The Dangerous Game

by Mari Jungstedt

  Jacobsson couldn’t help laughing.

  ‘Shall we grab a bite to eat?’ she asked.

  ‘Sure. But I don’t want to eat too much. I have to think of my figure. I’ve heard that, this winter, thin is in.’

  IT WAS STILL dark when Pia Lilja headed for Furillen in the TV van. Johan sat in the passenger seat, talking to the duty officer on the phone. No other police officer was available. When he finished the conversation, Johan turned to look at his colleague.

  ‘He would only confirm that an incident of aggravated assault took place in a cabin that belongs to the hotel, and that the victim has been taken to hospital. Of course, he refused to identify the victim or give any details about the attack. At any rate, the police are on the scene, but they can’t do much until daylight. So far, no one has been arrested.’

  ‘Aggravated assault,’ said Pia, snorting. ‘I think it sounds more like attempted murder. Apparently, it was a real bloodbath, according to Julia’s mother. And Markus Sandberg isn’t just anybody. Right now, he’s hovering between life and death. It might well turn out to be murder.’

  ‘Nothing on the TT wire service yet. We’re probably the only ones who know the identity of the victim. I’m going to ring the morning editor.’

  Johan phoned the main editorial office of Swedish TV in Stockholm and explained the situation. The editor told him to report back as soon as he knew more. For the moment they would put out a simple statement on the news wire. They would wait until later to publish the victim’s name.

  When Pia and Johan pulled up outside the hotel, they could see at once that something major had happened. Lights were on throughout the building, and several police vehicles were parked nearby.

  They went into the lobby and were met by a uniformed policeman, who stopped them from going any further.

  ‘No journalists in here. The hotel is off limits.’

  ‘Can you tell us what’s going on?’ asked Johan.

  ‘No. I need to refer you to our spokesperson, Lars Norrby.’

  ‘Is he here?’

  The cop gave him a weary look.

  ‘I don’t believe so.’

  ‘Is there anyone on site that I could interview?’ Johan was trying to quell his irritation.

  ‘No, not at the moment. Right now, the investigative team needs to do its work in peace and quiet. We’re dealing with a serious crime here, and we need to catch the perpetrator.’

  ‘So you haven’t arrested anyone?’

  The cop pressed his lips together. Then he said, ‘I can’t comment on the state of the investigation. I need to refer you to Lars Norrby, our spokesperson.’

  Johan cast a glance around the hotel lobby, which was deserted. They went back outside.

  ‘What a sodding sourpuss,’ sniffed Pia. ‘Julia’s mother, Birgitta, has worked here as a cleaner and breakfast waitress for several years. She sleeps at the hotel at night. She said we should wait for her here.’

  They sat down at a table that was made of concrete so as to withstand the elements year round. Johan looked about.

  ‘Damn, what a creepy place.’

  He surveyed the dimly lit gravel forecourt and the stone crusher on top of the hill. A feeling of doom hovered over the place.

  Suddenly, they heard footsteps approaching across the gravel. A blonde woman in her fifties appeared.

  Pia jumped up to give her a hug.

  ‘Hi, Birgitta. How’s it going?’

  ‘Oi. What a horrid thing to happen. Especially out here, where it’s so quiet. The most peaceful place you could imagine. We’re all really upset.’

  Birgitta shook hands with Johan.

  ‘It’s probably best if we get started right away,’ said Pia. ‘Could we go somewhere else to do the interview? Otherwise, there’s a risk that Mr Police Officer in there will try to stop us.’

  ‘Sure. Come with me.’

  They walked around to the side of the building, and Birgitta opened a door to an empty room. There were no corridors inside the hotel; all the rooms were entered from the outside. It was a lovely room, sparsely furnished. A generous-sized bed with fluffy pillows dominated the space. The whitewashed walls were bare. Several sheepskin rugs were spread out on the stone floor.

  ‘Okay. This is fine,’ said Pia. ‘Let’s get going.’

  The camera began to roll.

  ‘What were your thoughts when you heard about what happened?’ Johan began the interview.

