Thoughts began whirling through her head. There were a few people working in the editorial offices, but no one in a position of authority. No one she could turn to for advice.
Should she ring the police herself? She read the brief sentence again. It could only be regarded as a threat. But what did this person mean? ‘You are all killers.’
‘I am a killer.’ Should she call Fanny and tell her about this letter? She had the right to know. Yet Signe didn’t want to bother her while she was on holiday in Thailand. She really needed time to unwind. Fanny had sent a few text messages to ask if anything new had happened, or if the murderer had been caught. Unfortunately, Signe hadn’t been able to give her any positive news. She couldn’t understand why the police hadn’t made any progress in the case.
Filled with annoyance, she studied the envelope again. What kind of idiot would do this? And why on earth would he be targeting the magazine, or rather, Fanny Nord? If it was the same person, that is. The sender could be anybody; maybe someone who was goaded by all the attention the crime had attracted.
Suddenly, Signe Rudin had an idea. She put down the letter, closed the door to her office, and pulled down the blinds on the window facing the corridor. That was the signal that she didn’t want to be disturbed. Next she switched off her phone for incoming calls and set her mobile on vibrate. Then she began looking through the file folders on the bookcase. She had decided to wait to ring the police.
First, there was something she wanted to check out on her own.
AFTER HIS VISIT to Millesgården, Knutas drove to police headquarters on Kungsholmen. From there, he rang Dr Palmstierna to find out how Markus Sandberg was doing. There was no change in his condition. With each day that passed, hope diminished that Sandberg would be able to help by shedding any new light on the investigation.
Knutas had arranged to have lunch with Kihlgård and Jacobsson. Karin had now been in Stockholm for a week, and he was looking forward to seeing her. He had missed her more than he liked to admit. He didn’t feel the same satisfaction with his work when she wasn’t in the office – although he was annoyed that she had such an effect on him. He was ashamed of the emotions that had been provoked in him when he saw her in town with that man before Christmas. He realized that he must be Karin’s new boyfriend. Knutas felt like a jealous teenager, even though there was nothing going on between him and Karin. And never had been. He really couldn’t understand his reaction.
When they met in Kihlgård’s huge office, she gave him a warm hug. She felt so small in his arms.
‘Hi. Long time no see.’
‘Uh-huh. I think it’s time for you to come back home, before you get too comfortable here.’
‘Not a chance,’ said Jacobsson with a laugh. ‘I’m planning to fly home tomorrow.’
‘You are?’ he said, sounding absurdly overjoyed. ‘Then maybe we can travel together.’
‘Okay, enough of the small talk,’ Kihlgård interrupted them. ‘We need to compare notes over lunch. And I’m starving. Let’s go.’
They went across the street to a local pub. Knutas told them about his meeting with Jenny Levin at Millesgården.
‘So that means she doesn’t have an alibi for the night of the murder,’ said Kihlgård, chewing on a piece of freshly baked bread as they waited for their food. The place was noisy but pleasant. Kihlgård had taken the trouble to book a table at the back.
‘She doesn’t have an alibi for the assault on Furillen either,’ he went on.
‘I have a really hard time picturing Jenny Levin being involved in any way,’ said Jacobsson with conviction. ‘Besides, we know that it was a man who attacked Sandberg. That’s what the lab determined from the blood on the clothes that were found in the fisherman’s shed.’
‘Keep in mind that the clothes could have been planted there to throw us off the scent,’ Kihlgård pointed out. ‘By a strategically minded and far-sighted perpetrator – male or female. I know that sounds like a long shot, but we can’t rule out the possibility.’
‘At any rate, the same murder weapon was not used in both cases,’ Jacobsson said. ‘We’ve had that confirmed by the lab. The axe that was found in the rubbish bin is not the one used on Furillen.’
‘Any evidence?’ asked Knutas eagerly.
‘No fingerprints, unfortunately. And blood only from the victim.’
Jacobsson took a swig of her light beer, thinking, and looked at her colleagues.
