Knutas realized that, if he hurried, he could get there before dinner was served. He took a quick shower and put on clean clothes. Then he got in the car and drove east. Just as he reached Ljugarn, his mobile rang. It was Signe Rudin.
‘Hi. I’m terribly sorry for not calling you back, but I’m visiting good friends in the Stockholm archipelago, and I left my mobile in the bedroom, and … Well, you know. I thought I should be able to leave the job behind, since it’s New Year’s Eve, and all. But I was planning to ring the police tomorrow morning.’
‘Oh, really? What’s on your mind?’ asked Knutas, forgetting for a moment why he’d been trying to call her.
‘The thing is, we received another letter.’
Knutas almost drove off the road.
‘When did it arrive?’
‘Yesterday.’
‘Just a minute.’
Knutas had to pull over and stop. Quickly, he got out his notebook and a pen. Annoyed that Signe hadn’t notified the police about the letter earlier, he said curtly, ‘What did it say?’
‘Just four words, like last time. But instead of saying “You are all killers,” it said, “I am a killer.”’
‘And was it the same as last time? I mean, words cut out of a magazine?’
‘Yes. And the type looked the same as before, so he must have used the same magazine.’
‘Who was it sent to?’
‘Fanny Nord. Just like last time. And the address was handwritten. No sender’s name.’
‘Anything else that was different from the first letter?’
‘No. The handwriting on the envelope looked the same. The same pen, too. The same kind of envelope.’
‘Where is the letter now?’
‘I have it here with me.’
‘Could you possibly scan the message and email me a jpeg image?’
‘Sure. No problem. My friends have their own business, so they have a lot of computer equipment.’
‘Scan the envelope, too.’
Knutas gave her his email address.
‘Before you go, I’d like to know one thing. Why did you phone Fashion for Life this morning and ask about Agnes Karlström?’
For a moment, Signe Rudin didn’t speak. She was clearly surprised by his question.
‘Well, I found out that, last year, Fanny was responsible for a photo shoot that ended up being a disaster because the model was too big. As a result, we couldn’t use any of the pictures. And it turned out that the model’s name was Agnes Karlström. The photographer was Markus Sandberg.’
Knutas leaned back and closed his eyes.
‘Okay,’ he said at last. ‘Email me those pictures as soon as you can.’
Then he turned the key in the ignition. Just beyond the next bend in the road was the house where the New Year’s party was in full swing, but Knutas turned the car around and drove back the way he had come.
NEW YEAR’S EVE is turning out much better than Agnes could have imagined. There are only four other patients on the ward, and two of them are so ill they don’t feel like getting out of bed. Per has gone home to change his clothes while she takes a quick nap so she’ll be able to stay awake until the stroke of midnight. They have agreed to meet again at seven o’clock.
It almost feels like a date. Agnes has found a skirt and top that she hasn’t worn since coming to the clinic. Per has never seen her wear anything but tracksuit bottoms and a sweatshirt. He has decided that they should sit at a separate table from the other patients. Dinner is pasta with pork in a cream sauce, but Agnes hardly touches the food. It’s nice to be sitting here, and on this one evening she is allowed to do what she likes with the food. Her Widget is not in use on New Year’s Eve. Per has arranged for linen table napkins and candles.
‘You look so nice,’ he says, lowering his eyes.
‘Thanks,’ she says, embarrassed. ‘It feels great to wear something other than tracksuit bottoms and sweatshirts.’
She thinks Per looks very handsome. He is wearing a checked shirt. On his wrist she notices a silver chain she has never seen before.
‘Nice bracelet. Is it new?’
‘Yes, actually. It’s a New Year’s present.’
‘Oh. Who’s it from?’
‘Guess.’
Agnes gives him a hesitant look.
‘It’s not from a girl, if that’s what you’re thinking.’
Agnes changes the subject. She doesn’t know much about Per’s personal life but, clearly, he must have relatives, friends and others who care about him. She doesn’t want to seem nosy.
