Gieger

by Gustaf Skördeman

  On the other hand, young girls were much more vulnerable nowadays. They weren’t just dealing with hormone-filled lads at school and horny old men out on the town. Now those men were online too – in a much more aggressive form.

  The cloud of anxiety quickly cleared when it was finally time.

  Ebba’s class emerged onto the steps to the strains of Queen’s ‘We Are the Champions’. They were shouting and hooting, raising fists, thrusting their arms up into the air and taking a few dance steps. All the boys were in suits and the girls in white. There was applause and cries of hurrah from the waiting families. Then the class ran into the crowd and sought out their parents and siblings.

  For the first time in several years, Ebba looked happy when she caught sight of her parents. Sara hoped that feeling would linger on somewhere in her daughter in future, too.

  Ebba hugged and kissed her mother, father and little brother, then she let out a shriek of joy and ran into the street to the waiting student trucks parked up by Jarlaplan.

  Sara stayed where she was and watched her daughter go, while keeping her arms around Olle, whom she would get to keep for a little longer.

  Her mobile rang. Number withheld, but she picked up anyway.

  ‘Sara.’

  ‘Hello, Åsa-Maria here. Lindblad.’

  Jesus Christ . . . And on Ebba’s last day of school.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘How are things?’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘You sound upset?’

  ‘No, no.’

  ‘OK, good.’

  ‘What did you want?’

  ‘First, I just want to say that you’re doing a fantastic job.’

  Sara didn’t reply.

  ‘Really,’ Lindblad continued. ‘You’re an incredibly competent police officer doing a tremendous job. I don’t know how many times I’ve showered you with praise when speaking to our chiefs and colleagues.’

  ‘But?’

  ‘There’s no “but”. You’re talented. You can keep that.’

  ‘Did you just call to say that?’

  ‘Isn’t that enough? Do you want more?’

  ‘Just get to the point.’

  Martin signalled to Sara that he and Olle wanted to leave. Sara gestured at him dismissively. She needed to hear what this cow Lindblad wanted.

  ‘Despite my praise, despite all the good things I’ve said about you, you do this.’

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘What do you think? Break-ins that get you reported.’

  ‘That was no break-in. The door was open.’

  ‘I refused to believe it when I heard it. Not my Sara, I said. Never. But now that I’ve seen the CCTV footage . . . I feel so desperately sad. You are making me sad.’

  ‘Sad? Why?’

  Sara flung her arm out and struck a couple of proud parents in mid-flow.

  ‘Because you’ve put me in a tight corner. I’ve always defended you, no matter what you’ve done and how you’ve conducted yourself. And now that you’ve done this, I’m in a very tight spot.’

  ‘How the hell is that?’

  ‘A police officer breaking the law is something that affects us all.’

  ‘I didn’t break the law.’

  ‘Mazzella stared at me as if he couldn’t understand how I didn’t know what my team were up to. I couldn’t defend what you did. And it felt awful.’

  Martin got bored and began to walk. Sara was a few paces behind him with her mobile glued to her ear.

  ‘I’ve spoken to Mazzella,’ said Sara. ‘It’s OK.’

  ‘You can’t talk to Mazzella!’

  ‘Why not? It was me in the pictures and he was the one who got them.’

  ‘It has to go through me.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘We’re on the same team, Sara!’

  ‘Same team?’

  ‘Yes. You can be difficult sometimes, but I really like you. And then you do this. I’m so devastated. Deeply hurt. And since I’ve always taken your side, I’m also tarnished by your lack of judgement.’

  ‘So screw them. What does it matter?’

  ‘A report like this is the last thing we need.’

  ‘She doesn’t know that it was a police officer.’

  ‘But we know. People are incredibly worked up about you, Sara. The high-ups at the top. The public view of the police is incredibly important – you know that. Lots of people are angry right now. But I’ve found a solution.’

  ‘Good,’ said Sara, knowing that whatever Lindblad said, it would be the opposite of good.