  ‘I was shocked. Couldn’t believe it was true. I never would have imagined that something like that would happen here on little Furillen. It’s terrifying.’

  Brigitta looked around, as if afraid that the perpetrator might be hiding in the bushes in the dark outside the window.

  ‘What’s the mood like inside the hotel?’

  ‘Everybody thinks what happened is really awful, of course. So it’s not exactly cheerful here at the moment. Nobody can believe it. This is the calmest and most peaceful place you could imagine. At the same time, it’s lucky that we don’t have other guests at the hotel at the moment. But, as I said, the mere thought that an assailant has been sneaking around in the bushes … We’re really shaken up. All of us.’

  ‘What can you tell us about the victim?’

  A slight blush appeared on the woman’s cheeks, and she fidgeted a bit.

  ‘I know Markus Sandberg because of … well, because of that TV programme he once had. I know it wasn’t very good, but I still couldn’t help watching it, because everyone was talking about the show. Plus, he’s been out here several times for work.’

  Johan let her talk, even though he wasn’t sure that they would reveal the victim’s identity when the report was broadcast. It might be too soon for that. On the other hand, they were dealing with a photographer who was well known to the public. But, naturally, his family needed to be informed first. The decision to make his name public or not would come later.

  ‘What do you know personally about the attack?’

  Birgitta grimaced and shook her head.

  ‘From what I’ve heard, he was seriously injured. Covered with blood and badly beaten. I don’t know whether the weapon was an axe, but it was something like that.’

  ‘So the attack occurred inside the cabin?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Who found him?’

  ‘Jenny was the one who found him. She cycled out there.’

  ‘Why would she do that?’

  Birgitta shrugged and didn’t comment.

  ‘Then what happened?’

  ‘She rang the police, and the officers and medics were here in no time.’

  ‘Have you personally noticed anything strange or different out here lately?’

  ‘There is one thing. About a week ago a man phoned. Sometimes I work on the reception desk. In a place like this, you have to be able to do a bit of everything, especially in off-season.’

  ‘Oh, really?’

  Johan automatically moved closer.

  ‘Yes. The man asked some odd questions. He wanted to know how many guests were staying at the hotel right now and how many we expected in the coming week. And then he asked if there were any special events planned. So I told him about the fashion photo shoot and the fact that certain parts of the hotel would be off limits for a few days. Then he wanted to know more details, and he actually got a bit rude. Finally, I asked him who he was and whether he was a reporter. But he hung up without answering.’

  KNUTAS WENT BACK to his office after having breakfast with Jacobsson. That had done the trick. His headache was gone, and he was feeling much better. He phoned Karolinska University Hospital and was put through to the doctor in charge, Vincent Palmstierna.

  ‘Markus Sandberg has suffered very serious injuries,’ Dr Palmstierna began. ‘We’re doing all we can but, unfortunately, I have to tell you that the prognosis is uncertain. There is every indication that he was attacked by someone wielding an axe, using both the blunt part and the blade.’

  ‘What are his chanc
es of survival?’

  ‘It’s hard to tell right now. He is heavily sedated, and we’re keeping his body cool in order to regulate the cerebral metabolic rate and reduce the swelling. He has been given multiple blood transfusions, and he’s probably going to need quite a lot of surgery.’

  ‘How would you describe his injuries?’

  ‘He suffered several cerebral haemorrhages where the axe struck the skull. Unfortunately, so-called subdural haemorrhage also occurred, meaning there was bleeding under the brain’s dura mater. He has lost his right ear, and his jaw was shattered. He also has defensive wounds on his arms, where the assailant struck him with the blade of the axe. He has some nasty, deep gashes on his hands – at the base of the thumbs and on the tops of his fingers. Also on the outside of both his upper arms and his forearms.’

  ‘Christ.’

  Knutas grimaced. He pictured again the chaos they’d found inside the cabin and imagined the struggle that must have caused it. Then he went on, ‘What happens now?’

