by C S Duffy
My heart leapt into my mouth as I saw that there was a new post on his wall, posted just seconds ago. Linda Andersson had uploaded a headshot of Sanna smiling into the camera, her eyes sparkling with life and fun. The translation of the caption read we who loved you Sanna, and about twenty people were tagged. I opened the list and saw Mia listed, but no Krister or Liv — and no Johan. I grabbed my battered little notebook from my bag and opened to a fresh page.
Why didn’t he see the kayak on the way to the ferry? I wrote. I doodled around the edges of the page as I thought. Johan turned over in his sleep, and I froze, but he didn’t wake. I thought of the short journey between the ferry stop and Krister's island. The pristine openness of the deep blue water, the untouched islands all around. I couldn’t imagine how one would fail to notice a bloody great kayak floating upside down. So had it drifted out of sight then back into the open for the police to find a day or two later?
That struck me as far fetched, and my journalist spidey-senses were tingling. Convoluted murders with dastardly motives and shocking twists are the stuff of police dramas. Real crime tends to be pretty mundane. Straightforward, common-or-garden, someone lashes out in anger, does someone over for money — horrendous and tragic and pretty basic. Kayaks don’t turn invisible then conveniently reappear when the police are looking. Statistically, women are horrifically likely to be murdered by their partners, but not by tampering with their kayaks. There was something cold about that. Distant, calculated.
I drew little flowers along the side of the page as Johan snored softly. I suppose everyone looks innocent when they’re asleep. Even godfathers of crime don’t evilly twirl their moustaches in their sleep, but this was Johan. My Johan.
11
Now that so much time has passed —
And whose fault is that?
I’m sorry, but I have to tell you the case is being closed.
How can it be closed? It’s not solved.
Well, paused. If any new evidence comes to light —
How will that happen if no one is looking for it? Is this how you solve crimes now, you just sit around and hope that evidence magically appears? How do you sleep at night?
I understand it is difficult, but there must be an avenue of investigation for us to purse.
It wasn’t an accident. He was murdered. Don’t look at me like that. I know you believe it, you just won’t admit it because if you did you would have to get off your fat arse and do something about it.
If you have any information that we can use to —
I’ve given you information! I told you about her months ago.
Without a name or a description —
Without a name or a description there’s nothing you can do. I heard you the first fifty thousand times.
12
I hated Torsten von Rais from the second I lay eyes on him.
Despite the fact that my mum and I didn’t have a pot to piss in, I went to a fancy girls’ school across the river in Hammersmith. This was thanks to the deep pockets and guilty conscience of the chinless wonder my mum had pulled at some Chelsea club in the mid eighties; an unfortunate night out that resulted in a stonking hangover and me. I don’t doubt that everyone’s hearts were in the right place when they decided that I should get the best education he — or more accurately, his family — could afford, but tossing a dash of classism into the viper’s nest of a West London all-girls school doesn’t exactly make for the warmest and fuzziest of teenage years.
Don’t get me wrong, I was fine in the end. I joined a weekend drama club and made some mates who went to the local state school, who didn’t snort with laughter and imitate my accent whenever I opened my mouth or refuse to sit with me at lunch. It was just that some days were a bit more character building than I would have chosen, in an ideal world.
When I was a rookie on the Evening Standard, I was sent to doorstep the wife of some guy who’d been done for a financial crime I couldn’t make head nor tail of but had resulted in hundreds of people losing their pensions. I banged on the door and lo and behold, it was answered by the queen bee of my school. Emily Something-Double-Barrelled had once filled my backpack with condoms then followed me incessantly with her sniggering friends until eventually, inevitably, they had all fallen out on the top deck of a bus going along the Fulham Palace Road.
‘Oh thank goodness it’s you,’ she’d wailed. ‘You won’t write anything nasty, will you?’
I did, though. I did write something nasty.
Anyway, all water under the bridge now, but it has left me with a, shall we say, healthy skepticism of posh people. Johan’s lawyer Torsten von Rais had hair I can only describe as floufy and he wore pink trousers, in broad daylight. We were never going to be soulmates.
Torsten, Johan and I were having coffee in an area that I could see a mile off was the Chelsea of Stockholm, only with more bikes and tall people. I’d thought that Södermalm was all pristine and fancy, but it was practically a concrete jungle compared to the grand, gleaming white buildings and wide boulevards of Östermalm, the stomping ground of Torsten von Rais.
I stirred my coffee and licked the chocolate off the back of the spoon, enjoying Torsten’s brief disapproving glance, as he opened his soft leather, embossed notebook, and took out a fountain pen.
‘The tests the coroner was able to do were somewhat limited, given the advanced state of decomposition of the body,’ he said, in a clipped accent. I felt Johan flinch, and reached over to squeeze his hand. ‘But there is a jelly in the back of the eye socket which tends to be the last to decay, and they were able to extract DNA for the identification. They also detected traces of drugs —’
‘Drugs?’ Johan’s head snapped up. ‘Absolutely not.’
Torsten shrugged, his eyes impassive. ‘That is what the tests indicate.’
‘No.’ Johan shook his head firmly. ‘Sanna’s best friend died of an overdose five or six years ago. She was vehemently anti-drugs. It is just not possible.’
