The Invisible Man from Salem (10 page)

‘I'd take some oxygen, to be on the safe side.'

‘And what would you do?' she asked. ‘Just stand there watching them? Stroke them?'

‘You're taking the piss.'

‘Only slightly.'

‘Where would you go then?'

‘Forwards, definitely.'

‘Why?'

‘Just to see what everything's like. So you don't have to worry. Then again,' she continued, ‘maybe you'd go back to your own time and just relax, because you think everything's going to be okay anyway, if everything does look good in the future, I mean. And then perhaps you end up not doing the things that make the future what it is. You get me?'

‘I, er … I think so.'

I had no idea what she was on about.

‘It might be really important that you don't know how things end up. So maybe I would go back. But then, if everything is fucked in the future, if you did go forwards, then you have a chance to sort it out, don't you, as long as you know what needs sorting.' She hesitated. ‘I'd like to know what's going to happen to Mum and Dad. And John. And me.'

‘Do you worry about the future?'

‘Everyone does, don't they?' She went quiet for a moment, and I could hear her breathing. ‘I think Dad's back.'

‘Aren't you allowed to talk on the phone?'

‘Yeah, but I don't want him to hear. My room's right next to their bedroom.'

It went quiet, again, but it felt calming and warm. Then we carried on talking, about what we were doing that summer, about music and films, and about school. She asked if I'd heard of
The Saint
.

‘The Val Kilmer film?'

‘Yes?'

‘It's out at the cinema, isn't it?'

‘Yes. I wanted to go and see it, but no one I know wants to go. Do you want to see it?'

‘With you?' I asked, and opened my eyes.

‘If you want to, I mean.' She sounded unsure. ‘You don't have to. It's just so boring going on your own.'

‘No, I just … sure.'

‘Don't tell John.'

AS I REMEMBER IT,
I used to think about them a lot, the Grimberg family. What their life was like and what had actually gone wrong. What you could see from outside, the family's outward appearance, was nothing unusual for Salem; several people I knew had the same sort of background. I think there was some violence, or at least there had been at some point. Julia always ended up in between her mum and dad while Grim did his best to stay out of the way. For us, that was always the way. At school, at home, during our free time: someone got away; someone else got caught in the firing line. What made Grim different was that he was so overprotective when it came to Julia. There seemed to be a lot going on that I couldn't grasp, despite my best efforts. Maybe I still can't.

‘Sometimes, when I'm on my own, I feel like I'm disappearing,' Grim used to say, and even though I never really understood what he meant by that, that's how I feel about them now. I have to hold on to them, Grim and Julia, fix them in specific scenes so that they won't disappear.

My youth, my childhood … With the passage of time, that whole period slips further out of focus, and Grim and Julia look increasingly like the mystery that they may well have been all along.

IT ALL FELT FORBIDDEN
. During the fairly short time Grim and I had known each other, we had become close. At least that's how I felt; you could never tell with him. Despite that, we had never spoken on the phone. After that first call with Julia, I spent at least an hour a day on my bed talking to her on the phone. There was an intimacy between us that made me shake inside. I felt alive in a way I'd never felt before, as though my feelings were eyes that had always been blindfolded. Julia Grimberg turned everything on its head and made it feel bigger, infinite.

‘What are you wearing?' she asked on the phone, the night before the cinema.

I laughed.

‘Why do you ask?'

‘I want to know.'

‘Why?'

‘I just want to know.'

I was silent while I checked that my door was closed.

‘Boxers.'

‘They're called underpants.'

‘Underpants is such an ugly word.'

‘But that's what they're called.'

‘What about you?'

‘Eh?'

‘What are you wearing?'

‘Knickers. Is that an ugly word?'

‘No.'

‘I like boys' underwear,' she said, and it sounded like she was stretching, before I heard her breathe out.

‘Are you a virgin?'

The question just tumbled out, surprising me. I wanted to take it back.

‘No,' she replied. ‘Are you?'

‘No,' I lied, pretty certain that she didn't believe me.

‘How old were you?' she asked.

‘Fifteen. You?'

‘Fourteen.'

I heard her gasping for air.

‘What are you doing?' I asked.

‘What do you think?' she whispered.

Her breathing became really heavy. The sound was spellbinding. I strained to hear every nuance of what was happening at the other end of the line.

‘Touch yourself,' she said quietly, with a thickness to her voice that I'd never heard before.

‘Okay,' I said, despite the fact that I was already doing so.

‘How does it feel?'

What do you say to that?

‘Good,' I attempted.

‘Imagine it's my hand.'

I was on the verge of exploding. Suddenly she was gasping, as though she'd been winded again and again, before she slowly seemed to be recovering.

‘I bit my lip,' she giggled. ‘I think I bit through it.'

Everything was spinning. I'd never experienced anything like it.

VIII

The dealer is a little sparrow of a man, with his close-set eyes, a sharp beak of a nose, and jerky movements. His slicked-back hair exposes his forehead, big and pale. He wears a long black trench coat that flaps behind him. On the back of each hand are two diamond tattoos. I hold up my mobile in front of him.

‘Do you recognise her?'

‘Is she dead?'

‘Do you recognise her?'

He smiles weakly, revealing crooked teeth.

