Cinderella Girl

by Carin Gerhardsen

  ‘You’ve seen the picture,’ said Petra quietly.

  ‘I’ve seen the picture because Brandt forced me to look at it. I looked for a second or two until I understood what the hell I was seeing, then I deleted it. Believe me, Petra, I am not the least bit interested in seeing you like that.’

  Even when he was so upset, when he was telling her off, his eyes were friendly. Suddenly it occurred to Petra that he was not angry, he was sincerely sorry for her sake. She was close to tears now.

  ‘Conny, I did not send that e-mail. I was not even here when it was sent,’ she said as calmly as she could, feeling the lump in her throat growing.

  ‘And that’s not you in that damn picture either? Huh?’

  ‘That is me in the picture, but I was unconscious when it was taken,’ she forced out before the tears pricked her eyes. ‘Besides, it’s not a photograph, it’s a frame from a film that was recorded when I was raped last autumn. And if you don’t believe me, ask Rosén.’

  Now she could no longer hold back her tears and in some way that was a release. She had not shed a single tear since the rape, but now it suddenly felt as if she had been waiting for this moment the whole time. Just to open up the floodgates and let her emotions out. And no more than that was needed to make calm the storm inside Sjöberg. Purely intuitively he let his loyalty, which for a few hours had been led astray, find its way home again. To Petra. To his Petra, whom he had never, ever doubted before. Instinctively he got up and went over to her. With both hands he turned her face up towards him, then took her hands and kindly pulled her up from her place on the chair. Then he took her in his arms with her head on his chest.

  ‘Rosén?’ asked Sjöberg gently.

  He felt her nodding in his embrace, and they remained like that for a long time, while he stroked her hair and let her calm down.

  The silence was only broken when Sjöberg pinched her softly on the neck and asked if she’d fallen asleep. Petra laughed and freed herself. She wiped her face with her sleeve and Sjöberg went back to his place behind the desk. Petra smiled a little self-consciously as she too sat down. She noticed that Sjöberg looked like he had had a weight lifted from his shoulders.

  ‘Now let’s take this from the beginning,’ said Sjöberg, adopting his customary working frown.

  For the first time in almost a year Petra described how she and Jamal had spent a November evening at Clarion’s bar, how she started talking to Peder Fryhk with whom she later shared a taxi, about waking up in his house in Mälarhöjden, and about the hangover and the pain. It was liberating to be able to do it. It felt safe to have Sjöberg on her side, someone to talk to about what had happened, someone who understood what she was going through. She continued by telling him about her irregular investigation, how she succeeded in getting an acquaintance, forensic technician Håkan Carlberg, to help her with analysing samples. How the prosecutor had then put the anaesthetist and serial rapist Fryhk behind bars. Finally she told him about the Other Man, about the missing video recording, and about her worry that she might be revealed as the one who had convicted Fryhk.

  Together they mapped out what had happened since last Friday: the course, the workout session, the visit to the bar with Hamad, and the exact times of entry, exit and the sending of the fateful e-mail.

  ‘Someone had his eye on you last Friday, Petra. Someone knew exactly when he could execute this, and how.’

  ‘And this someone has the film,’ Petra added. ‘There is someone out there who raped me and who is sitting at home on the couch jacking off to this video.’

  ‘In here,’ said Sjöberg. ‘There’s someone in here who’s doing that.’

  Petra had not managed to think that far. There had been one catastrophe after another during the afternoon and she had not had time to stop and analyse. She had a vague idea that a skilled hacker could log into her computer from somewhere and send an e-mail that appeared to come from her. But of course Sjöberg was right. The Other Man was a policeman. A police officer who worked here in the building. And who had used her pass card and computer to direct suspicion at her.

  ‘Who knows your password?’ asked Sjöberg.

  ‘No one. I told Gunnar Malmberg that too.’

  ‘Do you have it written down anywhere?’

  ‘No, only in my mobile phone and I always have it with me.’

  ‘Have you changed passwords in the past year?’