  ‘I can get them to calm down if you show some goodwill. Show that you know you’ve made an error.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘You’ll have to resign. This is terrible. Such a shame that you’ve got yourself into this mess, but I’m glad I managed to find a solution.’

  ‘Solution?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘There’s not a problem.’

  ‘Listen to you. Not a problem? Breaking into someone’s home and being caught on CCTV?’

  ‘I told you, the door was unlocked. And there have been threats towards her. She’s an escort. A prostitute. Those are the people we’re meant to be helping.’

  ‘I can’t look the other way,’ said Lindblad. ‘It would be gross negligence. I might get the sack.’

  ‘Of course you wouldn’t. This will blow over. It’s already been forgotten.’

  ‘Sorry, Sara. This is too serious.’

  ‘So I have to resign?’

  ‘It’s the only solution.’

  ‘And then you’ll stay quiet?’

  ‘I should be able to keep it quiet then, yes.’

  ‘And all the higher-ups will know, too?’

  ‘If you do as we’ve discussed and show some goodwill, then yes.’

  ‘So you can look the other way? Both you and the angry chiefs? But only if I do what you want me to?’

  ‘We just want to help you.’

  ‘Then you’ll have to look the other way anyway. I’m not resigning.’

  38

  The reception had gone well and Ebba had been happy. She’d been given some very expensive gifts by her paternal grandparents.

  In addition to the new mobile phone and Cartier jewellery, Martin’s father had also given her the keys to her own car – a VW Beetle Cabriolet in a metallic chocolate-brown shade. Ebba had shrieked and thrown herself around her grandfather’s neck, then also given her grandmother a quick, dutiful hug.

  A brand-new car was much too extravagant as a gift in Sara’s eyes, and she couldn’t help thinking about the paperback of Swedish poetry that she’d received from Jane on her own graduation day. That had been what her mother was able to afford, but the present had been chosen with care and love. Jane didn’t read much, but she loved the poems of Tomas Tranströmer. Not that Sara doubted her parents-in-laws’ good intentions, but she questioned the affordability. And wondered where Ebba would park the new car. She envisioned stacks of parking tickets that Martin would obligingly pay off.

  After receiving the keys, Ebba crept off and changed the seating plan for the evening so that Grandpa Eric and Grandma Marie could join the top table, while Love and Mia from her class were consigned to a corner table further back.

  It was apparently very easy to buy love.

  Sara looked for her mother in the hubbub in the big apartment. Relatives, friends, neighbours and Martin’s colleagues all swept past her. Some old business acquaintances of Eric’s had also made it – tanned and white-haired with self-assured smiles. Sara almost never saw her mother smile.

  Jane was standing by herself with a wrapped gift in her hand.

  ‘Is that for Ebba?’ said Sara.

  ‘She doesn’t want it,’ said Jane.

  ‘What?’ Sara was angry immediately. ‘Did she say that?’

  ‘No, but after being given her own car, this is a joke. Better to give nothing at all.’

  ‘Of course she wants it. You’re her grandma.
’

  Sara looked at her mother’s parcel. Rectangular and hard.

  ‘Do you know what?’ she said. ‘She’ll get much more use out of a book than a car. Give it to her.’

  Jane looked around the heaving apartment with an impenetrable expression. She didn’t seem convinced of the value of her present.

  Sara knew that Jane’s mother had re-tailored her own bridal gown into a dress for her daughter when she’d graduated. To make sure she looked beautiful. Attractive. A book was much better. And longer lived. Sara could still quote lots of poems from her own collection.

  ‘Wait here,’ she said, going over to the bookcase.

  She searched for a while and then pulled out Swedish Poetry, a thick, dark blue paperback that was falling to pieces with age and wear. Then she returned to Jane and showed her the book.

  ‘Look how it’s almost been read to pieces. And I’ve still got it thirty years later.’

  Jane glanced at the poetry volume and met Sara’s gaze, thinking for a second.

  Then she went and placed her present on the gift table.

