When we step off the ferry, Frieda suddenly thinks of something: "Agneta sometimes has urgent business meetings here and there. She might be travelling, a last-minute flight to meet the Italian President, the English Prime Minister, or something like that. It happened before. If Agneta is on a trip, she probably booked it with Krisco Travel. When we went together, she always booked our trips there."
It's an idea. Krisco Travel is in the centre. When the bus arrives and the doors open to let us in, Frieda gets another panic attack. She grabs her stomach, walks away and vomits in the bushes. I feel sorry for her, but there's not much I can do except gesturing the bus to move on, staying close and standing guard, making sure my body language scares away anyone who wants to violate Frieda's wish to be left alone for a while. She looks pale, desperate, hopeless, lost, when she faces me. I give her a stomach pastille and a little bottle of water: "It's okay. You're doing fine. It will happen again, so don't worry about it. It's your defence system, working for you."
She gives me a watery smile for an answer, drinks the dirty taste away, and takes the pastille to put her stomach at ease.
"Are you okay? Do you want to sit down and wait for the next bus? Or do you prefer to walk to the centre?"
Frieda takes a deep breath, closes her eyes and tries to find back her desired state of well-being: "I'd like to walk. Not this big road. The little streets. It's a shortcut too. I'll show you. Do you mind… if I hold your arm?"
"Not at all. It's a pleasure."
A pleasure it is. Many houses in the little streets have nice gardens. Our route goes through a small park with a pond and, of course, there are the views every time we cross a bridge. Without saying much, I point left and right to share my pleasure of walking through beautiful Stockholm, the Venice of the Vikings. It seems to affect Frieda too: her pace becomes stronger and her smile joins mine now and then. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. When you know a place so well, try to look at it with the eyes of a visitor, with the joy of seeing everything for the first time: the pale sun, the pastel tints of the houses, the water everywhere, the first traces of green on the trees, and me walking here with a pretty girl on my arm, trying to make her happy.
"You live in a beautiful city, Frieda. If the circumstances were different, life couldn't be much better than this."
She swallows away something bitter and says: "I guess you're right. It's been a long time. Too long. Life is there to enjoy. All you need is…"
"All you need is a dream and an activity. Happiness is when your activity leads to fulfilling your dream. We're working on it. We'll find Agneta. I'm sure there's nothing to worry about. She booked a last-minute flight to Vienna or Washington, and she forgot to tell you. You'll see."
Krisco Travel is a small agency, nothing more than a door and a shop window with the latest offers to exotic destinies. Inside, I see one desk, two chairs for customers, and three posters.
Mister Krisco stands up when he sees us coming in. He welcomes Frieda with a warm handshake and a professional smile: "Miss Larsson. How nice to see you! It's been a while, no?" Then he turns to me, shakes my hand and presents himself: "Hello. Kristofferson. Call me Kris. How do you do?"
He doesn't wait for an answer and turns his attention to Frieda again: "What can I do for you? We have a nice four-day trip to Prague on offer this week. Have you ever seen Prague? It's such a beautiful city…"
Frieda doesn't look well. Perhaps it's the stale air in this little office. She forces herself to flash a tired smile, breathes in deeply through her nose and asks: "My sister asked me to check the details of the latest trip she booked here. Would that be a problem?"
Kris Kristofferson smiles and sits down behind his computer: "Not at all. Let's see. The latest booking… Miss Larsson, Agneta… That was five weeks ago, a business trip to London with a return flight the next day. Do you need the address of the hotel where she stayed? Or do you need the contact details of the airline?"
"Do you need another pastille for your stomach?", I ask, looking at her pale face and her painful eyes.
Frieda walks to the other side of the desk, gently grabs Mister Krisco's necktie and invites him to stand up while she says, whispers: "What I really need now is a kiss, to feed my hunger…"
Mister Krisco's first reaction is disbelief; pretty women like Frieda don't kiss ugly middle-aged men like Krisco just like that. But she's serious. She wants that kiss. When he stands up to get his reward, Frieda looks me into my eyes and sighs: "I have to know…" Then she turns towards Kris, puts her hands on both sides of his head, closes her eyes and slowly, softly, kisses him on the mouth.
