A Small Indiscretion

by Denise Rudberg

  The victim was in the middle of a pedestrian crosswalk on Narvavägen, in front of King Oscar’s Church, not far from Torsten’s own apartment.

  An older officer walked up to Torsten. “What are you doing here?” he said.

  Torsten noticed that the officer had put on weight. He also looked more tired and worn than usual.

  “Olle Lundqvist sent me.”

  “Damn nice of him. We need all the help we can get. By the way, you just missed him. I don’t think he wanted to deal with that crowd.”

  The officer motioned toward a group of journalists crowding together with cameras and microphones.

  Torsten hadn’t expected that, but he kept his surprise in check. He and Olle shared the same instincts when it came to talking to the media. They knew what to tell and what to hold back. They were not about to jeopardize a case.

  Torsten pulled up his jacket’s zipper and said, “I might as well get to work. What do you have to show me?”

  “He’s lying over there. Jan is doing his best to keep the crowd back.”

  Jan Brundin was the head forensic expert for the National Police. Torsten wondered if Olle had called him in, too, or if he’d been requested by the local police. In his field, he was the best in the country. The fact that he was here at all showed this was no ordinary hit-and-run.

  “Hi there, Jan. What’s up? Do we know who this is?”

  “His name is Christopher Turin. He lives right in that apartment building. Luckily, his family is away, so they didn’t have to witness this. We’ve reached his wife in Mallorca, who’s there with their three children. He’s some kind of big-shot finance executive.”

  “How old is he?”

  “He was born in 1964.”

  “So, just about fifty.”

  “Yeah. He works in the stock market, I believe.”

  “Any skid marks?”

  “No, but the tire tracks show a fast start. I believe someone was in a car waiting for him to come home—just to run him over.”

  “Any witnesses?”

  “Not that I know of yet, but at four in the morning there weren’t too many folks out and about. Maybe we can find a newspaper-delivery person. There’s hardly a soul in Östermalm after nine in the evening.”

  “So what was he doing out at four in the morning? Especially after a Sunday night? He’d hardly been to a bar or a party.”

  “No idea—I’m not up on the lifestyle of these people. I’ll test his alcohol level. Or whether he was under the influence of drugs.”

  “Anything else? I have to talk to the vultures.”

  “My sympathies. How’d you get roped into that? I thought the local police would be taking on the media.”

  “So did I, but Olle asked me to do it.”

  “Must be a sensitive case. Whenever shit goes down in this neighborhood, it’s a big deal. If this had been a hit-and-run in the poor suburbs south of Söder, we sure wouldn’t be there.”

  “You’re right about that.”

  Jan got to his feet and stretched his arms over his head. He turned his head so his neck cracked. He shook his shoulders and looked thoughtful.

  “The first thing I thought was that he was leaving his home, but it looks like he was just coming back. I also think he was run over more than once. They backed up over him just to be sure.”

  Torsten looked at Jan in surprise. “So, first they hit him straight on, then backed over him again?”

  “Sure looks like it.”

  Torsten wrinkled his forehead. “I’d better deal with the media. Can you call me when you get lab results? Are you going to take a long lunch?”

  “No, I’ll have something quick at the office. I’ll call you as soon as I have something.”

  Torsten gazed down at the sheet covering the victim, grateful that the victim’s children were spared this sight. He ran his hands through his hair and massaged his temples. He would need to weigh each word he said with care—the journalists would be more bloodthirsty than usual. The victim was a wealthy, upper-crust man, which usually aroused speculations. Certainly, if this had happened in Rinkeby or Södertälje, the press wouldn’t have bothered to show up.

  “Do you have any witnesses? What kind of car are you looking for?”

  “Our investigation is at an early stage. Our forensic experts need to run some tests. We’ll make sure to give you the information once we have it.”

  “What can you tell us about the victim?”

  “Not much at the moment, out of respect for the family. We can tell you that the victim was in his upper forties and lived in this neighborhood.”

  The vultures scribbled in their notebooks, and Torsten saw his chance to leave.

  “You’re welcome to come to the station as soon as we’ve finished our reports. Right now our investigation points toward fatal hit-and-run. I have to leave now, so thanks for your time.”

  He bowed slightly and turned away as quickly as he could. Reporters yelled questions at his back, but he was used to keeping his ears shut. If he let them, they’d keep him talking nonsense for hours. Sometimes he thought they stayed in the field as long as they could—it was a good excuse for avoiding their editors and dull colleagues back at their boring offices. He smiled at his own analysis while waving to Jan Brundin. Jan was packing up his portable laboratory case, and Torsten knew that when Jan called with lab results, he’d invite him to go out on his boat before autumn really set in. Since Jan had no family, he was just as flexible as Torsten. They could be spontaneous, letting the weather decide their course.