  Sara looked at her daughter, who was the centre of attention, surrounded by smiling people. She went to her and said, ‘Go and give your grandmother a hug.’

  And Ebba did, without really knowing what the hug meant.

  Sara caught up with her daughter as she was heading back to her friends and whispered in her ear:

  ‘Thank you.’

  Ebba stopped and looked at her mother.

  ‘For what?’

  ‘For thanking your grandmother. One fine day you’ll realise that her present was the best one.’

  ‘One fine day? Why do you always talk about the future with me? I’m alive right now.’

  ‘Time passes quickly. If you only live in the now, then life might get away from you.’

  ‘Yes. Or you forget to live.’

  ‘I didn’t meant to ruin your evening. I’m just . . . You’ll understand when you have your own children.’

  ‘Perhaps. If I have children. But can’t I forget about that tonight and just celebrate graduation?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  Sara smiled at her daughter and patted her cheek, hoping that she wouldn’t think her mother was ridiculous for doing so. Ebba made to turn away and leave, but then she stopped.

  ‘Mum.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Look at me.’

  And Sara looked at Ebba – in her glittering silver dress, her peaked student cap on her head and wearing two-inch heels. Her eyes were radiant.

  ‘Am I beautiful?’

  ‘Yes, very beautiful.’

  ‘Am I a good person?’

  ‘What?’ Sara was surprised by the question. ‘Of course you are. A really good person.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘You’re wise, kind, smart, ambitious, beautiful, stubborn. Bloody stubborn. And funny . . . You’re good in all ways!’

  ‘Thank you for that. That’s to your and Dad’s credit. You did that.’

  Ebba did a twirl in front of her mother to show the result of her parents’ efforts. Then she smiled and ran over to Carro. She hugged her friend, and then they rang a bell to make themselves heard and they began to merrily herd the guests into their seats.

  As she stood there looking at a happy Ebba, the centre of everyone’s attention, Sara was able to forgive her husband for spoiling their daughter.

  *

  The party that evening was a success, and Sara was grateful that she’d had the sense to book the day off work.

  Martin and Carro’s father were paying for the party, and had really beefed up the budget. They had hired the Swedenborg Hall at the van der Nootska Palace. Crystal chandeliers, tapestries and gilded wood panelling. Servers dressed smartly in black and white. All attendees in dinner jackets and cocktail dresses. All far too young to pull off the formal dress code, but endearingly proud of themselves. Speeches and songs in honour of Ebba and Carro.

  There was a speech by Eric that was far too long, in which he completely and solely focused on Ebba’s shining future in Swedish business life. And he concluded by raising a toast on behalf of both himself and his wife. Grandma Marie smiled and raised her glass.

  The invitation had promised an open bar, and perhaps that was why the parents had to leave after dinner.

  Martin insisted on paying for a taxi for Jane. They stepped out onto Hornsgatan and he hailed a cab, agreed a set price with the driver and paid in advance. But when Sara and Martin had said goodbye and turned to leave, Sara saw Jane jump out of the taxi and head for the metro.

  ‘Why don’t we get a glass of wine?’ said Martin.

  They stopped at the outdoor seating by the Hilton, where he selected the most expensive wine available by the glass – a habit of his. Sara didn’t care.

  ‘Did you know about the car?’ she said, and it took a second for Martin to cotton on.

  ‘No,’ he said, but he sounded more impressed than bothered. ‘What a present.’

  ‘Shouldn’t he have asked us first?’

  ‘It’s his money. I suppose he can do what he likes with it.’

  Martin had never questioned or contradicted his father.

  ‘I don’t want her to think that life’s like this,’ said Sara. ‘That everyone gets cars and luxury parties when they graduate. Very few people have this.’

  ‘Don’t you think it’s good that our kids have it? With the world in the state it’s in, it’s a bloody relief that we can give our children a secure upbringing and the best possible start in life.’

  ‘I think that leaves them very poorly equipped for life. If they’re used to everything being served up to them.’

