by Asa Larsson
Grandmother would have noticed Måns’s soft white hands. She wouldn’t have said anything, but she would have thought a great deal. Puppy’s games instead of real work. Sailing and using the treadmill at the gym. Rebecka could still remember him moaning and groaning all the way through a two-day court case because he’d turned his ice-yacht over out in the archipelago. He’d been black and blue all over.
Completely different from her father and the other men in the village.
She could see Daddy and Uncle Affe sitting in her grandmother’s kitchen. They’re drinking beer. Affe is cutting off slices of raw Falun sausage for his dog Freja. He holds the slice of sausage in front of her and asks: “What do the girls in Stockholm do?” And Freya lies on her back with all her legs in the air.
Rebecka likes their hands. Capable of doing all kinds of skillful work. The tips of the fingers always slightly rough and black from something that no soap can shift, there’s always some machine that needs looking at.
It’s always okay to sit on Daddy’s lap. You can stay there as long as you want. With Mummy your chances are fifty-fifty. “Oh, you’re so heavy!” she says.” Or: “Let me drink my coffee in peace.”
Daddy smells of sweat and warm cotton and a little bit of engine oil. She nuzzles into the stubble on his neck. His face is always sunburned, and his neck and hands. But his body is as white as paper. He never sunbathes. None of the men in the village do, only their wives. The women lie on sun loungers sometimes. Weed the garden wearing a bikini.
Sometimes Daddy might lie down on the grass for a rest, with one arm underneath his head and his cap over his face. Homeowner Martinsson. It was a man’s right and privilege to take a little rest on the grass in his own yard from time to time. Daddy works hard. Drives the logging machine in the forest at night to make his expensive investment pay. Does work around the house and yard himself. Does some work for a pipemaker in town when there isn’t much work in the forest.
But sometimes he lies down for a while. On the kitchen sofa in the winter. Out in the yard like this in the summer. Their oldest dog, Jussi, often comes to lie beside him. And soon he has Rebecka on his other arm. The sun warms them. There’s a strong scent from the wild chamomile growing in the poor, sandy soil. Otherwise there aren’t many plants like that. With a powerful scent. You always have to get close to them to smell anything.
Rebecka has never seen her grandmother lying down like this. She never rests. And she certainly wouldn’t be doing it outside, right in front of the house. People would think she’d lost her mind. Or even died.
No, Grandmother would have thought Måns very strange. A Stockholm boy who couldn’t take an engine apart, fish with a dragnet or even rake hay. And rich. Uncle Affe’s wife, Inga-Britt, would have been nervous and got out the serviettes. And everybody would have wondered about Rebecka: who does she belong to now?
Just as they had already done. You always had to prove you hadn’t changed. People were always saying “It’s nothing special…I’m sure you’re used to much better.” And then she’d have to heap praise on the food, say it was a long time since she’d eaten perch, how delicious. The others were allowed to eat in peace, in silence. And then it became even clearer that she’d taken on those Stockholm ways, too much praise.
There was a kind of gravity in Daddy that is lacking in Måns. She won’t say a depth, it’s not that Måns is superficial. But Måns has never had to worry about his finances, fretting that he isn’t getting enough work to cover the payments on the logging machine. And there’s another difference too. Something that doesn’t come from worrying. A streak of melancholy.
That melancholy, thinks Rebecka. Was that what made Daddy cling on to Mummy with such intensity?
I think she came into his life with her laughter and her simplicity, because in her good periods she was as light as the wind. And I think he grabbed her upper arms with both hands. Held on to her, firm and tight. And I think she liked that, but only for a little while. I think she thought she needed that. Security and calm and his embrace. And then she slunk away like an impatient cat.
And what about me? thought Rebecka, looking at Måns’s message. Shouldn’t I find somebody like Daddy, but hang on to him, unlike Mummy?
