As a carpenter, he had to start work early in the morning, so he usually left the house at 6 a.m. What he didn’t know was that his daughter would get up the minute the front door closed and go for a two-hour walk before school. She never ate breakfast. At lunchtime in the school cafeteria she would always pile food on to her plate, though she ate only a little salad and threw the rest out. Dinner proved more difficult. It started with her demanding more wholesome food at home: salmon and bulgur wheat instead of savoury crêpes. She became a vegetarian and refused to eat any sort of fast-release carbs. No bread or pasta or potatoes. Increasingly, she would go for a long walk at dinnertime.
Agnes began having trouble concentrating in class because she was always tired. She withdrew from her friends and spent more and more time alone. Sometimes she would get up in the middle of the night and exercise, or leave the house and go running in the pitch dark. She always wore baggy clothes, so her father never saw how thin she had become.
That summer, when term was over, things got much worse. Her father worked extra-long hours, since the Swedes who came to Gotland during the summer months were constantly having their cottages remodelled and there was a lack of skilled workmen. He was always working, except when he went to Stockholm to see Katarina, so Agnes was often left on her own. She lied to him, saying that she was busy doing things with her friends. In reality, she felt isolated and abandoned.
In the autumn she started at secondary school, but after only a few weeks she suddenly collapsed at home. She was taken by ambulance to hospital and then transferred to the mainland and admitted to the anorexia clinic in Stockholm.
She has been here now for three months, and the staff keep complaining that she isn’t gaining weight fast enough. The doctor has threatened to increase the amount of food she needs to eat, which is the worst thing that could happen.
Her stomach is still too big and her hips too wide.
Dusk is falling outside. Agnes stretches out her hand to turn on the lamp on the table next to the sofa. She notices how the fat jiggles under her arm. She hasn’t done a very good job of cheating today. She ate everything that was served. The nurses have been watching her like hawks.
Tomorrow she needs to do better.
ONE MODEL AFTER another appeared on the runway that had been constructed in one of Stockholm’s most exclusive department stores. Each was more striking than the last. The lights flashed, the music was throbbing and sensual. At a fast tempo and evenly spaced, the models glided across the stage. They moved like suggestive dream women, thrusting their pelvises forward so that their legs and the incredibly high heels they were wearing seemed to precede the rest of their bodies. Hips swaying, their long, slender arms hanging at their sides, earrings dangling, with piercing eyes, fluttering fringe. Their lips were gleaming, their knees slim, their collarbones clearly visible. Straight backs and shoulders, swinging necklaces, glittering nails and sparkling sandals. Breasts that were exposed, without embarrassment, beneath transparent garments. Serious expressions and dark eyebrows.
Crowding together at the first turn stood the photographers. There the models paused and set their hands on their hips. A few twirled around; others posed provocatively; some offered a hint of a smile, an amused glint in their eyes. They were enjoying this. They knew how much they were worth.
The audience was thrilled; spontaneous bursts of applause and shouts rose above the music. The journalists clutched notebooks and pens, watching with accustomed intensity and then frantically jotting down notes.
For the past two weeks, Jenny Levin had once again been working full time. In that short period, she’d travelled to five different countries, criss-crossing the world. Stockholm to New York to the Bahamas to Paris to Munich to Milan and back to Stockholm. Occasionally, she would forget where she was in the constant succession of new airports, new hotel rooms, new people. Frequently, she got only three or four hours of sleep at night, so she had to sleep on the planes. She’d returned to Stockholm and the agency-owned flat feeling completely exhausted. Fortunately she was now going to be working closer to home.
Even though she’d been working hard, it had been wonderful to get away for a while. Away from Markus and everything that had happened. And, somehow, it felt as if her absence had done her good. She now saw him in a new light. He was not the same person as before and probably never would be. He was twenty years older than her. His appearance had totally changed, even though she didn’t want to admit to herself that something like that mattered.
And all those rumours about other women. Especially that girlfriend of his named Diana.
Jenny cringed at the thought of meeting her at the agency’s traditional Christmas party, which was being held this evening. She’d heard that Diana was back in Stockholm. On the other hand, Jenny was looking forward to the party itself. Drinking champagne, dancing and having fun. Her career was going brilliantly, and she knew that the agency was glad to have her in its stable.
Seconds before she was to appear on the runway for the last time, the lights were turned off and the music silenced. The anticipation could be felt in the whole room.
She was fully aware that she was radiantly beautiful in the gleaming white dress with the neckline that plunged down to her navel. The next moment, she appeared on stage in a cascade of glitter as the music began pounding. The effect was instantaneous. Loud applause, and one by one the audience members rose from their seats and cheered. Jenny felt everyone’s eyes on her; even the most experienced and blasé of the old fashionistas gazed at her with admiration.
This was her life now, and she planned to devote herself to it with all her heart.
ON FRIDAY AFTERNOON it was snowing hard, as it had done all morning. The streets and buildings were blanketed in white, which contributed to the holiday mood. Knutas left work early so he could go out and buy Christmas gifts. For once, he hadn’t left it to the very last minute, and this time he wanted to buy something special for Lina. As a token of his love. She had shown him a beautiful pair of earrings at the silversmith’s down on Sankt Hansgatan. That was what he planned to purchase first. But he might get her something else, too, maybe a gift card for a massage. She often complained that her back hurt, and she seldom took the time to pamper herself.
