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London and Stockholm. The day following Jennifer’s Return
At New Scotland Yard in London, the Headquarters of the Metropolitan Police, Chief Inspector Grantby, who has been part of the investigation into Jenny's disappearance from the start, picks up the phone, reacting to its insistent ring. He's only just got back to his desk. He'd hoped for a few minutes to get his life in order before the outside world demanded his attention once again. “Grantby?”
“Chief Inspector, There was a call for you this morning from the police in Stockholm.”
“Stockholm?”
“An Inspector Thomassen rang to say someone called Jennifer McEwan has been found. She was a disappearance case in 2009 in London. They want you to call back.”
Grantby furrows his brow. He remembers something of the case; mainly that they didn't get very far with it. It will be good if he can finally draw a line under it. “Can you get me the file?”
“It should be on your desk.”
“Thanks, Alice.”
Grantby thinks back as he rummages through the files on his desk. A young woman vanished in London. She came from … where was it? … somewhere in the Midlands … Warwick! Suddenly the memory freshens up in his mind. That was the case where he thought someone in the security services was playing games. All the leads had been so very neatly closed off. There had been a report that the CIA were somehow involved with the girl. How did that work? Er … was she the one who had been doing some psychological research at some peculiar adult playground in Essex – or was it Suffolk? Maybe it was Suffolk … The CIA had turned up and carted her off for interrogation.
By now Grantby is rather keen to re-read the details. He finds the file on his desk and thumbs through to find the summary of events:
Name: Jennifer Karin McEwan
Date of disappearance: 11 November 2009
Last Confirmed Sighting: Fitzroy Square W1
Approximate time: 2:30PM
Last possible sighting: New Cavendish Street W1
Risk classification: High:
- her absence was out of character
- she did not complete her intensions on the day
- no objective explanation for her disappearance
Other Information: - possible involvement of ‘security services’
- her superior at work was a personal friend of a former KGB
agent.
When he read the last line, Grantby chuckles. Sometimes you just could not make this stuff up!
Grantby picks up his ‘phone and speaks to his secretary once more: “Can you try to get me Bjorn Borg or whoever it was?”
“It was … Inspector Thomassen and she is a woman, not a man.”
“Of course, well it is Sweden after all.”
“I will call you back.”
“Thanks, Alice.”
A moment or two later and Alice is back with Grantby’s call to Stockholm. An insistent accented voice asks: “Can I speak with Inspector Grantby?”
“This is Chief Inspector Grantby.”
“Of course. This is Anna Thomassen. I am with the Swedish National Investigation Bureau. Stockholm County Police were alerted last night by a … Mr Andrew Pal-mer who told them that his daughter who had disappeared in London in November 2009 had reappeared in Stockholm. She was interviewed by the County Police. When they realized there was a trans-national dimension to the incident, responsibility was transferred to us.
I have spoken with Fru Mak-You-An today and now I am calling you.”
“Thank you for your interest Inspector Thomassen." There's something about the woman's clipped delivery that irritates Grantby. That or the fact that she's a woman. Plus he's puzzled by this Fru-Mak-U character. Grantby replies without properly engaging his brain: "Since she is a British subject, don't you think it would have been helpful if you had called earlier?”
Thomassen is quite capable of looking after herself. “I am contacting you only an hour after I have interviewed the girl myself, Chief Inspector," she says deliberately placing a stress on the ‘Chief’ while pointing out Grantby's mistake. "Actually, she is a Swedish national who has dual citizenship. She may have disappeared in London but she has now reappeared in Stockholm and cannot or will not explain how she came to be here although as a Swedish citizen, she has every right be in Sweden and I have every right to take charge of any investigation here.”
