The badger, p.10
The Badger, page 10
The jogging trail snaked its way around the forest which was impenetrably black between the lights that were on. The branches of the trees were hanging heavily with wet snow which was shining in the light. The worst snowfall was over, but now and then cold drips would fall from the sky and land in Cecilia’s face.
Most of the snow had melted into muddy puddles of slush or had been absorbed by the trees along the trail. Cecilia was grateful for that. The chill of the air was challenging enough. So far she had managed to avoid running in any of the puddles, but she knew she would be coming home cold and soggy. All the same, she was happy that she had gone out on her evening circuit.
Her breath billowed around her face each time she exhaled. Her throat almost burned breathing in, but she was used to that. These days it was almost refreshing. Her body was warm and supple despite the cold air. Her long underwear and her own movements were keeping her warm. She was only feeling the chill in her cheeks and in the tips of her fingers.
Her running stride thudded rhythmically in her body. She was passing in and out of light and shadow along the path of the eight kilometre illuminated trail. It felt like she was alone in the night. She had only come across a few other joggers and two women walking a large poodle. At this time of year – and in the evening – there were rarely more people around. The elk in the forest probably outnumbered the runners. And that suited her perfectly. She wasn’t here for company but for training purposes, and to collect her thoughts. Sometimes she would run listening to music, but when she needed to think she would listen to the sounds she was creating herself instead. Her footsteps on the ground, the beating of her chest, her breathing. It focused her thoughts and helped her let go of work.
The slope after the halfway mark gave her an extra push, and when that petered out she felt the resistance in her legs. At same time, the face of Bengt Johansson had sprung to her mind. She gritted her teeth. It bothered her that he had refused to be swabbed. Was he hiding something, or was he just one of those “all cops are bastards” types he appeared to be? Cecilia increased her speed and focused on her stride again. Her efforts expelled Bengt from her mind. She smiled and checked her heart rate on her running watch. It was where it was supposed to be, there was no reason to hold back on account of her heart.
She noticed the sound of a pair of feet getting nearer. How long had they been behind her? When it was as quiet as this out on the trail she would usually hear fast runners approaching fairly early on. Maybe she hadn’t picked up on it when she was thinking about Bengt Johansson. She looked over her shoulder.
The runner was dressed completely in black, a balaclava hiding his face. She felt an increasing physical unease. It wasn’t cold enough to justify such a warm get-up this evening.
The forest opened out to the left and the running trail followed the shoreline of the Delsjö lake. The water was twinkling on Cecilia’s left hand side. The air grew colder and an icy wind was sweeping in over the lake. She picked up her pace to maintain a distance. The man did the same, closing in on her. It might be that he had decided to run past Cecilia come what may. On occasions she would choose someone else along the way to compete with her, without them knowing. But she couldn’t be sure.
Her heart was beating faster. She saw from her watch that it was approaching 190. Even so, she upped her pace again, only to hear the man’s steps continue to draw close. Over her shoulder she saw that he was only a few metres away. If he was competing with her he would soon pass on by. Cecilia ran further to the right along the path, away from the water. The ground was harder there, more well-worn. She was feeling it along the front of her lower leg and in her knees. The man did the same. He caught up with her and snatched at her arm. She pulled it away.
“What the hell are you doing?” she yelled. She darted one step sideways and stared at him. The man didn’t answer. He stretched his arm out and tried to grab her again.
Cecilia stumbled but managed to avoid his hand. The man made the most of his chance and placed one foot in front of hers. She launched her hand out to drive the man away, her clenched fist jarring as it landed on his head.
The thwack wasn’t hard but was enough to slow him down. Cecilia pressed on forward, managing to create a distance between them again. She searched along the trail for someone to call to for help. There was no one. They were alone. There were no houses around, no people. No one who would hear her. The only thing she could do was to continue up the long ascent towards the ski jump.
The mere thought of trying to run away from the threatening man on the upward slope made her heart beat stronger in her chest. But if she managed it, she would soon be safe. She clenched her teeth and increased her stride frequency, shortened her stride length and worked her way onwards, constantly aware that he was still after her. An alert on her watch bleeped as her pulse was approaching 200. She felt her heart pounding against her ribs. It hurt breathing in the cold air. Behind her she heard the man’s determined steps as he struggled to keep up once more. She put on a brave face and slogged up the end of the incline.
It was icy there. Now and then her feet slipped and several times she came close to falling. All the same, she kept up the pace, managing even to increase it through sheer willpower. Behind her she heard the man’s increasingly heavy panting. His steps were becoming slower and slower.
She quickly looked over her shoulder. He had stopped. He had abandoned the chase. Cecilia on the other hand didn’t stop. She swallowed the thick saliva in her mouth and pressed on until she was quite sure that he wouldn’t be able to catch up. When she passed the ski jump she started feeling dizzy and could taste blood. She turned around to look properly. There was nobody about so she slowed down, jogging the last section back to the sports centre.
