room inside where we can sit?” I said.

  “No, I’m only here on a visit.”

  “Okay, my car is over here. We can talk there,” I said.

  We got in. I checked his identity and noted the time.

  “Okay, here is a map of the area. The bank is here. Here you see a square, Östermalmstorg. There is a subway entrance here.” I pointed at the map.

  “Yes, okay, then I know where we are. I was walking here when I saw a man come running in that direction with a bag in his hand.”

  “What type of bag was it?”

  “A backpack. Small and colorful. I noticed him simply because he had it in his hand. It looked funny somehow. I thought that if he was in a hurry and had to run it would be easier to put the pack on his back. I got a feeling that there was something fragile in it.”

  “Describe the backpack in more detail.”

  “It was pink and red and had something on the front. A cartoon animal I think.”

  “What did the man look like?”

  “Dark clothing. I guess he looked like most people do. He jumped into a car approximately here.”

  Kent indicated on the map. It was two blocks from the bank.

  “What kind of car was it?”

  “Golf, I think. Dark.”

  “Do you remember any of the license plate number?”

  “Unfortunately no.”

  “Can you describe the man’s appearance a little more. Physique? Height?”

  “Normal, perhaps my height, about 183 centimeters, though it’s hard to say because he was running on the other side of the street.”

  “Hair?”

  “Dark, cut short.”

  “Do you think you would recognize him if you saw him again?”

  “I didn’t really see him from the front.”

  “Was there anything else you noticed? Was he alone?”

  “As far as I could see. He put the bag on the passenger seat and took off quickly. Turned right at the intersection.”

  “Okay, Kent. I won’t keep you any longer. Here’s my card if you think of anything else. Otherwise, thanks for your help.”

  “No problem.”

  Kent left the car. I was satisfied. He had submitted information about a possible perpetrator. I just needed one more witness that pointed in the same direction.

  I reached for my phone, which was vibrating so much it was about to fall from the dashboard. It was Christer Skoog. Damn it. I didn’t have any more information for him right now. I let it buzz while I opened my laptop and browsed through all the witness interviews. There were still a few who had been questioned very briefly, among others a young woman, Alexandra Nilsson. I entered the number.

  “Alexandra, I’m calling you with reference to the bank robbery at Östermalmstorg. I would like you to tell me what you saw. Do you have time?”

  “I’m on the subway. On my way to school.”

  “That’s fine. We’ll do it on the phone.”

  Good, the more unfocused Alexandra was, the better.

  “Well, I didn’t see that much. Just a guy on the street with a bag, like. I guess it was a man, you know.”

  “What did he look like?”

  “Tall. Dark hair.”

  “How tall, approximately?”

  “Pretty tall.”

  “Could he have been over 180, around 183?”

  “Yes, about that.”

  “You said that he had dark hair. Was it cut short?”

  “Mmm.”

  This was going well. Alexandra’s testimony needed to be as close to Kenny’s as possible. I needed two independent testimonies that pointed to the same person. With a few more leading questions to Alexandra, I would hopefully achieve that.

  “Do you remember whether he had dark clothing on?”

  “I think so.”

  “The bag he was carrying, was it small or what?”

  “I don’t really know. Pretty small, I think. Dark blue or black, I think.”

  Damn it. Kent had said it was colorful.

  “Are you sure about the colors?”

  “Not completely, but it was some dark color.”

  “Alexandra, it’s extremely important that this is right, so we don’t accuse the wrong person. The color of the bag is essential information for us. Are you completely sure that it was dark?”

  There was silence on the line a couple of seconds.

  “Well…I guess I’m not a hundred percent…”

  “Were there any bright colors on it?”

  “I don’t really remember…”

  “Could it have been red or pink?”

  “Maybe in some small place.”

  “But you saw something dark on it too?”

  “Yes.”

  “Dark, red, and pink then?”

  “Yes, it was probably something like that…”

  I read out loud while I wrote. It was important to fix the colors in Alexandra’s memory.

  “ ’Alexandra describes the bag as dark, red, and pink,’ ” I repeated.

  She did not contradict from her end. Good.

  “How did he leave the place?”

  “He was walking.”

  “Slowly or fast?”

  “Pretty fast I think.”

  “Did you see his legs or was there anything that blocked your view?”

  “There were a few parked cars.”

  “So you actually only saw his upper body?”

  “Mmm.”

  “Could he have been jogging?”

  “I think he was going pretty fast. He may have been running a little.”

  “Is there anything else that you remember in particular, Alexandra?”

  “Not that I can think of…But my friend Angelica was there and she saw —”

  “I’ll read my notes here for you, Alexandra. Listen and speak up if something is not correct. You have seen a man with normal physique, short-cut dark hair and about 183 centimeters tall come walking on Nybrogatan carrying a small bag. The bag was dark, pink, and red. He left the scene running a little. Does that tally?”

