Sara was sitting in her car on Erstagatan, paying Hedin’s bills on her mobile. Then she called the companies that had sent the debt collection notices and explained that she was Eva Hedin’s daughter. She said her mother had been very sick and unable to pay her bills. She was now on the road to recovery – thank goodness – and all the bills had been paid. Might they possibly be prepared to draw a line under these late payments? Yes, they were.
Just as she started the car, the strip-club owner Bass Klas called. He had a number for Vanessa. And he had apparently had another couple of beers, given that he dared to ask whether Sara would like to see him sometime. Sara politely declined. Even though Bass Klas added that he didn’t have a problem with the fact that half her face was covered in burns – he could look at the other half.
Sara called Vanessa and introduced herself, but the woman merely hung up. She apparently had no desire whatsoever to speak to the police.
Sara thought for a while and then she pulled out the unregistered pay-as-you-go mobile that she kept for occasions just like this. She sent a text message.
The name was prejudiciously chosen and the entire message was sent on the wild off-chance, but it seemed to hit the mark.
Not got them yet
*
She was tall, slender and blonde with unnaturally large breasts and pouting lips. But there was something self-assured about her gaze that contradicted the bimbo look, a trouser suit that was more business than sex, and a tablet with a spreadsheet open on it that emphasised the businesslike aspect. But Sara didn’t hesitate for a moment in picking out Vanessa. The rest of the patrons were typical tourists in pairs, with cameras, bumbags and hiking shoes. They were peering at maps, reading guide books or taking photos of the opera house, the palace and each other. Vanessa was the only one in heels, the only one clock-watching. And the only one not obliged to wave off the sparrows and gulls from her table, as she didn’t have anything to eat. Sara strode across the crunchy gravel. The smell of the sea in the middle of Stockholm had always charmed her.
‘You have two options,’ Sara said after sitting down at Vanessa’s table. ‘Either you answer a couple of questions and then I leave you alone, or you refuse and I ruin your operation. And believe me, I can do that.’
Vanessa looked at Sara first with surprise and then annoyance.
‘I’m waiting for someone.’
‘Yes, and the messages you sent are enough to put you away for human trafficking, together with the witness statements we have.’
Obviously there were no witness statements at all, but Sara had to play this for high stakes and sometimes she took useful advantage of the Swedish police force’s reputation for honesty. No one expected a Swedish cop to bluff as brazenly as Sara did so sometimes it paid dividends.
‘Do you know who I work for?’
‘No, but feel free to tell me and we’ll bring them in too. It’s good that you’re willing to give up your co-conspirators.’
Vanessa contemplated Sara like a poker player inspecting her opponent after they had just gone all in. Trying to read her, find signs that might give her away, disclose which cards were in her hand. But Sara was unreadable.
‘I’m only going to say this one more time. Answer a couple of questions and I’ll leave you alone, or keep your mouth shut and I’ll do everything in my power to ruin things for you and your clients. And I’ll make it my business to be very clear that it’s all thanks to you.’
Vanessa’s eyes were now radiating something more akin to contempt than anger.
And she didn’t even know that Sara had no intention of letting her carry on trading vulnerable girls. But first Sara wanted to know more about this new type of peepshow.
‘What questions?’ Vanessa said finally.
Sara smiled.
‘Why don’t we have a cup of coffee? They do a good cardamom cake here.’
No answer.
Sara had been to the teahouse a lot as a teenager when it had been hot. All the Södermalm popstars who later went to hang out in Nytorget had been here. Popsicle, David Shutrick, Just D, Bo Kaspers, the Schultz sisters. And when foreign stars visited Stockholm it was here they came. She had stood behind John Malkovich in the queue, and had Bono’s arse in her face when he had once been standing in the midst of the tables looking for a spot. She had difficulty visiting the teahouse without enjoying a slice of their cardamom cake, but the concern that Vanessa would simply leave meant she refrained on this occasion.
