The Dangerous Game

by Mari Jungstedt

  Jenny took another drag on her cigarette, letting everything that had happened in the past few weeks pass through her mind: Markus beaten to a pulp and lying on the floor of the cabin on Furillen; Robert murdered; and waking up in his house after the hazy and unwanted sexual escapade, whatever it was. She still couldn’t remember a thing about it. And the distressing visit to Agnes at the clinic. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t erase from her memory the image of that emaciated girl with the big eyes. Her screams still echoed in her head.

  It was snowing even harder, and Jenny realized that she ought to head home. She whistled, but Sally didn’t appear. She called her several times. No response. She started to feel annoyed. She really wanted to go back now. So she got up and stubbed her cigarette out on the railing.

  It was quite a large farm, with several buildings scattered about. Maybe the dog had found a dead animal or something else of interest. She was only a puppy, and still unreliable.

  Jenny went down the steps. She plodded through the deep snow around the side of the house, again calling Sally. Now, she saw a trail leading under a stairway to a cellar door on the other side. With a sudden feeling of foreboding, she went over to have a look. The door was ajar. Slowly, she approached, trying to shake off her fear.

  The moment she reached for the door handle, someone grabbed her arm and pulled her into the dark.

  With a thud, the door closed behind her.

  ON NEW YEAR’S Day Johan didn’t wake up until the afternoon, and with a noticeable hangover. Emma was lying in bed next to him and still seemed sound asleep. The guest room, which was small but cosy, was upstairs, with a view of the wintry-white fields and meadows. Several sheep with thick woollen coats were crowded around the gate. It had started to snow. He sat up and saw that it was feeding time. Tina and Fredrik drove up on the tractor to put out hay for the sheep, who stayed outdoors year round. Johan thought to himself about the life his friends led. Hard physical labour every day, even after a big New Year’s bash. The party was still going on when he and Emma had withdrawn to their room at around five in the morning, although the guests had dwindled to a small group in the kitchen, looking for a snack. He had fallen asleep listening to them talking and laughing downstairs. He wondered when their hosts had finally gone to bed.

  The party had been a huge success. They had enjoyed a sumptuous three-course dinner of lobster and steak, and far too many bottles of excellent wine. At midnight, they had all gone outside to the small hill behind the sheep barn to set off fireworks, and had watched the firework displays in the surrounding area at the same time. Then there was dancing into the early hours. He hadn’t caught even a glimpse of Jenny all night. She must have decided to stay in her room, exhausted after that frightening experience in Stockholm. And that had put Johan in a real dilemma. Even though the threatening incident had high news value, he had promised not to pursue the story until after New Year’s Eve. Today, they would have another talk about it.

  He let Emma sleep and climbed out of bed.

  Downstairs in the kitchen he found the worktop cluttered with dirty plates from the party, along with glasses holding the dregs of wine and champagne. He wrinkled his nose at the smell, but decided to ignore the clutter for the time being. A lamp had fallen over, and the telephone lay on the floor. It looked like things had got quite lively down here.

  There was fresh coffee, so he poured himself a cup. Then he opened the fridge and took out some cheese and butter. He cut a few slices of bread, turned on the radio, and drank several glasses of water. After eating some bread and cheese he’d probably feel a lot better. He hated having a hangover. Fortunately, it didn’t happen very often these days.

  He sat down at the table and began eating his breakfast, enjoying the peace and quiet. The radio was replaying requests from the past year.

  Then the theme music started up for the news programme, and the announcer spoke: ‘It’s two o’clock, and here is the news for Gotland. A sixteen-year-old girl from Visby was found dead this morning in the Stockholm clinic where she was a patient. The cause of death has not yet been determined, but the police suspect that the girl was murdered. Forensics officers are now conducting a search of the crime scene. No suspect has been apprehended.’