‘Something doesn’t add up when it comes to Jenny. I have a feeling she has nothing to do with any of it. Something else is behind all this. She’s probably embarrassed about spending the night with some strange guy when she doesn’t even know his name. It sounds like a stupid thing to do.’
‘Don’t forget that she’s only nineteen,’ said Knutas.
‘Right. I know. But she’s also a girl who has recently been discovered and is on her way to becoming a top model. So I have a hard time believing that she would get mixed up in such vicious attacks. Besides, she was in love with one of the victims and very fond of the other. Apparently, she and Robert Ek had an unusually close relationship. As friends, I mean.’
‘Maybe from her point of view,’ said Kihlgård, ‘but what about him? All it took was a brief text message for him to leave the party, rush over to the agency, and open a bottle of champagne. He didn’t exactly get what he was hoping for, the poor devil. Speaking of which, I can tell you that we’ve reviewed all the footage from the surveillance cameras in the area, and we didn’t find a thing. Ek isn’t in any of the pictures.’
Kihlgård cast an envious glance at the plates piled high with great-smelling food that were being served at the next table. His own lunch hadn’t yet arrived.
‘Okay. So what about the Finnish woman Marita Ahonen?’ asked Jacobsson.
‘Our Finnish colleagues finally got hold of her. She was summoned to an interview at police headquarters in Helsinki, but she never showed up. They’re still trying to track her down. But I don’t really put much faith in that lead. It seems too far-fetched. She may well have been angry with Markus Sandberg because he’d dumped her, but why would she want to kill Robert Ek?’
‘Because he was head of the agency she worked for?’ suggested Jacobsson. ‘Maybe she was disappointed that she didn’t get more support from her employer. And there could always be something else we don’t know about.’
‘We’ve already asked Ek’s wife and the agency staff, and none of them knows of any long-standing quarrel between Marita and Ek. I know we need to keep an open mind, but I don’t think we should waste energy on a bunch of irrelevant rubbish. This investigation is already taking us in a million different directions.’
Kihlgård’s face lit up when he saw the waitress approaching.
‘Our food is here!’
They had ordered fish casserole with scampi, and all three hungrily dug into the beautifully served food.
‘Maybe we’re looking in totally the wrong direction,’ said Jacobsson after a while. ‘When it comes right down to it, maybe these attacks have nothing to do with Sandberg and Ek personally. It could be that we should disregard their private lives, their family relationships, and any dubious events in their past. The key to the whole thing could be in that threatening letter that was sent to the magazine.’
‘Fanny Nord, who received the letter, has gone to Thailand. At least we managed to interview her before she left. But, unfortunately, she didn’t have much to add. She couldn’t recall ever feeling threatened or harassed, nor could she think of anything out of the ordinary happening recently,’ said Kihlgård.
‘But let’s take a moment to consider the message,’ said Jacobsson. ‘“You are all killers.” Why would anyone send something like that to an editor of one of Sweden’s biggest-selling fashion magazines?’
Knutas wiped his mouth on his napkin.
‘When is Fanny Nord expected back in Sweden?’
AGNES AND PER are sitting on one of the sofas, playing cards. She is st
udying him, although he doesn’t seem to notice. She likes his face. He has a distinctive appearance. His eyes always look tired, as if he stays up too late or is thinking about something else when she talks to him, though she knows that’s not true. He has small, pale hands with a tattoo on the back of one of them, some sort of beetle between his thumb and index finger. His hair is ash blond and cut so short that it’s almost bristly. He has blue eyes with long lashes, a fair complexion and thin, pale lips. He has a long face and a small, nicely shaped nose. Not a trace of pimples or any other blemishes on his skin. Almost no sign of stubble. One earring. Today, he’s wearing a checked shirt and a pair of dark DKNY jeans that look brand new. His white trainers also look new. He’s thin but quite muscular, and not very tall. Maybe only two inches taller than her.
Her thoughts are interrupted when a nurse comes into the room.
‘Agnes, you have visitors.’