  ‘As I said, we’re going to need to perform several operations, and we have to reduce the swelling in his brain. A number of surgical procedures will be carried out to deal with his crushed jaw, and also his ear. He’ll be under heavy sedation for at least a week, maybe longer. Provided he manages to hold on, which isn’t guaranteed.’

  ‘But, if he does survive, will he remember anything about the attack?’

  ‘We should probably hope that he doesn’t recall much about the event itself. On the other hand, total memory loss is quite unusual. I mean, when it comes to his life as a whole. But it’s reasonable to expect that he’ll have partial amnesia.’

  ‘Is it possible that he’ll make a full recovery?’

  ‘To be honest, it’s much too early to speculate about that, especially since we don’t yet know whether he’ll pull through. But, in general terms, I can say that, given the nature of his injuries, it’s highly unlikely. He will probably suffer some hearing loss and have difficulty articulating his thoughts. He may have long-term problems with headaches, difficulty concentrating, an inability to handle stress and, as I mentioned, partial amnesia. On top of everything else, he’ll have permanent facial damage. There’s no doubt about that.’

  Knutas thanked the doctor and ended the call. With a heavy sigh, he leaned back in his chair. So there was little hope that Markus Sandberg would be able to identify his assailant. They would have to direct their efforts elsewhere. Even though Furillen was one of the most isolated places imaginable in winter, it still seemed reasonable that someone must have seen or heard something. A perpetrator always left behind evidence of some kind.

  He had just taken out his pipe and was filling it with tobacco when the phone rang. It was the officer on duty. He sounded as if he had urgent news.

  ‘I’ve got a man on the line who has something to tell you. Just to warn you: he’s rather long-winded.’

  ‘Okay, put him on.’

  ‘Hi. My name is Olof Hellström, and I’m calling from Kyllaj. I’m renting a house out here. Well, I live in Stockholm, but the thing is, I’m a writer and I’ve been staying out here to work on my new novel. I’ve just reached the final stage and am doing some last-minute revising, and—’

  ‘Okay, okay. Get to the point,’ said Knutas brusquely. He might as well make the man realize from the start that this was no time for lengthy explanations.

  The man on the phone sniffed to show he was offended but went on.

  ‘I think I saw the guy who attacked that person out on Furillen last night.’

  Knutas took a deep breath. Could it really be true?

  ‘What makes you think that?’ he asked tensely.

  ‘I was sitting up late last night, writing. Then I heard the sound of a motor out on the water below my house. I got curious, so I went down there to see what was going on. A small boat pulled up to the dock. A man jumped out, and I was very surprised to see that, instead of tying up the boat, he shoved it back out to sea. I had left my dog up at the house. I have a golden retriever, but I thought that—’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Well, anyway … The man ran off the dock and then disappeared. I didn’t see which way he went.’

  ‘And you didn’t try to follow him?’

  ‘No. And I didn’t let him know I was there either. The whole scene made me nervous. I didn’t know who he was, or what he was up to. And, at the time, I had no idea that anything had happened out on Furillen. But then I heard the news on the radio and thought there might be a connection.’

  Knutas had got out a notepad and pen while Olof Hellström talked.

  ‘What did the man look like?’

  ‘Normal build, a little shorter than average, maybe five foot nine or ten. He was wearing dark clothing.’

  By this point, Hellström seemed to have grasped that it was best to keep his answers brief.

  ‘What kind of clothing?’

  ‘I don’t know. I only caught a glimpse of him.’

  ‘Did you see his face at all?’

  ‘No. I’m afraid not.’

  ‘Do you have any idea how old this man was?’

  ‘Hard to say. He seemed youngish. Not an old man, by any means. I’d guess in his thirties, or maybe even close to forty.’

  ‘Did he see you?’

  ‘No. At first I thought he did, because he stopped and turned around. But then he disappeared. I stayed where I was for several minutes, but he didn’t come back. Then I went down to the dock and looked for the boat, but it had already drifted away.’

  ‘Do you know what time it was when you saw this man?’

