Lycke

by Mikaela Bley

  ‘What?’ Ellen didn’t understand.

  Leif snapped back at her. ‘Lycke’s murderer. The police have an arrest warrant.’ He leaned back on the chair and crossed his arms. ‘And we didn’t know about it.’

  ‘Huh? What are you saying?’ Ellen glanced at the faces around the room, seeking confirmation.

  Agatha nodded. ‘Aftonbladet has already plastered its headlines with the news — Expressen and all the others too, for that matter.’

  Jimmy leapt to his feet. ‘How come we didn’t know about this? How can it be that we had no fucking idea?’ He threw his pen on the table so hard that it split in two. ‘We have a whole team working on the Lycke murder and we know nothing. NOTHING! We can’t afford not to be first on this.’

  ‘But I don’t understand, I talked with my source just a little while ago —’

  ‘Yes, that’s just what I’ve been saying this whole time, maybe you haven’t been using your sources effectively.’ Leif looked around the room for approval.

  ‘Who is the arrest warrant for?’ Ellen asked, trying to ignore the looks from her colleagues.

  ‘So you have no idea?’ Leif asked, laughing.

  ‘Shut up. I’m so fucking tired of you and —’ Jimmy interrupted her before she could finish.

  ‘Petter Nilsson. Lycke’s tennis coach.’

  ‘What? Is that true?’ Ellen exclaimed, confused. Why hadn’t Ove said anything? Why didn’t she know about this? What had happened?

  ‘We have to be all over this, now! We’re the last to the ball, so now we have to be best. Everyone has to pitch in. We’ll meet here again in an hour. A rewrite of Aftonbladet’s article will go up on our website. We have to have quotes —’

  ‘Excuse me,’ Ellen said, standing up. Something didn’t add up. She had to get hold of Ove.

  She could feel their looks boring into her back as she left the room.

  ELLEN

  11.30 A.M.

  She didn’t slow down until she entered the townhouse development on Solängsvägen in Sollentuna.

  To say that she was furious was only the start of it. Why hadn’t Ove told her there was a warrant out for the tennis coach?

  He wasn’t answering his phone. Finally, she’d managed to get hold of one of his colleagues, who told her that Ove was working from home.

  Now here he was, sitting in his glassed-in porch, smoking a pipe. He leapt up when he saw her driving up the carport driveway, his body language making it clear that he didn’t appreciate her visit.

  Ellen got out of her car and strode right inside the smoke-filled porch.

  ‘What are you doing?’ he snapped. ‘I’ve told you not to come here, especially not in that car. What will the neighbours think? Somebody may start wondering what’s going on between us.’

  ‘So what should I do? You’re not answering your phone. And if you’d held up your end of the agreement, I wouldn’t have had to come here.’ She coughed from the smoke.

  Looking dejected, he sank down on the plastic chair. ‘I’ve held up my part of the agreement,’ he said, looking away. ‘If you want me to be available all the time, we’ll have to discuss a new price.’

  ‘Excuse me?’ Ellen said, coughing again, but this time not from the smoke. Greed had gotten the better of him. ‘You can’t get a better deal, Ove, and you know it. This extortion has gone too far.’

  ‘Yes, you’re quite right about that. In both directions. The question is, what are you going to do about it? We’re both sitting in the same boat, you might say.’

  ‘Maybe you’re not satisfied with the grill?’ Ellen cast a meaningful look at the new Weber grill that was on the porch. ‘The seventy-inch TV? The amount of money I’ve given your wife the past week could finance this whole house.’

  The porch door opened.

  ‘Well, hello there! Twice in one day — this must be my lucky day,’ Ove’s wife, Anette, said as she came out, closely followed by a strong smell of vanilla. It reminded Ellen of Lou Lou, the perfume that had been popular in her high school. ‘Because I’m sure you’ll stop by the newsstand later today, when I’m on my shift? I look forward to that,’ she said, pinching Ellen lightly on the cheek.

  Ellen nodded and tried to breathe through her mouth. The aromas of vanilla and smoke did not mix well.

