Behind Blue Eyes

by C S Duffy

  Or she could be protecting him. He could have drugged her too. Maybe she fell asleep on that beach on the other island, and only assumed he had been by her side the whole time.

  On autopilot, I made my way into a sunny coffee shop, all sleek and modern and bordered with glass walls. I must have ordered, because a moment later I was holding a steaming cup of coffee. I grabbed a table by one of the windows and stared blindly at the bustle outside as I thought.

  Krister was on the ski trip. He was on the island when Sanna died. He was near the little park where Gustav Lindström died. He and Mia lived just a block or two from where I had left her on the corner. She would have been home by the time Gustav shoved me onto the grass.

  But what could she have told him that made him come out after us? Gustav had been at the same bar as us, but it was massive. I hadn’t seen him there, had Mia? And even if she had, why would she have bothered to mention it to Krister?

  Me.

  Spiders of horror scuttled over me as I realised she would have told him she’d run into me. She might well have reported our conversation as she got ready for bed. Chatting away as she brushed her teeth, put on night cream. She was quite curious about the day Sanna died. I suppose that’s natural, isn’t it? Hopefully I put her mind to rest a bit.

  She would have yawned, kissed him, snuggled down to sleep.

  And he stole out into the darkness to find me.

  Access and opportunity. Krister had both for Karin, Sanna and Gustav. But would that be enough for the police? What about the other victims?

  Corinna, I thought. She knew Björne and Tove Svensson, and she had been at a dinner that included Krister. They too had lived within a hundred metres or so of Krister, but so did hundreds of other people. Corinna might know of a closer connection.

  I pulled out my phone and opened Facebook messages to find my last message to her. She hadn’t replied, but of course she had no idea what I needed to tell her. Maybe I could try to phone —

  She was gone.

  My heart started to thud as I stared at my phone. It couldn’t be. I’d made a mistake.

  There was no profile picture next to our message thread, and her name was faded out so I couldn’t click on her profile. Had she deleted her account or blocked me? My hands felt weak suddenly, and I put my phone down quickly before I dropped it.

  Why would she block me? She barely knew me, had been more than friendly the only time we met. I’d only asked if we could speak in my message to her. I hadn’t even hinted at what I had to tell her about Tove. Why had she cut me off?

  I scanned the crowds outside, my heart hammering as it dawned on me how exposed I was. This coffee shop was nothing more than a giant fishbowl. Anyone could be watching me. Keeping tabs on what I was doing. Making sure I wasn’t getting too close.

  I wasn’t too close, I thought in frustration. Unless I could link Krister to one of the other deaths, I had nothing. I’d already tried to find Björne Svensson’s social media profiles, but there turned out to be about fourteen bajillion people named Björne Svensson in Sweden, so I’d given up.

  Maybe searching Krister or Mia’s friend lists would turn up something, would turn up something, some indication of how Björne Svensson, or any of the others, had made it on to Krister’s radar. I opened up the list of the other victims in another window so I could cross reference.

  Find the connection. Hand it to the police. Get on the next flight to London.

  My to do list rattled incessantly around my head as I scrolled through Krister’s profile. He rarely posted. I knew from monitoring Mia and Liv’s posts that he liked them often enough to suggest he logged in regularly, but most of the activity on his wall was him being tagged in other people’s posts. He had been the first of Johan’s friends to send me a request, I thought wryly, remembering how thrilled I’d been. It was only a few weeks after Thailand, and I’d ran around my flat whooping for joy because Johan had told his best friend about me.

  Krister Larsson is drinking beer at Kvarnen.

  HEJA BAJEN!

  In one of the comments below the post, Mia had uploaded a photo of Krister and Johan. Krister held a beer and was laughing at Johan, who was frozen mid roar, arms aloft, face contorted, like a Viking preparing for battle. There was no sign of Liv, but I had no doubt she was there, just out of shot, laughing adoringly at Johan.

