by Anna Jansson
“You should get help. It wasn’t your fault. You can’t do this to me just because you’re afraid. Tobias, listen to me!”
It was the moment when anything could have happened; she thought they had arrived at a breakthrough. His pale face in striped shadow from the blind. His mouth opening. The answer that never came. Instead he left her alone. She heard the outside door shut and then … she waited, first angry, then anxious and desperately sad for hours before he came home again. She did not dare bring it up. Not then, and not later.
She remembered what he said almost word for word: “If this is so important to you, you’ll have to find another father for your child. You’re free to go—go if it’s so important to you. I don’t want to stand in your way if it would make you happy. Stop your crazy psychologizing and digging into my childhood. It doesn’t concern you and you’re wrong.”
He didn’t touch her. When she tried to get comfort in his arms he pushed her away from him so that she would understand that he was serious. And the seriousness was still there as a guardedness in his eyes when he saw how she longingly watched children at play by the water or turned away with misty eyes when she saw a pregnant belly.
“Go then if it’s so important to you, Yrsa, but don’t blame me.” And now, where was he now? Aunt Edla in the house next door wondered when she brought in the newspaper because the mailbox was overflowing. “I didn’t want anyone to see that no one was home, considering burglars and such,” she said in passing.
No, she hadn’t caught a glimpse of him all week. Not the car either.
Yrsa went up to the pantry under the stairs and opened it to see if his suitcase was gone. No, the chipped old bag he inherited from his sister when she bought a new one was still there, but Yrsa’s own little black weekend bag was gone. She continued into his closet, trying to determine what was missing. The black suit was hanging there and the blazer with leather patches on the sleeves. He must have been wearing jeans and a leather jacket. A couple of black T-shirts were also missing, and his gym shoes.
The police had asked her to think about how he might be dressed when they asked for a photo. What was this about? Where could he be, and why had he taken his passport? His aroma lingered in the clothing. Yrsa pressed his sweater against her face and closed her eyes. Let herself be embraced by his scent. There was an ounce of security in that. A feeling that at any moment she might hear the sound of car tires on the gravel road and that moments later he would be holding her in his arms and have an explanation.
A sudden impulse made her dig through the pockets of his pants and jackets to find a slip of paper with an address or telephone number or a receipt from some strange place. She did not really know what she was looking for. Nothing. She had called around to everyone she could think of before she contacted the police. Without any results. No one knew a thing.
The police said they were searching for him because Sandra Hagg was dead. Only now was she able to take in that thought. Sandra Cassandra with the black pixie haircut and the smile that made everyone melt. Yrsa had been completely enchanted herself and could not take her eyes off her. It was not just the smile, it was her entire way of moving. She radiated self-confidence, sensuality, and joie de vivre. Tobias had not been unaffected. It just happened. Right in front of her eyes it happened, and she did not have the power to do anything about it.
Yrsa poured another mug of coffee. It had been standing on the hot plate and tasted harsh. She sat down at the kitchen table but quickly got up again. It was not possible to relax. She took the mug with her and went into the living room. Searched through the drawer of photographs and found a portrait taken of Tobias a year or two before. He smiled at the camera and revealed his gold tooth. She always thought it looked mischievous, a little insolent. As she looked at the picture worry struck her again like a fist in the stomach. Tobias, where are you? She tossed the photograph away from her, could not bear to look at it.
The monitor and keyboard were still there. That was why she hadn’t noticed that the computer was gone at first. Right at that moment a memory came back to her. The week before Tobias had been sitting at the computer and when she came into the room, just as she was doing now, he changed programs. She tried going out of the room and then quickly came back in again. The same thing happened. He changed programs. She’d asked who he was writing to and he evasively mumbled something about work and confidential information.
Sandra Hagg. The first time they met was at Tobias’s sister’s house. Ebba worked at the hospital and had invited her co-workers to celebrate her fortieth birthday. Yrsa helped her with the buffet. Ebba was not particularly domestic and planned to hire a caterer to take care of the food, but Yrsa insisted. A caterer was unnecessarily expensive. It was no problem: just a couple of quiches, some cold cuts, and a big salad. Of course there was a lot of healthcare talk, bodily fluids and excretions and other intimacies that people not involved in healthcare usually avoid talking about at the dinner table. The guests seemed to lack such barriers completely.
Sandra vividly described a man who peed in the sterile storeroom and then continued around the office marking his territory. She laughed out loud and everyone laughed along. Tobias asserted that it was a completely rational action and that the piss-marker would be an excellent model for the Swedish pharmaceutical industry. For the sake of its own survival it ought to have made its mark by peeing instead of selling off its know-how.
The discussion quickly escalated past the puerile to intellectual heights that only Sandra and Tobias seemed to understand. The others listened politely as they discussed vaccine production, randomization, ratification, and global patents. Yrsa quickly got tired of it and disappeared into the kitchen to join Ebba.
“Who is she, the dark woman Tobias is talking with?”
Ebba, who in nervousness before the party had consumed a little too much of the boxed wine, spoke deep from her belly like an oracle in a pretend ghost voice. “That’s Cassandra: the god Apollo gave her the gift to look into the future if she would be his woman. She took the gift of prophecy but did not want him as a bedmate, and so he punished her with a horrible curse.”
