The badger, p.7
The Badger, page 7
It could have ended this way, with a broken heart and the wisdom that time heals all wounds. That’s when the accident occurred, the same night I heard them for the first time.
Annika was soaked to the skin as usual when she arrived at work. A mechanical digger had torn down a power line to the tram, so in the end she had given up the desperate wait for the next one and walked along Stigbergsliden, passing Masthuggstorget in the rain. Katrin met her in the entrance on her way to the meeting room with a notepad under her arm and, as usual, a mug of steaming tea in her hand. She looked at Annika sympathetically.
“Not a good day today?” she said.
Annika shook her head and trudged into her office. She hung up her dripping wet coat over the back of the desk chair and wheeled it closer to the radiator to dry.
Rebecka looked up distractedly from the manuscript she was dipping into as Annika walked into the meeting room. The aroma of coffee and damp woollen sweaters filled Annika’s nostrils, much like it usually did in the autumn. The atmosphere should have been a nice and cosy one, but instead of warmth and contentment, an uneasy tension was hanging in the air. With each week that passed, the risk of Eklund Press going bankrupt was increasing if they didn’t come up with a solution.
“Is it any good?” asked Annika as she sat down.
Rebecka shook her head.
Katrin was squirming in her chair. Annika got the feeling that they all knew something they didn’t want to share with her. She was just about to ask if anyone had read I am the Badger, when Tobias walked into the room.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said. He looked around. “Anyone seen Jesper?”
“He went home yesterday,” said Rebecka. “Really pissed off, I might add. Called in sick this morning.”
“Worse timing than usual,” said Tobias, shaking his head. He met Annika’s gaze.
She shrugged. He was right. It may be that Jesper went off once in a while, but now was hardly the right time. Tobias continued. “I’ll see if I can give him a ring and speak to him later. Shall we begin?”
“Katrin and I met Niklas Granath yesterday,” said Annika. “He wasn’t exactly shy in coming forward.”
“I didn’t think he would be either,” said Rebecka. “Can we do anything with it?”
“Honestly?” said Annika. “He seems like a right bastard. I find it hard to feel sorry for him, actually.”
“Well, he’s pretty outspoken, I understand,” said Rebecka. “But that might be something we can make money from?”
“I think he was drunk,” said Annika, folding her arms. “He made a pass at me. I don’t know.”
“And he demanded fifty thousand up front,” said Katrin.
Tobias rapped his fingers on the table. “That’s quite some whack, especially the way things are at the moment.”
“Quite apart from the fact that he was an unpleasant piss-head, as I say,” said Annika. “I don’t know if what he has to say would stretch to an entire biography.”
Tobias sighed. “Right, not if you say so. But I don’t think we should give up the ghost, let’s just see if we can find another celebrity.”
“I can check around,” said Rebecka. “I’ve got hold of a journalist anyway for the writing, if we find someone to write about. She’s a sports reporter on GT, trying to write novels and she’d like to make a name for herself. Doesn’t require any payment up front.”
“That sounds perfect,” said Tobias. “Who is she?”
“Johanna Widström,” said Rebecka. “Anyone you know?”
Tobias shook his head. “No. I’m sure she’s fine. But right now it looks like our hopes rest on The Vargö Murders.”
“Yes, how are things with Stina von Gryning?” said Annika.
“I don’t really know,” said Tobias with a sigh. “She doesn’t answer when I call.”
“Is she ghosting you?” said Katrin. Tobias gave her a look. His eyes narrowed slightly.
Things are going downhill, thought Annika. The alternatives are getting fewer and fewer. Her thoughts were going this way and that. She felt she had to bring up I am the Badger again. The memory of the scraping sounds was making her think twice, but the manuscript was too good to ignore. Despite her own indecision, she wanted to know what the others thought.
“Well,” she said, glancing across the room. “Anyone given it a read?”
Tobias Rönn raised an eyebrow. “You mean the manuscript you handed out on Monday?”
“I do.”
“Oh, yes. It’s absolutely awesome.” Tobias didn’t turn a hair as he spoke.
“I see,” said Annika. Her stomach was churning as if there was a snake inside it. If anyone had asked her, she wouldn’t have been able to answer if she liked his reply, or whether in fact she would have hoped for a different one. “Does everyone think that?”
“Yes, but we can’t publish it,” said Tobias. “You do understand, don’t you?”
It took a few seconds for his words to sink in. Was she hearing correctly? “Sorry, but why can’t we?” she said. Was it relief or disappointment seeping through her veins? Was her own tenacity forcing her not to give up?
“It’s far too controversial. The Badger is a real person. A maniac who kills every year. The media would go way too hard on us. They’d say we were profiteering.”
“Though it’s clearly a work of fiction,” said Annika. She was thinking of the chapters about what was lying dormant in the earth and felt the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. Surely they couldn’t be for real? In any case, she continued speaking up for the manuscript. “The Badger is a real killer, but Apelgren is still only a writer. He’s made all of this up, that’s obvious. You said yourself that the book’s brilliant. It would fly off the shelves in its own right, and the attention around the Badger would only spark people’s interest.”
