The Game Trilogy (12 page)

Or a test …

Only a very small number of people are qualified for this level …

They had tested him to see if he had what it took. If he could handle the storms up on the summit.

And the result, ladies and gentlemen?

He had fucked up.

Big time.

‘Okay Rebecca, we’ve been through the details a couple of times now, but could you say a bit more about how you feel?’

She had to stop herself from looking up at the ceiling. How she felt?

Standard-issue psycho-babble of the sort she’d heard so many times before, and it had never led to anything positive.

Did he really want to hear the truth?

That she felt like shit?

And even if she was entirely honest and told her whole story, and turned her feelings, thoughts and reflections inside out – was that going to help? Could it make everything undone? Hardly, so she’d have to pull out the tried and tested mask.

‘Thanks, but I feel fine, in myself,’ she managed to say, with something that was supposed to be a helpful smile.

She glanced at the time, twenty minutes or so since they started the debriefing talk, and she’d be lucky to get away with anything less than half an hour.

It had been Rebecca who’d insisted on the eight o’clock
appointment. She wanted to get the conversation with Anderberg out of the way, so she could head over to Maria Trappgränd before her layabout brother had even opened his eyes …

Anderberg sighed and leafed through his notes.

‘Have you had a chance to talk to anyone else about what happened? Friends, family, colleagues, maybe?’

He looked at her over his narrow glasses.

‘No,’ she said, slightly too abruptly, then realized her mistake at once and tried to correct herself. ‘No, I haven’t had time to talk to anyone yet, it only happened last night, after all, and I wanted to see you first.’

A little smile to top off the lie ought to do the trick?

Nice save! Anderberg was thinking.

A smart girl, this one, but not smart enough to catch him out, at least not the day after such a traumatic experience as the one she’d just been through. A car crash and her partner in intensive care, that wasn’t the sort of thing you could just shrug off.

This was the second time in just a couple of weeks that they’d met, and his earlier concerns about Rebecca Normén hadn’t exactly decreased. As far as he understood it, she had once again acted in an irreproachable manner, but this time she didn’t seem anywhere near as composed.

In contrast to their previous conversation, this time she sounded mostly like a robot, as though she were on autopilot. That wasn’t a good sign. If he couldn’t get her to open up and let go of some of her feelings now, things would look very different and his report would be considerably easier to write. He’d seen tougher officers than her snap as a result of unprocessed experiences, and he had no desire to add Rebecca’s name to that tragic list.

‘But you do have someone you can talk to if you need
to? Sometimes it can take a few days after an experience like this, then suddenly a whole load of things come bubbling up. You can have my number, of course, but it’s important to be able to talk to other people, above all family and friends,’ he went on.

She nodded mutely.

‘But you don’t have any problems on that front?’

He looked at her again over the rim of his glasses.

She took a deep breath and made an effort to sound composed.

‘No, I don’t.’

Anderberg nodded and leafed through his notes again.

‘You’ve got a Henrik Pettersson listed as your closest relative. Is that your partner?’

She was on the point of jumping out of her chair! Anderberg wasn’t stupid, that much was clear.

A bit of harmless chat and then bang, straight to her weak point. Evidently her usual defence wasn’t working, so she had to choose her words carefully …

Another deep breath. Careful now, Normén!

‘Henrik’s my brother. Normén was Mum’s maiden name, I took it after …’ She bit her lip involuntarily.

‘… she passed away,’ she concluded, with what she hoped was a sad smile.

The psychologist nodded.

‘So you’re close to your brother?’

‘Not any more,’ slipped out of her mouth.

Shit, the lack of sleep and headache were taking their toll, and Anderberg wasn’t just anyone. Today it was unusually difficult to keep her guard up, mainly because in her mind she was already knocking on Henrik’s door. She had to regroup and try a new tactic.

‘Do you feel like talking about it?’

Anderberg had evidently caught a scent of something. She had to tread carefully now.

She shrugged to give herself a couple more seconds to think. What the hell could she say?

