The dog took a shit in the high grass next to the fence. She turned away, pretending not to see. No people were around this early in the morning, so she needn't bother with the plastic bag.
"Come on, Jasper," she called to the dog, pulling him toward the exercise enclosure on the eastern side of the park. "Come on, boy, my little darling…"
She glanced behind her as she walked away from the fence. She couldn't see the leg now; it was hidden by the dense foliage.
It was going to get hot again today; she could feel it already. Her brow was beaded with sweat even though the sun was barely up. She panted her way up the hill. The dog was pulling at the leash, his tongue lolling so that it was almost touching the grass.
How on earth could you lie down to sleep in a cemetery, the resting place of the dead? Was this what feminism meant, to be allowed to behave badly and disrespectfully?
She was still upset. The steep hill just made her even more irritable.
I should get rid of the dog, she thought, and was immediately seized by guilt. To compensate for her wickedness, she bent down to unleash the dog and take it in her arms. The dog wriggled free and shot after a squirrel. The woman sighed. Her thoughtfulness obviously wasn't appreciated.
Sighing again, she dropped onto a park bench while Jasper attempted to chase down the squirrel. The dog was soon exhausted and parked himself underneath the fir tree where the little rodent was hiding. She stayed on the bench until she saw that the dog was done. As she got up, she noticed that her dress was clinging to her back. The thought of the dark stains along her spine made her feel self-conscious.
"Jasper darling, little doggy…"
She held out a plastic bag full of treats, and the short-legged bull-terrier came running straight at her. With his tongue dangling out of his mouth, he looked as if he were laughing.
"Oh, you want this, don't you, my friend…"
She gave the dog the bag's contents and put him back on the leash. It was time to go home. Jasper had had his treat. Now it was her turn- coffee and a bun.
But the dog didn't want to go home. He'd spotted the squirrel again, and fortified by the treats, he was ready for another chase. He protested loudly and fiercely, pulling at the leash.
"I don't want to stay out any longer," she moaned. "Come on now!"
They took a roundabout way to avoid the steep, grassy hills that faced her apartment building. She could manage uphill, but going down was hard on her knees.
She was right above the northeast corner of the cemetery when she saw the body. It lay embedded in the lush, overgrown vegetation, licentiously stretched out behind a partly collapsed gravestone. A fragment of a Star of David was next to her head. Only then did the woman begin to feel scared. The body was naked, much too still and white. The dog broke loose and rushed up to the fence, the leash dancing like an angry snake behind him.
"Jasper!"
He managed to squeeze in between two bars and continued over to the dead woman.
"Jasper, come here!"
She yelled as loudly as she dared; she didn't want to wake the people living around the park. Many slept with open windows in the heat; the inner-city stone buildings didn't cool down during the short summer nights. She rummaged frantically in the plastic bag, but she'd run out of things to give him.
The bullterrier stopped next to the body and looked at her attentively. Then he started sniffing, at first searching, then eagerly. When he got to her genitals, the woman couldn't check herself.
"Jasper! Come here this minute!"
The dog looked up but gave no sign of obeying. Instead, he moved to the woman's head and started sniffing at the hands resting next to her face. To her horror, the dog started chewing at the fingers. She felt sick and grabbed the black iron bars. Carefully, she moved to the left, leaned down, and peered in among the gravestones. From a distance of six feet, she was staring into the woman's eyes. They were light-colored and clouded, dull and cold. She had a strange sensation of all sound around her disappearing. She was left with a buzzing tone in her ears.
I've got to get the dog away from here, she thought. I can't let anyone know what Jasper did.
She went down on her knees and reached her hand in as far as she could through the fence. Her splayed fingers were pointing straight at the dead eyes. Her fat upper arms threatened to get stuck between the bars as she reached for the hook of the leash. The dog howled when she pulled at the leather strap. He didn't want to let go of his prey; the hand was firmly wedged in his jaws. She jerked the animal toward her as hard as she could.
"You stupid, stinking dog!"
He hit the fence with a thud, giving a yelp. With trembling hands she forced the animal out through the iron bars. She was holding him as she never had before, both hands in a firm grip around the belly. She hurried down to the street, slipping on the grass on her way, painfully pulling a muscle in her groin.
Only when she had locked the door behind her in her own apartment and saw the scraps of flesh in the dog's mouth did she throw up.
Part One
July
Seventeen Years, Four Months, and Sixteen Days
I thought love was only for others, for those who are visible and who count. My mistake is singing inside me, great shouts of joy. It's me he wants.
The euphoria, the first touch, his fringe falling into his eyes when he looked at me; nervous, not at all arrogant. Crystal clear: the wind, the light, the feeling of absolute perfection, the sidewalk, the hot wall of the house.
I got the one I wanted.
He's the center of attention. The other girls smile and flirt, but I'm not jealous. I trust him. I know he's mine. I see him from the other end of the room, blond hair that gleams, the movement as he smooths it back, a strong hand, my hand. My chest contracts under a band of happiness; I'm breathless, tears are in my eyes. The light clings to him, making him strong and whole.
He says he can't manage without me.
His vulnerability lies just beneath his smooth skin. I lie on his arm and he draws his finger along my face.
Never leave me,
he says;
I can't live without you.
And I promise.
Saturday 28 July
There's a dead girl in Kronoberg Park."
This one had the breathless voice of a heavy drug user. Amphetamines perhaps. Annika Bengtzon took her eyes away from the screen and fumbled for a pen amid the mess on her desk.
"How do you know?" she asked, too much skepticism in her voice.
"Because I'm fucking standing next to it!"
The voice rose to falsetto and Annika held the phone away from her ear.
"Okay. How dead?" she said, realizing she sounded ridiculous.
"Shit! Stone dead! How fucking dead can you be?"
Annika looked around the newsroom uncertainly. Over at the news desk, Spike, the news editor, was talking on the phone. Anne Snapphane was fanning herself with a pad at the desk across from Annika, and Pelle Oscarsson was standing at the picture desk, clicking away at his Mac.
"Yeah, right," she said, and found a pen in an empty coffee mug. She started taking notes on the back of an old wire report from the news agency TT.
"In Kronoberg Park, you say. Whereabouts?"
"Behind a gravestone."
"A gravestone?"