  ‘Hard to say. I don’t keep track of the time when I’m working. But it was night-time and, since I was still feeling wide awake, it couldn’t have been very late. I’d guess one o’clock, maybe two.’

  ‘Okay. As I’m sure you realize, this is very important information, and I need to ask you to come down to headquarters as soon as possible.’

  ‘No problem. I can leave right now.’

  JENNY LEVIN ARRIVED at the police station after lunch on Tuesday. She had recovered from the shock and was ready to give her statement. Jacobsson and Knutas, who were going to handle the interview, went to meet her in the reception area.

  In her high-heeled boots, Jenny was even taller than Knutas, and she was more than a head taller than Jacobsson. With her long red hair, freckles and pale skin, Jenny reminded Knutas of Lina as a young woman. Her eyes were bright green. Her hand felt cool and limp, her handshake fleeting. She sat down in the chair they offered her, crossing one long, jeans-clad leg over the other. Knutas noticed that her thighs weren’t much wider than her calves.

  There was something magnetic about the young woman sitting before him; she possessed a radiance that was irresistible. Her movements were lithe and graceful.

  Jacobsson sat in a corner of the room. She was present as a witness to the interview and would refrain from speaking.

  Jenny Levin seemed nervous. Her eyes flitted about, and her hands didn’t stop moving. She kept clasping and unclasping her long fingers.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ Knutas asked kindly. He filled a glass with water and slid it across the table towards her.

  ‘Not so good,’ she said, looking at him unhappily. ‘I’m really worried about Markus.’

  She took a few cautious sips of water.

  ‘I understand.’ Knutas gave her a sympathetic look. ‘Can you tell me what happened yesterday evening, after all of you had finished working?’

  ‘We worked pretty late. It was six o’clock by the time we stopped. Everybody was tired and wanted to rest before dinner, so we decided to meet again at eight. Markus didn’t turn up, but we thought he’d arrive at any moment. He was staying a short distance from the hotel, in that cabin.’

  ‘Why was he staying out there?’

  ‘He’d been to the hotel before on a photo shoot, but he hadn’t stayed in a cabin, and this time he wanted to try it.’

  ‘So how l
ong did the dinner last?’

  ‘A long time. We had a proper three-course meal, which meant it went on for several hours. We also drank a lot of wine while we talked.’

  ‘Didn’t you think it was strange that Markus never appeared for dinner?’

  ‘Yes, we did. And we tried to ring him, but there’s no mobile signal out at the cabins. We thought he was probably working on the photos and forgot about the time, or maybe fell asleep.’

  ‘Do you know what time it was when you finished dinner?’

  ‘Not exactly. Eleven, or maybe twelve.’

  ‘Then what did you do?’

  ‘I tried to phone again, and I also sent a text, but he still didn’t answer. The others went to bed, but I decided to cycle out to the cabin and check on him.’

  ‘Why did you decide to do that?’

  Patches of crimson appeared on Jenny’s throat. She bit her lower lip.

  ‘Because I … was worried about him. I was wondering what had happened to him.’

  ‘So when you set off on the bicycle it was close to midnight. Is that right?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘What time did you have to start work in the morning?’

  ‘The photo shoot was supposed to start at eight, but I had to be in make-up two hours before that.’

  ‘So, six in the morning? And yet you went off in the middle of the night to see how Markus was doing?’

  Jenny began to fidget again.

  ‘I suppose that might sound odd, but I was worried and I didn’t think it was very far away.’

  ‘How did you know where to go?’

  ‘Markus told me how to get there.’

  ‘I see.’

  Knutas frowned and jotted down a few words on his notepad.

  ‘What happened after you set off for the cabin?’

  ‘It was much further and more difficult to find than I’d thought. If I’d known how bad the road was, how dark it was going to be, and how hard the place was to find, I’d never have gone out there. But after a while I found the cabin. The door was locked from the outside, but I used a pair of tweezers to pick the padlock. Markus was lying inside on the floor, and he was covered in blood. I turned on a paraffin lamp and saw what a mess the whole place was. It was horrible.’