They talk about all sorts of things, avoiding any mention of her illness. Films they’ve seen, what they like to do in their free time. Per tells her that he used to work only part time while he was going to college, but last autumn he was offered a full-time position replacing someone who’d taken a leave of absence. So he decided to give up his studies. He found college boring, anyway, and he hadn’t been doing very well.
‘It was my mother who was always talking about me continuing my education,’ he says. ‘She thought I should make something of myself. And I can understand that. She was a nurse, after all. My sister started her studies before I did, even though she’s two years younger than me. So that really put the pressure on me.’
‘Just think, neither one of us has a mother,’ says Agnes.
‘I know.’
For a moment, they both fall silent.
‘I think a lot about her during the holidays, like today,’ Agnes goes on. ‘Mamma loved New Year’s Eve. We always went out to visit friends, or else we had a party at home. My mother was such a happy and social person. She loved being with people. She always talked louder and laughed longer than anyone else.’
Agnes smiles at the thought. Per looks at her with that preoccupied expression of his.
‘My mother wasn’t like that at all. She was quiet and reserved. She did her job but, otherwise, she just stayed at home. I can see Mamma sitting on the sofa, wearing an old dressing gown, with some knitting on her lap as she watches TV. That was her daily routine. But I think she was happy.’
Per raises his glass and looks at Agnes, a little smile tugging at his lips.
‘You’re beautiful, you know. You really are. Here’s to you, my girl. Cheers.’
‘Cheers.’ Agnes smiles at him.
The apple juice tastes good.
AN HOUR LATER, Knutas was sitting in front of his computer with two meatball sandwiches and a beer. The only one who seemed happy that he’d returned home was the cat, who jumped up on his lap and curled up contentedly. Lina, who had been expecting her husband to come through the door and join the party at any moment, was furious and abruptly cut him off when he rang her again. She didn’t even want to hear his explanation. It was enough for her to know that he’d driven all the way out to Ljugarn only to turn around again. Nothing could be so important on New Year’s Eve that it couldn’t wait another day, or at least until after midnight. That was what she had shouted in his ear before ending the conversation and dismissing him for the rest of the night. Lina was usually very patient about the irregular hours required by his job, but even she had her limits.
Knutas shook off his feeling of discomfort and took a bite of his sandwich. He’d had better meals on New Year’s Eve. And better company, too, he thought as he petted the cat.
Then the email appeared in his inbox. His heart pounding, he clicked it open and looked at the image of the message. Exactly the same typeface as before. The words glared at him. ‘I am a killer.’ Who are you? he thought. Who the hell are you? And who are you thinking of killing next?
Knutas ate his sandwiches and drank his beer, letting the thoughts whirl through his head. It would be another week before Fanny Nord returned home. He had a good mind to go out to the airport and meet her in person. Maybe he’d be lucky enough to find this bastard out there. He was still staring at the message on the screen. What did it tell him? He clicked on the print icon and then took the printed te
xt into the living room. He lit a fire in the fireplace, put on a favourite CD by Simon and Garfunkel, and got another beer out of the fridge. In his mind, he pictured Lina’s face. She wouldn’t be any happier tomorrow when she came home to an empty house. His plane to Stockholm left at eight thirty. Before settling down on the sofa, Knutas went back into his home office to fetch his copy of the first letter. Then he sat down on the sofa and compared the two print-outs. Who had written them? Rikard Karlström was a possible candidate. Erna Linton was, too. And Marita Ahonen. Or was the perpetrator some unknown individual they hadn’t even come across?
With these thoughts in his mind, Knutas fell asleep on New Year’s Eve, with still a whole hour left until midnight.
WHEN AGNES GOES to bed on New Year’s Eve, she is feeling more light-hearted than she has in a long time. The fireworks were fantastic. She had joined the few patients on the ward who were still awake, along with the staff, and they had all gathered in front of the conference-room windows to watch the colourful pyrotechnic display. It felt magical to be standing there next to Per and seeing the whole sky exploding with shooting stars and glitter. The two of them together, standing very close.