  CHAPTER 4

  Paula Steen tied the laces of her jogging shoes into double knots and checked her cell phone. She’d planned to run her short route but then decided she felt energetic enough to take the long one. That way, she’d be able to have bread with lunch. She really hungered for bread. Usually, she could resist carbs, but having so much wine the night before had made her crave them. Her friend Lotta would probably suggest they each have a cinnamon bun. Paula usually crumbled hers into bits. She never understood how Lotta could be so cavalier about food. Lotta was thinner than she was and had four kids. She ought to have gained weight. Instead, she usually ate big portions and didn’t seem to gain anything at all. Paula suspected that Lotta’s doctor prescribed weight-loss pills. Probably someone with a generous prescription pad in Spain, where Lotta and her husband had a summer house.

  She tapped in the code to their alarm and listened to the familiar melody, hurrying outside and securing the two locks on the front door. Jens had thought an alarm system was unnecessary, but he changed his mind when a neighbor’s two cars and riding mower were stolen. Paula had been afraid at night for as long as she could remember—and now she couldn’t even imagine sleeping in a house without the protection of an alarm system. She had no explanation for her fear of the dark. And she was somewhat ashamed of it, especially when Jens would say she was passing her irrational fear to their girls. She worked hard at keeping her feelings under control, and the alarm system helped her stay calm.

  Paula ran down the gravel path, adjusting the watch on her arm. The water of Svalnäs Bay was tinged gray with small whitecaps, even though the wind wasn’t blowing that strong.

  Before Jens had left for work that morning, she’d asked if they could have dinner in the city for a change. He’d shaken his head and said he had Japanese customers in the afternoon, and he was expected to have dinner with them afterward. She asked desperately if she could come, too. Jens had smiled and patted her on the cheek, telling her it was better if she stayed home, just in case the girls got homesick at the neighbors’ country place. Paula agreed. The girls had actually done that before, and they’d had to rush to pick them up from a friend’s house in the middle of the night. At any rate, she and Jens would have the rest of the weekend together.

  Paula sped up to pass two teenage girls wal
king and laughing together. Seeing them made her miss her childhood friends in Gothenburg. Only one had moved to Stockholm, and she wasn’t exactly one of her closest friends. She lived in Saltsjöbaden on the other side of town. Her other friends lived in Gothenburg suburbs—Särö or Örgryte—and had summer houses in Marstrand.

  Paula once tried to convince Jens to look into renting a summer house on Marstrand, but he refused to even consider it. He had no intention of spending his free time in what he considered the backwaters of Sweden. He even had trouble with people from the city of Gothenburg. She’d smiled then and asked why he married one if he found them so disagreeable. Jens snorted and said he’d cured her of her small-town ways.

  As Paula started toward home, sweat slid into her eyes. She pressed herself up the steep hill, and her legs shook from the effort.

  The old embankment here was eroding, and she wondered when the district would come and fix it. They’d promised they would. The trees beside it were huge, and the undergrowth was so thick that it was impossible to see through. Paula was uncomfortable having such dense shrubbery so close to their house, especially for the girls. Who knows what might be hiding in there? She heard rustling as she passed by, but she didn’t stop. She opened her front gate and rushed to her front door. When she turned around to look back, the rustling stopped. She had to collect herself. Being too neurotic wasn’t an attractive trait. She took a deep breath and scolded herself, trying to keep her nerves in check.

  Just then, she saw a shadow move behind her bedroom curtain. Someone was on the second floor.

  CHAPTER 5

  The medical complex on Odenplan was fourteen stories high. The last time Marianne had seen her gynecologist, her office was in a narrow, one-way street in Gärdet and decorated like an apartment. These days, her gynecologist worked only a few days a week, so she’d sold her practice and rented an office here.

  Marianne squirmed when her name was called. She put down her magazine and was escorted to the examination room. No one else in the waiting room bothered to look up.

  “You can sit here. Dr. Lundström will be right with you.”

  Marianne sat down and set her purse on the floor. She felt around her gums with her tongue and wondered if her breath smelled as bad as it tasted. Still, she wasn’t visiting the dentist.

  “Hello, Marianne! It’s been a while!”

  Marianne jumped to her feet to shake hands. Her doctor was a thin woman her own age with blonde hair—the same shade as when she’d taken Marianne as a patient six weeks after Peder was born.

  “Yes, I’m sorry. Things have been crazy at home.”

  “I understand. Still, getting tests done is important, and it’s been a few years.”

  Marianne sighed. “I know. But this spring my husband passed away with prostate cancer.”

  “I’m so sorry to hear that. You must have been through a difficult time. Well, it’s been six years since you were here last. You weighed 140 pounds and you had a chlamydia test and a Pap smear. I also did a manual breast exam. Always a good thing to do, even if you get a mammogram. I suggest we do the same today. Please get undressed, and we’ll get started. You can put your clothes on the stool behind the screen.”

  Marianne opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out. Dr. Lundström looked at her over her glasses.

  “Is there something you’d like to ask? Something else we should talk about?”

  “Well…I haven’t had sex since the last time I was here, so maybe the chlamydia test is unnecessary.”

  The doctor looked at her in surprise and placed her hands, palms down, on her desk. “Since chlamydia can be latent, I think we should go ahead with the test anyway, as long as you’re here. I say the same thing to all the women I see. Why don’t you go ahead and get on the scale.”