He quickly made his way through Östercentrum and continued on towards Österport. Inside the city walls an entirely different atmosphere reigned. Strung between the buildings were Christmas decorations in the form of glittering garlands with big stars in the middle. Some of the shop owners had frosted their windowpanes with artificial snow and laid pine boughs outside the doors. Several businesses had strings of lights adorning the windows and lanterns with candles inside. At the toy shop ‘White Christmas’ was thundering from the loudspeakers, and in the big front window a whole winter landscape had been created, with a toy train chugging along between snow-capped mountains. Over by Waller Square some schoolkids were selling ginger biscuits and glögg, the traditional mulled wine. Knutas stopped for a moment to chat with a few friends. An enormous Christmas tree towered over Stora Torget, and all the marketplace stalls were busy with customers buying sheepskins, peppermint rock, sausages, honey, mistletoe and wreaths. Warm glögg was served from a big kettle. He bought two sausages with bread, which he ate as he looked for the best mistletoe, which they always had in their house. It was an essential part of the family’s Christmas celebration.
As Knutas tended to his errands, thoughts of the investigation whirled through his mind. Almost a month had passed since the attempt on Markus Sandberg’s life. The photographer was still in a coma, in critical condition. He would probably not be able to tell the police anything for the foreseeable future. According to the doctors, he was going to need several more operations. As for Sandberg’s parents and siblings, it turned out that they had very little knowledge about his activities. His contact with his family had been sporadic at best. They celebrated Christmas and various birthdays together, but that seemed to have been the extent of
his involvement with them. They had never heard him mention Diana Sierra or Jenny Levin. The police had also interviewed Diana. She was not suspected of committing the attack, since she’d been on a photo shoot in the Bahamas at the time of the assault on Furillen. But she still could have been responsible for initiating it.
Test results had come in from the crime lab. They showed that the blood found on the boat and on the clothing had come from Markus Sandberg and from another, not-yet-identified individual who was not in any police records. But the blood analysis proved without a doubt that the person in question was a man, not a woman. When it came to the earring that had been found, its story remained a mystery.
The police had followed up on the phone conversation that had been traced to the Grand Hotel. It turned out that the information they’d received from the receptionist was correct. The hotel had hosted a fashion show on that day, and Jenny Levin was one of the models. Markus Sandberg had also been present, taking photographs. The police had talked to everyone who had participated in the show, but no one had noticed anything out of the ordinary. And that was as far as they’d got with the investigation.
It might be worthwhile to interview Marita Ahonen, thought Knutas. No one in Sandberg’s family had ever heard of her either. But the agency staff knew all about her love affair with Markus and how deeply it had affected the young Marita. Everybody thought it was tragic, and they sympathized with the Finnish girl, but they hadn’t kept in touch with her after she’d returned to Finland last year. The police were having a hard time tracking her down. She didn’t seem to have a permanent address, and she’d cut off ties with her mother. Her father was dead, and she was an only child. The search for her was ongoing.
When Knutas had finally made all his purchases and was headed back to Östercentrum, he saw a couple coming towards him. They hadn’t yet noticed him, possibly because they only had eyes for each other. The man was tall and slim with gel on his hair. He looked to be in his forties and wore rather trendy clothes, including yellow corduroy trousers and a green jacket. He’d wrapped a scarf around his neck several times. He was walking arm in arm with the petite woman at his side. She was staring up at him with adoring eyes, and they were both laughing. Suddenly they stopped, and the man leaned down to take the face of the slender woman in both hands. Then he kissed her. She pressed her face against his chest, and he put his arms around her, pulling her so close that she almost disappeared.
Neither of them saw Knutas as he passed on the other side of the street. He didn’t know what he would have done if Karin had noticed him. His eyes stung, and his knees felt wobbly.
He was at a complete loss.
THE FERRY WAS just about to depart from Visby harbour. The three black towers of the cathedral were barely visible through the heavy snowfall. The forecast was for colder weather. It had also been snowing in Stockholm for the past several days, and there was every indication that they would have a white Christmas. As usual, the boat was packed with passengers. The spacious parking area on the dock had been crowded with cars, several horse trailers and quite a few long-distance lorries. Johan Berg couldn’t comprehend where all the traffic had come from. It was almost as bad as in the summer.
Johan and his family hurried upstairs to the restaurant to get a good seat next to the window. They had reserved deckchairs, as they always did, but it was actually easier with the children to stay in the restaurant, which had a play area they liked.
‘Do you want to eat right now?’ asked Johan, putting Anton in a high-chair he’d managed to grab. They were much in demand on these ferries.
‘Sure. That’s probably a good idea. It’s going to get crowded later on.’
They were lucky enough to have been among the first to drive on board.
‘Could you go and stand in the queue?’