‘Be that as it may, the tests are conclusive.’
‘It’s not true,’ Johan said. ‘What if it’s not Sanna? Could the — it, could it be someone else who drowned last summer also?’
‘The identification is certain. The police have checked both dental records and DNA.’
‘She wouldn’t,’ Johan insisted, shaking his head. ‘We were drinking, but absolutely nothing else.’
‘What drugs did they find in her system?’ I asked.
‘I would have to check the exact name of the substance, but I believe it is some sort of sedative, often used in the treatment of anxiety.’
‘Something like diazapam?’ I asked.
‘Yes, I think so,’ Torsten nodded.
‘Could she have had a prescription?’ I asked Johan.
‘Sanna wasn’t afraid of anything,’ he said firmly, and something icy twisted in my stomach.
‘What if she didn’t take them voluntarily?’ I said. ‘If we’re talking foul play, she could have been drugged. It’s not uncommon for killers to sedate their victims.’
‘What killer?’ Johan demanded and I shrugged.
‘I don’t know, I’m just —’
‘That is not something one can establish from the jelly in the back of the eye,’ Torsten said, with the tiniest tug of his lips that could have been a smile or a grimace. ‘And there is very little further physical evidence in the case at all. The police are not certain whether the patch on the kayak fell off or was removed, and as I understand it, all of your friends’ statements have been consistent and have not revealed anything the police consider an avenue of investigation.’
They were all there? I hadn’t realised that. Johan must have said, I thought, though I could have sworn I’d got the impression it was just the two of them.
‘The important thing is, I think it is unlikely at this point that the police will charge you with any crime,’ Torsten said, gathering up papers and putting them back in his soft leather briefcase. ‘There is simp
ly not enough evidence.’
‘Because he is innocent,’ I said.
Torsten didn’t respond, but I felt condescension emanate from him in waves.
‘What about his job, in that case?’ I added.
‘What about his job?’
‘Ellie, it doesn’t matter,’ Johan muttered.
‘It does,’ I said. ‘He lost his job because of this suspicion that’s been hanging over him. The police need to make some sort of statement, properly exonerate him —’
‘I don’t really think that is the sort of thing the police —’
‘And I think we should sue.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘For wrongful termination. They can’t go around firing people because some idiot journalist got the wrong end of the stick. I should know, I’m an idiot journalist.’
‘This is your job at Södersjukhuset?’ Torsten asked Johan, consulting his notes with a frown. Johan nodded uncomfortably.
‘It’s not —’ Johan began, before muttering something in Swedish.
Torsten nodded, and replied in Swedish.
‘Do you mind?’ I snapped. ‘I’m sitting right here.’
‘My apologies,’ said Torsten, his pale hazel eyes cool. ‘Johan was explaining to me that his employment was terminated when he made a mistake in reporting some results from a clinical trial of a new drug. Understandable in grief perhaps, but you must appreciate that a hospital cannot tolerate such mistakes.’
I turned to Johan with a frown, a bolt of nerves shooting down my spine. I always wanted to be a nurse, but it didn’t work out. Johan stared at the table, refusing to meet my eye.
A bunch of pastel colour-shirted guys at the next table gave a rowdy cheer, raising their glasses with shouts of skål. On the centre of their table was a huge platter of mussels. The salty smell made me feel sick.
‘I do not think it is likely we will have a good outcome if we sue the Swedish medical system,’ Torsten said dryly, putting the lid back on his fountain pen with an irritating click. ‘But as for the police matter, I believe it is concluded, until or unless new evidence comes to light. Just perhaps do not annoy them by getting into fights on the T-bana in the meantime,’ he added with a glance at Johan.
‘Oh for heaven’s sake, a drunken punch up between football fans is hardly the same as murdering your girlfriend,’ I snapped, and Torsten gave me a cold look.
‘All violence is on a spectrum,’ he said quietly, and left.
13
We walked home in silence. Somewhere along the cobblestoned quay in the Old Town, I realised I was totally overreacting. I wanted to be a nurse, but it didn’t work out. He had told me the truth. It wasn’t his fault I had misunderstood.
I’d been about to slip my hand into his then, but his hands were deep in his pockets, his eyes troubled and faraway as he gazed out over the water. He was lost in thoughts that didn’t involve me. That was fine. It was a lot for him to take in.
I was now sitting cross legged on the couch, while Johan dusted invisible dust from his shelf of three books. I swear that shelf got more polishing action than my entire flat in London. I pulled out my notebook and flicked to a new page. ‘How did you first meet Sanna?’
‘Does it matter?’
‘To start building a full picture of what happened, yes.’
‘We met through Mia.’
That explained why she had been tagged in the list of people who loved Sanna the other night on Facebook.
‘How did they know each other?’
Johan shrugged, putting his pile of books back in precisely the same order. ‘Through work. Mia works with events, organising parties and launches for new products and things. Sanna was a DJ.’
I’d already gathered as much from her social media, but I scribbled it down anyway.
‘Did Mia set you up?’