  Johan immediately rang the editorial offices of Regional News. No answer. There was no regional broadcast on TV on New Year’s Day. Damn. He tried Grenfors’s mobile but got a busy signal. A Gotland girl had been found murdered in Stockholm the day after the threatening incident Jenny had experienced. Was there a connection? Had the two girls known each other? Johan dashed upstairs to Jenny’s room. A ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign hung on the door handle. He ignored it and knocked. No response. Was she still asleep? Cautiously, he pushed down the handle and opened the door.

  The room was empty. He looked at the bed, which had been neatly made. No trace of Jenny.

  THE HUNT FOR Per Hermansson, who was wanted for murder and attempted murder, was immediately launched on all fronts. A quick check revealed that he’d had several days off from work, both when Markus Sandberg was assaulted and when Robert Ek was killed.

  And, during this first week of the New Year, Hermansson was supposed to be on holiday, although no one knew what his plans were. He was not in his flat, and he didn’t answer when any of his phone numbers were called. The police swiftly obtained permission to search his home, and broke the lock on the door. Knutas had just left the anorexia clinic and was sitting in a taxi when Jacobsson rang.

  ‘We’ve checked with the airlines. At ten o’clock this morning Per Hermansson took a plane from Bromma Airport to Visby.’

  ‘Bloody hell. How could he know that Jenny had gone to Gotland?’

  ‘Yesterday afternoon, a guy rang the bell at the flat on Kungsholmen that’s owned by the agency. Another model was there, and she spoke to him. He asked for Jenny, so she told him she’d gone home for the holiday.’

  ‘Damn it! And I just found out that Agnes had a visit from Jenny and a girl named Malin Johansson the day before New Year’s Eve. For some reason, the visit made her very upset, and it was Per Hermansson who calmed her down. Have you talked to Jenny’s parents?’

  ‘No. They’re not answering their mobile phones, and there seems to be a problem with the landline. We still haven’t been able to get in touch with Jenny.’

  ‘Do you know when the next plane leaves for Gotland?’

  ‘If you go out to the airport right now, you can catch the one-thirty. I’m sure it’s not fully booked.’

  ‘Okay. Can you pick me up in Visby?’

  ‘Of course. There’s just one thing I don’t understand. Why would Hermansson murder Agnes?’

  ‘A mercy killing?’ suggested Knutas.

  THE GRIP ON her arm was so strong that she whimpered in pain. The man’s face was only millimetres away from hers in the dark. She could feel his breath, hot and damp against her cheek. His lips grazed her ear as he whispered.

  ‘How nice that you decided to come over, Jenny Levin. And here I thought that I’d have to break into your house, but you’ve saved me the trouble. This makes everything much easier for me. Thanks for that, my lovely fashion model. But now it may not be much fun being Jenny Levin any longer. Now, you’re just an ordinary girl, you see. Nothing special. No cameras flashing. No catwalk lights. Just little Jenny.’

  His voice changed from feigned regret to scornful hatred.

  He shoved her away with such force that she tumbled across the cellar and landed on the cold cement floor.

  He stared at her. She could just about make out his face in the dim light. He was younger than she’d thought, but she recognized him. And his cap.

  His eyes were filled with insanity, or maybe cold, suppressed rage. She wasn’t sure which. Maybe both. Maybe the man was a psychopath.

  ‘What do you want?’ she stammered.

  ‘What do you think I want, sweetie?’ he snarled. ‘You sweet little model.’

  He softly hummed a tune about
a little model and a carousel.

  ‘What do you want with me?’ she said. ‘What have I done?’

  He went over to her and squatted down so his face was only a few centimetres away from hers. He took off his cap. Jenny flinched.

  ‘Do you recognize me?’

  His voice was unnecessarily loud in the cramped cellar room, and he exaggerated the enunciation of each word.

  ‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘You were in the anorexia clinic with Agnes.’

  ‘Exactly,’ he replied. ‘A-n-o-r-e-x-i-a c-l-i-n-i-c,’ he spelled out. ‘Where Agnes is still a patient, thanks to people like you.’

  ‘What do you mean? What have I—’

  She didn’t get any further before he punched her in the mouth.