As soon as she saw more people she stopped and caught her breath. She propped her hands on her knees, struggling not to throw up after her exertion. She had managed to get away, but couldn’t help but think about what might have happened if she hadn’t been so physically fit.
As her heart rate went down, her thoughts caught up with her emotions. For a brief moment she wondered whether the man had any connection to her investigation of the Badger. It might have even been him. No. She pushed that idea out of her head. None of what had happened matched the Badger’s modus operandi. It was probably just some common thug. Though that was bad enough, she somehow managed to convince herself it was the better option after all. It meant that there was no increased threat to her because of the investigation. She didn’t want protection as a result of that, it wasn’t how she worked. She was too strong for that.
She decided not to tell anyone about what had happened. After all, nobody would be able to do anything, there was insufficient evidence to proceed. A report would only end up on the alarmingly large pile of crimes against single women. She refused to be part of that statistic.
Nevertheless, she decided not to go running outside any more in the evenings. That felt like the safe, rational choice. It was going to have to be the treadmill at the gym from now on, even though she hated restricting her own freedom in that way.
Only when she was standing in her own hall, with the door locked behind her, did she feel she was able to breathe freely again. Her whole body was trembling and her legs were giving way. She sank to the floor and threw her hands to her face as the tears came to her eyes.
22
MONDAY 13 DECEMBER
Then one day she was at my side, the woman I knew would be the last in my life. She was radiant, like none other before her. We became a couple and bought a little house together, with a greenhouse for her to grow things in and a basement where I put my desk.
A white projector was perched on one of the piles of unsolicited manuscripts on the meeting table. The low buzz of the fan was like a swarm of bumblebees in a lilac hedge. The projector was lighting up the wall in large white letters. I am the Badger. Standing alongside was Linda from marketing, as everyone called her. In practice though, Linda was the marketing department. The company wasn’t big enough to take on more permanent employees. It wasn’t necessary, either. Linda managed well enough by herself with help of marketing agencies when required.
The projector light was shining in the plastic of Linda’s large, red glasses. Her lipstick, nail polish and blouse were all in the same shade. They even matched the scarf she’d tied her hair up with. Annika had always had a problem with Linda’s snazziness, but felt a little ashamed of it. She wished she took more interest in her own appearance than she did. The thought would never occur to her to coordinate everything like that.
“Welcome, everyone,” said Linda, looking at the others in the room, apart from Annika, Tobias and Fredrik. Their CEO rarely interfered in the publishing side of things but he always took a stand on the marketing. “Today we will be talking about something that’s not only exciting but also a bit of a tall order. We will be talking about how we are going to turn I am the Badger into a bestseller in just a few weeks.”
“Yes, I’d like to know about that,” said Fredrik. “Because that has to happen at some rate of knots if it’s to go without a hitch, and as yet we haven’t even secured any of the bloody rights.”
Annika squirmed. All of their work, each of their hopes could still collapse like a pack of cards if Apelgren turned up and objected.
Linda clicked on her little remote control and the words on the wall were replaced with a timeline, full of bullet points and writing which was so small it couldn’t be read.
“This is what our usual plan looks like,” she said. “About here, when the manuscript is good enough to begin promoting it, we include it in our catalogue. Then we hold sales meetings with all of the major purchasers roughly six months before the launch, book advertising and plan for fairs and blah blah blah.”
Linda stopped talking in the middle of her sentence and looked at Fredrik. She was holding her remote at a nonchalant angle, almost as if it was a cigarette. Annika turned her head towards him just as he raised an eyebrow.
“If we were to go ahead with it that way, we would have gone bust well in advance of our first sales meeting,” she said. “Lucky I like challenges.”
Annika resisted the temptation to roll her eyes. Instead, she sat perfectly still and waited for what was about to come next.
“We have to turn the tactic around,” said Linda. “We have to reduce our costs while creating more time for the demand to grow in the marketplace before a book even exists.”
“But that’s not possible,” said Tobias. “We can’t market the book before knowing that we are able to publish it.”
“No, I’m not talking we,” said Linda. “Others can do that for us. Best of all, they’ll do it for free.”
“Now I’m lost,” said Fredrik. “Who’s going to?”
She moved on to her next slide. The wall was filled with three letters. WOM. “Word of Mouth,” Linda said, triumphantly. Her teeth were gleaming white in a smile worthy of any toothpaste advert going.
“Forgive me, but that will take even more time to work,” said Annika. “Every occasion that has seen any success, the book has already been out there so the relevant person has been able to recommend it. How do you see that working any faster than traditional methods?”
“I’m glad you ask,” said Linda. “It is going to work because we have a trump card that no one else does. We have a story about the story which we can use to sell the book. What we’ve got is a book about a living serial killer, written by a man who is presumed dead. All we have to do is get that story out, and then the media will lap it up like honey.”
Fredrik laughed. “You’re not wrong there.”
“But!” said Linda, holding up a finger. “You know what it’s like. Secrets are exciting. The media loves a revelation. And that is how we get ourselves more time than we actually have.”
“How might that work?” asked Tobias. He waggled his reading glasses at the slide show. “We have to tell them to write about it.”