My mind rushes like mad. What's going on here? I have to think and I have to think fast. Frieda is not like this. She's a rational woman who had a terrible experience with a rapist. The rapist took her in a park, in the dark. She didn't see his face. She never heard his voice. All she did was feel, and it hurt, it hurt so much that months later the pain is still there, everywhere. Why would she grab a man she hardly knows and kiss him, just like that? «I have to know…» What does she have to know? ROSTOV! She didn't see, she didn't hear, but her smell detected something in her unconsciousness when she came close to this man. Now she wants to identify her rapist with taste. He kissed her that night. She will never forget it. She came in here and smelled something… something that made her feel sick, something that reminded her of the night she'll never forget. I smell a rat, too. It smells like horseshit in here. She wants to be sure. She seeks the confrontation with her worst nightmare to find the man who's behind it. Did Krisco Kris rape her…?
Frieda's kiss doesn't last forever. It hardly lasts a second, although this second is one of the longest in my life. She turns her head away in an instinctive attempt to avoid emptying her already empty stomach. I'm just in time to grab her and stop her from falling to the floor. I move her to the other side of the desk, push the chair back to give her more space, and let her sit down on it: "Are you okay? Is it…? Did he…?"
With her head down, Frieda nods. A tear escapes from her eye. Gently I take her head in my hands and make her look at me: "Don't worry. You're with me. Lovely Sweet Dear. Call 112. This location. Urgent. Action. Save recordings. Send recordings. Stop message."
I turn around to face Kris. He's not surprised. He's not annoyed. No. He's amused. He expected this. Pretty girls like Frieda don't kiss ugly men in their mid-forties just like that. Kris knew the story behind that kiss. He had been part of that story and didn't expect it to end here and now. He has already taken precautions to avoid an unhappy ending. There's a SIG Sauer P320 in his left hand, hungrily looking in my direction: "Your hands on your head. Step away so I can see the lady too."
"If you want to harm the lady, you'll have to shoot me first."
Kris grins: "Don't worry. That will be arranged. But first, we go to the back. That floor you're standing on, that's expensive Swedish pinewood. I don't want your blood to make stains on my floor; stains are bad for business. And between shooting you and her, I would like to repeat the pleasure she gave me in that park. Of all the women I raped, you were the best, Lovely Sweet Dear Frieda. You fit me like a glove."
I put my hands on my head, slowly, to buy time, but I keep standing between Frieda and the gun. I nod at the poster that says «Krisco Travel, the expert in Thailand travel», and flash a comfortable smile: "Krisco the sexpert. I bet you have no idea how many different kinds of orgasms a woman can have."
Kris looks so silly that I don't dare to torture his brain with heavy thinking any longer: "The answer is: four. First, there is the affirmative orgasm: Oh, Yes, Oh, Yes. Then there is the denying orgasm: Oh, No, Oh, No. The third one is the round orgasm: Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh. And finally, there is the fake orgasm: Oh, Kris, Oh, Kris… In return, I have one question for you: why?"
Kris is surprised but still amused: "Why? Why did I rape the girl? Why will I kill you? Don't you ever watch TV? It's good to be bad, and it's bad to be good."
"It's good to be bad?"
"A good man is patient and stays with empty hands; a bad man is violent and takes what he wants. A good man is quiet; a bad man shouts and will be listened to. A good man treats women with respect and will be ignored; a bad man grabs women by the pussy and becomes President. Behaving badly gives the best result. Bad is good. That's how it works. Girls don't want an ugly man with a good character. They hunger for a good-looking man who treats them badly. Until I give it to them…
» Do you know these vampire stories where the virgin vampire refuses to drink the blood of any innocent victim until she drinks her first drop? And from that moment on she just wants blood, Blood, BLOOD!? That's what having sex with me is like; they start saying «no», but as soon as I give it to them, I take them to the top and they just can't think about anything else. Fellatio wasn't a character in Romeo and Juliet, you know…"
"I don't understand. When you kill and rape innocent people, you go to jail. Why is that good?"
