Alex Gray - The Swedish Girl

And it had been difficult. Magnusson had been annoyed at first, asking what business the psychologist had questioning his choice of tenants. But gradually he had admitted that there was some sense in Solly’s gentle probing, finding out about each of the students in turn was helping the professor to understand the ways he protected his daughter, wasn’t it? Solly had smiled and nodded, but not confirmed this interpretation of his questions. In truth, what he had wanted to find out was why these young people had been chosen and how he hoped it might tell him more about Eva herself.

Gary Calderwood had been the only one whose background had given him the right to a place at Merryfield Avenue, but even he had been subject to Henrik’s scrutiny. The right sort of boy , he had called him, whatever that meant. And Solly, looking at the Swede, had taken it to mean that he had thought of Gary as boyfriend material. And Roger? Capable, the type who would look out for her , Henrik had declared firmly. And take her to his bed? Had that been on Magnusson’s agenda? Kirsty, as he had guessed, was the husmor , and Colin Young the boy-next-door — Eva had called him that herself, Henrik had said, laughing shortly as though struck by the irony of it.

‘Did you select the boys as potential sexual partners for Eva?’

Solly blinked, remembering Henrik’s reaction: it was as though the man had actually hit him, such was the glare from those cold blue eyes and that mouth opened wide in anger. But then Magnusson’s expression had changed to one of anguish, his hands covering his face as he began to wail, ‘Oh my God, my God!’

‘It was my fault?’ he had whispered at last. ‘Putting these young men with her? I gave them a chance to be nice, to enjoy her company and yet…’ He had shaken his head again, speech deserting him.

‘We cannot know for sure if Colin Young took her life,’ Solly had told him, one hand on the man’s shoulder. ‘Kirsty is certain he didn’t and having met him-’

‘You met him? How? Where?’

Solly had gone on to relate the prison visit and how he had taken careful note of the young man’s behaviour.

‘I’m not often a poor judge of character,’ he had stated, ‘and I would have said that Colin is suffering quite a lot as a result of having been wrongly accused of a capital crime.’ Magnusson had listened then, attentive to what Solly had told him.

‘I think the boy was very sweet on your daughter,’ he added at last. ‘In fact, I think in their own way each of the boys may have been a little bit in love with Eva.’

And that, of course, was what this father had wanted, Solly told himself, switching on the small kettle in the hotel bedroom. He had manipulated the students for his own particular agenda, to make sure that if Eva had any sexual relations then they would be with decent young men of his choosing. Solly sighed at the thought: how could any father have imagined that his girl would behave exactly as he demanded, and in a foreign country, far from parental control? Surely, he told himself, it had been asking for trouble to let this girl loose in the mean streets of Glasgow.

As he waited for the water to boil, Solly thought about Rosie and Abby. How different their lives were! To love his daughter was also to give her the freedom to become herself, wasn’t it? A surge of pity filled him then for the dead girl. What sort of life had she endured? All the privileges of wealth had been nothing compared to the freedom to make choices that were truly her own. The overbearing love he had had for his daughter: surely that was what had driven her to seek illicit pleasures, like the affair with her university lecturer. And had there been others: secret lovers taken to satisfy an appetite that sought some sort of fulfilment? Colin, Roger and Gary had been her father’s choice. He stared into space, ignoring the cloud of steam coming from the kettle as the thought came to him at last.

Had the killer been some unsuitable lover? Someone dangerous that Eva had chosen for herself? And had she wanted that spice of danger as an antidote to her father’s choice of bedmates? But why would she sleep with all of her flatmates unless she wanted to? Sheer promiscuity? Or because her father expected it?

Kirsty stood on the corner of Cathedral Street and Montrose Street watching as the students took their different routes, some to Caledonian and others to Strathclyde. She had left Eva here loads of time last term before heading to her own classes. If only Colin could be released from jail it would almost feel normal again… but without Eva it was never going to be the same, was it?

Last night she had listened as Lorimer and Professor Brightman had explained what they had found out so far. A secret lover, she mused, thinking of the Strathclyde lecturer whose number she had discovered by chance. And had there been others? God help me, Kirsty thought, Eva had scarcely been in Glasgow four months, yet in that short time the seemingly modest and self-contained girl had managed to hop in and out of so many different beds! Apart from her own drunken scramble with Roger, Kirsty hadn’t had one bit of attention from a lad. And how do I feel about that? she wondered. Glad to be alive, a small voice whispered in her ear. And in a funny way, Kirsty felt relieved. Perhaps being so beautiful was what had killed Eva Magnusson. And nobody was going to notice dumpy Kirsty Wilson in a crowd, were they? she thought as she turned up Montrose Street and headed the way the Swedish girl had always gone.

Lesley Crawford blinked from her hospital bed as the sunlight glared through a gap in the curtains, the brightness of the winter sunlight a contrast with this shaded room. She put one tremulous hand to her forehead, wondering for a moment why her hair felt so odd, so coarse… Then the memory of the hospital corridor and other, harsher, lights returned, green-clad figures that had loomed over her vision until the blackness descended. Letting her fingers trace the bandages, Lesley struggled to remember more. An accident. She must have been in some kind of accident, that was it.

The throbbing on either side of her head made Lesley close her eyes against the light as she listened to the muffled roar of traffic coming from somewhere far below. And, as she lay, slipping gratefully back into the comfort of sleep, the woman in the chair beside her gave a small smile of satisfaction.

‘She’s still on fairly strong medication, Detective Inspector,’ the sister told Jo Grant. ‘It will be at least tomorrow before you can expect any signs of lucidity. And even then,’ she warned in a tone that brooked no disagreement, ‘it will be entirely up to Dr Leckie to decide if his patient is fit to talk to the police.’

‘Thanks,’ Jo replied. ‘But we really do need to talk to her the moment she can speak.’ She paused, looking at the senior nurse, wondering how much dedication to her patients went on inside that intelligent face, trying to decide just how much to reveal.

‘The man who attacked Lesley has to be found,’ she said quietly, staring meaningfully into the other woman’s eyes. ‘You do know what I’m saying, don’t you?’

‘Of course,’ Sister replied, one eyebrow raised. ‘He might very well try to attack and kill other defenceless women.’ She smiled a trifle wearily. ‘It’s your job to prevent that, Detective Inspector, and it’s mine to care for the health and well-being of my patients.’ The woman nodded and sighed. ‘I’ve got your number. I’ll call you the moment she is able to talk to you, I promise.’

The lecture theatre was full of students jostling along the narrow rows, haversacks slung in the aisles or under desks as Kirsty filed in with the last of the class. She hurried to the nearest vacant seat at the back, darting anxious glances around, but no one seemed to notice a stranger in their midst. What was it one of her own tutors had told her at the beginning of her degree? If you drop dead nobody’s going to notice . That had elicited an explosion of laughter but the sentiment behind it was true enough. Was any single student really thinking about Eva Magnusson right now? Probably not. Their eyes were all on the figure walking down the short flight of steps towards the lectern.