  It was the date Sigge Åstrand collapsed in the club downstairs.

  I frowned. There was that feeling again, the same maddening sensation I’d had that night on Medborgarplatsen. There was a thought dancing just out of reach, in the shadowiest recesses of my brain. Something I knew. Something I was missing.

  I pulled out my notebook, turned to a fresh page, and started again from the beginning.

  36

  You were different from all the others who came before you. You made me realise how I chose, and that fascinated me. I was so thrilled, so excited by the possibilities that this new understanding of myself opened up, that I nearly started to tell you all about it.

  You had already poured your own breakfast coffee when I arrived. It was clear I was disturbing a relaxed, weekend breakfast, but you were polite enough to pretend I was welcome. I knew there wasn’t much time. I’d seen her leave for her run a few minutes earlier, and I suspected she didn’t have true endurance. Her running outfit was a little too shiny, her shoes a little fluorescent to suggest a true athlete. She would jog around for perhaps as little as twenty minutes, rarely close to sweating or even mussing her hair, then she would soak in a bath for an hour and consider it well deserved.

  Of course, it turned out that I underestimated her stamina by quite a bit, but I didn’t know that at the time.

  I asked for milk for my coffee. You turned to the fridge to get it and I slipped the pills into your half-drunk coffee. That was another risk. A full cup only just diluted the chalky taste of the pills. I held my breath as you returned to the counter, took a gulp of your coffee and made a face.

  You commented that it tasted funny. I could hear my own heartbeat echo urgently in my ears as I sipped my own and said it seemed fine to me. You shrugged, said caffeine was caffeine and gulped the rest then you sat down quite suddenly, your eyes already hazy. I was thrilled.

  In seconds you were out. I tipped my coffee away — regretfully, it was a rich Brazilian roast — washed and dried my cup carefully, then replaced it in the cupboard in the exact same spot I’d watched you take it from minutes earlier. I doubted she would noticed a single cup slightly out of place in the midst of what she would return to, but I learned a long time ago that no chance was worth taking.

  It wasn’t difficult to slip the pill bottle into your hand. I was wearing gloves, of course. I’d slipped them off when you opened the door, and had been careful to touch nothing but the cup, tap and cupboard handle, all of which I wiped before I left. You had been still the entire time I had been stealthily moving around the kitchen, making sure that everything was impeccable. I wondered if you were dead yet.

  The pills were new to me: a combination of a higher dosage of the SNRIs you had been prescribed for your pain, with a just little sprinkling of my special ingredient. I had an idea of how quickly they would take effect, but I was curious to find out.

  Testing was, for obvious reasons, limited. I had trapped a pair of rats years before and they dutifully multiplied for me, but outside of lab conditions I could never be quite as confident of precise results as I would like to be. It was frustrating.

  I pressed my gloved fingers to the side of your neck. Nothing. You were gone.

  Your weakness had been eradicated from the world.

  37

  ‘I don’t know what to say, Ellie. They should have told you.’

  Mia’s eyes were troubled as she reached forward and gave me a hug. I’d waited outside their flat for her to come down. I was afraid to see Krister, certain that he would take one look at me and guess everything I had worked out. So I had texted Mia to ask if she would co
me for a walk with me.

  She wrapped a brightly coloured shawl around her shoulders, slipped her arm through mine, and steered me through the early evening crowds. The sun was low, bathing everything in the other worldly glow of dusk. I felt curiously detatched from her, from everything in fact, almost as though I were in a dream.

  ‘Liv was afraid it would be difficult for you to be relaxed with her if you knew their whole history before you even met, but she still thought you should know. She hoped you would understand. It was Johan.’ Mia broke off, shook her head. ‘He is such an idiot sometimes. He kept promising he would tell you everything soon, then every time it was not yet the right time. They have been fighting about it all summer.’

  I nodded, the dull ache of tension in my jaw. The low evening sun shone in my eyes as we walked down Folkungagatan towards the ferry terminal. ‘Did you all discuss it?’ I asked. ‘Have you all been strategising when and how to break the news to poor Ellie?’