  Anette was smartly dressed in a low-cut blouse tucked into a pair of red trousers that looked a few sizes too small. It made a difference from the blue T-shirt Ellen was used to seeing her in.

  ‘What will it be? That’s a stock phrase of mine.’ She laughed and stole a glance at her husband, who looked less amused.

  ‘She won’t be having anything,’ Ove said. ‘She was just about to leave.’

  Anette’s smile quickly disappeared.

  ‘I’d like a cup of coffee,’ Ellen said, sitting down on one of the plastic chairs at the table. ‘And I don’t intend to pay for it. Evidently, I overpaid the last time — got taken to the cleaners, you could say.’ She glared at Ove, who looked away.

  ‘How nice that you’re staying,’ Anette said, seeming oblivious to the strained atmosphere on the porch, or else she was just good at ignoring it. ‘I’ve already put on a pot. I’ll be right back. Ta-ta.’

  Ellen leaned toward Ove. ‘What is going on? Can you please tell me? How could I not have known that there’s a warrant out for someone? What is —’

  ‘Now, now, let’s take it a little easy here,’ he said slowly, holding up both hands to quiet her. ‘You’re being unfair. I’ve given you a lot of information over the years. Let’s not forget that.’

  There was something in his voice that made him sound different.

  ‘Knock it off with that talk. What’s going on? Why does Aftonbladet know there’s a warrant out for someone before I find out about it? I want to know everything!’ she said. ‘And how come you haven’t told me about Lycke’s father and the speed camera, or that you got a tip-off about a flasher in Lill-Jansskogen?’

  ‘One thing at a time. I can’t tell you everything — and the fact that we’ve issued a warrant for the tennis coach is complicated,’ said Ove. ‘Unfortunately, it’s not about how expensive the coffee you buy from Anette is.’

  ‘But, damn it, what are you up to? I could report you for this,’ Ellen said, standing up so quickly that the plastic chair fell over.

  ‘Don’t you hear what I’m saying? Sit down!’ He glanced around anxiously. ‘It’s not about that. I can’t tell you anything. Regardless of our agreement,’ he continued, sounding like a broken record.

  ‘No? So, why not?’

  ‘Listen carefully to me now.’ He held up an admonishing finger. ‘You don’t know this. Okay?’ He spoke quietly and looked around again before continuing. ‘It’s only a matter of time before the police contact you.’

  ‘What?’ she said.

  Evidently much too loud. Ove looked anxious, and hushed her.

  ‘Ellen, listen very carefully now. You’re involved in the case.’

  ‘What do you mean, “involved”? What the hell are you talking about? Of course I’m involved, I’ve been working on this —’

  ‘It’s more complicated than that. You’ve been threatened by the perpetrator, and now you’re part of the investigation.’

  ELLEN

  1.30 P.M.

  ‘What!?’ Jimmy slammed the door so hard that the glass panes facing the sports desk shook.

  ‘Wait, take it from the beginning. You’re part of the investigation? Threatened? By who?’ He pulled the red curtains closed to block out the sports editors, who were staring in at them.

  ‘By the perpetrator. The one there’s a warrant out for. Lycke’s tennis coach.’

  ‘I don’t understand. Why has he threatened you, and what kind of threat was it?’

  Jimmy sounded sincerely worried, and that scared her a little.r />
  ‘He’s threatened me on the internet. Really unpleasant things. I don’t know what it said. He’s used different identities, so then you can’t trace who’s who.’

  ‘But then how do the police know that it was him?’

  ‘They’ve confiscated his computer. Evidently, he had a lot of pictures of girls of all ages on there. Of me and Lycke, among others. The idiot also sent messages from his personal Facebook profile, so I guess that’s not too hard to trace. I don’t know. He’s given me a date and time for when he’ll rape me. It’s really sick.’ Ellen’s mouth filled with a metallic taste.

  Jimmy blinked slowly. ‘What? When?’

  ‘I don’t know, they didn’t want to say. The police are on their way here to ask a bunch of questions. I don’t know anything. I’ve only met him once —’

  The air went out of her, and she sat down on one of the chairs around the oval conference table. ‘They even found my bag at his place. He was the one who robbed me and was hanging around outside my entryway.’