Kris grins: "You are really dumb, aren't you? The trick is not to be caught in the act. Did you ever hear of the Ten Commandments? Thou shalt not kill, thou shalt not commit adultery, thou shalt not steal, thou shalt not covet your neighbour's wife and all that nonsense… There was also the Eleventh Commandment: thou shall not be discovered. It's the only one that counts."
As long as we keep talking, I'm winning: "I've seen the numbers: 6.000 declared rapes last year in Sweden, and who knows how many more victims didn't go to the police, but only 200 rapists were caught. That's what you're referring to, right? But times have changed, my friend. Police have DNA now. One drop of slime and the slimeball hangs. 4 to 10 years for rape plus 10 to 18 years for murder… That's a long time."
I need a long time. I need to buy it. Kris is a generous customer: "HA! You're trying to bluff yourself out of this. Punishment is for the ones who get caught. You're caught. I'm defending myself against two people who came here to attack me, rob me, and perhaps even murder me. They've robbed me before, several times. That's why I have a gun permit. It's the word of an honest businessman against a dead madwoman on drugs and an ugly foreigner. The judge never had an easier case. Nobody puts me in jail."
"I give you a chance. Either you put the gun down and spend 4 to 10 years in jail for rape, or you shoot me and add two decades of your life to the punishment. How old are you? Early forties? You'll be over 65 when you get out. Pulling that trigger means your early retirement and the end of your life. But perhaps you don't mind. They say Swedish prisons aren't that bad."
"I'm not going to any prison."
"Yes, you are. Didn't you hear what I said when I asked Frieda if she was alright?"
"You called her lovely sweet dear."
"No. I called my phone. With those three words, I activated the voice commands. I instructed it to call the police, the fire brigade, the army, and those ugly gorillas in black, who hit everything that moves when there are riots. They are on their way to book a trip here, but the one who's travelling will be you, and your destination will be a nice sunny 2 x 3 room with concrete walls behind a high fence with barbed wire. Not my choice for my next holiday, if you ask me. My phone also records every word in this room and sends it to a safe place. After hearing your proud confession, no judge will doubt your guilt. They also have the DNA of Frieda's rapist. All they have to do is check yours and find the match.
» Call it a bluff.
» I call it trust.
» A few hours ago, I promised Frieda to help her find the animal who did this to her. I promised her I'd rather die than let anything happen to her. If she went to hell again, I'd go with her, so we can fight her nightmares together. I won't step away from such an amazing adventure. If you want her, you'll have to kill me first. It will give you 10 to 18 years of bonus time to think about the mistake you're going to make. You're an animal. Do you know the difference between animals and humans? Intelligence. Human beings calculate. We learn from our mistakes and prefer to avoid them. An animal acts on instinct. It's horny and greedy, violent, irrational, and never regrets being too stupid to do the right thing.
» The difference between good and bad is not in the short-time result, Mister Kris. It's the long run that counts, the 10 to 18 years of being sorry for not thinking before you acted.
» Call it a bluff. I call it trust. Frieda can trust me not to step aside because I can't live with the idea some animal will harm her… Do you hear that…? Sirens… They are on their way… You might have time enough to kill me, and perhaps you could kill Frieda too, but you'll never have the time to rape her again. I will not let that happen. Like Gandalf said: «Thou shall not pass…», which sounds like the Eleventh Commandment to me."
Sirens. They are called sirens after an ancient story: a Greek war hero, returning home, had to pass an island where women sang so beautifully that no man could resist, and giving in would mean the end of him. The story still works. Kris listens to the sirens like Ulysses, both enchanted by the sound, both losing their mind but not able to move, Ulysses because he asked his crew to tie him to the mast of his ship (the crew put wax in their ears to prevent the call of the sirens from destroying them), Kris because I'm sitting on top of him after my successful attempt to grab his gun on my flight to the other side of the desk, after which I forced his arm on his back, and carefully broke his nose and his cheekbone, leaving quite a lot of bloodstains on his expensive Swedish pinewood floor. Breaking his face wasn't necessary. I behaved like a violent man, but that's because of the lesson Kris taught me: a violent man gets what he wants. I want Kris to feel pain, lots of pain, for a long time. It feels good, to behave badly.