Ebba nodded and pinched her lips together to appear even more mystical.
“What curse?” Yrsa had asked. At that point Ebba started slicing more bread. It was still a little frozen and her words came in spurts, slice by slice.
“The curse is that no one believes her predictions. So says the myth about Cassandra. No one believes her, except possibly Tobias, whom she has completely in her power—that witch. No, my dear, it’s fine. He loves you, I know he does, and he wouldn’t exchange you even for a night with Cindy Crawford. You should probably take Cassandra with a grain of salt. She’s a real Debbie Downer who sees dangers and evil omens everywhere. At the turn of the millennium she got the whole department to stockpile iodine tablets, in case there was an accidental nuclear explosion. Then she scared us with Ebola virus and mutant-resistant TB and now it’s the bird flu. Bird flu, my foot! What will she come up with next? Grasshoppers and ladybugs and Ragnarok?”
When they had served coffee and Yrsa was announcing that they could get cake in the kitchen, she discovered that the guests had opened the balcony door and spread out into the garden. She called to them that coffee was ready and soon everyone was sitting at the table with cake. Sandra and Tobias were missing. It was not just awkward; it was a betrayal. They were gone and no one knew where they were. The comments were not long in coming. Small, mean taunts. “You have to keep an eye on your husband.” “Sandra eats men. Bites their heads off. Have you heard about the Black Widow?” “Did they both get a headache and go home at the same time? Didn’t even say thanks and goodbye to Ebba?”
By this point in the night Ebba was in no shape to answer that question or any other questions either for that matter. She was sitting on a stool in the kitchen, laughing at everything as if someone was tickling her. She choked with laughter when the dishrag fell on the floor and then she trie
d to use it as a hand puppet and turned it into a bleating lamb.
When the guests were ready to depart Tobias and Sandra came walking with their arms around each other, eagerly engaged in a discussion. Yrsa pressed her face against the glass although she really didn’t want to see.
“Where have you been?” She didn’t even have to ask—another guest beat her to it.
“Been?” repeated Tobias. “Do I have to account for every strategic maneuver to the group chief? We were just at my house for a while. I wanted to show Sandra a research report.”
There was crude joking about that too. Research? Wonder what you’ve been investigating? Anatomical differences?
Ebba laughed so hard she peed her pants and had to change—a grown person. Tobias’s face turned bright red and he took the papers out of Sandra’s bag, as evidence. But all he produced was a newspaper article about chip marking of household pets, which proved nothing at all. Simply a poor excuse.
That was two years ago, but as Yrsa stood by the damaged balcony door in their living room it was as if it had happened yesterday. It still hurt. It was never explained. Tobias had said that he had not seen Sandra again and she’d believed him.
Chapter 28
“Things are moving quickly here. We’re going to get vaccinated. There’s a nurse in the staff room. All you need to do is go in there and have it done. Pettersson almost fainted. Those are some big-ass syringes. Yes, you know you did.” Haraldson tousled his colleague’s hair and nodded to Maria. “Ladies first?”
“What’s this, what do you mean?”
“All police officers will be vaccinated against the flu virus. The police and the prime minister and his buddies, you’re in good company. Of course. All you have to do is keep going right into the staff room, where the nurse is ready for action. We’re getting this for free. Do you get that, what an investment in the police department. They think we’re worth twenty-five thousand kronor each plus the tablets, let’s see … that’s thirty-five thousand. I felt a little better-looking when I saw myself in the mirror in the locker room, a little more intelligent, and definitely more appreciated as a person. You’re worth investing in, imagine that. We’re going to get Tamivir as long as the bird flu is going on. They’re estimating another six weeks. This is real money. Although I’d happily take it as a lump sum and go to a resort by the Mediterranean instead.”
Maria continued down the corridor and it was just as he’d said. A nurse dressed in the light-green uniform Maria had come to associate with Vigoris Health Center had spread out syringes on a small stainless steel cart.
“Please come on in. You know what this is about, right?”
“Vaccination.” Maria felt a slight feeling of discomfort, like with the school nurse. The odor of disinfectant that you never really get used to. A little prick, then it’s over. Before it reeked of ether, which reinforced the fear, and then there were all the rumors about sharp needles that came out on the other side of your arm and stinging, corrosive fluids that produced bumps the size of golf balls and fever.
“You’re not allergic to eggs?”
“What?”
“Chicken eggs are used in the production of the vaccine and if you’re allergic to the protein in eggs you may get a reaction, that’s why we ask.” The nurse gave a sweet little smile.
“No, I’m not allergic.”
“Right or left-handed?”
“Right.” Maria rolled up her sleeve on the left side and fixed her gaze on the bulletin board on the opposite wall. She felt the cold from the alcohol swab that cleaned the upper arm and then the stab, and the stinging sensation as the fluid was pressed in under the skin. The body remembers—this was how it felt. Maria turned her head to see when the syringe was pulled out. Didn’t it seem unusually large?