A heart that’s in love is an indomitable thing. You can hide your feelings, but inside your heart takes over the whole thing. Your head changes jobs, stops reasoning or making sensible decisions, and starts painting pictures: pathetic, romantic, sentimental, pornographic. The whole bloody thing.
Rebecka Martinsson prays in vain: God protect me from passion.
But it’s already too late. She writes:
Sounds cool. Hope not too many of you end up with a broken leg on the slopes. I might come up for a drink, might not—depends on the weather and work and so on. Be in touch.
R
Then she changes the “R” to “Rebecka.” And then she changes it back. The message is ridiculously short and simple, but it takes her forty minutes to write it. Then she sends it. Then she opens it again and again to check what she’s written. Then she can’t get anything useful done at all. Just moves papers from one pile to another.
Is it okay if I switch the tape recorder on?” asked Anna-Maria.
She was sitting in interview room one with Mauri Kallis.
He had explained that they didn’t have much time left, they were flying back soon. So they had decided that Sven-Erik would talk to Diddi Wattrang, and Anna-Maria to Mauri Kallis.
The security chief was hanging around in the corridor with Fred Olsson and an impressed Tommy Rantakyrö.
“Of course,” replied Mauri Kallis. “How did she die?”
“It’s a little early to release details of the murder at this stage.”
“But she was murdered?”
“Yes, murder or manslaughter…at any rate, somebody else will…She worked as head of information? What did that involve?”
“It was just a title. She did all kinds of things within the company. But certainly she was the one who was good at dealing with the media and building the brand. She was generally very good at dealing with people, the authorities, landowners, investors, you name it.”
“Why? What was she so good at?”
“She was one of those people you just want to like you. You wanted to please her. Her brother’s the same, although at the moment he’s a little too…”
Mauri Kallis made a slight shaking movement with his hand.
“You must have been close to her, you could say she lived with you after all.”
“Well, no, Regla is a large property with several farms and houses. There are a lot of us living there: my family and I, Diddi and his wife and children, my half sister, several employees.”
“But she had no children?”
“No.”
“Who was close to her, apart from you?”
“I’d just like to point out that you’re the one who’s saying I was close to her. But I’d say her brother, of course. And her parents are still alive.”
“Anyone else?”
Mauri Kallis shook his head.
“Oh, come on,” said Anna-Maria encouragingly. “Girlfriends? Boyfriend?”
“This is rather difficult,” said Mauri Kallis. “Inna and I worked together. She was a good…friend. But she wasn’t the kind of person who makes friends for life. She was too restless for that. She didn’t feel the need to sit chatting on the phone to girlfriends going over this and that. And to be honest, her boyfriends came and went. I never met them. This job was perfect for her. She could go off to a conference or an international event, and at the party in the evening she’d pull in ten investors.”
“What did she do in her free time? Who did she meet up with?”
“I don’t know.”
“What did she do on her last holiday, for example?”
“I don’t know.”
“I find that rather strange. You were her boss. I have a very good idea what my lads do in their free time.”
“Oh yes.”
Anna-Maria stopped speaking and waited. Sometimes that helped. Not with this guy. Mauri Kallis fell silent as well and waited, apparently completely unconcerned.
In the end it was Anna-Maria who spoke first. They were leaving soon, after all. The conversation was oddly terse and sparse.
“Do you know if she felt threatened in any way?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“Threatening letters? Calls? Anything like that?”
Mauri Kallis shook his head.
“Did she have any enemies?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Was there anybody with a grudge against the company who you think might have done this?”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. Revenge? A warning?”
“Who would that be?”
“That’s what I’m asking you,” said Anna-Maria. “You’re involved in a lot of risky deals. A lot of people must have lost money because of you. Somebody who feels they’ve been conned, perhaps?”
“We haven’t conned anybody.”
“Okay, we’ll leave that.”
Mauri Kallis allowed a fleeting expression of simulated gratitude to cross his face.
“Who knew that she was in the company house in Abisko?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you know she was there?”