‘Peepshow,’ Sara said instead.
Vanessa looked at her expressionlessly. Almost defiantly.
‘What do you know about peepshows?’ said Sara. ‘The quicker you answer, the quicker you’ll be rid of me.’
Vanessa sighed.
‘I’ve helped to find girls for a peepshow,’ she said.
‘Where they hit the girls?’
‘I don’t know anything about that. I find the girls, and they enter into an agreement with the club. I don’t get involved in that.’
‘You know what happens there.’
‘Yes, fine, I guess things get a little wild sometimes. I mean, in the beginning it was group sex in front of an audience. Later on there were customers who wanted things a little rougher. More like group rape. Live. Where they could control it all from their booths.’
‘And you helped with that?’
‘The girls are in on it. And they get well paid. A lot of them are actually happy when I ask them about the peepshow. It’s a lot of money. So much that they can start a new life. Just think. They get away from their pimps, no longer have to be worried that something could happen to their families, and they get a fuck ton of money. Far more than they could ever earn otherwise. So it’s a pretty good deal.’
‘That’s truly generous of you,’ Sara said. ‘And if a crook ends up in your peepshow? A guy, I mean.’
Vanessa thought about this for a long time before replying. Eventually she said curtly:
‘Then he’s in the shit.’
‘But what happens? Surely he doesn’t get gang-banged?’
‘If you’ve fallen out with the wrong people you can end up in a peepshow as a guy. Then there are lots of blokes sitting in the booths watching as well, but it’s not sex they’re paying to see.’
‘Paying?’
‘Yes, what the fuck did you expect?’
‘Who watches?’
‘Anyone. Regular joes, gangsters, accounts monkeys, pervs. People who’ve heard about it and want to see it. And can afford it. Some of the motorbike gangs do peepshows on people who end up in bad standing with them. All the members sit in the booths watching.’
‘And no one reports it?’
‘The people watching like it, and the ones who end up there, don’t want to come back.’
‘What is it they do?’
‘With the ones sitting there?’
‘Yes. Are they tied up?’
‘Bound and terrified. Screaming and crying.’ Vanessa laughed. ‘It’s actually pretty funny to see big tough gangsters suddenly turning into little cry-babies, begging for their lives., pissing themselves. Most people who end up in that hot seat usually leave town afterwards.’
‘So it’s some kind of internal settlement between gangsters?’
‘No, anyone can end up there. Someone who did someone over in business. Someone who’s done someone else’s wife. People who need punishing or warning. But it can also be some tramp who’s just been unlucky if there’s a lot of demand from the customers but no one has ordered a peepshow for anyone.’
‘And what do they do to them more precisely?’
‘Give them a beating. One hell of a beating. It’s drawn out, excruciating. The people watching want to see suffering. They hit, slice, burn. Maybe even cut something off. The patrons control that.’
‘Do people die?’
Vanessa fell silent again. She scrutinised Sara with watchful eyes.
‘Not that I’ve seen,’ she said after a pause.
Sara’s stomach turned at the hesitant tone. She tried to determine what was beneath Vanessa’s words.
‘And anyway, I don’t find girls for that,’ she said. ‘Just regular sex with a bit of rough stuff.’
‘How can you be sure about that?’
‘Before I agreed to supply them I checked it all out.’
‘You were there?’
‘Yes.’
‘Where is it?’
‘Don’t know. I was blindfolded.’
‘But you watched?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you didn’t have a problem with that?’
‘On the contrary. It was cool. Sexy.’
‘Them hitting people for payment?’
‘Seeing some idiots take a beating. And a bit of gang-banging with a firm hand. I liked it. You should try it.’
‘Why don’t you?’ said Sara.
Vanessa seemed to think about it for a moment, then she unbuttoned her blouse and pulled it open. There, on her breast just above her shiny purple bra, Sara saw three streaks. Old, faded scars that seemed to go down right across her stomach.
‘And I wasn’t even paid,’ she said.