Emma was unpacking felt-tip pens, drawing paper, activity books and various plastic toys so that Elin and Anton could keep themselves amused for the few minutes it would take her to go over and have a look at the menu. There usually wasn’t much of a selection: spaghetti with meat sauce, pan-fried fish with boiled potatoes and remoulade, or the day’s vegetarian dish. The quality of the food was about the same as in a school cafeteria. And she was sick and tired of that. She might as well just have an open shrimp sandwich. Although these days the restaurant did offer a gourmet option. That might be good.
Johan went first, taking a place in the queue that had already formed. It’s almost like being in Ikea, he thought. Practical, child-friendly and no surprises. There were kids everywhere. Many families had already found seats and were unpacking lunches they’d brought along: sandwiches, thermoses and jars of baby food. Not everyone wanted to buy food in the restaurant. Many Gotland residents went to Stockholm to do their Christmas shopping, so they chose to save their money for buying gifts.
Johan was looking forward to going home. That was how he still thought of the city, even though he’d been living on Gotland for several years now, and his family was there. But, in his heart, Stockholm was still home. They were on their way to visit Johan’s mother, who lived in the suburb of Rönninge, to celebrate Christmas with her. They planned to stay about a week, and he was looking forward to it. Not just because he’d get to see his mother, with whom he stayed in close contact, but because his four brothers would be there as well. Somewhat reluctantly, he’d assumed the role of family patriarch after his father had passed away a few years ago. Everyone seemed to turn to him, maybe because he was the eldest of the brothers. This morning, Johan had talked to his best friend, Andreas, who was among those he missed most. They were going to spend a whole evening in town together, have dinner and visit a few of his favourite hang-outs in the Södermalm district. Johan couldn’t think of anything he would enjoy more. Part of him would always long to be back in Stockholm.
He said hello to a few acquaintances and watched Visby disappear through the window. There was something about this stretch of water between Gotland and the mainland. In reality, the distance wasn’t very great. The trip took less than three hours by ferry. Yet it felt like a long voyage. The crossing almost had an inexplicably exotic feel to it, this passage over the sea. Maybe that was why so many mainlanders loved going to Gotland in the summer. It felt like they were truly getting away, almost like going to another country.
They finished eating their food, which was not much of a culinary experience, but everyone ended up feeling full and content. Then Elin took Anton over to the play area, where a Christmas elf was reading stories to the children. Johan checked the paperback display and bought a detective novel entitled Unseen. The plot sounded exciting, so it would do just fine. Emma bought coffee and several magazines. Jenny Levin was on the cover of one of them.
‘She looks amazing, but nothing like she does in real life,’ murmured Emma.
‘What do Tina and Fredrik think about her modelling career?’ asked Johan as he skimmed the blurb on the back of his book.
‘They’re thrilled for her, of course.’
‘But aren’t they the least bit nervous that she might get involved in bad situations? I mean, with dirty old men, drugs, that sort of thing?’
‘I suppose so. But Jenny is a strong girl who has her feet on the ground. She can take care of herself. She’s always been very independent. I think she can handle just about anything.’
‘What about Markus Sandberg? It sounds like he was just using her.’
‘Okay, that was a mistake. But even Jenny is entitled to make a few wrong choices once in a while. Good God, the girl is only nineteen.’
‘Exactly.’
‘What do you mean?’
Johan stirred his coffee.
‘I don’t know. I was just thinking that there may be other things about Jenny that we don’t know.’
‘Like what? And why are we talking about this now? This is the first time we’ve been on holiday together in I don’t know how long. Let’s drop it, okay? You’re not a policeman.’
‘A
ren’t you interested in finding out what happened? It’s your friend’s daughter who’s ended up in the middle of the whole thing.’
‘Of course I want to know.’
Emma reached across the table to take his hand.
‘But you’re not planning to do any work over Christmas, are you?’ Johan paused before answering. They’d had a rough autumn. The kids had been sick, and the daily routines had seemed particularly dreary. So they really needed a holiday and a chance to relax. He’d already told the children everything they were going to do: go sledding, build a snow cave, make a snowman and snow lanterns. Go skating and cross-country skiing along the wonderful trails near their grandmother’s house.
‘I’m not planning to do any work, sweetheart,’ he said then. ‘Of course not. We’re going to take it easy, enjoy Christmas, and not think about anything but ourselves.’
‘Good,’ said Emma, squeezing his hand.
THE AGENCY’S TRADITIONAL Christmas party was held in a private flat on Stureplan, which was the centre of Stockholm’s nightlife. The flat was directly across from one of the city’s hippest clubs, and after dinner the plan was for everyone to go there. Jenny arrived with the agency boss, which caused quite a few people to raise their eyebrows in surprise. Robert Ek was a married man, but known for having affairs. His wife happened to be away, so she couldn’t attend the party. Would Jenny be the next in a long line of young models whom Ek had exploited over the years?
The nightclub had promptly announced on its website that the famous modelling agency Fashion for Life was holding its annual party on the premises that evening. Models always enticed people to come to a venue, and it lent the club a higher profile. The agency had several hundred models in its stable, but only the top fifty had been invited to the party, along with the most prominent photographers, stylists, clients and other influential people in the Stockholm fashion world, including designers, journalists and several of the most important fashion bloggers.
The Dangerous Game Page 14