  ‘Not tonight, darling,’ Martin said, smiling. ‘Our daughter has graduated.’

  Then he leaned forward and kissed Sara.

  ‘Our daughter,’ he said, looking Sara in the eye.

  They finished their wine, then strolled past the eternal building site at Slussen and headed home.

  Sara opened the windows and listened to the murmur of the summer night rising from Kornhamnstorg and the eateries there. People enjoying life and each other. Expectations, hopes, joy.

  Martin opened a bottle of wine, but after just ten minutes they’d both fallen asleep in front of the TV.

  39

  The baritone voice of Loa Falkman shook the living room. Sara sat up in alarm, trying to see where the dreadful noise was coming from. The singing was coming from the morning news programme on the TV, which was still switched on. She reached for the remote and switched it off. Were they really allowed to bellow out old classics at this time of the morning?

  At the other end of the sofa, Martin was snoring away loudly. Sara placed a blanket over her husband, and then she carried the glasses with the remainder of their drinks from the night before into the kitchen and made herself a cup of coffee and scrambled eggs. Hangover food, even though her headache was tolerable after three glasses of wine.

  Ebba’s reception and party were over and done with. The relief was mixed with a gnawing sorrow that a chapter in her life had been closed – a milestone passed. She already knew that she would miss this time with the children many times in her life to come.

  At least Sara could now focus on Uncle Stellan again. If nothing else, in order to distract herself. She pulled up the pictures she’d taken down in the rec room and emailed them to Hedin. To her surprise, Hedin called her straight back – at half past six in the morning.

  ‘What are these photos?’ she asked.

  ‘From Stellan’s home movies. Men having sex with young girls. Do you recognise them?’

  ‘The first photo is Per Dieden. Justice minister in the eighties. Then there’s Gösta Boström, the CEO of Svea Marin.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘An industrial group that made defence equipment,’ said Hedin. ‘Including naval combat vessels. The third one is Mats Cajderius, editor-in-chief at Svenska Dagbladet. And you’re te
lling me that all these men were filmed at the home of Stellan Broman while having sex with very young girls? Classic honeytrap.’

  ‘Stellan raped the girls himself first to break them in. Then he got them drunk or drugged them, and let these men exploit them.’

  ‘So that he had a hold over them.’

  ‘And look at the fifth picture,’ said Sara, who was also scrolling through her big game snapshots. The former prime minister.

  When Hedin finally replied, she didn’t sound surprised.

  ‘That explains why the conservative governments didn’t break away from the policy of neutrality when they came to power,’ was all she said.

  Sara did her best to digest Hedin’s words.

  But it wasn’t easy.

  Had this roll of film dictated Sweden’s security policy for several decades?

  Well, why else would the conservative governments have stuck to a doctrine they didn’t believe in? Why else would they have implemented a policy they hated?

  One single man’s warped sexuality had determined the fate of nine million Swedes.

  ‘I can understand the prime minister,’ said Sara. ‘But why did Stellan want a hold over the others?’

  ‘To bring more informants on board, to expand the ring, to show his handlers how good he was at his job. Or to obtain some specific information. Influence decisions.’

  ‘What kinds of information and decisions?’

  ‘Neutrality, like I said. It was important in the struggle for the sympathies of Swedish subjects. Defence information. Political decisions. The recognition of the DDR as a sovereign state. These films may have helped to drive that through. In that case, it was a huge success for the spy ring. Getting a brutal dictatorship recognised when most other Western countries refused to. Think of the hundreds of people murdered when they tried to leave the country. While we got to see the Swedish prime minister shaking hands with the oppressor with a smile on his face.’

  Sara shook her head. But it was clear that Hedin was right. Given everything that had been kept from the Swedish people for so long – the truth about the Geijer prostitution scandal, the IB affair, the hospital spy, the collaboration with NATO – it went without saying that there was far more that had never been revealed. And this was possibly the greatest scandal of them all.