Buzz: A Thriller (21 page)

“HELLO?”

“Hello, my friend.”

“Oh, it’s you. Has the problem been solved?”

“Not quite, but we’re working hard on it . . . Very hard . . .”

“Hi, how’s it going for our golden boy? Is he behaving himself?”

“It’s going brilliantly. Mange is a natural! Three days here and he already knows how to do everything.”

Halil slapped him on the shoulder and reluctantly he stopped what he was doing, pushed his chair away from the desk, and turned toward Rilke.

“It’s pretty good, actually,” he replied. “Brilliant fun, but I’ve got a way to go before I reach the blog-queen’s level.”

He winked at his supervisor and Halil gestured as if to wave off the compliment.

“Great!” Rilke replied. “I thought we could have lunch, if you’re hungry?”

“Sure,” he said, getting up from his chair. “Where do you want to go?”

“Hötorget,” Rilke replied, glancing briefly at the other woman.

“I was thinking of getting a late lunch, but you go ahead,” Halil said quickly, then went back to her computer.

“Looks like it’s just you and me, then, Mange.” Rilke smiled.

♦  ♦  ♦

That same feeling again! For the umpteenth time in the past few days she stopped short and looked over her shoulder. But just as on every previous occasion there was no one there.

Well, that wasn’t exactly true . . .

There were loads of people there, she was in the city center after all. People on their way to work, window-shopping, walking their dogs, talking on their cells.

Woolly hats, thick coats, gloves—plumes of steam rising from people’s mouths as they trudged on through the December darkness. All with their own agenda and not a single one of them who looked more suspicious than anyone else.

But she still felt like she was being watched. As if some stranger’s gaze was boring into her back, making her feel . . . exposed.

Presumably that was because of the text:

I’ve got my eye on you—just so you know!

♦  ♦  ♦

When he and Rilke got back from their long lunch something seemed to have happened. There was a feeling of anxiety in the air and the usually quiet office was humming with voices. Philip, Eliza Poole, and a woman HP didn’t know were standing and talking in the open area by the reception desk, and people from the various departments were slowly gathering around them.

For a few seconds HP wondered if this was something to do with him, if his cover really was blown this time, and he was about to be unmasked in front of the whole office. His pulse began to race and he was just glancing at the exit when Rilke gently touched his arm.

“That’s Monika Gregerson, Anna’s sister,” she whispered so close to his ear that his paranoia vanished instantly.

“She worked here for a while but left a year or so back.”

“Everyone, if you wouldn’t mind coming over here, please. We’ve got something important to tell you . . .”

Eliza Poole’s voice was so shrill it was almost cracking. The forty or so people in the office slowly formed a circle around the trio. Eliza Poole fished out a well-used handkerchief from her jacket pocket and blew her nose loudly. She looked upset, red-faced, and puffy, as if she’d been crying.

Suddenly HP began to guess what was about to happen.

Philip Argos raised one hand and there was immediate silence.

“For those of you who haven’t met Monika, this is Anna’s sister, and she knows all about our activities here at ArgosEye . . .”

He gestured toward the woman beside him.

HP had no trouble seeing the family likeness. The fair hair, turned-up nose, and the alert look in her eyes were pretty
much the same, but this woman was either the big sister or else her cosmetic surgeon wasn’t as good as Anna’s. The dark rings under her eyes added a few more years as well. And she was considerably more plainly dressed, in a black skirt and matching blouse, buttoned almost all the way up to the neck. Evidently she was the more restrained of the Argos sisters . . .

“I’m afraid we’ve got some bad news . . .”

Philip Argos paused, which was completely unnecessary seeing as he had everyone’s full attention.

“As you know, Anna took a year off from work to travel around the world. Sadly it looks as though she’s been the victim of a tragic accident.”

“Is she okay?”

This from Rilke, and as far as HP could tell she was genuinely worried.

Philip Argos waited a couple of seconds before answering, and when he did eventually open his mouth, everyone had already guessed what his answer would be.

“I’m afraid Anna’s dead.”

♦  ♦  ♦

By now she had been through all the posts on the Pillars of Society. The site had been up and running for about six months, so it took her a fair while, but the Word document that she had been using to record her observations actually included quite a lot of useful information.

MayBey had been involved almost from the start. His or her first posts had been made just a week or so after the site had been set up, and the number of comments—and presumably readers—had steadily grown since then.

But MayBey only started threads—that was all. Then he or
she sat back and let other people take over and add their own comments. Then, when that post began to run out of steam, another one would appear and the whole process would start again.

There was no discernible pattern in the timing and dates of the posts. All days of the week, and most times of day, were represented—something which seemed to fit someone who worked shifts. The events and people described suggested that MayBey had experienced quite a bit, and had probably been in the police force for some time.

It seemed likely that MayBey worked on the front line, but even if Rebecca had been fairly sure of this to start with, it didn’t necessarily have to mean in uniform. The events and arrests that were described certainly seemed to fit the world of the beat officer, but they could equally well have been carried out by other units in the front line—the surveillance, narcotics, or licensing units, for instance. Typical police work, basically, although she still had an overwhelming sense that MayBey was anything but a typical police officer.

But she also had something else to think about.

♦  ♦  ♦

The letter had been lying on the hall mat when she got home.

A long, white envelope, made of the slightly thicker sort of paper that she hadn’t seen in a very long time.

Her address was written in an elegant, old-fashioned handwriting so familiar that for a moment she felt her heart rate speed up. Even the slightly clipped turn of phrase was the same.

But of course the letter wasn’t from her dad.

Dear Rebecca,

I hope you will forgive my impudence in writing, but it has come to my attention that you are in some difficulty as a result of an occurrence in the Darfur region of western Sudan.