  ‘No — no, of course — it was not like that. Liv has been so upset —’

  I turned away.

  ‘Johan loves you,’ Mia insisted. ‘I know he is too stupid to show it properly sometimes, but I told you he is the happiest he has ever been with you, and I meant it. Please don’t do anything too hasty, Ellie. As Johan’s friend, and as your friend — I hope. I don’t have the right to ask you to give him more patience, I can only say that I think it would be worth it.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I muttered. My voice sounded distant and faraway in my own ears. ‘Yeah, maybe.’

  We crossed the road at the far end of the island and started to climb the little wooden stairs cut into the hill beyond. Mia had let go of my arm as the steps were narrow in places, but she was right behind me. My feet were surprisingly steady as we made our way to the top of the hill. We passed a handful of early evening picnicers here and there. A group of teenagers passed a box of wine between them. A woman watched the sunset while her boyfriend sat next to her, engrossed in his phone. A young dad photographed his toddler examining a weed growing between the rocks.

  At the top of the hill, the city was laid out below us, the deep blue water of the harbour twinkling in the evening sun, the little matchstick roofs and steeples of Gamla Stan almost silhouetted. I noticed a few dark clouds gathering in the distance.

  ‘Liv agrees with me,’ Mia insisted. ‘We have discussed many times how you are good for Johan, how you make him happy. She knows better than anyone how difficult he can be. I think she would be a good friend to you if you let her.’

  ‘How long were they together?’

  ‘Fifteen years. From when they were sixteen until a little more than two years ago.’

  A lifetime. I could barely conceive of knowing someone that long.

  The dark clouds I’d seen had rolled in. They brooded above the Stockholm skyline, low and menacing. A storm had been predicted earlier that day, I remembered dully. The air zinged with electricity as darkness rolled over the city. The dad wrestled the toddler into one of those hiking backpacks, the baby howling its protest at being separated from its precious weed.

  ‘And was it his getting into punch ups and stuff that split them up?’

  ‘They made an agreement to keep it private, but yes, I think so. She tried as long as she could to help him but in the end she didn’t know how.’

  ‘He’s talking about going in to therapy.’

  ‘That is great.’

  ‘So then maybe they can get back together.’

  ‘Ellie, no. That isn’t what I meant. They split up for so many reasons, I’m sure.’

  ‘Name another one.’

  ‘I — I don’t know, but —’

  ‘Did Sanna know about them?’

  ‘I think so, yes.’

  ‘They didn’t keep it a secret from her?’

  ‘I don’t know. She might have already known from someone else. They all know many of the same people. People used to talk about Johan and Liv, because it was so amazing, a teenage couple staying together so long. Sanna could have heard about them from lots of people.’

  I nodded and turned away. There was a Swedish flag at the top of the hill behind us. I could hear it rattling in the wind.

  ‘Ellie, please, talk to Johan, at least let him explain —’

  ‘Did you know that Gustav Lindström, Sanna’s ex boyfriend was murdered?’

  ‘What?’ I could hear the shock in Mia’s voice. A little boat made its way out to sea far below us, black against the inky purple water. The wind whipped up white tipped waves rippling across the harbour. A little shiver of terror rattled through me.

  ‘Gustav Lindström had a heart attack,’ Mia said.

  ‘A heart attack someone caused. Maybe the same person who killed Sanna.’ I turned to look at her. She was staring at me, her eyes wide with horror.

  And maybe fear. Did she know, I wondered. Did she suspect?

  ‘Ellie, I think maybe you need to —’

  ‘I’m going home,’ I said. ‘To London. Maybe just for a break, maybe forever. I’m not sure yet.’

  Mia didn’t say anything. A chilly breeze danced under my collar, and I shivered. The sun slipped below the horizon.

  ‘I understand,’ she said finally. ‘I wish you would stay, but I understand. I will explain to Johan.’

