SHE CALLED ?KE from the car to see if there was any food in the house, but they’d had pizza and the fridge was bare, so she stopped at the Statoil garage near the Globe and ate a couple of hot dogs.
The air inside the car was warm and she wound down the window and let the fresh breeze caress her face. As she parked the car in front of the house and walked through the garden she could smell freshly cut grass, and when she went round the corner she caught sight of ?ke sitting on the terrace with a beer. He was sweaty and dirty from working in the rocky, steep garden. She went up to him and kissed his stubbly cheek.
‘Hello, handsome,’ she said out of habit. ‘You’ve made it look great. It needed it! I’ve seen the way they were sneering over the fence.’ She nodded towards the neighbours’ house and pretended to throw up. ?ke laughed and nodded.
‘Where’s Johan?’
‘He’s over at the football pitch with some friends.’
He looked at her with a smile and tilted his head.
‘You’re beautiful, even if you do look tired.’ He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her down into his lap. She ran her hand over his cropped hair, pulled free and got up, and went towards the terrace door into the kitchen.
‘Is there any wine in the house? I could really use a glass right now.’
‘There’s an unopened box on the worktop, and there are some slices of pizza in the fridge. But seeing as we’re on our own for an hour or so, maybe we should go in for a bit?’
They hadn’t made love for several weeks, and she knew he took care of himself in the bathroom, but she felt far too tired. She turned and saw he was coming after her.
‘OK,’ she said, without any enthusiasm.
She heard how it sounded, but didn’t have the energy to pretend otherwise.
‘Forget it, then, if that’s how you feel.’
She turned round and saw that he’d gone back to his chair and opened another beer.
‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘But I’m completely exhausted, all I want to do is change into something more comfortable and relax for a bit until Johan comes home. Can’t we do it before we go to sleep?’
He looked away and muttered, ‘Sure.’
She drew a deep sigh, overwhelmed by a sense of inadequacy.
She strode purposefully back out to ?ke and stood in front of him, legs spread.
‘No, that’s not good enough! I want you to shut up and come inside and give me a good seeing-to! No fucking about with foreplay!’ She took his hand and pulled him up from his chair. ‘The kitchen floor will do just fine!’
‘God, you’re so damn provocative all the time!’ ?ke pulled free of her grip and walked off towards the corner of the house. ‘I’m going to fetch Johan on the bike.’
All these men, she thought, all thinking they had the right to make demands and try to make her feel guilty. Her bosses, ?ke and all the bastards she spent her days trying to catch.
All of them men who had some sort of influence over her life, and without whom life would often be a hell of a lot simpler.
Huddinge Hospital
ONCE KARL LUNDSTR?M had left the room Sofia felt exhausted. Although he denied it, she could see he was consumed with shame. It was there in his eyes when he talked about the episode in Kristianstad, and was lurking behind his religious reflections and his stories about the child sex trade.
In the last of these, it was mainly about suppressing it.
The guilt and shame weren’t his, they belonged to all of humanity, or possibly the Russian mafia.
Were the stories unconscious inventions?
Sofia decided to share with Lars Mikkelsen the information that had emerged from the conversation, even if she doubted that the police would find an Anders Wikstr?m in Norrland, let alone any videotapes in a cupboard under the stairs in his cellar.
She dialled police headquarters, got put through to Mikkelsen, and gave him a short summary of what Karl Lundstr?m had told her.
She ended the phone call with a rhetorical question.
‘Is it really so impossible not to administer anxiety-suppressing medication in one of the largest hospitals in Sweden?’
‘Lundstr?m was drowsy?’
‘Yes, and if I’m going to be able to do my job in the future, I really would prefer that the person I’m talking to has had a bath.’
As Sofia left Ward 112 of Huddinge Hospital she reflected on her attitude to her work.
What sort of clients did she really want to work with? How and where did she do the most good? And how much should it cost her in terms of poor sleep and an unsettled stomach?
She wanted to work with clients like Samuel Bai and Victoria Bergman, but there she had shown that she wasn’t up to the job.
In Victoria Bergman’s case she had simply become far too involved and had lost her judgement.
Otherwise?
She walked into the car park, pulled out her keys and took a quick look at the hospital complex.
On the one hand there was her work out here, with men like Karl Lundstr?m. She wasn’t able to make decisions unilaterally. She gave recommendations to investigations. At best, her conclusions were adopted and passed on to the court.
It felt to her like a game of Chinese whispers.
She whispered her opinion into someone else’s ear, the whisper was passed on to the next person, and the next, and eventually reached a judge who made a final decision that was usually completely different, and quite possibly influenced by some important adviser.
She unlocked the car door and sank into the seat.
On the other hand there was her work at the practice, with clients like Carolina Glanz, where she was paid by the hour.
The client pays for an agreed period of time, and uses the therapist, who gets paid to allow themselves to be used by the client.
A rather sad way of looking at things, she thought as she pulled out of the car park.
I’m like a prostitute.
Klara Sj? – Public Prosecution Authority
PROSECUTOR KENNETH VON Kwist’s office was a restrained and very male room, with black leather seats, a large desk, and plenty of naturalistic art.
His stomach ached, but in spite of that he poured himself a stiff whisky and offered the bottle to the lawyer Viggo Dürer, who shook his head.
Von Kwist raised his glass, took a cautious sip and enjoyed the powerfully smoky aroma.
The meeting with Viggo Dürer hadn’t yet changed anything, for either better or worse. Although Dürer had admitted that he was more than superficially acquainted with the Lundstr?m family.
‘Viggo …’ Prosecutor Kenneth von Kwist said, letting out a long breath. ‘We’ve known each other a long time, and I’ve always stood up for you, just like you’ve always been there when I’ve needed your help.’
Viggo Dürer nodded. ‘That’s true enough.’
‘But right now I don’t know if I can help you. The fact is, I don’t even know if I want to.’
‘What are you saying?’ Viggo Dürer looked at him uncomprehendingly.
‘Karl landed himself in hot water when he confessed to abusing Linnea.’
‘Yes, that was a terrible business.’ Viggo Dürer shuddered and attempted a not wholly successful look of distaste. ‘But what does that have to do with me?’