“No. She’d taken a few days off.”
“So,” said Anna-Maria, summing up. “You don’t know who she hung out with, what she did in her free time, if she felt threatened, or if there’s anyone who might have a grudge against the company…. Is there anything you’d like to tell me?”
“I don’t think so.”
Mauri Kallis looked at his watch.
Anna-Maria was seized by the urge to give him a good shake.
“Did you ever talk about sex?” she asked. “Do you know if she had…particular interests in that area?”
Mauri Kallis blinked.
“What do you mean?” he asked. “Why are you asking that?”
“Did you ever talk about it?”
“Why? Has she been…was there any…is there some sort of sexual element involved?”
“As I said, it’s too early…”
Mauri Kallis stood up.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I have to go now.”
And with those words he left the room, after quickly shaking Anna-Maria by the hand. She didn’t even have time to switch off the tape recorder before the door closed behind him.
She got up and looked out into the parking lot. At least Kiruna had had the sense to show itself in the best light. Thick snow and brilliant sunshine.
Mauri Kallis, Diddi Wattrang and their security chief came out of the station and walked toward their hire car.
Mauri Kallis was walking two meters ahead of Diddi Wattrang; it didn’t look as if they were saying a word to each other. The security chief opened one of the rear doors for Mauri Kallis, but Kallis walked around the car and got into the front passenger seat. Diddi Wattrang had to sit in the back on his own.
Interesting, thought Anna-Maria. And they seemed to be such good friends when you saw them on TV.
“How did it go?” asked Sven-Erik five minutes later.
He was sitting with Tommy Rantakyrö and Anna-Maria in her office, drinking coffee.
“I don’t really know what to say,” said Anna-Maria hesitantly. “It was probably the worst interview I’ve ever done.”
“I’m sure it wasn’t,” said Sven-Erik comfortingly.
“It would have been better if I hadn’t done it, I can promise you that. How did it go with Diddi Wattrang?”
“Not brilliantly. Perhaps we should have swapped. He would probably have been happier talking to you. What did he say now…That she was his best friend. And then he cried. He didn’t know she was in Abisko, but evidently that’s how she was. Didn’t say much about what she was doing. Probably had a few boyfriends, but nobody the brother knew about right now.”
“Mikael Wiik was a good guy,” said Tommy Rantakyrö. “We had a bit of a chat. He was in the paratroopers when he did his military service, then he went on to train as an officer in the reserves.”
“But he was in the police force?”
“Well, somebody’s keeping things quiet and keeping secrets,” said Anna-Maria, who was still lost in thought about her conversation with Mauri Kallis. “Either Inna or the other two.”
“Yes, he was a cop. But then he went for a post as a reserve officer in the Special Protection Unit. Should have made a bit more of an effort when I did my military service. Instead of just hanging about doing as little as possible. Although you can get a job in Iraq and places like that with private bodyguard firms and that kind of thing. With a police background, that is. You don’t need to be a soldier. When Mikael Wiik left the SPU and went over to the private side, he was making fifteen thousand euros a month.”
“With Kallis?” asked Sven-Erik.
“No, that was in Iraq. But then he wanted to work in Sweden and take things a bit easier. That guy’s been everywhere…although not to the places you go on holiday with the kids.”
By now Anna-Maria had tuned in to her colleagues’ conversation. The last sentence sounded to her like a direct quote from Mikael Wiik.
“You stay here with us, never mind running off and getting shot in the head by terrorists,” said Sven-Erik to Tommy Rantakyrö, who was sitting there with his eyes full of dreams of a life of adventure and plenty of money in his pockets.
Mikael Wiik swung off the E10 toward Kiruna airport.
Mauri Kallis and Diddi Wattrang had sat in silence all the way. Neither of them had even mentioned Inna. Mikael Wiik hadn’t seen either of them shed a tear; as soon as they were alone, they didn’t even look at each other. He noticed that neither of them asked for his observations. What he thought. What he’d found out when he’d spoken to Tommy Rantakyrö.