Tobias shook his head. “What’ll we do when the Badger strikes again. Print another edition? It’s repugnant, Annika. But that’s of little importance. We don’t know who wrote it.”
“Jan Apelgren, obviously. It has to be him. I recognise his style.”
“I agree,” said Tobias. “But that’s not possible, there’s been no news of him in six years.”
“Until now,” said Annika. She felt the tip of her index finger pressing against the tabletop. She hadn’t even noticed she was holding it there. Her nail was squeezing into her fingertip which was turning white below her oxblood nail polish. “If he didn’t want us to publish the book, why would he have left it outside ours of all doors?”
Tobias sighed. “It just won’t wash. Unless Jan comes here himself confirming that he wrote it, we can’t publish a random manuscript just like that.”
“You’re really not giving in,” said Rebecka.
“No,” said Annika. “If that manuscript can save the company, it should be published.”
She refused to allow the company to go under. She was going to have her house, her children. That evening she was going to view a property with Martin which looked really nice. Everything was going to turn out right, at home and at work, as long as she got her house. At the same time, a seed of anxiety was germinating in the pit of her stomach. She knew she was imagining it now, but she could swear that she heard something scratching on the other side of the wall from her.
14
FRIDAY 19 NOVEMBER
My father lost control of his car late one evening and died instantly in the wreckage. My whole world collapsed. I cried in my room in the basement. Alone in my grief, I heard them scraping on the basement walls. It scared me, yet I stayed with them in the darkness until I fell asleep. You’ve heard them too, haven’t you?
Cecilia Wreede was looking out of the window of her office. Polluted rain had left the glass grimy. She studied the cars driving along the approach road which stretched from Gamla Ullevi stadium, past the criminal justice centre, towards Nya Ullevi arena across the way. The Badger unit was located in the redbrick police headquarters in the Stampen quarter, on the opposite side of the newly constructed complexes of glass and concrete which housed the district court and the remand prison. Their building was older and felt tired. At the same time, she was happy to be there and not in some open-plan office.
She glanced at her mobile phone. The black screen was drawing her in but she resisted the temptation to check her chats, stretched and looked back to her notes again. She had dedicated the last few days to going over lists and examination records of anyone they had ever detained in relation to the Badger case. She was comparing earlier notes against the examinations and interviews which had been held this year. She wasn’t expecting to find anything new, it was merely a precaution.
Unlike with the victims, there were at least some common denominators among the suspects. They did feel like low hanging fruit admittedly and none had ever led to any arrests, but even so, the investigation would almost always come down to suspicion being placed on some of the people working on the house at the time. Besides, the Badger burrowing their way in did look like more than just coincidence with plenty of equipment for that very job lying around outside.
But it never went the whole course. They didn’t find any forensic evidence. The victim had disappeared without a trace and there was no DNA left by the contractors in the house either. To say nothing of them ever finding out where the tunnel in the floor eventually emerged. Allowing anyone to crawl along it was too dangerous and when forensics operated a remote-controlled roving camera down there, they seldom reached any further than a few metres before the tunnel caved in.
It had done so this time too.
The soil company’s register of employees lit up her screen. She thought some of the names seemed familiar and started looking through the police interview notes again. She had done so before. Sometimes she had found out that the same people had been taken on to do the work on the drains at the various houses, but it never produced any results beyond that.
Her mobile buzzed, lighting up with a new message from Jonas. “The DNA analysis has come through.”
Cecilia picked it up and called him.
“Go ahead,” she said.
“Hi, Cissi,” said Jonas. “I’m on my way, actually. In the car now with Andersson.”
“Good, so you’re free to talk. Is there anything in the report?”
“Yes, for once there actually is,” said Jonas.
Cecilia sat bolt upright in her chair. Her heart started beating faster. “You’re joking?”
“Not really. Apart from the victim, they’ve found DNA from an additional person, but the good news ends there.”
“What do you mean?”
“All we can say is that it’s from an unidentified man. There’s no match in the DNA database.”
“Shit,” said Cecilia. She fell back into her chair in frustration.
“But it’s still progress,” said Jonas. “It shows that someone else, as yet unknown, was inside the house. If we can figure out who, we have a suspect.”
Cecilia took another look at the soil company’s register of employees. “Are you thinking the same as me?” she said.
“Time for a drink later?”
Cecilia gave a laugh. “No, you doughnut. I’m thinking that one of our ground contractors isn’t telling the truth.”
“Yes, that does spring to mind. What do you want to do?”
“We’ll bring them in again, swab them and compare the results against that of our unidentified visitor.”
“That sounds great. See you in a bit.”
They hung up. Cecilia looked up at the ceiling for a brief moment with a happy smile. For the first time in years they had found something that looked like an actual lead. Someone unidentified had been inside the house. It had to be one of the ground workers. If it all tallied, they would know in just a few weeks. But she still had niggling doubts. They were, after all, going down the same track as usual, why would this lead somewhere now? This time, she convinced herself, they had the DNA though.
