CHAPTER 21
Marianne set her tray beside the sink. It was time for her half a grapefruit. For breakfast, she’d had just a soft-boiled egg and black coffee. To quell her desire for a cheese sandwich, she took four puffs on her cigarette, then left it on the side of the sink. She told herself she should be allowed to smoke during the next ten days. It wouldn’t do any more damage to her health than it already had. She just wanted to get through this diet.
She pretended the two white-chocolate nougats hadn’t happened. The grapefruit tasted sweeter than she’d expected, but her hunger didn’t diminish. She felt more frustrated than ever. She relit the rest of the cigarette and thought that if things went on like this, she’d have to buy an entire carton of Davidoffs. That would make this particular diet the most expensive one she’d tried. She comforted herself with the thought of the grilled half chicken she was allowed for lunch.
She made her way back to the library, thinking about what she’d just read. She knew that the most important information was the stuff she hadn’t seen yet—that’s the way it usually worked. Perhaps she’d have more clarity when she finished all the reports.
She changed direction and went to the bathroom, hanging up her robe there. She brushed her teeth and pulled out the scale. It revealed the same depressing weight as the day before. She shoved the scale back under the sink with a bang. Maybe it was time to buy a new one. She climbed into the bathtub and grimaced at the old shower curtain. She wondered how long it would take before she got around to buying a new one. She hoped she’d remember to write that down on her to-do list.
Once refreshed and clean, she felt hungrier than ever. She sat back down in her library armchair, angry, and poured herself another cup of black coffee. She pulled the stack of papers onto her lap, bending her legs beneath her as she reached for her pen.
An hour later, she’d been through all the material. She eyed her notes in the margins. The fact that the crime had taken place just around the corner from her home made her feel alarmed, yet fascinated. She couldn’t remember the last time something like this had taken place in her quiet neighborhood. Although she couldn’t see his face, she had no trouble placing Christopher Turin. His type was so common. The only unusual thing about him was the fact that he’d been the victim of a brutal crime. Possibly, he could be part of a financial scheme gone wrong. But it was uncommon for people in his social class to be murdered over something like that.
Marianne eyed the autopsy report. She paused at the list of personal possessions found on his body. Nothing caught her eye immediately, but she felt like something was missing. She thought for some time before she wrote on the edge of the paper:
Eyeglasses? Did he wear glasses or contact lenses? Who kills someone in this manner? Experienced killer or inexperienced? Who were his influences? Internet search: combinations of similar materials. Permission to search crime register re: this?
She placed the reports to one side and stretched her legs. The air streaming into the room was warmer now. Traffic noise came from the street below. Trucks from the harbor going straight through the city on Strandvägen were getting caught in traffic. You’d think they’d learn to take another route.
She glanced at the papers with her notes and was filled with the sense that she’d actually accomplished something. She smiled weakly to herself. She was also glad that she’d spent an entire hour not thinking about her extreme hunger. Only three more hours until she could take out that grilled chicken and wolf it down.
CHAPTER 22
Paula turned the shower faucet so the water was as hot as she could stand. Her entire body ached from last night’s activities. Her feet were blistered from her stilettos, and her genitals were sore.
She could deal with the physical pain, but as the alcohol wore off, it became more difficult to handle her ever-increasing anxiety. Flashbacks came of dancing with Knoll and Tott at Velvet; Purran’s judgmental glares; those last shots at the bar she and Lotta took directly from mens’ mouths; the walk back to Lotta’s house, which seemed at first to be a wonderful idea…for the fresh air…
Her memories from Lotta’s house were much dimmer. Knoll and Tott had practically thrown themselves at Lotta, who wasn’t at all shy about being led into bed. And the young man who’d worked in the kitchen had visited Paula. What she’d done in the tiny guest room on the attic floor was more than Paula could comprehend. She couldn’t count the times they’d had sex. They’d both been insatiable. She’d done things she didn’t even have a name for. And of course, they hadn’t used protection. All the while, they heard sounds from downstairs—of Lotta and the other men.
Paula leaned her forehead against the tiles and picked up the soap for the fifth time. She had no idea how she’d let all this happen. That she felt ashamed was an understatement. She was determined to visit her doctor as soon as she had a chance. Perhaps even today—to get all tests possible and demand the results ASAP. She’d read that you could get HIV-test results in just a day.
Then, she’d have to corral the gossip. Other women from the party witnessed some of her actions, and she and Lotta would have to devise an ironclad story. She dimly realized that Lotta and her husband may have come to an agreement about such things. Lotta had been perfectly comfortable about last night’s goings-on. She felt that Paula was overstressing. What was there to worry about? Who would ever know what they did behind closed doors?
The young man—Passi—had woken Paula up that morning. He stroked her hair and laughed when her eyes widened in shock, but they had sex again. Paula was less ashamed then, since the damage had already been done. Passi kept telling her how beautiful she was, that he loved her body.