"Please, Frieda. Open the door and step outside with your hands up to welcome the police. Tell them the situation is under control. There's no need to start shooting or do other stupid things."
Frieda is remarkably calm for a woman who just survived a second close encounter of the third kind with her worst nightmare. She asks me: "Is it alright if I kick him in the balls first?"
Rostov! I forgot to do that when I disarmed him.
"You're a great partner, Frieda. I knew I forgot something important. Kick him twice. With the trainers you're wearing, it won't hurt as much as he deserves. The next time we visit an animal that has hurt you, put on high heels with sharp noses."
She kicks him three times, hard enough to make him scream, but not hard enough to leave him unconscious.
"That's how it feels when you're a woman and someone grabs you by the pussy. I hope you liked it. Once you're in jail, the other inmates have a less educated way of teaching rapists a lesson.", I whisper into Kris's ear.
Frieda has some loving advice for him too: "If they rape you in jail, just relax and enjoy it. I hope you'll find a giant cellmate with lots of ugly tattoos to watch your back." She kicks him in the balls once more, and says goodbye forever: "Welcome to my nightmare. I think you're gonna like it. I think you're gonna feel that you belong."
That's how good nightmares end: you pay them back with interest.
Kris doesn't answer. Perhaps because he has the right to remain silent. Perhaps because there isn't much to say.
The police enter and take over. They ask us if we're alright and congratulate us on the arrest. They accompany us to the station, where we get coffee and answer a lot of questions until I decide we've done enough. This lady has had enough, and she deserves to be left alone to get some rest. We give them our phone numbers and the address of the Kepler Clinic where they can reach Frieda. Then we leave.
We walk to a quiet park where we sit down on a bench and look out over the water, Frieda crying out all the emotions she has left, and I holding her, saying: "It's alright.", and: "It's over.", now and then. When she has no tears left, she dries her eyes, looks at me and says: "Thank you. Thanks for standing up for me. That was brave."
"The brave one was you, dear. Standing up against your worst nightmare, facing him, and even kissing him to seal his fate? You deserve a statue from the AWE, the Abused Women of Europe. You were awesome. All I did was call the cops."
She gives me an unexpected soft swift kiss on the cheek, followed by a soft swift smile, and stands up: "Well, thanks for calling the cops. I guess you're right. My nightmare is over. So let's focus on my dream: finding my missing sister. Instead of being a block on your back, I hope I'll be some help from now on."
"You're no block on my back, Frieda. You're an amazing woman. Is your stomach better now? They say there's no better place to eat red herring than Sweden and I'm hungry."
"Hunger, hunger, having breakfast, having lunch, having dinner, that's all you ever think about. But don't worry. Herring it will be. I know just the place. You'll love it there. But… it's expensive and you're inviting. Okay?"
I take my LSD credit card out of my pocket and wave it before her eyes: "I hate to say it, but when I'm working, the Luxembourg taxpayers take care of the invitations. If you have any moral objections to that, you can just order water and biscuits."
Frieda smacks her lips: "You have no idea what Swedish red herring tastes like. It's irresistible. When we step into that restaurant, all my moral objections will disappear like my depression and my fears."
"I'm looking forward to that."
"Did they only tell you about Swedish herring? No stories about Swedish cold beer and the large glasses they serve it in? Did nobody tell you the secrets of Swedish desserts? It's about time to learn the truth about Stockholm. You were so happy about its beautiful looks, but you should know that genuine beauty can only be found on the inside, starting with the inside of its restaurants and the secrets of its Chefs."
Discovering secrets is my work.
I love my work…
* * *
We go to a little restaurant, famous for its seafood and fish dishes. A small table in the corner at the back gives us all the privacy we need. When two large beers arrive and the food is being prepared, I ask: "How do you feel?"
