Some Kind of Peace (33 page)

“Forgive me, Siri, but now you’re really being difficult. All I want to do is help you.”

“And you think that this is the right thing to do?”

I hear my voice getting shrill.

“Yes, that’s why I’m saying this. Because I know it’s the right thing.”

“And since when are you so sure what the right thing is?”

Now I am being mean. I feel it permeating my whole body, this desire to put him in his place.

“What do you mean by that?” Markus asks, as he climbs out of bed and starts getting dressed.

“What I mean is, do you think, for example, that it’s right to sleep with me? What do you think Sonja would say if she saw you now?”

Markus grins stupidly, his mouth half open, which only fuels my anger.

“How ethical is it to sleep with a witness? During an ongoing investigation?”

“Cut it out. Since when was it punishable to screw?”

“Shall we call Sonja and ask? I can—”

“You are completely nuts,” Markus interrupts me, kicking a pillow that had fallen to the floor. The pillow hits my wineglass a few yards away and it breaks with a clatter, but Markus doesn’t seem to notice.

“I didn’t ask to take care of you, Siri!”

“Since when are you the one who’s taking care of me? I’m probably almost old enough to be your mother.”

“Which clearly doesn’t stop you from behaving like a little brat.”

Markus is yelling now, and it strikes me that I’ve never actually seen him angry before. In some sick way I am enjoying it. It’s so physical. There’s something attractive about his fury. Something almost sexual. I really must be nuts.

“You can put your stupid shelf together yourself.”

Markus storms out of the apartment and leaves me alone, still in the ridiculously small bed.

I lean back and look out through the window at the dirty gray nonday, the neon night. I decide that this is not love. This is therapy for my body. An urge that must be satisfied.

Nothing more.

I dream about Stefan again. He is tanned and strong and happy as only he could be. But something is wrong. He is lying very close beside me in bed, and I feel his breath against my cheek coming in cold, damp thrusts. I don’t meet his eyes because I realize I have betrayed him. Another man has been in my bed, another man’s hands have caressed my body. It is a betrayal worse than death, a treachery that cannot be forgiven, I realize that. But Stefan only laughs and pulls me closer and closer until my nose is buried in his armpit and I am filled with his scent; he smells of mud, seaweed, and grass. I run my hand over his back, which is strong and only slightly damp, which is strange since he was lying in the water for so long.

He lifts me up with his strong arms as he turns on his back so that he can lay me down on his belly. My head comes to rest against his cold, damp right shoulder. I run my hand through his wet hair and absentmindedly pluck remnants of seaweed and leaves from it. Stefan kisses me carefully on the cheek and declares that he is happier than he has been in a long time. “
Much, much happier than I’ve been in a long time
.” He says that things were so bad for him, but that everything is going to be fine now.

I wake up with a pain in my chest that is so strong I can hardly breathe. I know immediately what it is: guilt.

I am forced to sit up and concentrate on breathing so as not to lose control over my pain and sorrow. It’s so hard to lose him, so hard to let him go. I can’t have him, but I can’t be without him.

How long can I live like this?

It’s dark outside, even though it’s only three o’clock in the afternoon. I am back in the offices of the police in Nacka. Sonja has called me in for further questioning. Instead of her office, we sit in a light room with pale green walls, furnished only with four chairs and a slightly higher table. A modern fluorescent light fixture hangs from the ceiling. In one corner there is a video camera on a tripod. I am alone, facing the camera. Sonja sits in the chair in front of me, and Markus is at an angle behind her. It is a strange situation. Markus and I have been so intimate, and now here we are trying to appear unperturbed by each other’s presence. Sonja is not aware of what has happened between us. Markus knows he ought to tell her, but he also knows that if he does, he is going to be removed from the case and he doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want to discuss this with me and asks only that I respect his decision. He also thinks that it won’t affect his work negatively. Quite the opposite.

I have decided not to get mixed up in this, although I sincerely doubt that it’s a good idea for him to still be on the case. He is no longer neutral; I assume the legal term is “exceptionable.” But I still don’t say anything. Perhaps I do want him to remain on my case; this makes my connection to everything that is happening tighter, I find out more from him than I would otherwise.

“Welcome again, Siri. My office is occupied today, so we’ll have to sit here, even though this is not an official interrogation.”

Sonja looks weary. A strand of dark hair streaked with gray hangs over her face. I wonder how many cases she is working on at the same time.

“I can imagine that you are shaken by what happened.”

Sonja is referring to Ziggy. I nod to confirm. I can’t bear to tell her exactly how upset I was after the macabre discovery. I am still surprised by the sadism behind such an act. Who wants to play me this way? And why?

