The Dangerous Game

by Mari Jungstedt

  He longed for a different place, and he read with great interest all the listings of houses for sale. He’d always had a weakness for the eastern part of Gotland.

  The dinner they’d been invited to was going to be a big affair, with forty guests. The farmhouse wasn’t especially large, but the renovated old barn, which had been converted into a gallery and shop for selling sheepskins and art, had been turned into a banqueting hall for the evening. It was already crowded with guests, all of them dressed in their finest and filled with anticipation. Candles were everywhere, and the welcome drinks were served by young people from the area who wanted to earn a little extra money on New Year’s Eve.

  As their hosts greeted them in the doorway, Emma could tell that something was wrong. Fredrik and Tina gave everyone warm smiles, the tables were beautifully set for the party, and a crackling fire blazed in the hearth. But Emma saw that Tina looked strained, and her face was pale in spite of the make-up she had so carefully applied. Had they quarrelled? Fredrik also seemed stressed as he mingled with the guests. As soon as she had a chance, Emma took Tina with her to the kitchen.

  ‘What’s happened?’ she asked.

  Tina bit her lower lip.

  ‘Something terrible is going on. I don’t know what to do about it. Can we go outside and have a cigarette?’

  Emma looked at her friend in surprise. She never smoked.

  ‘Of course. Whatever you like.’

  They slipped out the back so they could be alone.

  ‘It’s just crazy,’ Tina began. ‘We almost cancelled the party, but then we remembered that some people were coming all the way from the mainland. So we both agreed we had to carry on. Although, now, I can tell that this is going to take more of an effort than I thought.’

  Tina told Emma about the man with the doll who had been sitting outside Jenny’s building that morning.

  ‘She ran inside and, luckily, he didn’t follow her. But she was terrified and rang me right away. She was crying on the phone. Thank God another girl is staying in the flat, so she wasn’t alone. But that man scared her out of her wits, and I suppose that was what he meant to do.’

  ‘Did she phone the police?’

  ‘No. I think all she wanted to do was come home as fast as possible. Fortunately, there was a three o’clock flight that still had seats. I called the police in Visby, and they wanted us to come over to headquarters as soon as I picked Jenny up at the airport. They questioned her and said that they would provide her with police protection but, since it’s New Year’s Eve, they can’t do anything about it today.’

  ‘Did Jenny recognize him? Had she ever seen him before?’

  ‘That’s the worst part. Because she had seen him before. But this was the first time she mentioned to anyone that, several weeks ago, she’d had a feeling that a man had followed her to the front door. But she wasn’t certain. Now, she realizes it was the same man she saw this morning.’

  Tina shook her head.

  ‘How’s Jenny doing?’ asked Emma.

  ‘She was worried and upset, but eventually she calmed down and had something to eat. She’s really worn out and doesn’t want to see anyone tonight. She’s upstairs in her room with the dogs, watching TV.’

  Tina took a deep drag on her cigarette and gave Emma an anxious look.

  ‘Do you think the murderer is after her?’ Tina asked.

  ‘I think that would be very unlikely. As far as I know, neither Robert Ek nor Markus Sandberg received any threats before they were attacked. In Jenny’s case, this man seems to have settled for scaring her. To me, he sounds more like a stalker, someone who’s been set off by all the reports in the media. Jenny isn’t exactly unknown. Almost half the Swedish population knows who she is, and anyone who reads the papers or watches the news on TV would realize she knew both victims.’

  Tina looked a bit calmer now.

  ‘I hope you’re right.’

  LINA ENDED UP having to drive out to Ljugarn alone, even though she did so reluctantly. Knutas said he might be able to join her later in the evening. Given the new situation, celebrating the New Year was the furthest thing from his mind.

  As soon as the meeting was over, he rang editor-in-chief Signe Rudin. She didn’t answer her phone. Damn the woman, he thought. It was so frustrating to know that she had apparently ferreted out some important piece of information and he didn’t have a clue what it might be. Something that had led her to Agnes Karlström.