  I nodded. ‘There’s just something I have to do, then I’ve got a flight booked early tomorrow.’

  ‘Would you like to stay with us tonight?’

  ‘No I — I have another friend I’m going to stay with. Thanks, though.’

  ‘What is it you need to do? Something more about Sanna?’

  I looked away, pins and needles nipping at my fingers. ‘Something like that. I’ve found something out that I need to tell the police. And then I’ll go.’

  ‘Ellie are you sure that is a good idea? How could you know something the police don’t?’

  I shrugged. ‘Maybe I don’t. Maybe I’m completely wrong. That’s for them to figure out.’

  ‘Can I drive you to the airport?’

  ‘I’ll be fine. Thank you.’

  ‘I wish things could be different.’

  ‘So do I.’

  The first thick raindrops splattered the rocks and the heavens opened.

  38

  As the first shards of dawn broke across the grey sky, Johan finally admitted that Ellie was gone. He had hardly slept, had tossed and turned, listening to the summer storm raging outside, fumbling for his phone every few minutes to check for messages. He must have dropped off at some point, because he had woken, feeling groggy and queasy and vaguely discomfited from a series of troubling dreams.

  She wasn’t lying next to him.There was no sound of the kettle boiling, no shower running, or singing under her breath as she pottered about. Not that he was surprised, after Mia’s call. He had just hoped.

  From the moment he’d met Ellie, he’d hoped. He had taken one look at her freckly nose and wild hair and sparkling eyes and he had hoped. Had held his breath and crossed his fingers for one more day, one more moment with her before she saw him for what he was and he lost her.

  At least she hadn’t packed everything, he thought. She wasn’t completely gone. Her lotions and potions had still been cluttered around the bathroom sink the night before. He could see her trainers strewn in front of the door, the armchair piled high with discarded clothes, the celebrity gossip magazines in English and Swedish covering the bedside table. Whenever Ellie caught him glancing at her mess, she’d quickly swear she was just about to tidy up, but he didn’t mind it at all. He was just happy it meant she was there.

  So she must be coming back, at least briefly. He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling, a wave of misery washing over him as he caught the scent of Ellie from her pillow. Her citrusy shampoo, coconut body lotion and something else that was indefinably her.

  Maybe when she came to pack, they could talk. Maybe, somehow, he could explain. Make her see, make her understand that it was never about lying
to her, it was —

  It was what?

  It was about lying to her.

  It was about the lie that he deserved her.

  Johan fucked up. It was what he did. He disappointed people. Since the moment he was born, he had had a vague sense that there was something not quite right about him, an inkling that he wasn’t quite the one his parents ordered. He wasn’t enough or he was too much, he wasn’t sure which. All he knew was that whatever he was it was wrong. It was no one’s fault, it was just how it was. He tried not to think about it.

  When he was little, he imagined a hole inside of himself, like a jigsaw piece missing. He managed to answer questions in class fairly often. He learned to make the other kids laugh, and some of them became his friends. He never caused extra work for his mother if he could help it and he kept out of his father’s way. It was just that the one little jigsaw piece that would have tied it all together, made him a proper person, had been lost somewhere along the way.

  As he got older, the hole became a void and he knew that if he so much as looked in its direction, it would suck him in. So he didn’t. He plastered over the hole with beer and fights and being the loudest, funniest person anyone had ever met. Liv let him kiss her at Lasse Beckman’s sixteenth birthday party. It was summer but it was late at night and cold and he still remembered his surprise at how warm her lips were. The relief that crashed over him. The hope that maybe if Liv thought he was normal, then it was almost true.

  Of course the therapist his mother made him go to after his father was found on Folkungagatan told him that none of it was his fault. Of course she did. It was her job to try to make him feel better. Johan understood, in an abstract way, that there was nothing a small child could do to stop his parents being so unhappy, but it didn’t change the fact that Johan was broken. Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they aren’t out to get you.