The Dangerous Game (36 page)

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.

Abruptly, the trail he was following ended. The young man must have veered to the right, going deeper into the woods. Knutas paused for a moment to catch his breath. The silence was broken by the sound of wailing police sirens off in the distance. Thank God, reinforcements were on the way. The police dogs would find Hermansson in no time. Knutas shone the beam of his torch on the spot where the footprints had vanished among the trees. He flinched as he heard rustling sound only a few metres away. He stopped, listened intently, unaware of the cold. He noticed a dark silhouette in among the trees. That was where he was hiding.

Knutas took a few cautious steps in that direction. Hermansson no longer had the axe, but he might have other weapons. Maybe even a gun. Knutas knew that the killer must have seen him by now and was probably watching him approach. The beam of his torch could be seen from far away. So there was no longer any need for silence.

‘Per!’ he shouted into the darkness. ‘How are you doing? Are you injured?’

No reply. No sound except his own breathing. And, in the distance, the slamming of car doors. A crow cawing. A faint rustling in the trees. The snow was still coming down, but it was caught by the branches of the spruce and pine trees.

‘You need help, Per,’ Knutas said. ‘You’re injured. I can see that you’re bleeding.’

He waited a moment. Suddenly, he saw that Per was very close.

‘Put down your gun,’ he heard a tense voice say from behind the trees.

‘The police are here,’ Knutas told him. ‘The roads are blocked. We know who you are. You took care of Agnes, and she was very fond of you. We know that. Everyone at the clinic said that the two of you had a special relationship. But now Agnes is gone. It’s time to give up, Per.’

A brief silence.

‘Gone?’ said the voice hollowly. ‘What do you mean, Agnes is gone?’

Knutas felt his blood run cold. Per had no idea that Agnes was dead. A shiver ran down his spine. He didn’t know anything about it!

‘Agnes was found dead this morning in her bed at the hospital. She was murdered. Smothered to death.’

Silence.

After a moment, a man stepped forward, his face pale among the trees. A man holding his hands in the air, staggering towards Knutas, dragging one leg behind him. A man with a look of hopeless despair in his eyes, his lips quivering as he tried to speak. Finally, he managed a whisper, barely audible.

‘Dead? Agnes is dead?’

‘I’m afraid so.’

At that moment, Knutas forgot that he was standing face to face with a murderer. He saw before him a young man whose expression openly revealed his grief. His eyes displayed a sorrow so deep and so heavy it almost felled him to the ground. Per Hermansson shook his head, slowly at first, then with increasing vigour.

His scream started far away, then surged up through his throat and out. A wail that resounded through the dark, silent woods.

THE FLAT IN
the seaside town of Hammarby was right on the water, at the foot of Hammarby Terrace, with a view of Södermalm on the other side. She went into the kitchen to make coffee. She took the latest photo album from the bookshelf in the living room before she sat down at the kitchen table. She listened to the laboured hissing and gurgling of the coffeemaker as the water dripped through the filter.

She opened the album, which was bound in black leather. It had been expensive, but the contents were worth it. This was her favourite album. Hers and Rikard’s. Tears filled her eyes as she looked at the pictures. She’d always cried easily. There was a photo of Rikard smiling at her. It was taken last summer. He was suntanned, wearing shorts and a checked shirt with short sleeves, standing on the dock on the island of Ljuströ. They’d been island-hopping for a week, seeing Stockholm’s archipelago together. There he was, sitting on a rock in the evening. How handsome he was. A real man. And there they were together. They had asked the waitress to take their picture in the restaurant where they were having dinner.

To think that, just yesterday, she had almost torn up all these photos. Luckily, Rikard had phoned and stopped her. There was still hope for them. Especially now. Since it was just the two of them. She had done what she had to do. Agnes was keeping her from the love of her life, the man she had finally found. And, besides, the girl didn’t really want to live. Everything was going to be fine. She felt very calm inside. What a difference compared to how she’d felt on New Year’s Eve. For the thousandth time they had quarrelled about Agnes. As usual, Rikard’s spoilt and obstinate daughter was standing in their way.

But then she had pulled herself together. Seen an opportunity, now that the police were still hunting for a murderer. And she’d known for a long time who he was.

Late in the afternoon on New Year’s Eve she had gone to the clinic with a gift for Per. But she didn’t go home. She found a patient’s room that wasn’t being used over the holiday, and that was where she hid. The rest had been easy. She was quite pleased with herself. She had removed what was hindering their happiness. She knew that she could handle this. She’d always been able to get herself out of tight spots. She had the power to govern her own life. And Rikard would be more dependent on her than ever. Now that he had no one else.

She got up and poured herself some coffee. Then she took out the box of Aladdin chocolates that had been in the fridge since Christmas.

She felt like treating herself to something sweet after all she’d been through.

She had just eaten the first chocolate praline when the doorbell rang. Her heart leapt with joy. Was he already here? She patted her hair and cast a quick glance in the mirror before she went into the front hall to open the door. She was so impatient she forgot to look through the peephole, as she usually did. She opened the door to find two people standing there. She didn’t know either of them. One held out a police ID.

‘Police. Are you Katarina Hansell?’

This story is entirely fictional. Any similarities between the characters in the novel and actual individuals are coincidental. Occasionally, I have taken artistic liberties to change things for the benefit of the story. This includes the pre-press process of a fashion magazine, Swedish TV’s regional coverage, and a few other things. The settings used in the book are usually described as they exist in reality, although there are some exceptions.

Any errors that may have slipped into the story are mine alone.

First and foremost, I would like to thank my husband, journalist Cenneth Niklasson, who is my most important sounding board, for all his support and love. And my wonderful children Rebecka (Bella) and Sebastian, who are warm rays of sunshine in my life.

Also thanks to:

Sofia Åkerman, author and lecturer

Isabelle Kågelius

Lovisa Carlsson

Åsa Sieurin

Ankie Sahlin, Mando Anorexia Clinic, Huddinge Hospital

Maria Bejhem, supervisor, Capio Anorexia Centre, Löwenströmska Hospital

Magnus Frank, detective superintendent with Visby police

Martin Csatlos, the Forensic Medicine Laboratory in Solna

Johan Gardelius, detective inspector with Visby police

Ulf Åsgård, psychiatrist

Lena Allerstam, journalist

Johan Hellström, owner of Furillen

Jenny Mardell, agent and model scout, the Stockholm Group

Emma Sahlin, stylist, fashion editor,
Damernas Värld

Haddy Foon, model

Lina Montanari, Grand Hotel

Lars and Marianne Nobell, Gannarve farm, Gotland

A big thanks to all the professional staff at Albert Bonniers Förlag – especially my publishers Jonas Axelsson and Lotta Aquilonius, and my editor, Ulrika Åkerlund.