He arouses strange feelings in her, but they’re not unpleasant. She gets a tingling in her body whenever she looks at him, but it’s not the same prickling sensation she used to have. And with a combination of joy and alarm, she realizes that she is falling in love with her personal nurse. Which is insane, of course. I wonder if he feels the same way, she thinks, smiling to herself. He gave her such an odd look when they drank a toast at midnight. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking.
Her father had phoned shortly after midnight to wish her a happy New Year. When Agnes asked him about Katarina, he said that they’d quarrelled, so he’d driven her back to the airport earlier in the day. He said that their relationship might be over, slurring his words a bit. But in the next breath he told her it didn’t really matter. Katarina wasn’t an easy person to be with. She was very controlling and had a bad temper. So the truth finally came out, now that he was slightly drunk. He’d never said a negative word about Katarina before.
But he wasn’t complaining, he assured Agnes. He was celebrating New Year’s with some of his co-workers from his construction job. And that was just fine with him.
Agnes has to admit to feeling a certain relief.
She leaves the light on for a while. She’s not sleepy at all, even though her body is aching with fatigue. She’s glad that Linda has moved out. She doesn’t have to take anyone else into consideration. She’s thinking about Per, and that makes her happy. She pictures his face and his weary eyes, which fascinate her. He told her that he has the next few days off, so he’s going to Gotland to visit a friend. An old classmate from school. But he has promised to phone.
Agnes can’t understand why he seems to care so much about her. She has started thinking about the future. First, she has to get well as fast as possible. If she does everything right, it shouldn’t really take so long, even though she realizes that she is so underweight that it’s going to take more than just a few months. But maybe she’ll be okay by summer. She thinks about venturing out and socializing again, going to the beach and swimming. Will she be able to handle that? Her worst nightmare is having to get undressed in front of other people. But if she gets well, then … No, not if, she corrects herself. When she gets well. She is looking forward to jumping into the water with Per at Tofta Strand. She giggles at such an unrealistic thought.
Suddenly, she’s roused from her reveries. The heavy curtain in front of the window sways. It’s just a vague movement which she sees out of the corner of her eye, so she’s not sure it even happened. Did the curtain really move? She fixes her eyes on the velvety fabric. She must be imagining things. The alarm clock on the nightstand is discreetly ticking. 1.20 a.m. She hasn’t been awake at this hour in a very long time. She hears footsteps out in the corridor which pass her room and then disappear. The night staff are probably still celebrating. Before she came back to her room, she noticed that they had set out a cheese platter and lit some candles in the common room. Maybe they were even drinking wine. They probably weren’t so strict about the rules on New Year’s Eve. Poor things. Even they needed to relax once in a while. She wonders if Per is with them, and feels a pang of jealousy. No, she doesn’t think he is. He’s leaving for Gotland early in the morning.
Slowly, she runs her finger over the downy skin on her arm. Back and forth. She wonders what it would feel like to kiss Per. He has nice lips. His teeth are a bit uneven, but that doesn’t matter. She thinks it’s charming.
Then the curtain moves again. Just slightly, but enough for her to realize it’s not her imagination. She sits bolt upright in bed, without taking her eyes off the curtain. It’s heavy and reaches all the way to the floor so that it will keep out the light, as well as blocking the cold and any sound. Her heart is beating faster. Is there that much of a draught from the window? She listens for the wind, but hears nothing. The room seems suddenly filled with danger. A tangible, menacing feeling, but she doesn’t know why. She tries to reach for the alarm button.
But that’s as far as she gets.
EARLY IN THE morning on New Year’s Day, Knutas was awakened by the doorbell. Groggy with sleep, he stumbled out to the front hall and opened the door to find his son, Nils, standing there. His face was white as a sheet, and his hair was sticking out all over.
‘Sorry. I forgot my key. Happy New Year.’