  ‘Should you get protection?’

  ‘Protection? From who? The police? I don’t know. But how could he know about Elsa?’ She felt split in two.

  ‘I have to think,’ Jimmy said, sitting down beside her. He put his head in his hands. ‘No, I can’t think clearly.’ He got up again. ‘The only thing I know is that you can’t work on this any longer.’

  ‘What?!’ Now Ellen got to her feet, too. ‘Tell me you’re joking. What am I meant to do then?’

  ‘But you do understand why, don’t you?’

  ‘So that bastard gets exactly what he wants, that I don’t work on this … We can’t let ourselves be ruled by this.’

  ‘No, but we can’t have someone who’s involved in the investigation also reporting on the case. It won’t work.’ Jimmy’s eyes shifted around the room, and he seemed unsure of what to do. The fact that he was worried made her feel even more vulnerable.

  ‘Leif will have to take over. Go home, Ellen. Go home and lock the door.’

  ELLEN

  11.00 P.M.

  Ellen was sitting on her couch, staring into empty space. On the coffee table was an empty bottle of wine and an ashtray full of butts. She didn’t usually smoke this much, but today was no ordinary day.

  The wine hadn’t helped calm her down. Not in the least. The cigarettes, either. But she continued chain smoking anyway.

  The phone rang, but instead of answering she dragged herself off the couch and over to the wine fridge. She took out the next-to-last bottle and reminded herself yet again that she had to restock. She uncorked the bottle, thinking to herself that it didn’t matter if she drank more — she didn’t have a job to go to tomorrow anyway.

  It wasn’t the tennis coach.

  Her gut feeling told her so, and it was usually right. Sure, he was a creep. But he wasn’t Lycke’s murderer.

  When she’d spoken with the police earlier today, they told her how he had been harassing her on the internet, writing this and that. It had escalated in the last week. A troll was all he was, though. Not a murderer.

  She took another cigarette out of the pack and lit it. She took a deep drag that made her throat sting. Coughing, she poured wine into her glass. She spilled a little on the table, but decided she’d wipe it up later.

  Thinking about her visit to Salk hall, she shuddered. Just him and her. She remembered his musty odour. The unwashed old workout clothes. That stare.

  Now the entryway security intercom had begun ringing, too. At first, it had filled her with unease, but she comforted herself with the knowledge that she was safe here at home. No one could get access to the apartment.

  She tried, but couldn’t get hold of Philip — he was on a cruise with the cast of Let’s Dance.

  At first, she ignored the intercom’s buzzing, but after it had rung several times, she finally dragged herself off the couch and pressed on the loudspeaker button.

  ‘Hello, who is it?’

  ‘It’s me. Can I come up?’

  For a brief moment, she wondered whether that was a good idea, but then decided to call up the elevator. She quickly checked herself in the mirror, squeezing her cheeks to bring a little colour. to them. She kicked aside the mail that she had thrown on the door mat, and vainly tried to wave away the smell of smoke.

  ‘Second time this week. Don’t you have anything else to do?’ she said when the elevator doors opened.

  ‘Are you the only one here?’ he asked, glancing around the room.

  ‘Yes. Why, are you looking for someone?’

  ‘What? No.’

  Their eyes met briefly.

  ‘Anyway, it’s good that you’re checking who’s calling before you let someone up into the apartment.’

  ‘You mean you think it’s safe to let you in here?’ She forced a smile. ‘Letting you in has been the worst thing I’ve done,’ she mumbled. ‘What do you want anyway?’ She went back to the couch, staggering slightly, and sank down on the soft cushions.

  ‘Are you drunk, Ellen?’

  ‘Me? Drunk? No. Are you?’

  He sat down on the arm of the couch and looked at her.

  ‘Shouldn’t you take that wet jacket off?’ she said.

  ‘Shouldn’t you take off yours?’

  Surprised, she looked down and saw that she still had her green parka on.

