Stalker

31

Joona and Margot have taken their shoes off and are standing looking through a pane of glass. The room inside is warm and damp.

‘I’ve tested for allergens, and it turns out that I’m allergic to mindfulness,’ she says.

To the strains of Indian music, about thirty perspiring women are moving with mechanical symmetry on their yoga mats.

Margot got five officers to check through Maria Carlsson’s Internet traffic once more: her email, Facebook and Instagram accounts. The stud in her tongue is only visible in a few pictures, and is only mentioned by one of her friends on Facebook before all communication between them ceased.

‘You got lick it, before we kick it. Me too wanna pierce my tongue.’

The woman who had posted that was called Linda Bergman, and she was an instructor in Bikram yoga in the centre of Stockholm. They were in very regular contact for six months before she suddenly unfriended Maria.

Linda Bergman emerges from the staffroom dressed in jeans and a grey sweater. She’s suntanned, and has quickly showered and put on some make-up.

‘Linda? I’m Margot Silverman,’ Margot says, shaking the woman’s hand.

‘You didn’t say what this was about, and I can honestly say that I have absolutely no idea,’ she says.

They walk along the pavement in the direction of Norra Bantorget while Margot tries to get Linda to relax by asking about Bikram yoga.

‘It’s a form of Hatha yoga, but takes place in a room with high humidity, at a temperature of forty degrees,’ Linda explains.

They enter the former playground in front of the old Norra Latin School. The spherical fountain shimmers silvery white, and the wind keeps scattering showers of tiny droplets.

‘The founder’s name is Bikram Choudhury… he created a series of twenty-six positions that are actually the best I’ve ever tried,’ she goes on.

‘Let’s sit down,’ Margot says, patting her stomach.

They sit down on an empty park bench beside the fence facing Olof Palmes gata.

‘You used to be friends with Maria Carlsson on Facebook,’ Joona says, drawing a deep vertical line in the path, raising a little cloud of dust.

‘What’s happened?’ she asks warily.

‘Why did you unfriend her?’

‘Because we no longer have anything to do with each other.’

‘But you seem to have been in very close contact for several months,’ Margot says.

‘She came to a few classes, and we started talking, and…’

Linda tails off and her gaze flits anxiously from Margot to Joona.

‘What did you talk about?’ Margot asks.

‘Can I ask if I’m suspected of having done something?’

‘You’re not,’ Joona says.

‘You knew that Maria had a piercing, that she had a tongue-stud?’ Margot goes on.

‘Yes,’ Linda says, and gives a slightly embarrassed smile.

‘Did she have several different studs?’

‘No.’

‘Do you remember what hers looked like?’

‘Yes.’

Linda stares at the old school building and the play of the shadows under the trees for a moment before replying:

‘It had a tiny model of Saturn at the top.’

‘A tiny model of Saturn,’ Margot repeats, very gently. ‘What does that mean?’

‘I don’t know,’ Linda says blankly.

‘Is it to do with astrology?’

Linda looks over at the trees again, and kicks the ground with her trainers.

‘Do you know where she got it from? It doesn’t seem to be for sale anywhere, not from any of the usual Internet sites, anyway.’

‘I don’t understand where this is going,’ Linda says. ‘I’ve got another class soon, and-’

‘Maria Carlsson’s dead,’ Margot interrupts, with quiet seriousness. ‘She was murdered last week.’

‘Murdered? She was murdered?’

‘Yes, she was found on-’

‘Why are you telling me?’ Linda interrupts and stands up.

‘Please, sit down,’ Margot says.

‘Maria’s dead?’

Linda sits down, her eyes drift off towards the fountain, and she starts to cry.

‘But I… I…’

She shakes her head and hides her face in her hands.

‘Did you give her the stud?’ Joona asks.

‘Why the hell do you keep going on about that tongue-stud?’ she snaps. ‘Find the killer instead. This is completely sick!’

‘Did you give her the stud?’ Joona repeats, drawing a short line across the first one.

‘No, I didn’t,’ she replies, wiping the tears from her cheeks. ‘She got it from a guy.’

‘Do you know the name of the guy?’ Margot asks.

‘I don’t want to get involved,’ she whispers.

‘We respect that,’ Margot nods.

Linda looks at her with bloodshot eyes, and purses her lips.

‘His name is Filip Cronstedt,’ she says quietly.

‘Do you know where he lives?’

‘No.’

‘Was Maria going out with him?’

Linda doesn’t answer, just stares down at the ground as the tears begin to fall again. Joona adds the last curve to the symbol with his stick and leans back.

‘Why did she have a model of Saturn on her tongue-stud?’ Margot asks carefully. ‘What does it mean?’

‘I don’t know. Because it looked nice,’ she says weakly.

‘In Maria’s diary there’s a symbol written in ten different places – it’s the old symbol for Saturn,’ Margot says, and points to the ground.