  Suddenly Petra realized where he was headed. The Other Man had been meticulous. He had even gone into her contacts list and snooped out her password as she was stretched out in Peder Fryhk’s bed. It had been a naive hope that he would not know who she was. He had recognized her from the start. Petra shook her head with a look that showed she understood what Sjöberg meant.

  ‘I assume you’ve tried to figure out who’s been calling you at night?’ Sjöberg continued.

  ‘Prepaid cards,’ Petra confirmed. ‘A different number each time.’

  Sjöberg nodded thoughtfully.

  ‘But why is he doing this?’ said Petra, throwing up her arms. ‘He’s so careful and so concerned about not being discovered. He doesn’t appear on a single film frame, Fryhk is keeping his mouth shut, and according to Hadar he hasn’t left a trace behind him.’

  ‘Well, he has left one trace behind.’

  ‘But we have nothing to compare it with.’

  ‘Not yet. Do you know why men rape, Petra?’

  ‘They say it’s not so much about sex as about power.’

  ‘Exactly. And he doesn’t feel that he’s finished with you. You put a spanner in the works for them and that can’t be tolerated. He wants to pressure you properly. Get revenge. That’s to our benefit.’

  Our, thought Petra, feeling warmer inside. I’m not alone any more.

  Sjöberg glanced at the clock.

  ‘There was another thing too,’ Petra said. ‘Something unpleasant happened yesterday evening.’

  Then she told him about the telephone call from Brandt and her meeting with him.

  ‘So he probably wasn’t really all that offended by that e-mail,’ she noted in conclusion.

  ‘What did you say he said after that business about Mathias Dahlgren?’ Sjöberg asked.

  ‘Something along the lines of “I thought we could continue a few flights up after we’d eaten”.’

  Sjöberg suddenly started laughing. Petra looked at him in surprise.

  ‘You’re not much of a slut, Petra! Don’t you understand what he meant by that? Mathias Dahlgren’s restaurant is on street level in the same building as the Grand Hotel. That horny bastard probably reserved a room for the two of you there too!’

  Still with an amused gleam in his eye, Sjöberg picked up the phone and dialled directory enquiries.

  ‘Please give me the number for the Grand Hotel and then connect me with Mathias Dahlgren’s restaurant. Thanks.’

  Shortly thereafter someone picked up at the other end. Petra watched her superior wide-eyed without understanding at first what he had in mind.

  ‘I would like to know if there was a reservation in the name of Brandt yesterday evening … No? … I see, eight o’clock … Around seven. Thanks very much.’

  Without saying anything he winked at Petra and dialled another number.

  ‘Roland Brandt here, Hammarby Police. I suddenly got a little worried that I forgot to cancel my room reservation yesterday … No, that’s nice … A double room … Great, thanks.’

  Sjöberg hung up and rubbed his hands together with a satisfied smile.

  ‘Roland had a table reserved at Mathias Dahlgren for eight o’clock yesterday, which he cancelled at seven. Afterward he had envisioned a little tête-à-tête with you in one of the double rooms, but he had to cancel that too. He was clearly terribly offended.’

  * * *

  ‘What was that all about?’ Hamad asked during the walk up to Ringen.

  ‘What?’ Sjöberg asked with feigned cluelessness.

  ‘You and Petra behind closed
doors. What kind of secrets do you have together?’

  ‘Oh, I see, that. We were just talking about work.’

  ‘Are things going that bad for her at work?’ Hamad asked with a wry smile. ‘She looked like she’d been crying her eyes out.’

  ‘I didn’t notice that,’ Sjöberg answered curtly.

  ‘Petra and I are good friends,’ Hamad persisted. ‘You can tell me –’

  ‘I see, you are?’ interrupted Sjöberg. ‘Yes, I heard the two of you went out last Friday. Where were you?’

  ‘At the Pelican having a beer.’

  ‘For how long?’

  Sjöberg quickened his pace a little, his eyes fixed on some indeterminate point up on the rise.

  ‘I guess we left there around eleven-thirty. What about it?’ Hamad sought eye contact without success.

  ‘And where did you go after that?’

  ‘Home. I went home. I had to get up early to –’

  ‘And Petra?’ Sjöberg continued.