Frieda is a remarkable woman. She suffered a lot of mental damage after being brutally violated, and now, just after facing and unmasking the stud behind her nightmare, she has all the right to have a nervous breakdown, but she doesn't. She's closed, tight-lipped and thoughtful, processing the events in her mind to give everything its place, but she seems in control of the situation.
"Worried? Doubts? Regret?", I suggest.
"Doubts, mostly. No regret at all and I do my best to realise I don't have to worry anymore either, but that will need some time. I'm working on it."
"Time is okay. Patience is the best healer. After a good night's sleep, tomorrow you will feel better, relieved. Trust me. I've been in violent situations before. It always feels like this."
"How can I trust you, or anyone, or anything? That's what my doubts are about."
Frieda's left hand is lying on the table, next to her beer. Gently, I put my right hand on top of it: "There's a tool to take away doubts, a technique to find out who you can trust and why. It's a long story, but if you like…"
Frieda didn't take away her hand, so I take away mine. It was a test. She does trust me.
I start: "Trust is a combination of knowledge and faith. You can trust to drink this beer without getting sick, as you know the motivation of the ones who brewed it: they want you to enjoy it, so they can sell you more. You can also trust yourself to get drunk or sick if you drink too much of it: you have the experience or perhaps you learnt from the experience of others. It happens every time, so you can trust it to happen again next time."
Frieda is a good listener and an intelligent woman: "The problem is not with beer. The problem is with people. You can never know who they are, what they think, and how they will act."
"Yes, you can. People are as predictable as beer. All you need to know is their motivation. What drives them? It's a skill and you can learn it easily. Once you know what to look for, people are as clear as this glass of beer; you can look through them and see what's inside.
» There are two tribes, two different kinds of people: the ones who follow the AnimalStyle and the ones who follow the HumanStyle. The difference lies in their motivation, their philosophy, their 'religion', their 'belief', but once you know to which tribe they belong, you can predict how they act, think and are.
» The people who worship the AnimalStyle are convinced that Good means following the seven Rules of the Law of the Jungle: gluttony, greed, lust, pride, sloth, wrath and envy. Their keyword is 'more' and their dream is 'extremes'. Success means being richer and more beautiful than others. The AnimalStyle is to go up, by kicking others down. Only the best, the most violent, and the most selfish can reach the top, which is the place-to-be if you want the best chance to survive. All the opportunities, attention, money, power and happiness are only available to the leaders, the monkeys on top of the rock of Gibraltar. Their behaviour is based on envy, on never having enough. Their society is a continuous war, called Survival of the Fittest, with many losers and only a few winners. The AnimalStyle is what we learn from big commercial companies, especially from TV and the press.
» The people who follow the HumanStyle are convinced that Good means exactly the opposite. They call those seven rules of the Jungle «the Seven Deadly Sins». They are convinced that Good means following principles like modesty, generosity, temperance, courage, persistence, humility, peacefulness, patience, knowledge or wisdom, forgiveness, altruism, and love. Their keyword is 'better' and their dream is 'balance'. Success means being able to share your happiness with others. HumanStylers believe every person on this planet depends on all the others. The best chance to survive is by producing what others need, so they can produce what's important to you. Their behaviour is based on enjoying what they have instead of focusing on what they don't have. Their society is a peaceful paradise where everyone owns the same rights, gets the same possibilities, and receives the same rewards for everything they do together. The HumanStyle is what we learn from our parents.
» Important is the meaning of the word «trust» here. You might think «You can trust a HumanStyler, but you can't trust an AnimalStyler», but that's not true: you can trust both to follow their religion; both will act predictably, according to their belief and their values. You can trust a HumanStyler to pay back your trust and you can trust an AnimalStyler to keep everything for horself. It's clear and predictable how each of them will react under the same circumstances.
» How do you find out to which tribe someone belongs?
» You judge them by their acts.