No, dear shrink, I don’t feel like telling you about my useless petty criminal little brother who doesn’t give a shit about anything and wrecks everything he touches, but to whom I’m going to be in debt for the rest of my life.

‘Things were pretty tough when we were growing up,’ she said instead, hoping that a few serious but now harmless confidences would throw him off track.

Anderberg nodded encouragingly, evidently interested.

‘Well, to start with it was mainly Dad, I suppose. But after a while he dragged Mum down with him, you could say. Especially after she got ill.’

She took a deep breath before going on.

‘Dad was pretty unusual. He was quite a bit older than Mum when they got married. It was his flat and he already had his set routines. Everything had to be exactly the way he wanted, down to the smallest detail, and Dad would get furious about the tiniest things. A set of keys in the wrong place or a mark on the bathroom mirror were enough to set him off. When he was home the rest of us had to tiptoe around so as not to make him angry or upset,’ she said. ‘Henke, my little brother, is three years younger than me. When things were bad at least we had each other. I used to protect him, comfort him, and take him out so that things could calm down. I suppose you could say we provided each other with a bit of stability.’

She smiled unconsciously.

‘I used to take him with me whenever I could, I didn’t want him to be left at home alone with Dad. You never knew what might happen, and if anything did happen, for some reason my little brother would always get the
blame, maybe because he was smallest and weakest. Dad didn’t exactly hold back, especially not after a few drinks, and even if Mum did her best she never really dared to stand up to him and take our side when there was trouble. She probably had to deal with enough of his moods as it was … But Dad never laid a finger on me, on the other hand. I was safe, somehow, men of his generation didn’t hit little girls, so maybe that’s why I started trying to protect Henke?’ She shrugged her shoulders and caught Anderberg’s nod of encouragement.

He had evidently taken the bait. But to her surprise she also discovered that she didn’t have any problem going on …

‘Henke was very patient, always tagging along, never complaining, even if he mostly had to play girls’ games. Sometimes he got to be the doll while I and the other girls in the block dressed him up. Mummy, Daddy, baby and all that … All the stuff we weren’t getting at home.’

She smiled again and looked down at her lap thoughtfully.

The psychologist didn’t push her; actually he was looking quite pleased.

It was ironic really, that everything she had tried to hide so far had turned into the perfect smokescreen now. A new line of defence now that the old one seemed to have crumbled. She hadn’t talked about this for … well, it must be thirteen years now, and it felt pretty good to let it out.

A quick glance at the time, twenty-five minutes done. Now she just had to round this off and catch the southbound underground train. Get back into the saddle.

‘But you’ve had less contact since you grew up?’

His tone was friendly, more supportive than questioning.

She nodded in confirmation.

‘Yes, I’m afraid we lost a bit of our connection when I moved out. Dad had died suddenly the previous year and Henke was sixteen by then, so it felt fairly safe to leave him with Mum. It’s true she was also fairly ill by then and spent most of her time in bed. But I’d met a boy and we moved in together. First love and all that.’

She shrugged her shoulders in an effort to appear nonchalant.

‘I suppose I’d been managing the household pretty much alone, and looking after Mum as well, so I thought it was Henke’s turn to take more responsibility now that Dad was out of the picture … My boyfriend and I sorted out a flat for them on Södermalm, near Mariatorget. Less space and closer to the hospital. And visits from home-help to make things easier. I was in love and I was in a hurry to get away, let go of the responsibility once and for all. I let myself get caught up in my relationship with Dag instead, and Henke probably felt a bit left out. Like I’d abandoned him. After all, he was used to having me there, the two of us against the world. And he didn’t exactly get on with my boyfriend, so …’

She stopped herself. This was dangerous territory, best not to get tangled up in a load of unnecessary lies.

‘In any case, it only lasted a couple of years, then Mum died of cancer. Henke’s still living in the flat, but our relationship never really recovered … You could say that we’re working on it …’ she concluded with a settled expression.

Most of what she’d said was actually true. From a purely technical point of view, she hadn’t lied, just withheld certain details. The question was whether the story held up?

Anderberg nodded in empathy, evidently happy with the confidences he had managed to elicit.

‘So you still see each other, you and Henrik?’