  ‘I guess she went home too! What is this? You don’t think that Petra and I –’

  ‘I don’t think anything. Just pure curiosity.’

  Hamad shook his head. Sjöberg walked on at a rapid pace without meeting his associate’s eyes.

  The party was already in full swing when they showed up at the Johansson family’s apartment. It was depressing to see the company crowded around the kitchen table. Not so much for their own sake; the two policemen’s thoughts centred mostly on Elise. Poor kid, thought Sjöberg. Apparently things had been like this her whole life. And now she did not even have a sister to share her fate with. They had agreed on a considerably harder approach to the girl this time, but their intentions slipped away when once again they saw at close range what life was like for her.

  Elise was perched on the bunk with a pillow behind her back looking at a magazine when they stepped into the girls’ room.

  ‘Is it always like this?’ asked Sjöberg, with a gesture towards the rest of the apartment.

  Elise shrugged and tried to look indifferent.

  ‘How are you doing?’

  ‘Fine,’ she answered without conviction.

  Hamad took over and went straight to the point.

  ‘I’m not satisfied with your answers to the questions I asked you on the phone,’ he said in a somewhat harsher tone than really felt right.

  Elise looked back at him with an unsympathetic expression.

  ‘I think you have more to tell us about that wallet.’

  ‘Well, I don’t,’ said Elise, turning her eyes away.

  ‘When did you find it?’ asked Sjöberg.

  ‘I don’t know. I think it was on Sunday.’

  ‘Where did you find it?’

  ‘On the street, I told you! I don’t know the name of the street.’

  A reaction anyway. It was clear that she did not want to talk about this and that energized Sjöberg.

  ‘You’re lying, Elise. And you know that we know you’re lying. Now you’re going to tell us exactly where and when you found this wallet.’

  Elise started browsing through her magazine. Sjöberg grabbed it with both hands and threw it on the floor. Elise winced. She had not expected that.

  ‘We’re trying to find the person who murdered your sister,’ said Sjöberg with unruffled calm. ‘All we’re asking of you is that you answer a few questions. We want to know the truth. We need to know the truth in order to separate what’s important and what’s not. You’re lying to us and that’s not acceptable. You stole that wallet, didn’t you?’

  ‘No, I found it,’ said Elise, but the self-assurance was no longer there.

  ‘Then we’ll see what Sören Andersson has to say about it. When we tell him that the girl who stole his wallet is fourteen, her name is Elise Johansson and she lives on Götgatan.’

  ‘But that has nothing to do with it!’ Elise cried out, clearly upset now.

  ‘Doesn’t have to do with what?’

  ‘With Jennifer!’

  ‘We’ll decide that, not you,’ said Sjöberg. ‘When did you steal the wallet?’

  ‘I didn’t steal it! But it may have been on Friday that I found it,’ she admitted.

  ‘Why did you say Sunday if it was Friday?’

  ‘I don’t really remember, but it was probably last Friday.’

  ‘Where did you find it?’ Sjöberg went on.

  ‘It was somewhere close to Vitabergsparken, but I don’t know the name of the street. It’s true!’

  Elise watched with dismay as the two policemen exchanged glances, but she did not understand at all what those looks might mean. She felt only a growing sense of discomfort. She was prepared to do anything, almost anything at all, to get away from there, to escape those scrutinizing stares and questions about what she never wanted to think about again – something that had nothing at all to do with the murder of Jennifer. In her desperation she lashed out against the policemen, the way she might against her mother or her teachers.

  ‘Why don’t you do your job, you fucking pigs? Catch Jennifer’s murderer and don’t be after me all the time! I didn’t murder Jennifer; I haven’t done anything! And that disgusting dirty old man he has for a father, her damn boyfriend; he asked why I wasn’t dead! Do you get how that feels, you fucking idiots! Do you get how it feels when people say you ought to be dead! I suppose you want me to die too? It would have been a lot better if I’d died instead, huh? Then everyone would have been happy. Damn, I wish I were dead, so I could escape you and all of your stupid questions and all this bullshit!’