  ‘Shut up,’ he spat. ‘Who the hell do you think you are? You come waltzing into the clinic wearing your high heels and tossing your hair, pretending that you really care about Agnes. But you were just mocking her, and all the other patients, too. You know that as well as I do!’

  Jenny lay on the floor, pressing her hands to her bleeding lips.

  ‘But I just wanted to—’

  His fist slammed into her face. For several seconds, everything went black. She was paralysed with terror. She was alone here with this madman, completely helpless. And the farm was deserted. No one lived here, no one ever came here. Now he was standing over her. She could see his black, shiny boots right next to her face.

  ‘Just wanted to—?’ he hissed. ‘Just wanted to—? Let me tell you why you and I are here right now. The whole insane fashion industry nearly killed my girl. Do you understand? The only person I’ve ever cared about. Agnes was thin and beautiful, but she wasn’t good enough. They told her she wasn’t good enough. Do you hear me? They shattered her self-confidence. She was a sweet young girl with her whole life ahead of her! But they told her that she wasn’t beautiful enough. She needed to lose weight. And did she ever lose weight! She almost starved herself to death. She weighed ninety-five pounds when she arrived at the clinic. And Agnes is tall. She’s five foot nine. Do you know what that means? Ninety-five pounds. Do you have any idea what happens to someone who’s anorexic? Do you? Their heart shrinks and they go into cardiac arrest. Do you realize that we have patients who are so weak that they can’t even raise their head? Can you even comprehend that?’

  ‘But I have never—’ Jenny ventured, her voice a whisper.

  ‘You have never—?’ he snapped. ‘Oh, right. You’ve never hurt a fly, have you? You’re lily white and fucking innocent. Don’t you get that you’re part of the whole thing when you go swishing around and posing for all those fashion photos? Do you realize what a complex you give young girls who try to live up to the image you’re projecting? And that’s exactly what you are – an image, an illusion, a dream. You’re not real. You’re a symbol for that whole stinking industry. Even worse, you’re a symbol for that bloody agency which destroyed Agnes’s life and almost succeeded in killing her. That’s why you’re going to die, you fucking, deceitful nobody. And that’s precisely what you are: a nobody, with no substance whatsoever.’

  Jenny lay still, incapable of moving a muscle, panic-stricken, listening to his strident outpouring of words.

  Then, abruptly, he stopped talking. He walked resolutely over to the door, and for a moment she hoped that he would open it and disappear. Instead, he leaned down and picked something up.

  And the next second she saw what he was holding.

  He turned to face her but stopped at the sound of loud barking from outside.

  ‘What the hell?’

  Jenny didn’t move. She was frozen in place on the floor, hardly daring to breathe. Now she remembered his name. Per. He was Agnes’s personal nurse. She had spoken a few words to him at the clinic.

  He crouched down and leaned his back against the wall. For several minutes, he merely sat there, seeming to weigh up what he should do next. He glanced at Jenny, and then apparently decided to deal with her later. He stood up and peered out of the window.

  ‘I fucking hate dogs,’ he muttered.

  He opened the door just enough to slip out as the dog growled and barked wildly.

  ‘Fucking shit!’ he shrieked, presumably because Sally had dug her teeth into him.

  Good Sally, Jenny thought. Good dog.

  She listened tensely. It lasted only a few seconds. A loud commotion, a thud against the wall, then the barking suddenly changed to a quiet whimper.

  Per came back in and gave Jenny a cold look. He was holding an axe in his hand. She saw that there was blood on it.

  ‘Don’t,’ she pleaded. ‘Please. Don’t.’

  HALF AN HOUR after Jenny had left for her walk, Sally came limping into the farmyard. Without Jenny. The dog was bleeding from a wound on her head, and her left rear paw was injured. She was in very bad shape.

  ‘What in the world …?’ cried Tina, who had just returned from the field. She climbed down from the tractor and squatted down to examine the nasty-looking wound on the dog’s head. A bloody gash, as if she’d been stabbed. The dog whimpered. Tina’s throat went dry. Where was Jenny?