  Marianne went behind the screen and took off her clothes, but she left her panties on. She shivered as she stood on the glass plate of the scale. The merciless digital numbers on the screen showed 180 pounds.

  Dr. Lundström typed the result into her computer. Then she asked Marianne to sit down on the examination table without her panties.

  “If you wiggle a little closer, it’ll be easier for me to reach. First, I’ll do the chlamydia test. You’ll feel a little pressure as I poke around. There we go. Now, the Pap smear. It’ll pinch a little, as you know. Relax and take a deep breath, please…good. That’s done. Now I’m going to take a look around. Well, what have we here? Are you aware that you still have your IUD?”

  Marianne was surprised. “What? That’s still there?”

  She repressed a giggle. It reminded her of the first time she’d visited a gynecologist as an innocent seventeen-year-old, about to take her first lover.

  “Yes, it’s nice and snug, but I think we can remove it. There we go. Now I’m going to take a look with the ultrasound. We just want to make sure there are no unfortunate surprises on the ovaries.”

  The doctor pressed on Marianne’s pelvis, and with a practiced hand she slid the ultrasound wand into Marianne’s vagina. Marianne rested her gaze on the ceiling and tried to relax while Dr. Lundström looked at her and smiled.

  “Well, Marianne, everything seems to be in good shape. Nothing unusual. You can get down now, and you’ll find some tissues behind the screen if you need to dry off.”

  Dr. Lundström snapped off her latex gloves and walked back to her desk. Marianne spied the IUD discarded in a steel bowl. She hurried to dress and then sat back down on the visitor’s chair.

  “Well, Marianne, everything looks just fine. I’ll let you know the test results as soon as they come in. How are things with your menstruation? Are you still having your periods?”

  “No, they stopped over a year ago.”

  “Have you had any issues with menopause?”

  “Not really. I had some hot flashes a few years back, but not enough to be bothersome.”

  “That’s great. Many women have more difficulty going through the change. There’s one thing I have to tell you, though, quite honestly. You’ve put on a great deal of weight. This is not good at your age.”

  Marianne felt her cheeks get hot and her heart speed up. She stared at the thin woman on the other side of the desk who’d just scolded her. She wanted to defend herself, but she didn’t know how. Dr. Lundström didn’t even look up from her screen.

  “I suggest you work hard to lose the weight now. I know it sounds harsh, but I mean it in the most helpful way. You shouldn’t weigh this much. It’s especially hard on the body after menopause. This kind of weight can even cause problems such as incontinence. I suggest you contact your general practitioner for a prescription to help you.”

  “Diet pills?”

  “There are many medications to choose from these days.”

  Marianne shook her head. “No, thank you. I’ll try to lose the weight myself. I’m going back to work again, so I’ll be moving around more. That should make things easier.”

  “Well, then, good luck. If you change your mind and want some help, just contact me or your general doctor. And make sure you add an exercise routine. We women suffer from osteoporosis. You can’t skip exercise if you want to stay healthy.”

  They exchanged good-byes, and Marianne walked back into the waiting room. She took her coat from the hanger and felt odd, thinking it strange that most of the examination focused on her weight. Was it really all that bad that she’d put on some extra pounds? As she walked home along Odengatan, she got upset. She did her best to not look at the pastry displays in the coffee shops and fight the urge to devour an entire Princess cake in pure protest. She didn’t know how to shake the rage she felt. Preparing a family dinner now was the last thing she wanted to do.

  She caught sight of her reflection in a display window. Her stomach protruded from her coat, and she could see a few bulges over her belt. She knew that her flat shoes gave h
er legs a stubby look, but still…she sighed. She already had enough to handle. How would she find the energy to deal with losing weight, too?

  CHAPTER 6

  Café Gateau was filled to bursting despite it being a Thursday. The patrons weren’t harried workers checking their watches to get back to the office on time. Rather, this was a different clientele altogether: flawless women in their thirties and forties in colorful sweaters over tight jeans, wearing well-worn sneakers or Crocs in all the colors of the rainbow. Their fingers boasted glittering wedding rings, and their wrinkle-free faces were used to the most expensive creams. Very few wore makeup, and their hair was well taken care of—combed back and set up in ponytails.

  Each had ordered her own special: a no-foam latte with soy, or a cheese sandwich with extra green pepper, no butter. Could you be so kind and cut the cinnamon bun into thirds? Are you sure you don’t have any liver pâté this morning? Could you have someone go procure some from the deli? Do you have lactose-free skim milk? Please give me a decaf latte with whole milk—and make it just hot enough so I can still hold the cup. Let me tell you how they make lattes in Italy…

  The special of the day was croque monsieur. Paula thought long and hard about whether to order it but decided no, at the last possible moment. Instead, she ordered a sandwich made of half a rye bun with ham and no butter. She ordered her latte with whole milk—she couldn’t stand the aftertaste of soy—and she decided to satisfy her hunger with a bit of mustard on her ham. Lotta had ordered the croque monsieur, and she smiled down at her plate.

  “This looks wonderful! Why don’t we each have a cinnamon bun, too? They look so good today.”