She wiped her doubts out of her mind and decided to celebrate her success. She opened Tinder, sweeping right on more profiles than she would usually do. Somebody would probably bite, perhaps even come back home with her a little later in the evening. It was Friday after all and it was still only half past three. She would have time for a jog while she awaited replies to her hints.
15
SUNDAY 21 NOVEMBER
The loss of my father should have welded me and my mother together. Instead, secrets crept to the surface. He was drunk that night, and sitting beside him had been this other woman. My mother had known what was going on for a long time but had kept me out of it. When he was drinking, she had made sure that his bottles disappeared. Now my mother had started drinking instead.
Yet another viewing, yet another home-staged property with fixtures and fittings on a loop.
Annika was standing in a hall where the vertical threads in the wallpaper had faded over time and for no apparent reason she was filled with calm. One breath later she knew why. She found herself in a bizarre paradox. A backdrop of trendy furniture and ornaments was intended to divert attention away from the fact that this place hadn’t seen any new wallpaper since 1974. Yet it felt like home. The house soothed her beating heart a little. It was homely, simply enough, despite all of its flaws. She liked it there.
She pulled Martin towards her. “I want to live here,” she said. This time she felt her smile growing across her face. Her yearning to live here with him was germinating inside her, pushing aside the doubts she was always struggling with.
“Sure?” he replied, looking bemused at her. “I’m surprised you even wanted to look at it.”
Annika nodded, making her hair dance around her cheeks. She felt like an excited twelve-year-old. She wanted this house so much that she could hardly stand still.
Martin looked around, a contented smile on his lips. “Well, there’s fibre broadband.”
“Don’t be daft,” said Annika, giving him a soft punch in the stomach. He laughed. “Admit it, you like it too.”
He nodded. “Good location. And no basement. What is it they say? Ticks all the boxes?”
“Doesn’t it just! Come on, let’s talk in the car instead.” Annika glanced at the other prospective buyers. “The walls have ears.”
They said thank you and goodbye and made their exit, throwing their blue shoe covers into a bucket by the front door. She couldn’t stop smiling. The house was perfect. Not too small and not too big. Near the bus stop, with its good connection to Järntorget. Granted, they would have to do up a fair amount, but it wasn’t anything urgent. They could wait a few years until they could afford it. At this point, even the worry about losing her job had all but flown right out of her head.
“We could lay stones along here,” said Martin thoughtfully, looking along the gravel path to the gate.
“Really, why’s that?”
“So you can wear heels if you like.”
“How often do I do that? I might even like gravel. It feels welcoming, don’t you think?”
The gate creaked as they closed it. They walked out onto a narrow pavement, taking stock of the neighbouring properties on their way to the car. They were a mixture of older wooden detached houses and low-rise 1980s blocks of white sand-lime brick. The tarmac on the roadway was covered in small bumps and cracks, just like the street Annika grew up in. She imagined her own children drawing hopscotch grids with pink chalk on the tarmac. The last of the evening’s sun was breaking through the clouds, tingeing everything with a silver shimmer. It added a magical feeling to the moment. It all felt right.
She was lost in reverie for the entire drive back to town. The area was just as pleasant as she had dreamt it would be. Maybe a little more expensive than they wanted, but not out of reach. She began to work out how much they could stretch to. She wondered how much a new kitchen might set them back. Wasn’t this the part of town where Martin’s boss lived? She came back to the real world when Martin started talking about replacing the hedge. He didn’t like it. Annika was wondering how much the conveyancing fees would be. They hadn’t thought of that, but Martin promised to look into it.
They parked the car and walked up to their apartment. The hall felt small and cramped as soon as they stepped inside, as if it had shrunk while they were away. They had an open-plan living, dining room and kitchen, with white walls and many windows that lit up each corner. But it was only a one-bedroom apartment. She stood at the kitchen island, closed her eyes and imagined she was in the house. It immediately felt much better.
“Are you hungry?” said Martin. “I can make something if you like.”
“Are you mad? How can you think about food now?” Annika gestured with open arms. “Get the computer out. We’re putting a bid in, right this instant. Before anyone else does.”
“You’re the mad one,” said Martin. “But I think I like it. What shall we say, then?”
“The starting price, obviously. Vendors know not to let the house go for any less.”
“Don’t tell me that.”
Annika snuggled up on the sofa, feeling it around her as warmly as she did the house. “We don’t want to pay any more than we have to either. I mean, you saw. The kitchen has to be redone. As do the bathrooms. Not to mention all the external surfaces and finishes.”
“We can easily put up a bit of wallpaper and give it a lick of paint on our own. It may take a little time, but we’re in no hurry.
“No, we’re not, now about that bid. Where’s the computer?”
“Okay, I get it. Start the bidding, right?”
Annika nodded. She looked up at the ceiling from her horizontal position. She felt at ease, as if she was floating above the floor. Martin sat on the pouffe with the computer on his lap. He was tap, tap, tapping away for several minutes. Annika turned towards him.
“What’s taking all this time?”
“You’ve got to create an account. I hate all that stuff. I mean, it’s not as if we’re going to buy a new house every week.”