‘What? Now?’
She looks up in surprise, first at the nurse, then at Per. It can’t be her father. He’s on Gotland with Katarina.
‘Who is it?’
‘Two girls. They said they’re friends of yours from Gotland. I thought I recognized one of them.’
Agnes gives a start. How is this possible? None of her old friends have visited her even once since she’s been at the clinic. The only person who came to see her was Markus, who visited right after she was admitted. As if he suddenly had a guilty conscience. He brought her flowers but clearly felt awkward and uncomfortable, and he hadn’t known what to say. It was embarrassing and just made her feel bad. Finally, Per had asked him to leave.
Most of her friends had disappeared long before she ended up here. After the accident, many of them hadn’t known how to act around her or how to offer sympathy, and they gradually retreated. The others left when she got ill, and the anorexia took over. She knew that it was largely her own fault. She was the one who had withdrawn. She could no longer think of anything else to do; she didn’t even try to keep up with the activities of her friends. Eventually she became so obsessed with exercising and controlling what she ate that she had no time or energy for anything else. But still.
The person who had disappointed her most was Cecilia, her best friend. They had stuck together through thick and thin in school but, in the end, Cecilia had also turned her back on her old friend. Agnes had made a few clumsy attempts to restore contact, but with no response. When she was at home for Christmas, she hadn’t even felt like trying. The closest she’d come to Cecilia was when she and her father had run into her big sister, Malin, and they’d exchanged a few words. And she’d once seen Cecilia off in the distance with some old classmates in the Östercentrum shopping mall. But she couldn’t bear to go up to her. Sitting there in her wheelchair, Agnes had pulled up the blanket that was draped over her legs and then sunk further down into her thick scarf, pretending not to see them.
Now, she drops the cards she’s holding so they fall on to the table.
‘Who do you think it is?’ she asks Per.
‘I have no idea.’
He gives her a smile as he gathers up the cards. He seems happy for her. Agnes glances at the clock on the wall. It’s 4.05 in the afternoon, and darkness has already fallen outside.
‘Do you think it’s Cecilia?’
She looks at him, filled with hope, her cheeks burning.
‘Maybe. That would be nice.’
‘If it’s Cecilia, then I think it’s a sign.’
She gets up from the sofa. She feels like she could almost race out of the room, down the long corridor, and over to the entrance and the room where all visitors have to wait for the patient they’ve come to see. She proceeds under her own steam, doesn’t want to use a wheelchair. I wonder how I look, she thinks, glancing down at her worn slippers and her shabby cardigan. Her tracksuit bottoms have a small hole in one knee. She discreetly sniffs at her armpits. She hasn’t showered today; she usually waits until evening. Her hair is lank and wispy; she has lost most of it due to malnutrition. She senses Per trailing behind her. He’s probably curious to see what Cecilia looks like, since Agnes has talked so much about her. In her mind, she pictures Cecilia in a succession of idyllic images, remembering all the fun things they did together – summers spent out in the country, shopping in town, giggling and whispering in bed when they slept over at each other’s house, and the way Cecilia had offered her support after the accident. And her undisguised joy when Agnes won the modelling contest.
By the time she reaches the door to the waiting room Agnes is brimming with excitement, and her heart is leaping in her chest. So she pauses for a moment to lean against the door jamb, and then stares mutely at the two people sitting inside. All sense of anticipation seeps away, to be replaced by a dull and leaden disappointment.
One of the young women hesitantly stands up.
‘Hi, Agnes,’ she begins. ‘I’ve thought so much about you since the last time we met, and I just wanted to stop by and say hello. I’m still in Stockholm for the New Year holiday, so I thought that …’
Agnes stares vacantly at Cecilia’s older sister, Malin. She can’t understand why Malin is here and not Cecilia. Without saying a word, she shifts her gaze to the other visitor, who has also stood up. She is tall and radiantly beautiful, her red hair hanging loose over her shoulders, shining in the light from all the Advent candles and Christmas stars. Agnes recognizes Jenny Levin from the fashion photos she saw in the magazines when she was at home for Christmas. There are no such magazines here on the ward, but the supermodel from Gotland had been on the TV news. And she had also been with Markus. The man who had robbed Agnes of her virginity as light-heartedly as he brushed his teeth. The man who had given her an inferiority complex about her body. The man who was partially responsible for her being in this clinic right now, looking like a living skeleton. And here she stood. Jenny Levin herself. Dazzling everybody with her beauty.