According to my sources you are currently suspended for the duration of the investigation, and this is why I am writing. The Swedish police are presumably obliged to work through official channels, which is not always the best way to reach the truth.

Things are not always the way they seem, and sometimes it takes a different way of looking at them to bring clarity to matters which at first glance appear relatively straightforward.

I have had an extensive network of contacts in Africa for many years, and it would be a great pleasure to me if you would permit me to investigate the matter on your behalf, naturally with the very greatest discretion. I shall write my email address at the bottom of this, and hope that you will give my proposal careful consideration.

Yours sincerely,

Tage Sammer

So now it was official.

He had actually been thinking how odd it was that no one seemed to know about Anna’s death.

Unless they had all been pretending, of course.

A few of the women, among them Eliza Poole and Rilke, appeared to have genuine tears in their eyes. Others were more composed. As for himself, he adopted a somber expression while trying to observe everyone else’s reactions.

An accident, then—not murder. He wondered where that revised version of the story came from. Had the Dubai police set up yet another smoke screen, or had Philip simply decided that it was better for both morale and business if he stuck to a more easily digested version of Anna’s demise?

For a few moments HP had the image of those black scavengers circling over their little feast back in his head. He looked down at the floor and swallowed a couple of times.

When he looked up again he saw Monika Gregerson looking at him. The expression on her face seemed almost one of disgust, as though she too could see the images flickering through his mind.

HP had to fight to suppress a shudder. He looked away and walked off quickly toward the staff room. A cup of top-quality instant coffee was bound to get his paranoid brain to change track.

In the corridor he bumped into Dejan and Philip, who seemed to be in the middle of a discussion.

“ . . . Anna’s shares?” HP managed to catch.

“Monika will inherit them,” Philip replied tersely, then stopped and nodded quickly at HP as he passed them and reluctantly walked on.

“I don’t see that that should be a problem,” he went on in a low voice just before HP was out of earshot.

Okay, so news of the death and Monika Gregerson’s presence had both been fairly uncomfortable, but at least he had been able to provide Rilke with a shoulder to cry on. He had
given her a hug and generously offered her his shoulder, which she had gratefully accepted, before everyone was sent home for the rest of the day.

He found himself sniffing his jacket for any residual scent from her hair. Rilke was without doubt something special. Attractive, smart, and funny—fun to work with, and to hang out with.
Shit,
he’d have to watch it, and make sure he didn’t end up suffering from some sort of inverted Stockholm syndrome.

She could actually be a suspect—theoretically, anyway . . .

Whatever, at least he had found out a few more things.

One: Anna’s big sister had worked for the company but had left because she didn’t see eye to eye with Philip. Okay, so no one had actually said that, but the vibes had been pretty obvious.

Two: his suspicion that Anna’s death had something to do with the business had grown even stronger. Why else would they seemingly choose to hide the truth about how she really died?

Three: it looked as if Monika would be inheriting Anna’s shares in ArgosEye. If Philip had planned to get rid of Anna to get control of the company, then obviously he should have done so before the divorce went through, while he was still her principal heir.

Which meant that HP should be looking around for a new prime suspect.

Possibly even a woman . . .

Pillars of Society forum

Posted: 8 December, 21:56

By:
MayBey

Innocent citizens only exist until the moment they’re uncovered. Guilt or innocence is mostly a question of timing.

This post has
59 comments

“MICKE.”

“Hi, it’s me.”

“Hello.”

His voice sounded reserved, which was perfectly understandable.

“How are you?”

“Fine . . .”

There was a short silence on the line. Obviously he wasn’t going to make this easy for her.

“Listen, I know I haven’t been much fun lately . . .”

More silence.

“ . . . not exactly very good company.”

Still not a sound from him. Had he hung up?

“Are you still there?”

“Yep.”

“Okay . . .”

She had prepared what she wanted to say, had even written down a few key words, but she had lost her thread already.

She took a deep breath and skipped to the last line of her notes.

“I need help with something, it’s to do with everything that’s been going on over the past few weeks. Work, my behavior—everything. I know it’s asking a lot, but I wouldn’t ask you if it wasn’t important . . .”

More silence, as she held her breath and waited.

♦  ♦  ♦

More evening work—but this time sadly nothing to do with any new special job. Instead his Internet training was continuing with an evening in the Laundry.

It had taken him a week or so to realize that ArgosEye never blinked.

Nights, weekends, Christmas—there were always a few people working in each department, with at least one section head on duty in the office.

“But you don’t have to be awake.” Beens grinned, opening a door that HP had only ever walked past before.

“Cool, eh?”

The room was actually a small lounge. A comfortable sofa and armchairs grouped in front of a large flat-screen television with surround sound. Toward the back of the room was a small pantry with an espresso machine, microwave, and fridge, then, beyond that, a closed door.

“The bedroom,” Beens said with a grin. “But don’t worry, darling, it’s got bunk beds.”

HP smiled back, sticking his thumb up to show just how impressed he was.

Beens might have been a section head, but he definitely wasn’t cool. Even if his suit had probably come from the same smart Östermalm tailor as HP’s, it didn’t quite seem to fit him. It almost looked like his pale, chubby body was trying to shrug it off.

“So, what, do we spend all night hanging out in here, then?”

“Nah, we’ve got to do some work first. Or at least look like that’s what we’re doing . . .”

Beens winked at HP.

“New guys don’t usually get to know more than they have to, but you seem to have taken over from Stoffe as Philip’s new favorite. Either way, I’ve been told to show you how everything works, so we may as well start over in our section, then take a look at the Filter, and then cause a bit of trouble for the Strats before we settle down . . .”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Great, stay close to me and I’ll let you in. Your card won’t work on all the doors, only the chosen few get that honor . . .”