» You can trust AnimalStylers to be selfish creatures, mainly interested in what they own and how they look. They try to convince others for their own benefit, and do as little as possible for others unless they get paid for it. When you have to deal with an AnimalStyler, make a contract with conditions, or walk away. An AnimalStyler will break the rules or start a war when she thinks it will give hor an advantage. An AnimalStyler will fire an old employee and hire a cheaper youngster when it will give hor more profit.
» HumanStylers show the opposite behaviour. They are generous and help other people, even without a direct form of payback. Who you are and what you love interests them more than what you have or what you can do for them. HumanStylers prefer good relationships over personal benefits. Their acts are inspired by their desire to make you happy.
» If you have doubts about someone, just find out to which tribe she belongs. Don't look at what they have or what they are, just look at what they do and why they do it."
Frieda is quiet all this time, listening and thinking. Finally, she says: "And you are HumanStyle?"
"Decide that by yourself. What would be the value of my answer? If I were HumanStyle, I would say «yes» because I'm honest; if I were AnimalStyle, I would say «yes» because that would give me a benefit. My words mean nothing. It's «Show, Don't Tell». You should judge me for what I do, not for what I say.
» First, you'll need to decide if what I just told you is true, if it's indeed a useful tool to take away your doubts. Then you judge me, and all the other people, according to our acts. Everyone, both HumanStylers and AnimalStylers, will act according to the same motivation: we want to be happy. The difference is in our definition of Happiness. The difference is in our acts because each style has a different way to reach that happiness, either by sharing it or by wanting everything for oneself."
Frieda nods and takes her time to think. After a sip of beer, she says: "If I judge you by your acts… This afternoon, you were prepared to give your life to protect me. You put yourself between me and Kristofferson's gun. You could have walked away, but you attacked him to defend me, taking the risk of losing your life…"
"Don't think badly about me. I'm trained to do things like that. I might even have acted like that to get you in the sack or get access to your money. That's the bad side of HumanStyle or AnimalStyle: you can never be 100% sure; future acts might show our real motivation."
Frieda flashes a faint smile, the first one since we entered here: "I'll take the chance. I have just decided to trust you until your acts show the opposite. Is that good enough?"
"I thank you for the compliment, but more important is that you can now trust someone. It's an enormous step ahead in the process of becoming a healthy and happy person again.
» I'm a spy. My motivation is to save the world and to make other people happy. My job implies I can never have a dog or a wife. I don't want you. I want you to be happy. If I can achieve it by doing some insignificant things for you (like saving your life, capturing your nightmare, or finding your missing sister), I don't only do you a favour, but I also do myself a tremendous favour. That's what motivates me. And yes, I consider myself a loyal follower of the HumanStyle, although I can tell you many stories of former missions in which I failed hopelessly. Forgiveness is a HumanStyle quality too. If I lied to you and I would confess it here, right now, would you forgive me?"
"It depends on the lie."
"No. It depends on whether you are HumanStyle or AnimalStyle. First, I'll tell you the lie: when we first met, I told you I had a boyfriend. I'm not gay and I'm not engaged. I lied to you about it because I hoped you would not be afraid of me that way. Women feel safer in the company of gay men. I'm sorry for not telling you the truth. At that moment, it seemed the best way to let you cooperate in my mission. I wasn't interested in you; I needed you to help me get what I want. Finding your sister is my true motivation; it might give me a promotion and a more interesting job. I lied to you because I was selfish."
"I feel safe in your company, not because you're gay or not, but because you protected me against a rapist. I feel I can trust you."
"You can trust people according to their acts. My first act was to tell you a lie. Lies and secrets are the biggest indicators of someone being AnimalStyle. Honesty is a characteristic of HumanStylers. That's why I want you to know the truth."
"Thanks for telling me. I forgive you the lie, but on the condition that you will never lie to me again. Okay?"
"I lied to you about my name too. But that's to protect my family and friends. I'm a spy in a world of violence, selfishness, and lies. I don't want anyone to take revenge on my loved ones for something I did. But if you can live with that lie, I promise to be honest with you about everything else."