  “I’m not quite sure about that part with the bag but —”

  “Okay, I’ll change it then and write that the bag was probably dark, pink, and red. Is that okay?”

  “Yes, that’s fine.”

  “Thanks so much for your testimony, Alexandra. You’ve given us some valuable information.”
<
br />   I looked down at the interview notes. The interview was completely miserable from an investigative viewpoint. Totally incomplete, with many obvious questions I had chosen not to ask. The questions I did ask were leading and besides that I had planted things in Alexandra’s memory that she hadn’t mentioned on her own. It violated all ethics and reasonable interview methods, but what could I do?

  Now that both Kent and Alexandra had submitted similar testimonies I only needed to ask Minna and Sam to find a man, preferably living in the area, who tallied with the descriptions and who had some prior criminal offenses. That would not be hard.

  A man.

  Normal build.

  Middle-aged.

  Dark-haired.

  Short hair.

  Dark clothes.

  A pleasing description.

  THIRTY-NINE

  There at the top of the stairs it was as if everything from home disappeared from my thoughts.

  House.

  Children.

  Marriage.

  Work.

  Everything was blown away by the mild Mediterranean breeze. I stood there for a moment, soaking up the atmosphere. I was astonished at the landscape. The warm, glowing light of the afternoon sun glistening on the roof of the arrivals hall. The swaying palms. The humid air. It was heaven.

  “Come on, you’re blocking the line.”

  Larissa called from down on the ground. I started down the narrow stairs. Larissa had managed to find a ticket even though she booked so close to the departure date. Claes hadn’t been happy to see me go, but said nothing, as I’d told him Minna and Sam were carefully instructed in which investigative measures were to be prioritized. Personally, I felt calm. I was in control of the investigation. Minna and Sam would only do what I told them to do, and I would be back on Monday.

  Peter, who always thought I worked too much, was encouraging and thought it would do me good to think about something else for a weekend.

  The hotel was in a beautiful location, with an amazing view of Spinola Bay, dense with boats and restaurants. I set down my bags in the room and went straight out onto the balcony. Warm, pale cliffs against the turquoise blue sea.

  “God, this is wonderful. A paradise.”

  Larissa came out onto the balcony with cigarettes and a lighter in her hand. She had already changed into a thin skirt, chemise, and flip-flops. Silently we looked out over the sea.

  “Wow, what kind of building is that?”

  Larissa pointed out toward a long pier. Far out on it, framed by shoreline cliffs behind it, was a magnificent white building with stately pillars along the front side. On the roof was a large neon sign that said CASINO.

  “We have to go there tonight, Leona! We’ll dress up, go out and have a good dinner with three courses and good wine and then go to the casino and gamble away all our money.”

  I laughed. I knew she was joking. Larissa would never set foot in a casino. Despite her very liberal attitude to most things she despised all forms of gambling. That was why I hadn’t told her about my poker playing. She was of the opinion that anyone who gambled became addicted sooner or later. Even if it was tempting, I didn’t intend to gamble while we were here. I had other things to do.

  Larissa’s enthusiasm was contagious. We changed and didn’t have to search long before we found a nice restaurant.

  “Table for two?”

  The waiter showed us in. I had put on a black dress. I wore skirts occasionally but I seldom wore a dress. I felt much too dressed up in one at home. Here everyone was dressed up. Tight-fitting dresses and high heels stood in line behind us. The women wore beautiful jewelry and elegant hairstyles, the men, jackets.

  It was as if the waiter knew exactly what we needed. We got a table for two with a view of the sea. The restaurant was in Portomaso Bay, where multimillion-dollar yachts were moored.

  “How can people afford it?”

  Larissa looked out over the bay.

  “Oh well. If we start saving now maybe we can afford to buy one of those in a few years.”

  I pointed at a water scooter that was hauled up on the white yacht Sea Pearl.

  “Just think, that’s only a little toy they bring with them when they go out and cruise. Sick,” said Larissa.

  “But there are so many problems with having that much money. Imagine not knowing who your real friends are.”

  “Hmm…And what to do with all that money. Invest, save, give it away?” Larissa continued.

  “All those options would only confuse you, and you have enough problems as it is.”

  “Give me the ordinary person’s life. There you know what you have and don’t need to worry.”

  We laughed heartily at our own sarcasm.

  “Let’s order a good, expensive wine to get us going,” said Larissa.

  I knew I couldn’t afford an expensive wine, but I ignored that.

  This evening I was free.