‘No, not really. She just got me and Krister and Liv on the guest list for the opening night of a new bar she was involved with. It was summer and seemed like fun so we went along. Sanna was DJing, and when she took a break we started talking at the bar.’
‘How long ago was that?’
‘One year ago, I suppose.’
‘Just last summer?’
They’d only been together a few months.
‘Yes. A couple of weeks before Midsummer.’
‘And what was the relationship like?’ I asked.
He was polishing around the TV, and he paused, glanced up at me.
‘Come on Johan, I don’t mean how many times a week or in what position. I mean like, did you fight like cat and dog the whole time? Was it love’s young dream? Just a general idea.’
I met his eye with a deliberately even gaze, my pen poised over the notebook.
He shrugged. ‘I don’t know, it was okay. Not so serious, just, fun, I guess.’
‘No major issues, stuff you fought about time and time again?’
‘Nothing that would make me want to kill her,’ he said abruptly. He went into the kitchen, and I could hear him banging about, probably polishing apples or something.
‘But you fought the weekend she disappeared?’ I called after him. ‘You said that the other night.’
‘Yes. So what?’
‘So you did fight sometimes.’
‘Ellie, what is the point of all of this?’ he sighed. He stood in the open doorway between the living room and the hall, almost silhouetted by the light from the kitchen window behind him.
I didn’t say anything.
‘I told you, she didn’t want to come that weekend. She wanted to stay with her friends in the city. I wish she had.’
‘What changed her mind?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘She just randomly told you she was coming after all? You didn’t talk her into it?’
‘I told you, I don’t know Ellie. She said no, then she texted me the night before to ask what time we were getting the ferry, so I guessed she was coming. She did that a lot, changing plans according to what mood she was in that day.’
‘Okay.’ I tapped my pen against the notebook. ‘On the day you went — the Saturday, I assume?’ He nodded. ‘Was it just you and her on the ferry?’
‘And Liv also. Mia and Krister went the night before.’
I bet Liv loved that, I thought. Thinking she’d get Johan to herself for the whole journey, then lo and behold the girlfriend shows up.
‘How did Sanna seem?’
‘Hungover. She had been working the night before, then she partied after. She slept most of the way.’
‘You said you argued a lot during the weekend. Was it over something specific?’
‘Not really. Just — I don’t know, bickering. Like I said, she was hungover and kind of grouchy and I felt like she was ruining things for Mia and Krister.’
‘Ruining what?’
‘They just got engaged that week and we were celebrating them, but it did not feel like much of a celebration. Mia likes to fix things for everybody, so she spent most of the weekend trying to explain Sanna to me and me to Sanna.’
‘What about any tension between Sanna and any of the others?’
‘Are you accusing one of my friends of murdering her?’ His tone was dry, but there was an edge to it.
‘Of course not,’ I said shortly. ‘I’m just trying to build a picture of the weekend. She might have mentioned a worry to one of them, or —.’
‘No, there was no tension between her and anyone else.’
‘Would you normally have been able to see the kayak tied to the jetty?’
‘What?’
‘You said that you all use this kayak to get back and forth between the ferry stop and Krister's island. If Sanna had taken it over to get the early ferry like you thought, would you normally have seen it tied up there?’
‘I don’t know. It depends. It could have been under the jetty. I wasn’t really looking for it.’
‘Even though you thought she had left it there?’
&nb
sp; ‘For fuck’s sake Ellie, what is the point of this?’
Johan turned to the kitchen door and slammed it with a ferocity that reverberated through the flat. I flinched, my heart hammering, as the almighty bang rang in my ears. Johan stood in the hallway, his shoulders hunched in defeat, staring at the door.
‘I’m just trying to — ’
‘Just stop,’ he said quietly, his voice laced with pleading. ‘Leave it alone.’
‘You told me you didn’t want people to look at you and wonder any more,’ I said. I stared at my notebook, the words swimming before my eyes.
‘I’m going to make dinner,’ he blurted. ‘Is pasta okay?’
‘I’m going out, actually.’
I shut my notebook and shoved it in my bag, rooted around for my sandals. ‘Some of the crowd from that newcomers coffee group I told you about are having drinks.’
I’m sure I imagined the flicker of relief in his eyes. He smiled, though his eyes were still wretched.
‘So I will start to make dinner for me.’ He came over to me as I put my trainers on, kissed the top of my head, held my face close to him for a moment.
‘I know you are trying to help,’ he said. ‘Thank you. I’m sorry I am so —’
‘Enjoy the peace,’ I said as I closed the door behind me.
14
Maybe by the time I get home you’ll be ready to face this like an adult.
The parting shot I should have gone with rattled around my head for almost the entire length of Södermalm. That was the problem. Johan wanted to close his eyes and stick his fingers in his ears and make it all go away, I could see that clearly now. That was why he had kept it all from me, why he had broken off contact with anyone who questioned him. He wanted to pretend none of it was real.
I’d seen it before. Grieving mothers putting on a spectacular spread of home baking to entertain parasitic journalists, families of the accused talking brightly about the holiday they would take together once this nasty business was all over. The human capacity for denial is powerful, but it’s like taking painkillers for an infected wound. You might not be able to feel the pain, but it’s going septic all the same.