Another smile. I like it if I can make someone else happy. Frieda lifts her beer: "Honesty. We drink to that…"
"To Honesty, the stuff friendships are made of."
The waiter tells us all about the stuff each dish is made of when he puts it on our table. Talking about food is useless; you have to smell it and taste it. I never was much of a fish eater, but that was a flaw in my education; the Swedish (Scandinavian) kitchen has a good reputation for its pastry and its meat plates, but its fish and seafood make it outstanding.
There's no red herring, it's not the season, but it's useless to complain about what you don't have. It's much better to enjoy what's available.
Frieda has ordered a bit of everything. We have Raggmunk (a potato pancake with fried pork and berries), something that's called Jansson's Temptation (a casserole of potatoes, onions, anchovies and cream), a salad of egg and anchovy with dill that's called Gubbröra (meaning «the old man's snack») and my favourite is the Gravlax (thin slices of dill-cured salmon), everything eaten with crispy knäckebröd instead of bread.
We hardly talk during dinner. My contribution is limited to sharing my enthusiasm about what's on my plate and Frieda replies by suggesting other dishes, to try on other occasions and in other places. The north of Sweden has meat dishes like reindeer and the south is good with vegetables and dairy products.
For dessert, we get a piece of Prinsesstårta, the princess's cake, a royal treat of sponge cake with jam, cream and vanilla custard, covered with a layer of sweet green marzipan. After which we have coffee, of course. The Scandinavians are among the biggest coffee lovers on the planet.
With a deep sigh of satisfaction, I hand my credit card to the waiter and empty the little glass of schnapps on the house: "Why are Swedish people not all overweight? Your food is excellent. I wouldn't stop eating if I lived here."
"We exercise a lot to burn it all. The cold and the hard work take care of it. Swedish people aren't used to sitting in the sun, doing nothing. We get our kicks building things, inventing things, doing things. In winter, you go skiing or skating. In summer, you go sailing or swimming. We like to play football, tennis, curling or cards together, and to relax, we like to read, psychological crime thrillers most of all."
It reminds me of the crime thriller we're starring in: "And when we start burning calories tomorrow on our quest to find your sister Agneta, which way should we take?"
"Should we look for friends or foes?"
"Foes would be more motivated to let her disappear. Foes would be easy to find too. Does Agneta have a lot of foes?"
"There's one on top of the list: Miss Camilla L. You'll like her. She's the second most beautiful woman in Sweden."
"And who's the most beautiful woman in Sweden?"
"Agneta, of course. My sister was her biggest rival. After winning the title of Miss Sweden, Agneta got all the important model work. Camilla didn't hide her aversion to Agneta, which made her a welcome guest on TV programs and gave her many pages in the magazines: people like conflict."
My spiPhone and Camilla's Facebook page tell us she hangs out in Gothenburg, photo-shooting the new campaign of expensive ladies' underwear. Frieda's mother said something similar about Agneta. I check the info I copied early this morning: Agneta's agenda had only one appointment for this past week: shooting the photos for the new catalogue with expensive Fishion Fashion ladies' underwear, in Gothenburg. I check the contract too. For forty hours of modelling, Agneta gets what the LSD pays me for working three years as a spy.
"Camilla took over Agneta's contract. Agneta wouldn't give her that without a good fight. I think Camilla won that fight and locked your sister away somewhere."
Frieda has been thinking too: "My intuition tells me to forget Camilla. She doesn't seem the kind of person who would kidnap to get what she wants."
My intuition tells me the opposite: "You would be surprised what people are capable of. Strong ambitions will always overshadow and kill everything that stands in their way. The facts show that Camilla got something of high value, which belonged to your sister earlier. It gives her a motive. That's reason enough to pay her a visit."
I reserve two train tickets for tomorrow morning and call a taxi; after such a dinner, I can't motivate myself to the exercise of walking Frieda to the clinic and returning to my hotel room on foot. Having an LSD credit card with the permission of #1, The Boss, to spend unlimited amounts of Luxembourg tax money does strange things to someone's character.