He gave her his number as he left the guest room. She took it but felt she would never call. Just to be on the safe side, she discreetly asked Lotta if she was supposed to pay him for the night, but Lotta just laughed and patted her on the cheek. She said she had no idea that Paula had such low self-esteem. Knoll and Tott had already left, and Paula had to sit politely and listen to Lotta’s tales of her night’s adventures. Ill from both the alcohol and what she’d heard, Paula walked back up the hill to her own empty house. For once, she didn’t care about the hollow echo, or that the shoes in the hallway were in the same place she’d left them. She just went inside and turned off the alarm.
For over an hour she leaned over the toilet and vomited until there was nothing left but bile. Finally, she was able to rest for a bit on the side of the bed.
She knew she should call Jens to find out when he was coming home. She needed a plan to get through the day. She thought the sleeping pills she’d recently gotten for her insomnia might be a solution. She thought about taking another shower, but she settled on just doing a face peel. As she walked back to the bathroom, she saw the shadow of someone sitting on the toilet seat—and that shadow got up and ran out. Paula tried to scream, but the sound stuck in her throat. Then, everything went black.
CHAPTER 23
Torsten returned to his office at just after three in the afternoon. He had a strong urge for coffee, which was close to the Swedish norm. The meeting he’d attended had gone on for an eternity, and he’d had trouble keeping his eyes open. It was about the new structure they were expected to work under, and for the first half of the meeting, Torsten struggled not to explode at the idiotic suggestions. As the minutes ticked by, he turned listless. He started writing down his thoughts on the Christopher Turin case instead. He hadn’t found anything of significance, but it was good to line up his thoughts. Writing the day’s report on the case would be easier later that evening.
As he headed into his office, he was startled to see a second desk. His own desk had been cleaned, the paper piles neatly arranged. Even his pens and pencils had been gathered into a cup and set beside his computer. A lone lily adorned the windowsill, and its scent added a pleasant touch to the room.
Augustin Madrid greeted him from the
new desk.
“I didn’t get the coffee yet because I didn’t know when your meeting would end. I’ll run and get it now.”
Torsten waved his hand and said, “No, thanks—I appreciate the offer, but I can get my own coffee. There’s something I’ve forgotten in my car that I have to get, too, a report I need to take another look at.”
Torsten began searching through the well-sorted stacks of reports and tried to mask his irritation at this invasion of his desk.
“If you’re looking for Jan Brundin’s final forensic report, it’s on top of the pile closest to the computer. If you’re leaving for the day, then the report about me is right beneath it. I completely understand if you want to go over it when I’m not around.”
Torsten stared at the young officer, who was so articulate and extraordinarily polite. He wondered if the young man was playing with him.
“All right, well, thanks. I’m not leaving for the day. I’ll be back in a while.”
Torsten headed for the door with the two reports under his arm. He focused his gaze straight ahead to avoid the sight of Klaus Heikki waving from his office. Torsten needed a lot more coffee before he would be ready to talk to anyone. He was also curious to see what was in the reports, especially the one concerning his new subordinate. He grabbed the elevator before Klaus could catch up to him. Pressing the green button for the ground floor, he decided to head for the café around the corner, where he’d be able to work undisturbed.
As he stepped off the elevator, Torsten recognized two reporters from the crowd at the Narvavägen crime scene. He increased his pace so they wouldn’t see him. They seemed to be fully occupied in talking to each other. Turning his head, he caught sight of Klaus, greeting the reporters with a big smile. He hoped Klaus would be able to keep his trap shut about the Turin case. But it looked like the journalists were there to talk about last week’s motorcycle gang case. Klaus had been working in a different unit that concentrated on such crimes, and he was seen as an expert. Now Klaus was trying for a well-paid administrative post, perhaps because of all the threats he’d received the past few years. Torsten could understand that, but he still felt annoyed by him. But then, who was he to judge? Klaus wasn’t exactly a bad superior—it was just that Torsten preferred to work on his own without other people messing things up. Only Olle was capable of not interfering. Olle was never an encumbrance—he always helped figure things out. Olle was one in a million, one of the few who made Torsten’s job easier.
The café on Bergsgatan, at the corner of Pilgatan, was empty except for an older man that Torsten suspected had fallen asleep behind his newspaper. The man was making sounds suspiciously like snoring. The café’s decor was the exact opposite of the jail and the police station. Its clean, white furniture and romantic country details gave the impression of an old manor-house parlor. This was one reason Torsten made it his haunt. None of his colleagues were inclined to enter such a place, which made the café secure to think through his ideas in peace. Not to mention the baked goods, a good step above the usual plastic-wrapped stuff in other nearby cafés. Here everything was made from scratch. Even if the interior was a bit on the frilly side, Torsten felt at home.
He snagged a table by the window with his steaming-hot coffee and took a big bite of his cinnamon bun. The taste of cinnamon and melted salt butter spread through his mouth, and the pearl sugar crackled beneath his teeth. His taste buds gave him jolts of happiness. He couldn’t help taking a second bite immediately. His craving satisfied, he began to read his reports.
CHAPTER 24
When Peder had packed his bags the night before, Marianne helped him fold his clothes. The lump in her throat returned whenever she saw his suitcases. She wanted nothing more than to have all her children together. Especially now.