  * * *

  Hamad and Sjöberg stood as if petrified, witnessing the fourteen-year-old Elise Johansson’s adolescent outburst, but Sjöberg had to admit later that it was actually quite a relief. Elise had finally reacted like a normal teenager and that felt liberating in some way. It was a huge contrast to the fearful, cowering, self-denying behaviour that had marked her during their encounters so far.

  ‘What was that you said?’ asked Sjöberg, when the sound of her voice had ebbed away. ‘Did Joakim’s father ask you why you aren’t dead?’

  ‘Yes, he did,’ answered Elise, still angry, but considerably more composed now.

  She avoided his eyes and sat fingering both of her rings.

  ‘You need to explain that.’

  ‘ “Aren’t you dead, you little whore?” he said to me. Was that a nice thing to say?’

  ‘In what context? When did you see him?’

  ‘Before,’ Elise said simply.

  ‘This afternoon?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Thoughts were whirling in Sjöberg’s head. He glanced at Hamad, but he looked equally perplexed. Neither of them could immediately verbalize just what was so strange, but it was clear to both of them that something was really wrong here.

  ‘Where did this happen?’

  ‘At Joakim’s,’ said Elise.

  ‘I thought you didn’t know each other,’ Sjöberg pointed out.

  ‘We don’t, but I went there anyway. I just wanted to talk to him.’

  ‘And then …?’

  ‘And then his dad came home from work or something. We were standing out in the stairwell. And then he caught sight of me and looked completely crazy. “Aren’t you dead, you little whore?” Yes, that’s what he said, “Aren’t you dead, you little whore?” ’

  Sjöberg looked at Hamad, who was shaking his head in disbelief.

  ‘That must have been unpleasant, Elise. What did you do then?’

  ‘I just ran away from there. As fast as I could.’

  ‘And Joakim?’

  ‘Well, what could he do? He stayed there.’

  ‘What in the world was that about?’ asked Hamad when they had left Elise and were on their way back down to the police building.

  ‘That was a strange story,’ Sjöberg agreed.

  ‘But is it true?’

  ‘I actually think she was telling the truth this time. Her account was spontaneous, you might say,’ said Sj
öberg with a meaningful smile.

  ‘Oh boy. Just wait till your kids reach that age.’

  ‘God forbid.’

  ‘But why did he say that? “Aren’t you dead?” What does that mean?’

  ‘It may mean that he recognizes Elise and thought she was the one who was dead. Then we have to ask ourselves: Why does he recognize Elise? It may mean he recognizes Jennifer, knows that she’s dead, sees Elise, and thinks she’s Jennifer. Where does he recognize Jennifer from? Do you think Joakim introduced them? Not very likely. However we look at this, we end up with two facts. One: He has seen one of the girls, or both of them, before. Two: He thinks Jennifer and Elise look a lot alike. So alike that he can’t really tell them apart.’

  ‘That’s a new idea,’ said Hamad.

  ‘He may have seen Joakim with Jennifer at some point. At a distance perhaps. And then he runs into Elise there in the stairwell. Elise reminds him of the only girl Joakim has ever gone out with – Jennifer – and so he spits that out. Contemptuously, because he didn’t approve of their relationship. We know that, because that was why he assaulted Joakim that Friday evening.’

  ‘Joakim’s dad seems to be a truly unpleasant person,’ Hamad observed.

  Sjöberg could not help but agree and they walked side by side for a while lost in their own thoughts. When they reached the turning area outside the police building Hamad said, ‘I have another idea.’

  He stopped and Sjöberg did the same.

  ‘What if Joakim’s dad was also on the boat?’

  ‘Wouldn’t we have known that?’ asked Sjöberg.

  ‘How would we? We’re staring our eyes blind at their names, whom they share a cabin with and so on, but I for one haven’t investigated whether there was another passenger on board with the same address as Joakim.’

  ‘Joakim would have said something.’

  ‘Maybe he didn’t know it himself.’

  ‘They would have run into each other,’ said Sjöberg. ‘His reason for being on board must have been to take Joakim to task because he went even though he was forbidden to do so.’

  ‘His reason may just as well have been to kill Jennifer.’

  ‘In that case, why?’