Instead he grabbed her under the knees, lifted her legs, and placed them over his shoulders. She could feel the sweat running down the backs of her legs and hear her heart pounding.
Then he pressed into her, slowly, all the way, until he could go no further. He filled her like it was her first time, and she could feel his exact shape, every bulging vein, and he barely had to move for her to come again. Out, and all the way back in. As the rhythm of his thrusting increased, she felt like she was caught in one long orgasm.
89
Everyone had gathered in the conference room. Everyone but Stina Högsell. She had closed herself in her temporary office to contact the county court and try to explain why she couldn’t provide an indictment today. There was plenty to talk about. Yet silence filled the room.
Fabian was thinking about his grandmother Ingrid’s funeral. It had been accompanied by the same silence. The stroke had come out of the blue, plunging everyone into shock. None of them could quite believe it had really happened. Deep down, they all expected the lid of the coffin to open in the middle of the service; for Ingrid to jump out and do one of the African dances she’d learned at her latest class.
That was what this situation felt like now. They were sitting there hoping that it would turn out to be just a dream, a practical joke, and any moment everyone in the room would burst into laughter and applause. But this was no joke, the coffin would remain closed.
All the work they’d put in during the last few weeks. All the leads they’d followed and dug up. The links they’d established. The timeline Cliff and Lilja had poured their souls into.
All of that had died and would have to be buried. It would decay and transform into a memory. A memory of how close they had been. Of the terrible crimes that, as far as the general public knew, had never been committed.
Högsell came in, closing the door behind her. She was wearing a skirt and blazer, summery beige with gold buttons — she had clearly planned to be extra well-dressed when she handed over the indictment. Her pale face hinted that she was in just as much shock as the others.
“Well,” she said, making eye contact with each of them. “That wasn’t quite what anyone was expecting.” She sighed. “I’ve been working in the legal system for over thirty years and I’ve never seen anything remotely like this before. I have heard of two related cases where twins allegedly switched places in jail. One was in 2004 and the other was in the seventies, both at Kronoberg. But those were small-time criminals. To be perfectly honest I haven’t got the slightest idea what to do next.”
“I’m sorry, but don’t we just have to get back on the horse and make sure we apprehend them as soon as possible?” Cliff said, swallowing as if he knew he was on very thin ice.
“It’s the ‘just’ I’m worried about,” Tuvesson said. “They’ve probably already changed their appearances and left the country.”
“Maybe. But don’t forget, Irene and I managed to get in contact with a few banks, both domestic and foreign, where Sten and Anita Strömberg have accounts. Thanks to Marianne Wester’s exhaustive documentation.”
“We estimate their joint assets right now at around 14.5 million kronor, the lion’s share of which appears to be in Sweden,” Lilja said. “Just last week, about three million came in, in the form of tax-free insurance premiums from the offshore Count Enterprises in Panama. In other words, they’re still sending money out of the country to be laundered, and then bringing it back in.”
“Count Enterprises.” Molander shook his head. “At least they have a sense of humour.”
“That suggests they’re still in Sweden and planning to use those particular identities.”
“Maybe that was their plan before we caught him,” Tuvesson said. “But we have no idea what it looks like now that they know we’re on their trail.”
“That’s true.” Lilja sighed as if even the slightest pushback was enough to take the wind out of her sails.
“On the other hand,” Fabian said, “they probably have no idea that we know about Sten and Anita Strömberg.”
“Exactly,” Cliff exclaimed, just as he was about to taste his coffee. “And listen to this.” He took a quick sip and, in his excitement, accidentally spilled some on his white shirt. “Their last withdrawal was made on the eighth of May at 11:15 a.m. Fifteen thousand kronor from Sparbanken in Höör. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I would wager it’s only a matter of time before they need to make another one.”
“Or use one of their cards,” Lilja added.
“They must have more bank accounts around the world than we’ve discovered so far. But give us a few days into next week and we should have a more thorough picture. Then it won’t matter where they are. Whether they’ve fled to Florence to buy ice cream or to China to buy Kina candy, it won’t matter. We’ll know about it. With every cash withdrawal or credit card purchase we’ll get one step closer, and eventually we’ll back them into a corner and get out the handcuffs.”
Tuvesson nodded and her gaze drifted off toward the window. “It’s certainly a long shot, and it will take an extremely well-organized joint effort across borders.”
“And we know how easy it is to work with our neighbours across the Sound,” Molander said, shaking his head.
“Exactly.” Tuvesson nodded. “But right now, any idea is better than nothing.”
“It won’t be enough,” said Högsell, who hadn’t spoken until then.
“What do you mean? What won’t be enough?”
“Having them in custody.” Högsell took the Thermos of coffee and filled a cup. “Sure, we can do it. But it won’t change the fact that we’ll have to release them again after forty-eight hours.”
“Hold on a second,” Cliff said. “We have more than enough evidence to get a conviction. You said so yourself just yesterday.”
