Chapter 12

Anna-Maria disliked their intermediary from the start: the way he looked at her, as if she were an object; the way he made her wait in the stairwell and never invited her into his apartment; the arrogant tilt of his head. She was Oswald’s right-hand man, but this guy was treating her like a messenger.

His attitude rekindled the jealousy that was always smouldering inside her. It made her wonder whether Franz had been talking about her behind her back and why this idiot hadn’t introduced himself. He must have a name, damn it! No, he just stood there in his flip-flops and ratty jeans, yawning hugely and looking as if he’d just dragged himself out of bed, all mussed hair and blank gaze. Her rage at Franz’s choice of this loser as their intermediary was eating Anna-Maria up from the inside.

And then there were the envelopes Oswald sent him. So carefully sealed, every time. Not even a name on the front, just the address of the apartment. Once she had taken a detour to her own apartment to hold the envelope under a bright light, but she still couldn’t make out any letters. She could only tell it was Franz’s handwriting on the page.

Now she was sitting on the balcony and trying to figure out how to make Franz get rid of this loser. Now and then, a thought niggled at her: What is happening to me? What is the point of falling in love if it’s going to hurt this much?

The day’s last bit of pale glow was dissolving on the horizon. It smelled like rain. She took a deep breath and soaked up the fresh air until her ruminations swallowed her up again. She was so caught up in her spiralling thoughts that she lost track of time.

She realized too late that she should already be on her way to Skogome. She made it through the car ride there in a fog of anguish, fully aware that Oswald would be furious that she was late. She convinced herself that everything would get better eventually. When he got out of prison. After all, prison would be stressful for anyone. She began to imagine the future, picturing herself hanging casually on his arm at gatherings and parties in the limelight. Wedding photos in women’s magazines, their noses nudging each other all lovingly.

But her fantasies were no cure for her anxiety, so she tried to come up with a believable lie to explain her tardiness. There had been a lot of Google activity surrounding Sofia Bauman in the past week. Nothing concrete, but still.

Her heart in her throat, she arrived at the central security station. A male guard was on duty – young, a little absent-minded – and Anna-Maria felt a rush of relief. More and more often, it seemed McLean’s eyes saw right through her. The guard raised his hand towards her while he finished a phone call.

‘Franz Oswald is no longer in the visitors’ room,’ he said then. ‘He asked to return to his studies after waiting for you for fifteen minutes.’

‘Damn, I really have to talk to him today.’

‘We can ask, but it’s not as if we can force him to see you.’

‘No, I understand. But tell him I had to take care of something regarding his case,’ she lied. ‘And that I have some information he’ll find interesting.’

The guard sighed in resignation.

‘Okay, but it would be best if you’re on time next visit. Visiting hours are almost over by now.’

He turned around to make a call.

‘He’ll be there in a minute.’

Oswald made her wait fifteen minutes. When the guard escorted her into the visitors’ room, he was sitting there with a cruel gleam in his eye.

‘What did you want?’

‘I’m sorry to make you wait, but Sofia Bauman’s name popped up in my Google alerts. I thought it would be best to read it all before I came.’

‘I see. Anything concrete?’

‘No, not yet. Just posts on Facebook and that sort of thing. She was writing about Elvira. How it sucks that she’s back at ViaTerra.’

‘Did she mention me by name?’

‘Excuse me?’

‘You heard me. Did she mention me? My name, Franz-Fucking-Oswald?’

‘I mean, I don’t recall exactly. But I think so. Or, maybe not directly, but she implied…’

‘Shut up.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Stop waffling. Do you think I can’t tell you’re lying?’

He ran his fingers through his hair in the unconscious, recurring gesture she knew so well. But now she realized, for the first time, that this particular gesture meant he was ramping up to a burst of rage. His jaw clenched. His eyes went dark and that wrinkle appeared between his eyebrows.

‘You don’t have this under control in the least. What kind of hourly fee am I paying you, again? For you to sit there and lie to me? This is fucking absurd.’

His voice was vicious and shrill. When he got this way, he would twist everything she said and turn it against her. Best to keep quiet until he calmed down.

‘I want to know every move she makes. Everything. Understood? Every comment. Every silly little picture she posts. Every goddamn smiley she uses. The whole fucking nine yards.’

For a brief moment, Anna-Maria’s mind went fully quiet. Oswald’s mouth was moving, but it turned into a silent hole. It felt like someone was squeezing her ribcage hard. She heard herself breathing through her nose; she could feel her heart beating, softly, steadily. The pressure around her chest let go, but it left a mild dizziness behind. She had to lean against the wall when her legs could no longer bear her weight. She was only vaguely aware of the room around her. Oswald’s voice had begun to hum again, in the distance. As she stood there she was filled with a horrible sensation, a mixture of clarity and fear. This was something she’d suspected all along, but the thought had never come to complete fruition in her brain. Now she understood Oswald’s relationship with Sofia Bauman in a whole new light. This wasn’t about revenge. Or PR. Or even the good name of ViaTerra. This was personal. A frantic obsession that could not be swayed, much less stopped.

‘Did you hear what I said?’ he shouted.

‘Yes, every word. I understand. You’ll get all the information, I promise.’

‘Good, because I’m tired of your lies and your incompetence. Now I’m going to show you what I have to tolerate while you don’t give a single shit about how things are going for me.’

She was about to protest, but he put up one hand to stop her. He stuck the other hand into his trouser pocket and took out an object wrapped in toilet paper. He held the small bundle in one palm and unwrapped the paper before her eyes. She recoiled and the dizziness returned; for an instant she thought she was staring at an amputated finger. She tried to make out the details of the object – it was like a bloody tendon with white specks.

‘What is that?’

‘Isterband. Lard sausage, this is the kind of thing I’m forced to eat while you wreck my life and fritter away my money. I think you should take it home and eat it up. Then maybe you’ll understand how serious this is.’

Anna-Maria swallowed hard as crushing hopelessness washed over her.