Jens Lapidus - Easy Money

The woman grimaced, looked uncomfortable. JW didn’t like her style. Instead of using clear communication, some people grimaced their way through life.

She pulled out a schedule and ran her finger down the boxes. Finally, she said, “He has a class today that is letting out in ten minutes, at noon. Room four two two. That’s one flight up.”

JW thanked her kindly. Wanted to maintain a good relationship with the woman, for some reason. Sensed he might need it later.

He ran up the stairs. Found the right hallway.

Room 422. The door was closed, still five more minutes till lunchtime.

He waited outside. Put his ear up to the door, heard a chanting voice but couldn’t recognize if it was Jan Brunéus’s.

JW checked out the hallway. Beige walls, wide windows, simple white china light fixtures in the ceiling, graffiti on the radiators. Classic high school. He’d expected a different vibe at Komvux. More mature.

The door to the classroom opened.

A black guy with baggy clothes and jeans almost down to his knees stepped out. Twenty-odd students streamed out behind him.

JW popped his head into the classroom. A couple of girls were collecting their pens and notebooks by the desks.

A teacher stood at the whiteboard, erasing writing. He didn’t see JW.

It had to be Jan Brunéus.

The teacher was dressed in a brown corduroy suit with leather patches at the elbows. He wore a green V-necked knit sweater under the jacket. Three days’ worth of stubble made it more difficult to appreciate his age, but he was probably around forty. He had thin-framed glasses, maybe made by Silhoutte. JW thought he looked like a nice guy.

He walked up to Jan.

Jan turned around, studied JW.

JW thought, Does he see the resemblance between me and Camilla?

Jan said, “How can I help you?”

“My name is Johan Westlund. We spoke on the phone a couple of days ago, as you might remember. I would like to speak to you about my sister, Camilla Westlund. If that’s okay.”

Brunéus sat down on the edge of the desk. Didn’t say anything. Just sighed.

Did he want to seem like he was ready for a heart-to-heart, or what?

The girls who’d been in the classroom left.

Jan got up and closed the door behind them. Sat back down on the edge of the desk.

JW remained standing. No comment.

“I really want to apologize for my behavior. Thinking about her made me upset. The whole disappearance is just so tragic. I didn’t mean to hang up on you like that.”

JW listened without saying anything in return.

“I remember Camilla very well. She was one of my favorite students. She was talented and interested. Good attendance. I gave her an A in every subject.”

JW thought, Teachers care about bullshit like attendance.

“What subjects did she have with you?”

“Language arts, English, and, if I’m remembering correctly, social studies. You know, around two hundred faces pass through my classes every year, but I remember Camilla. You look a lot alike.”

“People say that. Can you tell me more about what you remember about her? I know that she hung out some with a girl named Susanne Pettersson. Did she have other friends here?”

“Susanne Pettersson? I don’t remember her. But I honestly don’t think Camilla had a lot of friends, which was strange. I thought she was very extroverted and nice-seeming. She looked nice, too.”

Something was off. Susanne Pettersson’d said that she and Camilla used to cut class. Now Jan Brunéus was saying she’d had a good attendance record. And that she’d looked nice. Did teachers usually say stuff like that?

They talked for another two minutes or so. Jan spoke in generalities. “Komvux is an important social institution. High school doesn’t suit everyone. Here, they can get a second chance.”

JW wanted to get away from the classroom. Away from Jan Brunéus.

Jan shook his hand. “It’s a sad story. Send my regards to your parents. Tell them that Camilla would’ve gone far.”

Jan picked up a worn leather briefcase from the floor and disappeared out into the hall.

JW walked back to the reception desk. Took note of the hours. The administration offices were closed for the day. Typical, or what?

At home, he flipped through the phone book. City of Stockholm, Education Department. Called the number and asked to be connected to someone who could answer general questions about transcripts and official records. He was put through to the responsible administrator. They discussed JW’s questions for fifteen minutes. That was enough. JW got all the answers he needed.

He would definitely go back to the reception at Komvux. Dig deep in the school’s transcript archives. Something wasn’t right with Jan Brunéus’s story.

Mrado’d played crime thriller for two and a half days while he waited for Mahmud’s sister to visit Österåker. Ordered passport photos of Jorge. Called his two cop contacts, Jonas and Rolf. Promised five grand to the one who’d dig up useful info on the Jorge fucker. Looked up the Latino’s relatives with the Population Registry. No leads. Checked in with his colleague Nenad, Radovan’s blow and whore page. Nenad didn’t even remember Jorge, other than from the trial. Mrado had breakfast with Ratko and Ratko’s brother Slobodan, alias “Bobban.” They gave him the lowdown on Stockholm’s northwest criminal map-which junkies to talk to, which employees to talk to at which bars, which dealers knew Jorge’s crowd. He went out to Sollentuna and Märsta twice and talked to various cocaine contacts and Latinos. Bobban went with him. Good visual aid.

Most already knew who the fugitive was, and those who didn’t got the passport pics shoved under their noses. A hero. A legend. Everyone wanted to buy the hero a drink. Celebrate the guy. Congratulate the guy. But no one’d seen him.

Jorge’s mom lived with a new husband, and he had a sister, Paola. The mom lived outside Stockholm. The sister in Hägersten. He ordered passport photos of the sister and mom. Got two hits when he Googled the sister’s name. She’d written an article in the Stockholm University newspaper, Gaudeamus, and taken part in the campus Literature Days. Good girl. Was apparently trying to make her own way from scratch. He figured maybe he should take a closer look at the university.

He called the Literature Department. The sis was taking the “level 3 course,” whatever that was.

Mrado drove out to Frescati, university playground. Parked the car at the back of the blue high-rises. His Benz stuck out. The rest of the cars in the parking lot: dud cars.

The university for Mrado: a foreign country. Population: stick figures, four-eyed bookworms. Players who preferred parlance to performance. Pussies. To Mrado’s surprise, however, there were hot chicks en masse.

He eyed some signs. Found the Lit Department. Rode up in the elevator. Asked a lady in the hall who was responsible for the level 3 course. Got the name of the teaching assistant. Eyed more signs. The TA’s room was farther down the same hall. Tacked on the door was another sign: I LOVE MY WORK… DURING LUNCH AND COFFEE BREAKS. Mrado knocked. No answer. Asked a woman in the room next door. The TA was in a meeting in room C 119. Rode down again, all the way down. The halls felt half-finished. Pipes and ventilation systems hung from the ceiling. Some walls looked unpainted. White wood panels leaned up in a corner. He eyed the arrows. Found the room. Knocked. A guy in a blazer and frizzy bangs opened the door. Mrado asked to speak to the TA. The guy said they were in a meeting. Mrado cocked his head to the side. Put his foot in the door so it wouldn’t close. Stared the guy down. Mr. Frizz stood his ground. After fifteen seconds, he looked away. Went to get the TA. A young girl-twenty-five tops. Mrado’d expected an older woman. She asked what he wanted. He pulled some bull. Said he was supposed to buy books from a girl who hadn’t shown. Wondered if the TA had her number or knew where she had class today. She asked why he was in such a hurry. Mrado pulled some more bull, something about heading out of the country and needing the books today. An emergency. The TA: gullible and too nice, a cold trick. They went up to her office. She found Paola’s telephone number and the schedule for the level 3 course. Said Mrado was in luck. “Paola is in a seminar today in room D three twenty-seven.” Finally, a hot hand.