“That’s true. But that was before they switched places. That little reshuffle changes everything.”
“In what way?”
“In every way possible.” Högsell turned to the whiteboard. “All of this will collapse like a house of cards.”
“Look, maybe I’m a little slow today,” Cliff said. “But does anyone else here understand what she’s saying?”
No one said anything.
“Since we have no physical evidence in the form of fingerprints or DNA, and our entire indictment is built on witness statements, circumstantial evidence, and grainy images from security cameras, the person we thought was him could just as easily have been her. Just like in a homicide or rape case with multiple perpetrators, each of them will be able to blame the other.”
“But we have witnesses. The woman at Sparbanken in Höör. She was absolutely certain that Anita Strömberg was there, and she won’t have any trouble picking her out of a lineup.”
“Cliff, it doesn’t matter. I just spoke to the county court, and according to them we can bring in as many witnesses and security camera images as we like. But if not even the guards at the jail, our own colleagues, could tell them apart, how can we argue that anyone else can? Just take the incident at Handelsbanken down on Stortorget. You were all totally convinced that it was him. But hand on your heart, are you still certain? Isn’t there the slightest little chance that it was actually her?”
None of them said anything, and Fabian, like the others, was busy thinking back through what had happened at Handelsbanken. At the time, he’d had no doubt that the person in the lobby was a man.
But was he sure of it now?
“So what do we do?” Tuvesson asked. “We can’t just roll over and give up.”
“Of course not. But right now, unless Ingvar is in the process of securing some fingerprints, we have no choice but to catch them red-handed.”
90
Almost a whole hour had passed since their wild lovemaking, and yet Sonja still felt thoroughly pulverized. In a good way. Like af
ter an extra-tough workout, when every muscle in your body has been pushed to its limit. She could still feel the dull throbbing — the proof she’d just had her best sex ever.
She wanted more. Even though she was too tender and knew it would hurt, she wanted to straddle Alex and bring it back to life again. Maybe she should blindfold him this time, she thought, letting her hand drift down his bare, hairless chest.
They had exchanged a few words after. Not many, but enough that she had time to tell him about the diamonds, which made the work worth a few hundred thousand kronor extra even though they would forever be locked up in the box so no one could see them. Alex had come up with the idea of keeping the diamonds a secret and renaming the work Secret Hanging Box. According to him, it took on a new level of depth if the true contents remained a mystery.
He had been right, of course. The question was why she hadn’t thought of this herself. On the other hand, that was what was so fantastic about Alex. She’d finally found someone who made her better instead of just being satisfied when her work was beautiful and well done.
Apparently he’d brought a lot of interesting art back from Los Angeles. He’d rattled off names like Kathryn Andrews, Math Bass, and Carter Mull, but she didn’t recognize a one. Then, like most men, he’d drifted off, and as far as she could tell he was still deeply asleep. It was probably the jet lag, she thought, as she found he didn’t seem to notice her hand sliding slowly down to his groin.
His penis was still swollen, although it was lying on its side, also apparently deep asleep. She hadn’t thought about it until now, but he didn’t even have any hair down there. She gently brushed her fingertips over him and was struck by how soft and smooth his skin felt.
She happened to think of Fabian, who had started trimming his pubic hair a few years ago, and how the patch had grown smaller and smaller each time until, in the end, it looked like a little Hitler moustache. Although she knew it was wrong of her, and that lesser things could drive a man to impotence, she hadn’t been able to stifle her laughter when she saw it. It didn’t take long before he grew it out again.
But it felt different with Alex. For some reason, the slightly forbidden parts of him turned her on. It was like he had a key to her that Fabian had never possessed.
She leaned down and took his penis in her mouth. Although it was soft, it was still full of blood and larger than usual. In an attempt to wake it up, she allowed her tongue to tease around the head as she grasped the shaft and began to run her hand up and down. But there was no response. Apparently it, too, was a victim of jet lag, and she decided to leave it in peace.
The linseed oil was surely dry by now, so she could perform the final step and raise the box on its wires. She knew exactly how she wanted it to hang, and decided to finish before Alex woke up. The guests wouldn’t be arriving until tomorrow, but there was no harm in getting things ready today.
Sonja gathered up her work clothes, slipped out of the room, and tiptoed through the great hall toward the bathroom, passing a door that stood ajar. Until now, it had always been not only closed, but locked. She was sure of it, because she’d tried a few times to open it.
That must be why she hadn’t heard him come home. He’d entered the house another way to surprise her. Or was this how he’d brought in the new pieces of art? She pushed the door all the way open, found the light switch on the inside wall, and turned on the lights. As she’d suspected, the house had a basement level, and apparently this was the way down.
On the lower level she found, among other things, a large wine cellar, a workshop full of tools and heavy work clothes, and another bathroom with a jacuzzi and sauna. A wide hallway led to a garage. And there were the new acquisitions, leaning against the wall, packed in bubble wrap. She made to approach them, to see what was so fantastic it was worth hauling halfway across the globe.