  She stood up and looked in the direction her daughter had taken. The snow was really coming down, making the visibility worse every minute that passed. She could see only a few metres, and then the landscape vanished, as if in a heavy fog. Johan came out of the house.

  ‘Jenny’s not in her room. Do you know where she is?’

  ‘She was just going out for a walk,’ Tina said in bewilderment. ‘With the dog.’

  Tears began running down her face as she again fixed her eyes on the road.

  ‘Oh, good,’ said Johan, sounding relieved. ‘I was worried that she didn’t sleep here last night.’

  ‘She did. But she wanted to go out for a walk. With Sally. But now the dog is back and covered in blood. Oh, Johan, what could have happened to her?’

  Tina started to sob, tugging at the sleeve of Johan’s jacket.

  ‘Where is Jenny?’

  Before he could answer, several police cars drove into the farmyard. Jacobsson and Knutas were the first to get out. They briefly introduced themselves.

  ‘What’s going on?’ asked Jacobsson.

  ‘Jenny went out for a walk with the dog, but now the dog is back, injured and bloody,’ said Johan. ‘And Jenny is missing.’

  ‘When did she leave?’

  ‘About half an hour ago.’

  ‘Which way did she go?’

  The snow continued to fall, effectively erasing any footprints. The police spread out and set off in different directions. Knutas and Jacobsson hurried down the lane and then took the tractor path that led towards the woods, since Tina had said Jenny might have gone that way. The path had been cleared. They walked at a set distance from each other, each surveying one side of the road, but the visibility was very poor. And dusk was already settling in.

  Further along, the path divided, and they split up. Knutas took the fork into the woods. Before long, he came to an old abandoned farm. The cladding on the dilapidated buildings was grey with age, and a thick layer of snow covered the roofs. He gave a start when he saw footprints leading towards the farm. His heart started beating faster. He took out his service weapon and trudged over to the porch. But the footprints continued around the side of the farmhouse. He followed them, noticing the tracks of an animal as well. Maybe a dog. When he came to the back of the building he realized at once that someone was there. A cellar door was ajar, and light glimmered from a little window. Slowly, he crept over to the door and peeked inside. Inside the dim cellar room he saw that a candle was burning in a lantern. Jenny Levin was huddled on the floor in a corner, and Per Hermansson was pacing back and forth, hefting an axe in one hand. He was saying something that sounded almost like a chant, although Knutas couldn’t make out the words.

  He tore the door open, his gun drawn.

  ‘Police!’

  Then everything happened very fast. Per threw the axe at Knutas, who
ducked to avoid being struck. That gave Per enough time to shove him to the floor and then rush through the door. Knutas quickly got to his feet and raced after him.

  ‘Stop! Police!’

  Hermansson disappeared around the side of the house and ran into the fields. Out of the corner of his eye, Knutas saw a car parked a short distance down the road. He ran as fast as he could.

  ‘Stop!’ he repeated. ‘Or I’ll shoot!’

  The fleeing man paid no attention, just kept on running. All of sudden he was swallowed up by the twilight and the swirling snow. Knutas fired a warning shot in the air and shouted into the void, ‘Stop!’

  Clearly, he had no hope of catching up with Hermansson. He caught sight of a shadow off in the distance, then it vanished at the edge of the woods.

  Knutas ran in that direction and soon found himself among the trees. He followed a path, holding his gun in one hand, and in the other a pocket torch, which he had luckily brought along. It was easier going in the woods, since he was no longer blinded by the falling snow, and he was able to track the fresh footprints on the ground. His heart was pounding in his chest. The only sounds he heard were his own laboured breathing and branches tearing at his clothes as he moved forward. After a few minutes, he discovered drops of blood next to the footprints. Silently, he cheered. The man must be injured. Maybe the dog had bitten him.

  Suddenly, Knutas’s odds of catching the perpetrator had improved substantially. And he saw more and more blood. If he was lucky, eventually, Hermansson might be forced to stop.