“Yes, that’s a given,” said Linda. “But what’s saying we have to tell it to them as it is?”
“You mean we lie?” said Tobias.
“All marketing is an enhancement of the truth,” said Linda. “But no, we’re not going to lie. We’ll just make it look like the information has come out by mistake.”
Fredrik nodded, feeling contented. “I think I see where you’re heading with this.”
Linda changed the slide to a calendar. A number of dates were circled. She pointed her finger to the end of January. Her arm shaded the image behind it, painting contorted digits on her forearm like tattoos. “Somewhere here, a few carefully selected journalists are going to happen to hear in a roundabout way about a book about the Badger. When they call me, I shall deny it, but in such a way that they will keep digging.” She paused, looking at the others in turn to see if they responded. “Forgive the pun.”
Now Annika did roll her eyes.
Linda continued. “They will come across some information that I’ve already started sneaking out online through various forums and groups on social media. They will eventually come back to us for a comment and then I shall offer the first of them to make it this far an exclusive on the truth.” She drew quotation marks in the air with her fingers when she said the truth.
“And you believe this is going to work?” said Fredrik.
Linda smiled confidently. “Of course. But if it doesn’t, I can always call the ones I want to give the nod to first, offering them the news before everyone else. It isn’t as good, but it can be plan B.”
“Don’t you think the information that the book’s about the Badger will be enough?” said Annika.
“Maybe. But this comes down to getting others to talk about it before we can do it ourselves, doesn’t it? Once the ball’s rolling we follow it up with more traditional measures. Like daytime television shows and the like, Annika. That’s where you come in.”
“Me?” said Annika. She tried to appear surprised even though she felt it coming. A lump of nausea was rising in her throat. She swallowed a few times to force it down, but it refused to move. “I don’t know if I’m the right person for that job.”
“Who else are we going to send?” said Fredrik. “No, you’re just shy, you’ll pull it off with flying colours.”
“You don’t need to worry,” said Linda. She smiled in a way that was meant to reassure Annika but had rather the opposite effect. “I’ll drill you so you know exactly what to say.”
Annika flung her arms wide. “Do I have any choice?”
“No,” said Fredrik, standing up. “Great, so we’ve got a plan. When do we start?”
“The first leak will come out at the end of January. I think the press will take the bait at the start of February, otherwise I’ll make a call myself.”
“Great. Full speed ahead.”
23
WEDNESDAY 2 FEBRUARY
For a long time, I was happy in her company. My suffocating anxiety loosened its grip and disappeared and I was able to breathe freely. The sun warmed our life together and for a while I believed this was how it was supposed to be. Until the black seed inside me started germinating again.
Cecilia Wreede stormed up to Jonas Andrén’s table and threw a newspaper across his keyboard.
“What is up with you?” said Jonas. He flung his arms wide, looking at her indignantly.
“Have you seen this?” said Cecilia, pointing to the paper. Her blond hair had slipped out of her scrunchie on the back of her head and was hanging in front of her right eye. It made her look even more angry than she was. She hadn’t bothered to come the long way via the changing room and was still in her cycling clothes. That could wait. What was in the paper, on the other hand, could not.
Jonas picked the wet paper up, wrinkling his brow as he tried to read the headlines.
“They’re going to release a book!” said Cecilia, while Jonas’s dark eyes swept back and forth across the words. “It’s a fucking disgrace.”
Jonas closed the paper and raised his eyebrows. “Oh my days.”
“Is that all you can say? Oh my days! It was on the telly this morning as well.”
Jonas laughed. “But honestly, Cecilia.”
“If anyone has leaked anything from the investigation I’ll kill the person in question myself.”
“I don’t think that’ll be necessary. Listen up. It’s a thriller. Must be some media whore of an author trying to score cheap PR points.”
“The fantasies of a dead man, if that’s correct,” said Cecilia, pointing to the paper. “The publishing house has applied to have the missing author declared dead so they can publish the book posthumously. What’s wrong with people?”
“Jan Apelgren,” said Jonas. “I remember when he disappeared. It was on the news for several days. He and his wife just up and left one day, with no explanation. Nobody found them despite weeks of searching. It was as if they had disappeared off the face of the earth. I actually thought that they’d established his death long ago.”
Cecilia pulled out a chair and sat next to Jonas.
“What does it matter who wrote it?” she said, placing her escaped hair behind her ear. “I get so bloody angry when I see the newspapers speculating about our case. This sort of thing doesn’t help.”
“No, I’m with you on that.” Jonas was looking up from the paper towards Cecilia. “But you losing your rag hardly helps, either.”
Cecilia sat back and looked up at the ceiling. “You’re right. I just hate the press. All those busybody reporters thinking we’re hiding something. Christ, they’re going to be asking even more questions now.”
“Chill out. No one keeps their cool in front of all those mikes like you do, you know that.”
“Thanks, Jonas,” said Cecilia, flashing him a brief, warm smile. “That’s nice of you. But what do we do about it? We can’t just let them publish the shit.”
