“You’re hungry,” she said, smiling. “It’ll be ready soon.”
“No,” said Jarnebring, shaking his head. “I was thinking about this thing with the engagement.”
“You’ve changed your mind,” she said, moving a casserole dish from the burner.
Didn’t she look a little worried? thought Jarnebring, grinning like a wolf.
“No,” he said. “But what do you think about doing it now instead?”
“Now?” she said, giggling. “You mean now… now?”
“Yes,” said Jarnebring, putting his left arm around her waist and pulling her to him while she turned off the stove with her right hand.
“What are you doing? Aren’t we going to eat?”
“Now, we can do it like this,” said Jarnebring. “First we’ll take off all our clothes so that all the new gold shows to best advantage, then we’ll exchange rings, then we’ll screw each other, and then we can eat. Then you’ll get your Christmas present too, but that will be a surprise.”
“Okay,” she said, nodding and pulling her blouse over her head.
Then I’ll call Johansson and tell him, thought Jarnebring. What do you mean, coward? he thought.
The day before Christmas Eve, Svenskan had a big advertisement with a special offer from Åhlén’s department store: KNOCKOUT PRICE ON SEXY LINGERIE! TANGA, TEDDY, AND FISHNET STOCKINGS ONLY $10.
Svenskan is really starting to go downhill, thought Waltin with slight distaste while he decapitated his hard-boiled egg with a well-timed tap with his right hand.
“Available in red, black, and white,” Waltin read, sighing and savoring his breakfast tea. Black for normal people, red for the lower classes and upstarts, white for those who don’t dare. The things you have to put up with on an empty stomach, thought Waltin, sighing again.
The following morning he took the opportunity to slink in to Åhlén’s, as he happened to be passing through the city center anyway. He purchased a half dozen in various sizes, all in black, of course, and the female clerk gave him a smile that was only a hair’s breadth from a highly unprofessional come-on.
“Should I wrap them up in different packages?” she asked, smiling flirtatiously.
“No,” said Waltin, smiling slightly. “Just put them in one bag.” And if you can’t behave properly then I’ll put you across my knee, he thought.
With the necessary commodities in a bag under his arm, distracted by the female clerk and with his thoughts elsewhere, he made a mistake that someone like him couldn’t afford to indulge in. When he stepped out onto the street he ran right into Wiijnbladh and that fat, red-haired sow who was his wife.
“Police superintendent, what an honor,” said the little fairy, who was about to tie himself in knots. “May I perhaps introduce my wife?”
“How nice,” said Waltin, noticing the rapid shift in her eyes and the secret understanding in her expectant smile.
She’s not going to say anything, he thought, extending his sinewy, suntanned hand.
“Claes,” he said, flashing all of his white teeth. “Nice to meet you, and merry Christmas too.”
“Lisa Wiijnbladh,” she said as she shook hands. And then the little whore had the gall to draw the red-painted nail of her pinkie against his palm.
“It would be nice to meet again sometime,” she said, and that idiot she was married to had naturally not understood a thing. How could he? thought Waltin, smiling the whole time, as he took back his hand and felt his crotch tightening up.
It must have been sometime last spring, thought Waltin as he disappeared down Hamngatan moving just fast enough, heading in a safe direction. Big fat white breasts with freckles on them and rather small nipples? I’ll have to look at my notes, he decided.
“That was a colleague of yours,” said Wiijnbladh’s wife with a neutral tone of voice, somewhere between a question and a statement.
“A very highly placed man at SePo,” nodded Wiijnbladh, trying to sound unmoved. “We know each other from before,” he added with a look of importance.
How nice for you, old man, thought Lisa Wiijnbladh while she felt the usual contempt bubble up inside her. Personally I’ve only slept with him, she thought.
“What was his name again?” she asked.
When his inner pressure became too strong he always tried to get as far away as possible to release it. It didn’t always work out, overworked by a demanding schedule as he was. On some occasions he’d been forced to take risks. One such occasion was last spring, and it was then that he’d run into Wiijnbladh’s wife without having any idea that she had a husband, much less that he was a policeman.
“But you’ve never worked at SePo, have you?” said his wife suddenly when they were sitting on the subway a while later on their way to her sister’s. For what use would they have for someone like you? she thought.
“No,” said Wiijnbladh, trying to sound as mysterious as the circumstances allowed. “Not in a formal sense, no.”
So you’re a secret agent, she thought. In that case they can’t be right in their heads.
He’d gone to a simple place in the city. Simple clientele, many women by themselves, middle-aged or on the way to being so, already passed over or on their way down. Abandoned, vulnerable, searching, desperate in their hunt for something better, or at least a few hours’ company. He’d found her in the bar where she sat, showing her generous cleavage for anyone who cared to look. Considering the competition she was the beauty of the place, red-haired, white-skinned, busty, twenty pounds overweight, heavily made up, intoxicated, and Waltin had felt a completely irresistible desire to hurt her.
Is that why you’re always so nervous that you can never get it up? thought Lisa Wiijnbladh while feeling how the shaking of the subway car touched the inside of her thighs.
“I’ll be darned-you’re so secretive, old man,” she said. Smiled, leaned forward, and patted him on the cheek.
“Well,” said Wiijnbladh, suddenly feeling both happy and embarrassed. “There are certain things in my job that are hard to talk about.” She touched me, he thought.
“You and he have met socially,” said his wife, trying a mischievous smile on him. It’s not talking that’s your major problem, she thought.
“Perhaps you might say that,” Wiijnbladh nodded. “We’ve met privately.”
“Where does he live, then?” asked his wife.
Waltin had taken her to one of the front addresses he used for the operation, choosing this one because there were no neighbors and the bed had sturdy corner posts. He’d brought everything else he needed with him.
“You’re awfully curious,” said Wiijnbladh evasively. What was it he’d said that time he’d approached him at work? he thought nervously. He’d mentioned it in passing.
“Admit that you don’t have a clue,” said his wife, looking exactly as she always did.
“Norr Mälarstrand,” said Wiijnbladh, suddenly remembering.
First he’d spread her out, binding her hands and feet to the four corners of the bed, and as usual he’d used his leather straps. Pulled a little tighter because she was rather drunk, because she needed it, but mostly because he was in the mood for it. Pulled her top and bra up over her head, pulled up her skirt to her waist and cut apart her panties. It was simplest that way, he liked doing it, liked the sound when he did it, and he felt as if he was going to burst apart from within when he entered her.
…
“Norr Mälarstrand,” repeated his wife. And why would someone like him invite a little shit like you home? she thought.
“Fantastic apartment,” said Wiijnbladh, nodding. “He had a really fantastic art collection,” he added, nodding again. What was it Waltin had said when he showed him that Matisse forgery? he thought.