  He rang the airline, only to hear that there were no more afternoon flights from Visby to Stockholm. The ferry wasn’t operating at all on New Year’s Eve. He booked himself a seat on the first flight out the next morning and decided to go with Wittberg to Svaidestugan. He was much too restless to sit in his office. His colleagues had dropped by Karlström’s house on Endre väg, but no one was home.

  Svaidestugan was a few kilometres outside Visby in a popular open-air recreation area. It had been the location of the orienteering club for years.

  As soon as they turned on to the bumpy road that led to the building, they could see plenty of activity. The car park in the woods was filled with vehicles, and the small red-painted wooden buildings that housed a sauna and changing rooms were decorated with wreaths made from spruce boughs and coloured lights that glowed in the winter darkness.

  Knutas and Wittberg went into the clubhouse. It was crowded with people holding cups of coffee and mugs filled with glögg, chatting in small groups. Everyone looked so healthy, with their rosy cheeks and sporty clothing, as if at any moment they might set down their drinks and go out for a hike. Knutas didn’t much care for the whole club and orienteering scene, even though he was fully aware that it meant a great deal to a lot of people. The spirit of camaraderie was all well and good, but he couldn’t ignore the slightly sectarian feeling he’d noticed. There was something exclusive about their meetings, no matter how pleasant and lively everyone might seem outwardly. It was as if only those who fitted the mould could belong – those who were fit, healthy and upstanding citizens. With set routines, everything in its proper place, everything neat and tidy. Preferably no weaknesses. If you’re not as healthy and fit as we are, you’re not good enough. Eat oatmeal, muesli and whole-grain bread. Keep your back straight, wear barefoot trainers on your feet. Hallelujah.

  Knutas and Wittberg had barely stepped inside when a woman in her sixties came over to greet them. She introduced herself as the club secretary, Eva Ljungdahl. She was the one Wittberg had spoken to on the phone. She was a wiry woman with a firm handshake. Her suntan told them that she had celebrated Christmas somewhere at a much warmer latitude.

  ‘Rikard is here. He’s in the kitchen. Come with me.’

  They made their way through the crowd to the kitchen. Knutas immediately recognized Rikard Karlström.

  About forty-five, Knutas surmised. The timid type. Short, slender and sinewy. Typical runner’s physique. On his shaved head he wore a cap that said ‘O-Ring’ on the peak.

  They formally introduced themselves. Karlström seemed self-conscious, and his anxiety was obvious. As soon as the woman left the kitchen, he spoke.

  ‘What’s this about?’

  ‘I assume you know about the assault on Markus Sandberg on Furillen in November, right? And the murder of Robert Ek, which occurred just before Christmas?’

  Karlström nodded.

  ‘Both of them worked for the agency where your daughter, Agnes, worked before she fell ill.’

  ‘She was only there a short time,’ stammered Karlström. ‘She hardly knew those awful people. They kept talking about her weight. I think that’s what caused the anorexia.’

  ‘Where is Agnes now?’

  ‘She was admitted to a clinic in Stockholm. It’s called the Anorexia Centre.’

  ‘How long has she been there?’

  ‘Since the end of September. So about three months.’

  ‘And how is she doing?’

  Rikard Karlström’s expression softened a bit.

&nb
sp; ‘Better. She was home for a few days at Christmas, and I think that did her good. For the first time, it seems like she might get well. She’s started to respond to the treatment, and I’m really happy about that.’

  ‘Have you or Agnes had any contact with the modelling agency since she stopped working there?’

  Karlström paused to think.

  ‘I know that I talked to someone there a couple of times. It had to do with money that Agnes was owed, and photographs of her they wanted to send.’

  ‘Do you know who you talked to?’

  ‘Her name was Sara. I don’t remember her last name, but it’s in a folder I have at home. She was extremely pleasant. Nothing wrong with her.’

  ‘What about Agnes? Has she been in contact with the agency?’