  The locally produced Maltese wine tasted rich and fruity, which was the most important thing. After some consideration Larissa decided to try the national dish, rabbit. It was a disappointment. Dinner was no taste sensation. Considering that we were at a nicer restaurant, that was a bit surprising. We decided that the Maltese were not star chefs. With that discovery, our drinks acquired more significance. We moved to the high bar stools and switched to cocktails. The young bartender made it a sport, getting us to try the best drinks he could make. Their taste was almost orgasmic. The bartender seemed to enjoy studying our reactions as we imbibed one colorful drink after another. The level of maturity in our behavior might have been debatable, but who cared about such things when you were on an exotic Mediterranean island?

  Presumably we’d been sitting in the bar a little too long, because we were both seriously intoxicated. As Larissa’s and the bartender’s conversations became longer and more intimate, I started to feel bored.

  “Shall we get a move on, Larissa?”

  It was the third time I had asked.

  “Noooo, let’s stay a little while longer, just a liiittle more.”

  Larissa showed a gap between her thumb and index finger to indicate how short a time we would stay. What time scale or calculation she was referring to was unclear, but she seemed to have no intention of leaving either the bartender or the drinks.

  “You stay here, you’re in good company.”

  I nodded to the bartender and winked at Larissa.

  “I’ll take a little walk and look around a bit, then see you in the room later.”

  Larissa barely seemed to hear what I said. She tossed her hair and leaned over the bar toward the bartender.

  My high-heeled shoes, which I had only worn once at a friend’s wedding the previous summer, were starting to feel comfortable. Maybe the drinks had dampened the pain. With light feet I danced past the large illuminated entry gate out toward the pier. On the left side was the luxury hotel — Westin Dragonara Resort — with large illuminated balconies and roof arches facing out toward the walkway and the bay.

  Stray cats occupied the wall on either side of the single-lane road leading to the pier. They were lying there like majestic lions, peering at me as I went past.

  A car drove around me, honking. But no drooling men in the world could put me in a bad mood now. I walked farther on steady heels, past the elegant hotel, toward Dragonara Casino. I was a good way out on the pier when I saw a platform out on the water. I went there, looked out at the sea, then in toward land. The buildings were lit up, glowing warmly against the pale stones along the coastline. The lights, from small local restaurants mixed with luxury bars and nightclubs, created glistening shadows at the water’s edge. The sea was dark. Almost black. There was something frightening about it, but I still felt such freedom. I closed my eyes, drawing the aroma of sea and salt in my nostrils and listening to the rhythmic rippling sound of the waves as they swept in toward the cliffs. When the wind took hold of my pulled-back hair I undid it and let it flow down.

  What liberati
on.

  I continued on in the direction of the casino. Walking firmly, feeling more decisive with every step I took up the magnificent stone stairway to the entrance.

  Now is when it would happen.

  I would win.

  FORTY

  Olivia had always dreamed about other countries. Getting to take a long boat ride over the sea. Going to visit Grandma. Mommy always said that Grandma was nice. That she wished Daddy was more like her. Olivia did not remember ever meeting Grandma, but that didn’t matter. In Mommy’s photo album there were many pictures of her and Olivia. She looked nice, a round little old lady. Olivia remembered a picture where Grandma was kneeling and the two of them were hugging. It looked so cozy. In another, Olivia was standing outside a big entryway holding Grandma’s hand. Mommy said that the photo was taken outside Grandma’s house.

  Daddy was not at the apartment so Olivia could stand and look out the window. She had been standing there for an hour. She knew that because the big hand on the wall had gone around one whole time.

  The entrance on the other side of the street looked just as she remembered it from the picture. The one that Grandma lived in. It was big and rounded off on top. If Grandma would only come out of that entrance. Then Olivia would run there as fast as she could. She would throw her arms around her neck and squeeze, just like in the picture. Grandma would probably be happy if Olivia came to visit, and she would certainly give her something to eat. Maybe bread rolls. Oh, if she only got a roll. It was probably warm at Grandma’s too. Otherwise she would borrow a cozy bathrobe or a warm blanket.

  But Grandma did not come out. Only three people had come out of the entrance during the whole time Olivia stood watching. Perhaps she could go over there herself and knock on the door?

  It was getting darker. Olivia had to turn off the light in the ceiling to be able to see out. What if she missed Grandma? She better go over there before it became completely dark.

  Daddy had locked the door with a long key but Olivia knew where there was one like it. It was hanging on a hook high up in the wardrobe in the hall. She went into the kitchen and took hold of the back of one of the chairs by the table. She pulled at it to get it away from the table. It was heavy. One leg was stuck against the chair next to it so she had to pull as hard as she could to get it loose. When it came loose it came out so quickly that she almost fell backward. She dragged it along the kitchen floor, across the threshold, and out into the hall. It made a lot of noise but Daddy wasn’t home so it didn’t matter. She opened the wardrobe and placed the chair as close as she could. Her knees hurt when she climbed up on it but it worked anyway. She could probably get a bandage from Grandma later. She had to stand on tiptoe on the chair to get the key down from the hook. Then she was in such a hurry that she almost fell off the chair.