This was the beginning of the time after Inna, that much was clear. Everything had been more fun in her time.
After his spell with the SPU, Mikael Wiik had found Sweden difficult to cope with. When he’d come for his job interview with Mauri Kallis, he’d been a man who woke up at three o’clock in the morning fighting with a growing feeling that life at home was completely meaningless.
Inna had helped him through that first year with Kallis Mining. It was as if she could sense how things were for him. She’d always managed to find time for them to chat about Mauri’s business affairs, who they were meeting and why. Slowly he’d begun to feel a part of Kallis Mining. Us against them.
He still slept badly, woke up early. But not as early. And he wasn’t yearning to go back to the Congo, Iraq, Afghanistan, places like that.
Suddenly Mauri Kallis broke the silence in the car.
“If it’s a sex crime, the bastard will pay for it with his life,” he said grimly.
Mikael Wiik stole a glance at Diddi Wattrang in the rearview mirror. He looked as dead as his sister, black circles under his eyes, chalk white face, chapped lips and his nose eaten away. His hands were tucked into his armpits. Maybe because he was cold, maybe to stop them shaking. It was time for him to pull himself together.
“Where are we landing?” asked Diddi. “Skavsta or Arlanda?”
“Skavsta,” said Mikael Wiik after a while, when Mauri didn’t answer.
“Are you going home?” Diddi asked Mikael.
Mikael Wiik nodded. He lived in Kungsholmen with his partner. He had an overnight room with a kitchen and toilet at Regla, but he rarely made use of it.
“Then I can come to Stockholm with you,” said Diddi, closing his eyes and pretending to try and sleep.
Mikael Wiik nodded again. It wasn’t up to him to tell Diddi Wattrang he ought to go home to Ulrika and his seven-month-old son.
Trouble, he thought. Best to be ready for it.
Mauri Kallis was looking out through the window.
I would have liked
to touch her, he thought.
He tried to remember the times he’d done so. Properly, a real touch.
At that moment he could recall only one occasion.
It’s summer 1994. He’s been married for three years. His eldest son is two, the youngest a few months old. Mauri is standing by the window in the small drawing room sipping a whisky and looking down at Inna’s house, the old laundry that they’ve finally finished renovating.
He knows that Inna has just got home from a visit to a processing plant for extracting iodine in the Atacama Desert in Chile.
He has just had dinner with Ebba. The nanny is putting Magnus to bed, and Ebba places Carl in his arms. He holds the baby, not knowing what she really expects of him, so he keeps his eyes on the child and says nothing. Ebba seems happy with that. After only a little while his shoulders and the back of his neck are aching, he wants her to take it away, but holds out. After an eternity Ebba lifts the child.
“I’m going to put him to bed,” she says. “It’ll take an hour. Are you going to wait?” He promises to wait.
Then he goes to stand over by the window, and suddenly he’s longing so desperately for Inna.
I won’t be long, he lies to himself. I’m just going to find out how things went in Chile. I’ll be back before Ebba’s put Carl to bed.
Inna has unpacked. She seems really pleased to see him. He’s very pleased too. Pleased that she works for him. Pleased that she lives at Regla. She has a high salary and a low rent. In his bad moments this makes him angry and insecure. He’s tormented by the feeling that he’s buying her.
But when he’s with her, he never feels like that.
They start with the whisky he’s brought along. Then they smoke a little and get silly and decide to swim. But they lose the thread and end up lying on the grass down by the old jetty. The slender disc of the sun shimmers on the horizon, disappears. The sky darkens, pale starlight shining down; it always brings dizzying thoughts of eternity.
It should always be like this, thinks Mauri. Just as if I’m single. Why get married? Not for the free sex, at any rate. Sex with your own wife is the most expensive sex there is. Fact. You pay for it with your whole life.