  ‘You’re drunk, Ellen. Come on, I’ll help you take off your coat.’

  ‘No, thanks. It’s not necessary.’ She stood up and tried to pull the coat off herself, but it was still damp from the rain and felt plastered to her body.

  Jimmy watched her with amusement, as she struggled to peel off the coat.

  ‘Listen, I’m not drunk. I can tell you about a time when I was drunk. It was …’ She started laughing. ‘It was on a date.’

  ‘Okay, you know, you don’t have to say any more,’ he interrupted her.

  ‘What? Why not? Listen now. It was a blind date.’ She laughed at the mere thought of the story. ‘Worthless. Have you ever gone on a blind date?’ she asked, but then realised she didn’t want to know.

  Jimmy shook his head.

  ‘No, of course you haven’t. You probably just point at whoever you want and she just comes rolling toward you.’ Oh, how nice to get that said, she thought. ‘Well, anyway, I was drunk. For real, already by the time we met. I’d charged up a little beforehand, you might say. Would you like some, by the way?’ she said, pointing at the wine.

  Jimmy shook his head.

  She poured more for herself. ‘Anyway. Where was I now?’

  ‘I don’t know — you were on a date and you were drunk …’

  He didn’t sound all that amused, but she didn’t care because it was a funny story. He would see that soon.

  ‘Yes, my God was I drunk. I was, like, feeling sick. Do you understand?’

  Jimmy nodded.

  She started laughing hard when she saw him sitting there on her couch, listening to her and looking so serious. Ugh. Now she felt embarrassed.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, swallowing a hiccup.

  ‘So what happened then?’

  ‘Do you really want to know?’ She hiccupped again.

  ‘I don’t know. Do I?’ He laughed.

  ‘Okay, this date and I started talking, and it turned out that he was just as boring as all get out. He was ugly, too.’

  Hiccup.

  ‘I think. Every question a dead end. You know the type. I asked him what kind of work he did. He said something. Really boring question actually, but for the lack of anything else, you know. We talked a little more and I asked what kind of work he did. Again!’ She laughed until tears ran down her face. ‘Do you get it?’

  Hiccup.

  ‘Yes, I get it, but maybe you should put out that cigarette before you burn the place down.’


  She did as he said and put it in the ashtray. ‘So why aren’t you laughing?’

  ‘I guess because you haven’t finished yet. Do continue, this is starting to get really interesting,’ he said with a grin. That smile of his. The dimples appeared and his whole face lit up.

  She understood that he was being sarcastic, but continued anyway. ‘Wait, you’ll understand. Then he points out that I already asked that question, but I couldn’t remember how he answered. We babbled on, or more correctly, I babbled on, and suddenly —’ Now she was laughing so hard that it was difficult to go on. ‘Then I asked him what kind of work he did. For the third time!’

  She laughed uncontrollably. ‘He looked at me as if I was completely sick in the head and said that that was the third time I’d asked him.’ She couldn’t stop laughing.

  Jimmy laughed now, too, although not as much.

  ‘So what happened then?’

  ‘Well, what happened — he said something like, “You’re out of your mind.” And then he left.’

  ‘So what kind of work did he do?’

  ‘I don’t remember.’

  They both laughed.

  But after a while, they fell into silence.

  Jimmy regarded her with his big brown eyes. ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘How am I feeling? Why are you asking me that?’ she answered, looking away.

  ‘It’s not so strange. I just wanted to check that you were okay, you know. Considering all that’s happened.’

  ‘I don’t need anyone to check up on me or think about me, especially not you.’

  ‘What do you mean? I’m worried about you.’

  ‘Why are you worried about me?’ she said, shaking her head.

  ‘Because I care about you.’ He got up and moved to the other side of the coffee table. ‘And because that disgusting tennis coach is still at large.’ He started to pace back and forth in front of her.

  ‘Listen — first, I know that you don’t give a shit about me. What kind of talk is all that you’re worried stuff? Is that part of your manager’s job, or what?’ She bit her lip, following him with her eyes. ‘And, second, it wasn’t the tennis coach.’