Instead her eyes landed on the dark red upright freezer that stood nearby. Or, more specifically, on the padlock that was hanging from it, keeping the door from being opened. She walked over and found that it was locked. Why would anyone lock a freezer? Or was it a piece of art, too, like her own box?
“Oh, here you are.”
Sonja was startled as she turned to find Alex standing a few metres behind her. “I was on my way to the bathroom to take a shower, but then I saw that this door was open.”
“Curiosity killed the cat,” he said in English, adjusting his robe.
“Sorry?”
He responded with a smile and walked toward her. It was a totally new kind of smile. And she didn’t like it at all.
“Alex, what are you doing? You’re scaring me.”
He held a key in front of her face. “Is this what you’re looking for?”
“No, I’m not looking for anything. Like I said, I was just on my way to the bathroom to take a shower. And then maybe you can help me raise up the box later?”
“I don’t think so,” he said, shaking his head.
“No? Okay, I’ll have to do it myself.”
“I don’t think that’s going to happen either.”
“Alex, what’s going on? What are you doing? I thought we —”
“You thought?” he interrupted, looking honestly surprised. “Don’t tell me you seriously thought you and I were a thing? That you were what I was after?”
“I don’t understand…I’m so confused. What do you mean?” She suddenly felt dirty and uncomfortable and wanted to be anywhere else. To pull on her clothes and run to her car.
“What do you mean?” he mocked in a fake voice, starting to laugh. “Come on. Be serious. You have to know that your so-called art is nothing but junk.”
The dream she had so naively thrown herself into was nothing more than a game, a trick on his part to get what he wanted. She wanted to tell him off, yell and make a scene, just as she might do to Fabian when he crossed a line. But the pressure in her chest kept the rage from coming out.
“I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone as desperate and gullible as you,” he went on. “So horny for success that you had no trouble hopping into bed with a total stranger, just as long as he bought some of your shit.”
“I think I’ll leave now.” She took a step to pass him, but he put his arm out in front of her.
“Unlock it.” He held the key up in front of her again.
“Why would I do that?”
“Why not?”
“Alex…” She gave a deep sigh and rolled her eyes, trying to appear relaxed, when in fact she was about to crack into a million pieces. “Apparently you got whatever you were after, so just let me go —”
“Open it.” His smile had vanished, leaving behind a sneer so cold that she realized straight away that she had no choice.
Sonja took the key, turned to the freezer, and inserted it into the lock. She didn’t know what was inside, nor did she want to. But now she was standing there with the lock in one hand — it had opened with a tiny click — and the handle in the other.
She had no idea what came tumbling out, right at her, and she had to jump aside so it wouldn’t land on her. An instant later, she realized it was a dressed mannequin that had hit the floor with a heavy thud. Was it part of an installation?
“Oops,” Alex said with a laugh. “Looks like someone’s been looting the freezer.”
And then she realized it wasn’t a mannequin but a man. A real man, frozen solid. She stared at his face, bewildered. She had never seen it before, and yet there was something familiar about it.
Then it dawned on her.
She turned to Alex who wasn’t Alex.
How it was all connected. And why.
She darted to the side to get around him.
How pathetically naive and desperate she had been.
She headed for the door. Just another metre and she could close and lock it.
How Fabian had been right a
ll along.
But whoever he was, he was far too quick.
91
Dunja brushed off Magnus’s eleventieth attempt to explain himself and stuck her phone back in her pocket as she passed the receptionist for the Helsingør police, whose eyes followed her as if they were in a spy film from the sixties. She held her badge up to the reader, but the diode turned red instead of green. Had they already blocked her? She tried again and received the same red response.
“Can you open this?” She turned to the receptionist, who swallowed and tried to pretend she hadn’t heard her. “Excuse me, hello! Can you open the door?”
“No…I mean, I can’t just…do you have an appointment?”
“Are you kidding me? Come on, open it. I don’t have all day.”
“If you like I can call Ib and see if he’s still around.”
“Call whoever the hell you want.” Dunja walked back to the front desk.
She was done. She’d had it up to here with this crap. If they’d already fired her, then that was that. She didn’t even have enough energy to care.
“Um, you can’t do that,” the receptionist protested as Dunja leaned over the counter and pressed the button to unlock the door.
Without a word, she walked into the sea of cubicles; most people were still at their desks. Their eyes followed her like they’d been expecting her to show up. A front-row seat as the Copenhagen policewoman who thought she was something special was humiliated and fired.
And there he was — as though he’d been practising his entrance for hours, Ib Sveistrup came out of his office. “Oh, good — Dunja!”
From the corner of her eye she could see him waving and trying to get her attention. But she hadn’t come to see Sveistrup. Not that she had anything in particular against him. He was basically a harmless man, although all his big talk about how he wouldn’t give in to Copenhagen had turned out to be bullshit. Now that Sleizner had his claws in him, Dunja would do well to keep him at arm’s length.
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