Jens Lapidus - Easy Money

The Swedish company bought the BMW JW’d been coveting for 200,000 kronor, cash-the rest to be paid in installments. Formally, it was owned by the company, but it was at JW’s full disposal. The day he picked it up from the dealer was one of the best of his life, even better than the day at the luxury department store in London.

To buy an apartment was trickier. It was rare that a legal person was permitted to own a co-op in Sweden. JW’s company couldn’t formally pay for it. The solution was that JW Consulting, Ltd., called a board meeting. Signed off on the agenda, decided that three hundred grand would be granted to JW personally.

The effect of all the legal stuff was that, last week, he’d put a 300,000-kronor down payment on a luxuriously renovated one-bedroom on Kommendörsgatan. Six hundred and forty-five square feet. Total price: 3.2 million. It was worth every penny-sure, the apartment wasn’t huge, but it was enough. Hardwood floors, high ceilings, moldings, deep windows, and a tiled woodstove gave the right feel. He didn’t have money left over to buy sweet furniture, but that wasn’t a problem-when the big delivery’d been made, and the dealing was well on its way, JW would go wild at Nordiska Galleriet, Stockholm’s premier luxury design destination. Become high-class. Become in line with his image of himself.

It’d all gone so fast. In just a few months, he was living under the same circumstances as Nippe, Putte, Fredrik, and the others. Owned a car and an apartment in the golden rectangle.

It could only get better. Since the spring, he’d averaged 200,000 a month. He and Jet Set Carl were an unbeatable team. Carl planned the parties, invited the people, ran the PR parade. JW guaranteed a full rager and full noses. The money in Sweden was transferred to C Solutions, Ltd.’s account on the Isle of Man, then back to JW Consulting, Ltd. It was a complicated, time-consuming, and expensive process. But when the big C delivery’d been made, it would be worth every penny.

He’d tried to explain the system to Abdulkarim. The Arab understood the magnitude vaguely and wanted in. JW praised himself. He was the man who’d thought to plan ahead-after all, he’d bought yet another company on the island and opened accounts for it. Now that Abdulkarim was interested, there was a possibility of running his business, too. Easy enough to activate the other company and start up an even bigger money circuit. Nenad praised him, too, pronounced the situation first-rate. Demanded an in. JW was happy to oblige. Opened accounts. Fixed contracts. Within a month, the Arab, the Serb, and whoever else who wanted would be able buy their way into JW’s system. In: pitch-black cash. Out: pure white fleece.

JW’d always known that Sophie knew Princess Madeleine. But the feeling of being invited, and even seeing himself in the back pages of the royal gossip rag, was a joy comparable to the car purchase.

And Sophie’d stopped asking about Jorge and the others. Maybe it’d been enough for her to meet the Chilean that one time. JW was insecure; sometimes it felt like she was letting him go. Was it because she felt like he was hiding too much? His constant source of insecurity. Should he let her meet his dealer friends? That was impossible. A live gun against JW’s temple. Sure, she’d met Jorge and everything was peachy keen, but the Arab’s rough manner and Fahdi’s crude jokes-never. JW pushed the thought aside. It was a relief that Sophie’d stopped asking. At the same time, his fear that the whole thing would go to hell kept growing. No way it could fall apart now. Not when he was so close to self-realization.

He was waiting to hear from the police regarding new findings about Camilla, but nothing happened. At the end of June, almost six months after he’d given them all he knew, he decided to call the investigator.

He got the cold shoulder. The police explained that he didn’t have any actual right to information about the investigation regarding Camilla’s disappearance. “Confidentiality, you know.” If the police chose to communicate with anyone, it would be with the parents, Margareta and Bengt Westlund, not JW. “Also, in the case in question, no breakthrough has been made, therefore, there is nothing to report.”

He remained sitting with the receiver in hand for half an hour, just staring into space. Couldn’t believe it. What the hell were they doing? He’d served them the Komvux teacher’s head on a platter. Of course, Jan Brunéus had something to do with Camilla’s disappearance.

Sometimes he considered sending Fahdi to take care of Brunéus. Exert some pressure of his own to make the teacher talk.

JW ran his C business irreproachably. But as long as Camilla’s face was the first thing on his retina every morning, he couldn’t find peace.

The following day, he called his mom. He hadn’t spoken to her in two months.

“Johan, you never call and you don’t pick up when I try to call.” The first thing she did was guilt-trip him. No wonder he didn’t call more often.

“I know, Mom, I’m sorry. How are you guys?”

“As usual. Nothing changes up here.” JW understood. Grief still lay like a lid over her voice.

“I heard from a girlfriend yesterday that there’d been a picture of you in Svensk Damtidning. I ran right away and bought the magazine. I was going to call you today. How fun, Johan. At the princess’s party and all. Did you see the king?”

“I did, actually. He was happy and seemed nice.”

“I had no idea you knew those people.”

“They’re friends from school. Nice people.”

“Dad won one of those lottery things you scrape yesterday. Can you imagine? He scraped three one thousands. We didn’t see it at first. We scraped it together. The most we’d won before was three hundred kronor.”

“Well, that’s great. So, did you buy more tickets?”

“No. We went out for dinner in Robertsfors.”

The story made JW happy. As far as he knew, they hadn’t gone out to eat, not even to Robertsfors’s only decent restaurant, since Camilla’d disappeared.

“Mom, there’s something I want to tell you.”

Margareta was silent. Could tell by JW’s voice what it was about.

“The police have new information about Camilla.”

He heard her breathing on the other end of the line.

He kept talking. Told her the whole Jan Brunéus story. When he was finished, Margareta asked how he knew.

He avoided answering.

“Mom, you have to call the police. I know you don’t like doing it, but you have to. Find out if they know anything else. Put pressure on them to keep the investigation open. We have the right to know what happened.”

“I can’t do it. Dad’ll have to call.”

JW spoke to Bengt. His dad was in a bad mood. JW explained again. It was as if his father didn’t want to understand. He asked stupid questions. “Why did she cut so many classes? She must’ve known that bad attendance would mean lower grades.”

The frustration grew. Finally, JW almost yelled, “If you don’t call the police, I won’t talk to you anymore!”

An ugly threat. Low. But what was he supposed to do?

He apologized.

Bengt promised to call the police.

JW sat on the bed in his beautiful new apartment. He pulled his legs up and hugged them to his chest.

Thought about calling Sophie. Telling her everything about his parents. About Camilla.

No, he couldn’t do it.

The next day, he busied himself with the regular: Abdulkarim’s project, the C business, expansion plans, the collaboration with Jorge. Preparations with Abdulkarim and Jorge for the big C delivery. The Arab’d deliberately dried up the market. Wanted to press up the prices before the shipment’s arrival. It meant more time to study for JW, which he needed. He leaked information to Nenad like a sieve. Called him a few times a week with reports. It was starting to feel normal.