‘What?’
It took a moment for Knutas to remember what day it was, and then he realized that he must have fallen asleep on the sofa.
‘Are you home early? Or is it late?’
‘It’s six o’clock, and I just left the party. I’m going to bed. Where’s Mamma? I thought you were both going to stay in Ljugarn.’
‘We were. But something came up and I had to work.’
‘That figures. Good night.’
Nils quickly disappeared upstairs. Knutas blinked his eyes in confusion. Where was Petra? Wasn’t she home yet? He looked around and caught sight of her boots in the hall, and next to them was her jacket, where she had dropped it on the floor. He breathed a sigh of relief. Then he went back to the living room. It was lucky he hadn’t lit any candles last night. The fire in the fireplace had burned out on its own.
He sank down on to the sofa. Checked his mobile. Lots of calls and texts with New Year greetings at midnight. One from Lina, too, which made him happy. He looked at his watch. Only 6.10. Too early to phone her. His eyes fell on the print-outs. All of a sudden he thought he recognized the typeface of the letters. He was certain he’d seen those very words before. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he’d known it all along. Lina had a tendency to save everything, including old magazines – for recipes that might come in handy, tips about how to re-upholster a chair, redo a fence, or plant a shrub.
Again he looked at the words that had been cut out and pasted on the card. He got up and shuffled through Lina’s stack of magazines. It didn’t take long before he stopped. There they were. Right in front of his eyes. To think it could be that simple. It was now crystal clear. No doubt at all. Slowly, he picked up the magazine. The words had been taken from the cover, where a number of headlines screamed their messages.
A publication that was read only by members of a specific group. The magazine was called The Nursing Profession.
THE PLANE FROM Visby landed late at Bromma Airport because the wings had to be de-iced before take-off. Knutas immediately caught a taxi to the anorexia clinic. It was an overcast morning and bitterly cold, with a frigid wind blowing from the north. He hurried into the hospital. After losing his way a few times he finally located the clinic, which was in a separate building of the huge hospital complex. In the lift, it occurred to him that he should have phoned ahead. But it was too late for that. He was here now.
When he finally reached the ward, he found the glass door locked. He rang the bell. A woman looked u
p and then pushed a button to let him in. With a faint whirring sound, the door opened.
The woman came to greet him, introducing herself as the clinic supervisor, Vanja Forsman. She looked nervous, and Knutas hurried to show her his police ID.
‘My name is Anders Knutas, and I’m from the Visby police. I’m here to see one of your patients. Agnes Karlström.’
Vanja Forsman looked as if she might faint.
‘Agnes?’ she repeated weakly. ‘How could the police already … Did someone phone you? Did you say the Visby police?’
She leaned forward to look at his ID again.
Knutas gave her an enquiring look.
‘Excuse me, but I don’t understand,’ he said. ‘I know I should have called ahead, but there wasn’t time. I really need to speak to Agnes as soon as possible. It has to do with a murder investigation.’
Vanja Forsman’s face went white.
‘A murder investigation? You want to talk to Agnes about a murder investigation?’
‘Yes, that’s right,’ said Knutas, relieved that she seemed to understand him at last.
‘I’m afraid you can’t. I’m afraid that’s not possible.’
‘Not possible?’
The woman’s lower lip began to quiver.
‘The patients are only now getting up. We agreed that anyone who stayed up to watch the fireworks could sleep in today. And Agnes … Agnes isn’t with us any more. Just ten minutes ago we found her in bed. And she’s dead.’
HE WAS SITTING at the gate for the Visby flight, casually leafing through the previous evening’s papers. He’d arrived at the airport with plenty of time to spare and had already checked in and gone through security. One of the papers had an article listing all the major crimes that had been committed during the past year. The assault on Markus Sandberg was on the list, along with the murder of Robert Ek. Too bad they won’t get to include what’s going to happen next, he thought. It would be a real gem for their morbid little compilation.
The Dangerous Game Page 26