Liv

by Mikaela Bley

  ‘Ellen,’ he said, looking at her with his big brown eyes.

  There was a strange intimacy between them. Did he feel it too? She’d missed him, and that made her uncertain.

  He was so calm. She’d forgotten how calm he was.

  ‘You cut your hair.’

  He laughed and patted himself on the head. ‘Yes, I’ve cleaned up a little.’ The dimples disappeared when he got serious again. ‘Well, look, I’m not sure where to begin …’

  ‘I have to be put on the Stentuna murder,’ she said before he had time to say anything else.

  ‘What? Why, Ellen? You’re not doing so well …’

  ‘Yes, I know I’ve been feeling bad, but this will make me feel better.’

  Jimmy drummed the desktop with his fingers.

  ‘I think it’s got interest for us.’ She stood up and went around the desk. Opened his laptop and went to the TV4 site. ‘Look at this. Today’s media reporting is dominated by the awful news that a soccer supporter was beaten to death. Every year twenty women on average are beaten to death by someone close to them, in seventeen of those cases it’s by a man they’ve been in a relationship with. Twenty women. Every year. Twenty cases that aren’t headlined FATAL ASSAULT?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘I don’t have to get paid, I just want to work on it. You’re always talking about creating news. I think we’ve got something here. Please — working will make me feel better. Can’t I at least get the information and resources I ask for?’

  ‘I don’t know, Ellen. If you’re sick, you’re sick. I’m just trying to think about your best interests.’

  ‘If that’s the case, then let me do it. What difference does it make to you? What if this is the perfect summer murder?’

  She wanted to throw up on herself for what she’d just said. But she knew that was how it worked. An ordinary assault on a woman didn’t sell extra copies or increase audience ratings, but this was something different.

  ‘This summer’s disappeared — I think Sweden wants to see and read about a murder in the countryside. I can at least report on the information I have? I have a great contact at the police, and I seriously think that …’

  ‘You can work twenty-five per cent, no more. And you’re not allowed to do anything other than work on the Stentuna murder. Are we in agreement?’

  Ellen nodded.

  ‘And, if I get another complaint, then I’m taking you off the case.’ Jimmy stood up and went over to the door. ‘Do a quick run-through now of what you have.’ He called in Agatha and Leif. ‘Sit yourselves down,’ he said as they came into the office and sat down around the meeting table.

  Leif made no attempt to conceal his sighs.

  ‘Nice to see you, Ellen,’ said Agatha, and it actually sounded genuine. ‘I’m sorry, but I was forced to ask Jimmy when you emailed me. The intention wasn’t to gossip, it’s just that I have to spend my time on the right things.’

  ‘It’s no problem, I completely understand.’

  ‘Ellen thinks she’s got something on the murder in Stentuna. Can you tell us a little?’

  ‘A woman in her forties was found raped and beaten to death beside her car on a road in Stentuna. Her name was Liv Lind. No one seems to know who she is or what she was doing in Stentuna. She was unmarried and had no children, but she was pregnant, in her thirteenth week. The father has stayed away, and no one knows who he is.’

  ‘But wait a minute, aren’t you on sick leave?’ Leif asked.

  ‘Yes, but starting from now I’m going to be working quarter-time.’

  ‘Ellen will be working on this on the side to try to find out if it is as she says — that it’s perhaps more interesting than we thought. We create news,’ Jimmy added.

  ‘I just love that kind of gibberish,’ Leif said, leaning back in his chair.

  Ellen saw Jimmy’s irritated look at Leif, but he didn’t say anything.