“I want you to accept certain safety precautions, meaning a security alarm and a special cell phone linked directly to us. It’s simply unacceptable that you don’t already have some form of protection.”

“Markus and I have already talked about this.”

I notice Markus’s grimace too late. He doesn’t want me to talk about our having had more contact with each other on our own.

“Really?” Sonja looks surprised. She raises one heavily painted eyebrow and inspects me in silence.

“Yes, in connection with… the cat, I mean. Markus came out to the house then. I called…”

Sonja waves her hand impatiently, as if she thinks I’m drawing out the conversation in order to delay the issue.

“At any rate, we can’t let you stay in the house right now. I must ask you to move out for a while.”

“I’ve already moved.”

“That’s news to me,
good news
. Nevertheless, I think that you—given the circumstances—need additional protection.”

“I don’t want to be monitored by a police officer.”

“We don’t have the resources for that kind of protection.”

Suddenly Sonja smiles sarcastically. A crooked, tired smile.

“If you are going to be monitored by someone, then it would be a security guard. We don’t have enough police officers to keep an eye on all potential crime victims. Maybe we can have a patrol car drive past your house at a scheduled time each day, but if you’ve moved anyway that’s hardly necessary. I was thinking more about a phone that allows you to quickly make direct contact with the police. And a security alarm for your apartment.”

I think about the implications of her plan. Being able to reach the police quickly would be a relief, of course. Even though I don’t want surveillance day and night, I can no longer deny that I am afraid. Perhaps a direct phone would make me feel more at ease. I nod and mumble something to the effect that it would be okay.

“Good. A colleague is going to help you with this. Presumably Stenberg.”

Sonja nods at Markus, who also nods. He is going to see to it that I am protected from all danger. My gaze settles on his hands.
Those hands
. He looks at me and I suddenly realize that he knows what I’m thinking about: his hands, and what they know. What they have done with me. With my body.

My cheeks feel hot and I lower my gaze, incapable of looking at Markus anymore. I try to find a neutral subject of conversation.

“What’s going on with the investigation?”

“We are looking into a number of different leads, but we don’t want to get locked into anything, as you surely understand.”

Sonja again looks weary.

“And what does that mean? That you don’t know anything?”

My voice is getting thin and sharp. I feel strangely angry. It’s their job to capture the bad guys. The criminals. This is a fundamental fact that has been in my consciousness from an early age. The police capture villains and protect the weak. In the countless number of books, comics, and movies that accompanied me throughout my childhood, the pattern was always the same.

As it turns out, reality is very different. The police cannot capture the person stalking me. And the police cannot protect me either. Which is partly connected with the fact that I am not letting them protect me. But perhaps the real reason these interrogations and the surveillance seem so meaningless goes deeper than that. I feel resigned and hopeless in a way that is difficult to explain. I’ve never had so little control over my own life before. There is only one way forward, and someone else has staked it out in advance for me. I have a strange feeling that my fate is sealed, that like in a Greek tragedy I am heading toward my own downfall, and that nothing I can do will keep me from ending up that way. Rationally, it’s clear to me that this thinking is unrealistic and pessimistic, but I don’t have the strength to get these ominous thoughts out of my head.

“We’re doing everything we can, Siri.”

Sonja looks at me sympathetically and I am suddenly ashamed. Of course, I understand that the police are doing what they can. Sonja already told me about all the people they’ve interviewed, how they dug
deep into Sara’s past, looking through all my videotapes in pursuit of leads, all the technical evidence. But if I myself can’t figure out who might feel such hatred toward me, how can the police have any idea?

“We questioned all your colleagues a number of times, as you are probably aware.”

I nod.

“We are investigating any other violent crime we can think of that might be connected to the threats made to you.”

Once again I nod.

“We have also contacted the national Perpetrator Profile unit. We told them that your case is a priority and that you are in danger. The individual we are seeking is already guilty of murder. We know he did not act on impulse. He is capable of executing his premeditated actions. This is no ordinary murder investigation.”

Sonja falls silent and I can tell that she thinks she has said too much.

“But I must ask you once again to think about any individuals in your circle who may want to harm you. However far-fetched it may seem.”

I was ready—as ready as I ever would be—as I stood outside her house with my blue backpack in my hand
.

But
.

She wasn’t there. Actually, I had already suspected it, as I had carefully approached the cottage through the dense forest and saw… or more likely it was what I didn’t see that made me understand: no brightly lit windows, no half-empty wineglasses on the kitchen table. Not a movement. Not a sound
.

She had gone underground. I had foreseen that this might happen, and it really didn’t change anything, because I knew how to find her and get her to return. Everything was predetermined. Now I only needed to pull on a couple threads to set events in motion, nudge fate in the right direction
.