  ‘Not that I know of.’ Karlström rubbed his chin. ‘Wait a minute. I was there when someone came to visit her, right after she was admitted to the clinic. She’d only been there a few days.’

  ‘Who was it?’

  ‘A photographer, I think. Dark hair. About thirty-five.’

  Knutas and Wittberg exchanged glances.

  Markus Sandberg.

  AGNES’S FATHER HAD asked her whether she wanted him to come over on New Year’s Eve, but she told him that he could celebrate with Katarina if he liked. She assured him that she really didn’t mind. She was always so tired and probably wouldn’t even stay up until midnight. And they’d already had such a nice time together at Christmas.

  She’d felt a little guilty when Per told her that Katarina had come to the clinic on Christmas Eve. She hadn’t realized that her father’s girlfriend was so alone. And if there was one thing that Agnes understood, it was loneliness. That was the worst thing about anorexia. You lost all contact with other people.

  Even though Agnes doesn’t really care for Katarina, she has decided to try to make an effort to be nice. Maybe that’s part of the process of getting well. Lately, she has noticed that things have begun to turn around, that she has been feeling a greater urge to get well. She still suffers from a hellish anxiety whenever she has to eat anything, and she can’t stop herself from exercising, but she doesn’t do it as much. She doesn’t cheat, or exercise as often, although the process hasn’t been totally smooth sailing. Sometimes she feels so panicked that she thinks she might fall to pieces.

  She detests this sense of duplicity. On the one hand, she wants nothing more than to put on weight so that she can leave the clinic and start living again. On the other hand, that is exactly what scares her most.

  The eating frenzy she experienced at home on Christmas Eve has increased her motivation to get well. She doesn’t want to live like that. She never wants to go through that sort of torment again. Yet the episode also reminded her that the anorexia is harming not only her but her father, too. She is all that he has. And Katarina, of course. She thinks it’s fine for them to celebrate the New Year together. If only for Pappa’s sake.

  Besides, Per has said that even though he actually has the day off, he’s going to spend the evening with her. They’ll think of some way to celebrate.

  He turns up right after lunch, looking cheerful and like he’d just stepped out of the shower. She is sitting on her bed listening to music when he sticks his head in the door. As luck would have it, Linda has moved out, so Agnes now has the room all to herself.

  ‘Hi. Can I come in?’

  ‘Sure.’

  She’s suddenly nervous. What’s going on? Her despair after yesterday’s visit from Cecilia’s big sister, Malin, and Jenny Levin has faded. Now, she just feels ashamed at her outburst.

  ‘I’m sorry I was such a nuisance yesterday.’

  ‘That’s okay.’

  ‘Maybe I should ring Malin to apologize. I know she meant well.’

  ‘Of course.’

  A shadow passes over his face.

  ‘But maybe not today,’ she adds. ‘I can call her tomorrow.’

  Agnes would rather forget about the whole thing.

  He looks relieved. It was hard on him, too, even though he’s used to outbursts from the patients. But something special seems to have developed between them lately. Agnes wonders if he has noticed it, too.

  ‘I thought we could go out for a walk, or rather I could push you in the wheelchair,’ he suggests.

  ‘Great.’

  Agnes hasn’t been outdoors since she came back from Gotland. The daily walks have been cancelled between Christmas and New Year’s.

  ‘Just let me go to the loo.’

  With an effort she gets up from the bed and stumbles into the bathroom. Now she’s annoyed that there is no mirror. She splashes water on her face, brushes her teeth, and pinches her cheeks, hoping to give them some colour.

  The air is clear and cold. Per pushes the wheelchair through the slushy snow. Agnes is bundled up in two pairs of long underwear, several woollen jumpers, heavily lined thermal trousers, and a big white down jacket that makes her look like the Michelin man. On her head she has a Russian hat with ear flaps. It’s wonderful not to be freezing as she feels the fresh air biting at her cheeks. They head up the hill towards the centre of town. There are people everywhere, doing their last-minute shopping for New Year’s.

  ‘Would you like to see my place?’ he asks.