  ‘When women fall victim to fatal violence, sometimes there are just a handful of short articles, but in scattered cases the interest is enormous,’ she continued. ‘What decides it, in the end? The general public more or less doesn’t care about domestic violence, or otherwise it must be our fault for not reporting on it better. If the perpetrator is unknown, that tends to increase interest — though I actually think this looks like a case of domestic violence as she doesn’t appear to have been robbed and looks to have stopped the car for someone she recognised. That, or it’s a random lunatic. In any event, it wasn’t self-inflicted, as she’s been raped. But these are just my speculations — the police don’t seem to have anything specific to go on, and it may actually be an unknown perpetrator in this case. If it turns out that it’s not, we will at least have brought the spotlight to one of all the women who have fallen victim to fatal violence and we’ll have created some engagement.’

  ‘Let’s slow down a little here, okay. Are you sure that she should be working?’

  ‘Back off, Leif,’ said Jimmy.

  ‘I agree with you, Ellen. It’s distressing the amount that the general public doesn’t even find out about, but I’d assume that’s down to a lack of resources.’ Agatha stole a glance at Jimmy.

  ‘Yep, and they don’t grow on trees,’ Leif added. ‘Just think about how we used to have foreign correspondents who actually got to travel abroad. Now they don’t even do that any more, and then you come in here and demand resources for some insignificant murder. Or real cheese for breakfast — did you know that they only serve pre-sliced cheese nowadays?’

  Ellen shook her head, couldn’t care less. ‘You could also be glad you get any cheese at all.’

  ‘You know what, if you have general complaints about how we work in the editorial office, we can address that in a separate meeting.’ Jimmy sounded quiet, but was so wholly sure of himself and his approach. So in control.

  Leif mumbled something, but then stopped talking.

  ‘Stentuna is like some kind of Astrid Lindgren idyll.’ Ellen pulled up the pictures from the crime scene on her phone and placed it on the table so that everyone could see.

  ‘What do you mean “Astrid Lindgren”, this doesn’t look like Bullerby?’

  ‘A modern version,’ Ellen said, looking at the red contemporary box houses on the screen. ‘Think about it. Kids bicycling and jumping on their trampolines. The little community with only a few inhabitants. The little school. The petrol station. Water sprinklers, ice cream, fields, and meadows. Heat. Do you get the picture?’

  ‘Yes. Or a community suffering from depression thanks to urbanisation — where everything is being closed down, and only a few are left behind, and they’re all unemployed and beat their wives when they’re drunk,’ said Agatha.

  Ellen sighed. ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘That you’re making it sound like an episode from Midsomer Murders,’ Leif replied.

  ‘I like it,’ said Jimmy. ‘We can use those fictional elements.’

  ‘Hello, there’s a person who was murdered here. This isn’t fiction,’ said Ellen. ‘Okay, Ann, if we use your version, don’t you think it’s still interesting for us to cover the murder — because it’s a community in dissolution, and the woman has been raped and murdered by her unemployed husband?’

  ‘Never mind that now. Let’s just see how the news develops and what Ellen manages to produce, with your help,’ said Jimmy.

  ‘I just mean that it’s not that unusual. We can’t report on every single murder just because the victim is a woman,’ said Agatha.

  ‘Why not? How can you, as a woman, sit there and say that? I can’t understand it.’

  ‘Calm down, Ellen,’ said Jimmy.

  ‘For Christ’s sake, you’re happy to cover that man who was beaten to death by supporters. Why is he more interesting than Liv Lind? Actually? I think we have to take our responsibility as journalists.’
<
br />   ‘Maybe he was better-looking than your Liv,’ said Leif.

  ELLEN

  2.00 P.M.

  The desk looked exactly the way it had when she’d left it two months ago. It was as if time had stood still. She usually called it organised chaos, but she actually had no idea what was hiding in the piles of papers.

  Ellen sat down in her chair and turned over some of the documents. Mostly, they were about Lycke, and she placed those ones carefully on a single pile without looking at them further. She wasn’t ready for that yet.

  At the bottom of the pile, she found some old to-do lists on which she hadn’t managed to check off a single item, and which, without exaggerating, she could easily make twice as long with more things she ought to do or should have done.

  She sighed. Recently, she hadn’t even managed to open her own mail.