“In a day or two you may feel a local reaction, a slight swelling, and you may have a slight increase in temperature. You may feel a little out of sorts with some soreness in your muscles, but it’s nothing to worry about.” That sweet little smile again. “Do you have any questions?”
Maria, who at first was surprised that they would get access to vaccine so quickly, had collected herself somewhat.
“It said in the newspaper today that there are concerns that Tamivir is going to be ineffective too and that it is being prescribed too liberally. Is that so?”
“The virus that a person is carrying may become resistant if the medicine is used for a longer time and when it isn’t needed, unnecessarily that is. But a person doesn’t become resistant. Sometimes the newspaper reporters are in such a hurry they don’t really listen to what’s being said before they start writing.”
“Do you think it will be that way—that the medicine will become ineffective?” Maria saw that the question bothered the nurse. The sweet little smile faded a little and she suddenly looked at the clock. Probably ordered to finish X number of vaccinations before lunch. She glanced toward the door, where Hartman stood ready with his shirtsleeve rolled up.
“I think you’ll have to bring that up with Jonathan Eriksson. You can reach him by phone.”
“I know.” Maria felt like a nuisance who took up the nurse’s time unnecessarily and prevented her colleagues from coming in.
“Thanks. I guess it’s your turn now, Hartman.”
“They had a break-in at Vigoris Health Center late on the evening of July 4 but didn’t report it,” said Hartman when he came out of the staff room and they were walking down the corridor together to the technical department. “Apparently nothing was stolen. They didn’t want any attention drawn to it. I just found out when I asked Lennie Hellstrom a few follow-up questions. He was on guard duty that night and got an alarm from the clinic. When he did his rounds he discovered that a window was broken and then he called Viktoria Hammar instead of the security manager, as had been agreed. Evidently they don’t get along too well.”
“A number of health centers had break-ins before we brought in police surveillance. People are desperate.”
That’s not strange, thought Maria. The newspapers are talking about the threat of fatalities and before the news came about medication for the whole population of the island there was no help to be had, other than what you could get for yourself via contacts. Strange that it doesn’t happen more often. That more doctors aren’t threatened with their lives to prescribe medicine, or because it’s believed that they’ve stockpiled medicine at home. Earlier in the week Maria received a report from a district physician who was assaulted in his home by a desperate neighbor. His wife had a fever and no doctor had come to see her as promised. The telephone line was blocked. The doctor said that he was not on duty and he needed to sleep, but the neighbor tried to force him to come over.
“When will people be able to travel freely again?” Maria asked.
“In the last news report they were talking about five days but you must have a certificate that shows you’ve taken medicine. Presumably there will be a mass exodus from the island once the travel ban is lifted.”
“I think so too.” Maria thought about Krister, who was supposed to start work again in a couple of days. His situation was hardly unique. Most people were actually here on vacation. “But the Cabinet members got to leave.”
“I heard the discussion on News Morning. Every Cabinet member’s contacts have been reviewed in detail and they haven’t been able to trace them to any source of infection. But that can’t be done with us ordinary mortals, it requires too many resources.”
They sat down in the technicians’ office for a quick run-through. Martenson yawned and stretched to his full height. His joints cracked after sitting for hours hunched up, inspecting small fragments of textiles and skin from Sandra Hagg’s apartment.
“We’ve found something interesting in the trash in Sandra Hagg’s kitchen: a SIM card for a cell phone. I checked the most recent calls with the service provider. Telia. All outgoing calls in the past week went to Yrsa Westberg and the majority of incoming calls are from her, as we
ll.”
Hartman was rocking on the chair as he listened, as if he couldn’t find out quickly enough what he needed and that the movement could hasten the technician’s account.
Martenson continued. “You get a feeling that it may have been in Tobias Westberg’s cell. One call was from a former employer at a provincial newspaper, one from a medical magazine, and one from a seller of telecom services who wanted to speak with the company’s procurement manager—that must be Tobias himself, since he didn’t have any employees.”
“Yrsa?” Maria felt her thoughts racing. “The card was found in Sandra’s apartment, but not the cell phone. Either Tobias has been there the whole time and texted his wife as if he were at home. According to the provider, the calls were sent from that area. Or else he hasn’t been there at all, but instead he had Sandra send text messages to Yrsa. But where is Tobias? His passport is gone and both his desktop and laptop computers.”
“I just spoke with Yrsa on the phone,” said Hartman. “She told me what she thought her husband was wearing when he disappeared. She’s guessing he had on jeans, black T-shirt, brown leather jacket, and gym shoes. I think we have time to get that mentioned in the next news broadcast. She also continued to search through the house to see whether anything else might have been stolen in the break-in and found that camera equipment was missing. Tobias usually takes the pictures for his stories himself. Either he has the equipment with him or else you have to assume it’s been stolen. Yrsa is a nervous wreck. She feels unsafe staying alone in a house where there’s been a break-in. She’s going to stay with Tobias’s sister, Ebba. I’ve written down the address, if we need to get in touch with her. A break-in like that shatters the illusion that you’re safe in your own home.”
“Have you seen the autopsy report on Sandra Hagg? I got a copy this morning.” Martenson reached for the papers in the pile in front of him.