‘Of course,’ she replied, with a smile of relief. ‘In fact, I’m going to see him once we’re done here.’

… and I’m going to wring his bloody neck! she added silently to herself.

Whoever was ringing on his doorbell was a stubborn bastard. He’d tried pulling the pillow over his head, pretending he wasn’t home so the fucker would go away. But oh no. The idiot out there was worse that any Jehovah’s Witness. He or she was pressing the bell at painful, almost tortuous intervals, and had been doing so for at least ten minutes already. HP had had plenty of time to keep track.

First ten seconds of insistent ringing, rrrrrrriiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnggggggg!

Then ten seconds’ pause.

Then once more, rrrrrrriiiiiiiinnnnnnnngggggggg!

It was driving him mad. In the end he had no choice but to go and open up.

Red-faced and wearing just a pair of jogging pants that he fished up from a chair on the way, he angrily opened the door to give the bastard a piece of his mind. And a moment later, without him quite understanding what had happened, he was lying flat on his back on the hall rug.

Anderberg had bought her new defensive tactic, hook, line and sinker … There was nothing that worked better with shrinks than a bit of tragic childhood. The psychiatrist had been overjoyed at the unexpected turn the conversation had taken. He had praised her honesty, called her a strong person and agreed to let her return to duty the following week. A few days of rest would suit her fine, it would give her time to get a few little things sorted out …

It took her almost ten minutes to get him out of bed.
It had been enough to open the letterbox slightly and listen to the sounds in the flat to know that he was at home. Even if the bedroom was at the far end of the flat, the distance wasn’t far enough for anyone to mistake the sound of snoring.

She’d used the tried and tested police tactic with the doorbell: ten seconds ringing, ten silence, then more ringing.

No-one could put up with that for long.

She heard him come padding out into the hall and moved to the side to escape the peephole. As she had guessed, he was planning to throw the door open, and seeing as she was already holding the handle on the outside it didn’t take much to let him start to open it, then give it a serious tug from her side and bring him lurching into the stairwell. Then, while he was still shocked and trying to regain his balance, all she had to do was shove him gently in the chest to send him flying back onto the hall rug.

A quick stride in and she could pull the door closed behind her.

Basic police tactics, exercise 1A.

‘What the fuck are you doing, Becca?’ he whined when he had got to his feet and worked out who the intruder was.

‘I could ask you the same thing,’ she said curtly and gestured towards the kitchen.

‘Have you got any coffee in the flat, or do you spend all your money on other plant products?’

She’d already picked up the sweet smell of hash from the flat through the letterbox.

He didn’t answer, just walked into the kitchen ahead of her and started rattling about in the sink.

‘Will Nescafe do?’ he muttered, waving a brown glass jar.

‘Not really, but okay,’ she replied, shoving a pile of old
Metros
off one of the kitchen chairs.

She saw that the flat was a complete mess. Clothes and all sorts of other stuff piled up in heaps. Old newspapers, full ashtrays and dirty glasses practically everywhere she looked. The walls and ceiling were yellow with cigarette smoke, and the greasy, overflowing plastic washing-up bowl in the sink told her it was a long time since any washing-up had been done. This was a couple of degrees worse, even, than Mum’s final days. It looked like a junkie’s squat, with the possible exception of the flatscreen television and the computer she had glimpsed in the living room.

How the hell could he live in this sort of filth?

‘So … how are you, sis?’ he asked a few minutes later, feebly and less grouchily as he served them instant coffee in mismatched mugs.

‘Depends what you mean,’ she replied abruptly. ‘Life in general or my current state of health?’

‘Er … you know,’ he nodded towards the plasters on her head. ‘After the crash, I mean.’

She sighed.

‘Oh, I’m okay, thanks for asking. A bit of a headache, some minor bruising and a few days off sick, but that’s pretty much it.’

‘And your partner?’

Her eyes narrowed but she couldn’t miss the embarrassed tone of his question. He certainly seemed concerned, almost for real.

‘A bit better, thanks, I called this morning and he’s making progress. Looks like he’s going to make it.’