Before putting on her robe, she couldn’t resist quietly stepping onto that hateful scale. Peder was still in the shower. She held in her stomach, although she knew that was useless. The pointer swayed back and forth before landing at the same spot, especially if she leaned to the left. She’d have to give Chrisse a call and see if she’d really tried this diet herself. It appeared not to be working for her. Marianne donned her robe and wrote on a memo pad: SCALE! A few moments later, she added: NEW SHOWER CURTAIN! She ripped off the top sheet and placed it by the bowl with her keys. She ought to remember it there.
Hardly more than an hour later, she was waving good-bye to Peder. She tried to blink away her tears, but he’d already noticed them.
“Don’t be sad, Mamma. I’ll be back for Christmas break.”
“I know, I’m just silly. But I’ll miss you.”
“My sisters are still here, you know.”
“That doesn’t mean I won’t miss you. Are you sure you have enough money? I put enough for your rent for the next half year into your account. Promise to let me know if you need more.”
“I promise. And I’ll call when I get there. You know, I’m so happy that you’re going back to work. It’s not good for you to hang around at home.”
“You’re probably right, though it doesn’t feel good right now.”
She received his long hug, and the memory of that moment in May returned to her. Stroking his cheek with the back of her hand, she said, “Don’t forget to call if things get rough. I know I wasn’t much use while Pappa was ill, but you know that I’ll always be here for you.”
Peder nodded as he picked up his suitcases. A moment later, the door closed and he was gone. She listened to his footsteps descend the stairs. Marianne felt her nose start to run, so she went for tissues in the guest bathroom. It took her a long time to calm down. Her heart was heavy. Peder would be away for most of the next year. He would be dealing with his grief and the loss of his father all by himself, and Marianne didn’t like the thought of that at all.
She was just about to head into the kitchen and foreswear her diet when the phone rang. She ran to her bedroom to pick up.
“Marianne, is that you?”
“It is.”
“Ehn here. Torsten. May I swing by later? I’m going to see Turin’s colleague in Saltsjöbaden now—the other part owner of the firm. I’d like to hand you the report right after that. Olle will compensate you for your time since you haven’t officially started back to work. But with this case, we have to get going to stay one step ahead of the media.”
Marianne frowned while Torsten took a deep breath. Why in the world did he need to come moseying over to her place? Couldn’t he just give her a quick call when he was done? As if reading her thoughts, Torsten continued: “I know I’m being a bit presumptuous here, but I feel we need to run through all the material together before the weekend. By the time Monday rolls around, we’ll need to jump right in. You’ll be able to hit the floor running, so to speak, on your first day back.”
Marianne paused before replying. “Okay, but when will you be dropping by?”
After they hung up, Marianne sat down heavily on her bed. She had no desire to get dressed or have anyone in her apartment. She just wanted peace and quiet, to be alone until evening fell. She had planned to sit in her kitchen and drink wine and feel her sorrow over the fact that her son had just left for Australia. Peder had been home for three weeks before Hans died, and then he’d stayed on through the rest of the summer. The nights he’d gone out with friends, her daughter Nina had stayed in the house and slept in the big double bed beside her—although Marianne said that was unnecessary. Perhaps they were overly concerned, but it still had made her feel better. It had even become a little frustrating that she never had a moment to herself. Now, all she wanted was to gorge on her own unhappiness this Friday afternoon—alone. But this Torsten Ehn guy was going to come over and stuff information into her head. She wouldn’t be able to get it back out, either—she’d ruminate on it all weekend. Still, what he’d said about being able to jump in feet first was taking root. She had enough of a need to be in contr
ol that being a step ahead was appealing.
Tired, she headed for the bathroom. Perhaps she’d offer Torsten Ehn some of the leftovers from last night’s dinner. He’d been so eager yesterday, sniffing the casserole in the oven. She didn’t wait for the water to entirely heat up and just contented herself with a lukewarm shower.
CHAPTER 25
Paula was sitting with a bath towel wrapped tightly around her when she heard Jens open the front door. She didn’t bother to get up. She no longer had any feeling in her lower body, and she was so cold, her teeth were chattering. Jens’s sharp steps in the hallway showed his irritation. She closed her eyes. She didn’t think she could endure being yelled at. How could she ever get Jens to understand what she was going through? The problem was that he didn’t want to understand. She didn’t move when he banged on the bathroom door, yelling at her to open up. She didn’t answer even when his anger turned to concern and he called her name. When he was finally able to spring the lock from the other side of the door, he was both worried and angry.
“What the hell is going on with you, Paula? You can’t behave like this! What if the children had been here?”
Paula let him circle his arms around her body and try to rock her. Perhaps she’d let herself fall into this fear because the children were gone. Maybe she needed to feel small and childlike.
Jens pulled her to her feet and led her to the bedroom. He carefully laid her down on the bed. The cover he tucked around her body smelled comforting and familiar. She wished he would lie down beside her. Instead, he sat on the edge of the bed and patted her cheek tenderly.
A Small Indiscretion Page 11