‘Oh, this is Jenny,’ Malin hurriedly added. ‘She’s from Gammelgarn and went to the same secondary school we did. And she works for the same agency you used to work for. Fashion for Life.’
Jenny smiles nervously as she shakes Agnes’s hand.
‘Hi. Nice to meet you.’
Agnes manages to murmur something that’s meant to be a greeting. Her head is spinning. She’s trying to understand why Jenny Levin is here. The nurse who announced the arrival of the two young women comes to her rescue.
‘How nice for you to have visitors from home, Agnes. Come in. Can we offer you anything? Would you like coffee?’
‘Yes, please,’ the young women say in unison and then gratefully follow the nurse, their high heels clacking. Out of the corner of her eye, Agnes notices that Per has come to a halt in the middle of the corridor. He looks completely bewildered by these imposing feminine creatures. No wonder, thinks Agnes. Such a cruel contrast between these wholesome-looking beauties and the ghosts who roam the halls. She can hardly fathom that they’ve even been allowed to come inside. They seem to fill the whole ward with their presence.
Without knowing how it happens, all three of them are sitting at a table in the deserted day room with cups of coffee and a plate of ginger biscuits. Agnes stirs her coffee. She is looking down at the table and can’t think of a single thing to say. Malin is chattering nervously.
‘Cecilia sends her best wishes. She couldn’t come with me to Stockholm this time because she has a floorball tournament – it’s the Midwinter Cup, you know. It’s always between Christmas and New Year’s.’
Agnes used to play floorball, too, on the same team as Cecilia. They’ve done that ever since their first year at school. And she has competed countless times in the Midwinter Cup. She makes an effort to sound polite.
‘Thanks. How is she?’
‘Good. Really good,’ Malin hastens to say. She seems grateful that the conversation finally seems to be rolling along after the fumbled beginning. ‘She complains about all the studying she has to do, says it’s much harder than before
. But she’s done brilliantly. And she has a boyfriend now. She’s dating Oliver, you know. He was in the same class with you.’
‘Oh.’
‘Not bad, huh?’ Malin laughs shrilly. ‘He was the cutest boy in school, and he still is. They’ve been together for two months.’
‘Oh.’
Agnes fidgets. She doesn’t want to be reminded of everything she could have been doing. Or who she used to be. Jenny clears her throat and leans forward. She holds out a package wrapped in shiny paper.
‘This is from the agency. Everyone wanted to say hello.’
Agnes slowly unwraps the gift. It takes some effort to remove the ribbon. Her fingers won’t really obey her properly, and the wrapping paper has been well taped. Per, who is standing a short distance away, pretending to be busy with something, hurries to bring her a pair of scissors. Inside is a box. She opens the lid and finds a card with a cheerful message to get well soon. All the staff members have signed the card, except for Robert Ek, of course. Agnes feels her blood run cold.
She takes out the paper under the card and gasps at what she sees in the box. A stack of pictures of herself. Professional photographs from various photo shoots she did before she fell ill. A close-up of Agnes with her hair slicked back and wearing trendy sunglasses. Agnes in a bikini. Agnes wearing an evening gown and high heels. A picture taken in a studio, showing her laughing merrily at the camera, wearing only black tights and a bright-pink camisole. Her hair is thick and glossy.
Agnes is breathing hard. She feels the room start to sway, the photos grow blurry; Malin’s voice fades into the distance as she eagerly comments on the pictures: ‘Look how beautiful you are in this one, and here …’
The Dangerous Game Page 23