  ‘Okay.’

  He pushes her in the chair over to a block of flats with a blue-painted façade. The stairwell smells a bit musty. The lift is modern and has plenty of space for the wheelchair. They go up to the sixth floor.

  A long corridor with a series of doors. The third one has a sign on it with white plastic letters. ‘P. and M. Hermansson. No junk mail.’

  Agnes is momentarily startled. Does Per live with someone?

  ‘Who is M?’ she ventures as he pushes the chair over the threshold.

  ‘M as in Mamma,’ said Per with a laugh. A dry, mirthless laugh. ‘Margareta, actually. My mother. But, sadly, she has passed away. So now I live here alone.’

  Agnes is relieved, even though she feels sad on his behalf.

  ‘Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t know your mother was dead.’

  ‘Cancer. She was a nurse in the infectious diseases clinic at the hospital. She was the one who got me the job on the ward.’

  ‘Was it just the two of you living here?’

  ‘No. I have a sister, but she moved away from home when she turned eighteen. She and my mother didn’t really get along.’

  ‘What about your father?’

  ‘My parents divorced when I was a kid. Would you like some coffee?’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  ‘It’s two o’clock. Time for your afternoon snack. The question is, what have I got in the kitchen?’

  He parks the wheelchair in the hall and she gets up.

  ‘Shall I show you around first?’ he asks. ‘It’s not a big place, but …’

  Now he seems almost shy. Agnes finds that endearing. The flat is nice and bright, with windows facing in two directions. Everything is neat and clean. Attractive, but a bit boring. Nothing very personal about it. They go through to the kitchen, which is completely ordinary, with grey cabinets. A pine table and four chairs stand next to the window, which has red curtains and a Christmas star made of straw with a red ribbon.

  ‘Do you recognize that?’

  Agnes nods. He had pointed out the window from the ward, and she now sees the same star and red curtains.

  Next to the kitchen is a small bedroom.

  ‘This is where I sleep,’ says Per. ‘This room is much smaller than the other one, but I can’t bring myself to sleep in Mamma’s room. Do you think that’s weird?’

  ‘No, not at all.’

  The furniture in the living room looks like it’s from the seventies. Bookcases made of dark-stained pine with built-in lighting and a drinks cabinet. A sofa with brown-and-orange upholstery that has a rough texture to it. A coffee table with brass legs and a tinted-glass top.

  They move on to look at a bigger bedroom that has been turned int
o a gym, with mirrors and several exercise machines.

  ‘This is my workout room,’ Per explains proudly. ‘I don’t really need much living space, and I like to work out. So, this way, I save having to pay for an expensive gym membership.’

  ‘Cool,’ says Agnes, not sure what else to say. ‘When did your mother die?’

  ‘Eight and a half months ago.’

  ‘Have you thought about getting a smaller flat?’

  ‘Yes, I have. But I feel comfortable here. I’ve lived here all my life. It’s my childhood home. And the rent is low. I pay the same for this two-bedroom as I would for a one-bedroom in the city. So I’d rather stay here. And, besides, it’s close to work.’

  Per makes coffee and they eat a few crackers. It’s pleasant sitting there with him in the kitchen, looking out at the hospital. Being on the other side. On the healthy side.

  That’s where she longs to be.

  IT WAS 6 P.M. by the time Knutas got back home after talking to Rikard Karlström. Wittberg was in a hurry to get to a New Year’s Eve party. As for Karin Jacobsson, it seemed she was spending the evening with Janne Widén. Knutas didn’t know why he felt so uncomfortable when he thought about that.

  He’d tried several times to reach Signe Rudin, but she didn’t answer her mobile or her landline at home. When he rang the magazine, he got a recorded message wishing everyone a Happy New Year and telling him to ring again after the holiday. He realized there was nothing more he could accomplish, so he phoned Lina, who told him that they hadn’t yet sat down to dinner. The hosts were just about to offer their guests some champagne. Maybe he felt like toddling over there and spending a little time with his wife on New Year’s Eve?