  Ellen looked out across the editorial office. There was activity all around the desks, and she felt how she’d missed the buzz from her colleagues.

  Leif rolled his chair up to her and leant across. ‘Can you explain one thing to me?’

  ‘What’s that?’ She couldn’t even bring herself to look at him.

  ‘How do you do it? How do you manage to get all your hobby projects, I can’t figure it out.’

  Instead of replying, she took her laptop out of her bag and connected it to the dock. Opened a document and let the keys decide what she wrote. Like with dogs and children, she thought. You can’t give in to them.

  ‘Pull up the info about Liv Lind instead of harassing me.’

  Leif rolled back to his place. ‘Agatha can do that. I have to cover for the summer interns who’ve put bugs in every system and every event.’

  ‘Ellen! My queen of fucking everything. When I heard you were in the building, I rushed over.’ Philip strode towards her and gave her a big hug. As usual, he smelt newly washed, and his curly hair framed his symmetrical facial features. It was symmetry that determined whether or not a person was beautiful, Philip had explained to her, and he showed how well that held up with his own mug.

  He abruptly pushed her away. ‘Are you joking? What kind of diet is this? You’re just getting thinner and thinner every time I see you. And it was only a few days ago I last saw you. My God, you’ve got to write down exactly what you eat, I’ll do exactly what you do. I’ve been at way too many photo shoots and only eating chips and cookies, you know, and now I look cuddly. Who wants to look cuddly?’

  She smiled. Handsome Philip, so perfect, but always so dissatisfied with himself.

  ‘My God, that stupid phone keeps ringing. I guess I’ll have to answer it then. Philip. Oh dear. Yes, of course, I’m coming.’

  ‘What’s happening?’ asked Ellen.

  ‘What’s to be done with me? I took some kids with me to the restaurant to get ice cream, and then it seems I must have come back without them!’ He laughed. ‘I need to sleep, smoke, and have kebab. No alcohol. No, the fact is that I’ve stopped. It’s dangerous, I know, but it’s totally sick because it’s like, I haven’t even understood how dangerous it actually is. Ah, now they’re calling from the restaurant again. I have to go and pick up those sticky kids, now. They’re going to be in some segment with Malou, so I’ve got to put a little mascara on them …’

  ‘Ellen,’ she heard from the other side of the office.

  Both she and Philip turned around.

  It was Jimmy, standing in the doorway to one of the editing rooms. ‘Do you have a moment?’

  ‘Just a quickie,’ Philip whispered, smiling. ‘See you later.’

  Ellen went over to the editing room. It was dark inside, only lit up by a few computer screens.

  Jimmy closed the door behind her.

  ‘Was there something else?’ she asked, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. She waited for him to say something, but nothing came. Instead, he pulled her tenderly to him.

  At first, she thought about protesting, but suddenly felt so tired that her legs wouldn’t support her. She burrowed her head into his chest, breathed in the aromas from him.

  He held onto her hard, and she wished he would never let go. He kissed the back of her neck.

  There was a knock at the door, and he let her go immediately.

  It was as if she was waking up from a dream. The curtain went down, or up.

  Jimmy opened the door and spoke with a colleague. Ellen wasn’t able to hear what it was about. Her head felt completely foggy.

  ‘I have to go,’ he said, leaving her alone and confused in the office.

  ELLEN

  2.15 P.M.

  Ellen sank down in one of the chairs in the editing room and stared at the screens in front of her, all of which were in sleep mode with a revolving graphic screensaver, reminding her how she herself was walking in circles.

  There was a buzz in her pocket, and Ellen took out the phone.

  Carola’s voice sounded cold and hard when Ellen answered. ‘I would like you to urge the residents of Stentuna and the surrounding area to take special precautions.’

  ‘A warning?’ Ellen was sceptical, and at the same time was wondering whether Carola thought it was that simple — that she could simply phone in any information that she wanted to get out.

  ‘We want to encourage women in the area to be careful before we know more.’