‘You're still suspended, right? I don't need to tell you shit.'

‘I'm back on duty.'

‘Show me your badge then.'

I look around. We're standing on a corner near the Maria Magdalena Church on Södermalm. I can smell freshly baked bread from one of the nearby bakeries; Hornsgatan hums away in the distance. It's a beautiful day. I take a step closer to him.

‘How much money do you owe me?'

The smile disappears and he looks up at me.

‘I don't know.'

‘It's a lot.'

‘You'll get it back.'

‘Give me this, and we're quits.'

Felix used to be an informer. When we put a stop to the arrangement a few years back, he had nothing left and had to flee the country for a while. When he came back, I gave him the chance to start again, and he did start again, and just like before he snorted all the money. There's probably a price on his head, and it's a miracle that he's still alive, but cockroaches like Felix do have a tendency to survive.

‘Straight up?' he asks.

‘Straight up.'

Felix's eyes roam across the phone's screen.

‘She must be important, eh?'

I push Felix into the shadow cast by the church's bell tower.

‘Do you know her name?'

Felix plays with his tongue in the corner of his mouth, as if scratching an itch.

‘Rebecca.'

‘Rebecca what?'

‘Simonsson, I think. No, Salomonsson?' He looks at me. ‘It's Salomonsson. Rebecca Salomonsson. It's her from Chapmansgården, isn't it? I saw it in the paper.'

‘How do you know her?'

‘She sold.'

‘What?'

‘What do you think?'

‘People sell all sorts,' I say.

He nods, approvingly.

‘True. But Rebecca stuck to drugs and sex.'

‘And where do you come in?'

He looks down, as though he's weighing something up. Felix's forehead has started to moisten.

‘I know this is going to look bad, but Christ, I promise, Junker, I didn't do it.'

‘Tell me.'

He looks around and leans in towards me, his small eyes wide and glossy.

‘I was the one supplying her with the junk.'

‘And why does that look bad?'

‘I'm not fucking you around, so don't fuck me around,' he says sharply, before apparently composing himself a bit. ‘You know what I mean. This sort of thing happens for two reasons. Either she owes someone money, and that someone would of course be me, or else she's seen something she wasn't supposed to. The most likely is the former. So,' he says, and takes a cigarette from the inside pocket of his trench coat, ‘it looks pretty fucking bad.'

I look at Felix's shoes as he lights the cigarette. They're small Converses, several sizes smaller than mine. And several sizes smaller than the shoe that left a print on the floor in Chapmansgården. He could have had other shoes on, but I doubt it.

‘You want one?' he asks and offers me a cigarette.

‘I've got my own. Tell me what you know about her.'

Felix pulls the smoke in, and breathes out through his nose. His eyes are constantly assessing the surroundings, hoping to make sure he isn't being seen anywhere near me.

‘She wasn't from here. I think she was from Nyköping or Eskilstuna or somewhere, a smaller city anyway. She'd been here a couple of years. Typical dosser, just like the rest of them. She moved here to work or study, but pretty quickly she fell in with the wrong crowd. The guy she started seeing was a completely wasted Yugoslav junkie from Norsborg. He dragged her down into the shit, before he died of an overdose. That's when she came to me.'

‘Is that when she started selling?'

He takes a drag.

‘That's right.'

‘What was she selling?'

‘Whatever I gave her. But the only thing she was doing herself was heroin.'

‘And what did you give her?'

‘You know me.' Felix is smiling. ‘Everything. You can't specialise in just one thing; it doesn't work like that anymore. You need to be able to get hold of everything. Heroin, morphine, amphetamine, coke, bennies, Marios, all that shit.'

‘What are Marios?'

‘You know Super Mario, the Nintendo character?'

‘Yes.'

He looks at me as though that is an explanation.

‘The game is full of mushrooms? You're losing it, Junker. You've been off the streets for too long.'

‘Yet it still only took me less than an afternoon to find you.' I light a cigarette, and my smoke mixes with his. ‘Did she have problems with anyone?'

‘We all have problems with each other.'

‘You know what I mean.'

Felix smokes some more of his cigarette, and plays with his tongue in the corner of his mouth.

‘Not that I know of, no. She did what she was supposed to. She was almost never late paying me. I couldn't tell you whether she's had dealings with others. Since she wasn't from round here, she didn't have many friends.'

‘Where did she live?'

‘Nowhere, everywhere.'

‘Where was she most recently?'

‘She hasn't had a fixed address recently. That's why she was sleeping at Chapmansgården.'

‘She had no possessions with her at Chapmansgården, but she must have at least had a bag of stuff?'

‘Fucked if I know; I suppose she must have?' He flings his arms out and coughs, before taking another strained drag. ‘She would often get the southbound Red Line, even after her bloke in Norsborg did himself in. Maybe she knew someone there, stayed with someone.'

‘Do you have the names of her friends?'

‘No.'

‘What was her boyfriend's name?'

‘Miroslav something.'

‘Miroslav Djukic?'

Felix nods again, excitedly and jerkily.

‘Yes, that's it.'

Felix hesitates for a moment, before cocking his head to one side and smiling broadly, as though he's just realised something. It's a strange gesture to make, but the pattern of his movements is completely unpredictable, as if he's forgotten which expressions go with which words.