  ‘Wait a minute,’ said Ellen. ‘Why should women be afraid that you guys haven’t been doing your job? Do they have to stay home because Liv Lind was murdered? Doesn’t violence win then? That’s the wrong focus.’

  Carola was silent.

  It surprised Ellen that Carola wanted them to release that kind of out-of-date message. She seemed more modern than that, though of course they had their employers to consider. And Ellen actually didn’t have much more to go on for tonight’s broadcast. Sometimes, she wondered if she ought to apply for a job at the police media centre instead. They had no idea how to put words together correctly, and often blurred the message. And journalists like her were never slow to catch the slip — actually, she didn’t know which was worse.

  ‘You know what, actually, I can see what you mean. Sorry I flared up like that. I just don’t think that women should have to go around being afraid. Should we really be preventing women from living a normal life?’

  Carola snorted. ‘And what’s a normal life, according to you? It’s violence that hinders women, not us. The world isn’t a sweet little island, where everyone is nice and if only you’re nice yourself everything will be fine. Spare me your naivety, please. The murder of Liv Lind unfortunately confirms that feeling fear is justified.’

  ‘Have you released the same warning concerning the fatal assault of the soccer supporter? Have you asked men to stay home?’

  ‘That I don’t know, because I don’t work with that investigation, but I’d assume so. We are constantly working at ways that we can get the better of these kinds of violence. However much we work to change norms and influence gender education, it nevertheless feels like it’s taking everyone far too long, I agree. Violence exists in all relationships, regardless of gender. But because Liv Lind was also raped, we are limiting the warning to women this time.’

  Ellen stared at the screens in front of her. ‘Does that mean this isn’t a case of domestic violence?’

  ‘It’s not exactly strange for us to ask people to be careful until we at the police know more. You know what? Email me if you have any more questions concerning our encouragement for caution.’

  Ellen figured that Carola had run out of arguments.

  ‘You’ll forgive me for saying this, but you’re a journalist and for natural reasons can’t have full insight into the investigation,’ Carola continued. ‘During this afternoon, a new possible lead has crystallised for the investigators. I don’t want you to talk about it, as it could disturb the investigation.’

  ‘What kin
d of lead is it?’ Ellen picked up a pen on the table and turned over a sheet of paper with a list of handwritten time codes that someone had left behind.

  ‘We’ve discovered that several assaults have occurred in the surrounding area earlier this year. I can’t say more than that.’

  Ellen sighed. ‘You know what …’

  ‘I’ve spoken to Liv Lind’s sister, and she’s agreed to meet you tomorrow.’

  ALEXANDRA

  5.00 P.M.

  ‘What?! You’re both out of your minds!’

  Bea’s scream cut through Alexandra’s body and reminded her of the horrible period when Bea was a baby and had colic.

  ‘So it’s not true that you created a false Instagram account and bullied a girl on the internet?’ she said in a reasonably calm and controlled voice, searching in vain for Patrik’s eyes for help in getting the truth out of their daughter. But he was staring down at the kitchen table, and as usual had turned the fight over to her.

  They’d just had a call from a teacher who’d told them what Bea and her friends had subjected the girl to, and apparently it wasn’t the first time. The problems had started when Bea was in sixth grade and had stopped thriving at school. In high school, she was placed in a remedial class, and since then it had all just gotten even worse. Now she hung around with a group of young people, all of whom had problems of one sort or another, and together they seemed to have lost all respect for those around them. Alexandra had tried to get the school to put her in a different class, but they refused. No one could manage her in class, and they maintained that she would disturb the other students, which presumably they were right about, but Alexandra felt betrayed by the school — as if they’d given up on her daughter. She no longer knew what she ought to do. A few times, Alexandra had thought about reporting Bea herself to Social Services, but she knew that that would most likely lead to an investigation of their family.

  ‘That girl tried to kill herself,’ Alexandra continued.

  ‘That’s not my fault!’

  ‘May I look at your phone?’ Alexandra reached out her hand.