Grantby can feel the irritation in Thomassen’s voice at his barb. Maybe a less abrasive approach on his side would work better, he thinks. “Inspector Thomassen … er, It seems to be that we both have something to offer each other in this case …”
“Yes, I agree. I was hoping you would see it that way. My assessment is that Fru Mak-you-an.." Thomassen's rather mangled version of ‘McEwan’ allows Grantby a smile to compensate for ground given in the confrontation. "She is suffering from some form of psychological trauma from her experiences over the past months. I have arranged for a psychiatrist to see her and she will be examined by one of our physicians, to look for injuries and so on. I will send you a copy of their reports in translation. She, for example, is very reluctant to say much about what has happened to her. According to her family, she seems to toggle between two different personalities. One personality appears first when she wakes after sleeping and when she is caught off-guard. The other personality, when she is more like the person she used to be, appears after she has had a moment to collect her thoughts. The family live in the UK at the moment and would like to return there, so it is important for us to pass the case on carefully. I cannot really detain her – though I have told her that she could be arrested and imprisoned for failing to cooperate in the investigation of a crime and I will do that if necessary…”
Crikey, thinks Grantby. They do not mess about, these Swedes do they? “Ah”, is all he says.
“… and people trafficking is definitely a crime here. It is a problem we have to deal with often.”
“So how would you like to proceed?”
“Fru Mak-you-an and her family wish to fly back to London on Saturday. There is a British Airways flight from Stockholm Arlanda airport at 12.20 our time which arrives at London Heathrow at 14:05 your time. I shall have my officers conduct the family safely to Arlanda and see them on to their aircraft and you might want to arrange for them to be met? Just a precaution against the elements who have been holding Mrs McEwan, you understand. I can come to London to speak with you myself the following week. That will be suitable?”
Grantby almost expects Anna Thomassen’s arm to issue out of the telephone mouthpiece and write the appointment in his diary, right there and them.
Grantby clears his throat and says “Er … just let me see …”
“I believe this is important …”
“Yes, I agree but just give me a moment … Yes. I am free on Monday, when …”
“Nine AM?”
“Can we make that ten?”
“Of course. Ten AM. Can you let your reception staff know to expect me? I will email you a photograph for them to confirm my identity and I will have my passport and Swedish Police Identification badge.”
Grantby tries a joke of his own: “Don’t forget to leave your gun at home.”
“Thank you Chief Inspector”, Thomassen replies rather testily, “I do know that. I will tell the Pal-mers and the Mak-you-ans that your people will meet them.”
Grantby smiles at the way Thomassen seems to be organising his job for him but he only says, “Thank you. That will be helpful. I will look forward to meeting you on Monday?”
“Yes: till Monday. Goodbye.” With that, Thomassen has gone.
Grantby sits back in his chair for a moment. He is a little surprised that the Swedes felt the need to make sure the McEwans and Mrs McEwan’s parents had safe passage to the airport. In his experience, victims released from a siege situation or from kidnap were not at risk from their abductors afterwards, but then in his experience, these situations usually ended with the perpetrators in custody themselves. Perhaps the Swedes were used to dealing with a rather different class of criminals? Who to send to Heathrow? He glances through the file again. Borland had taken a statement from Mr McEwan in the immediate aftermath of his wife’s disappearance. Sergeant Borland is now working for him so she might be a good person to pick up the reins of the case once more?
One of Joe's work colleagues, a certain Gwenda Andrews, is also in Sweden. Their carnal encounters in London and at her home in the Warwickshire countryside have only encouraged her view that they should spend more time together and Gwenda is not the sort of girl to opportunities pass her by
Gwenda Andrews stretches in her bed at her hotel. Bright sunlight leaks into her room around the edge of curtains hastily drawn the night before. It's a lovely day and she has something pleasant to look forward to.
Today she is going to look up Joe McEwan and lighten his mood! Gwenda has developed a very soft spot for Joe. Why his wife abandoned him is completely beyond her. He's a nice guy and, she thinks mischievously, he's got an even nicer submissive streak she can play with!
Gwenda revisits the memory of their previous encounters. She remembers Joe on his knees kissing her feet. Joe on his knees again, but this time on her bed in her home, naked with his bum in the air and Gwenda enthusiastically slapping a broad, supple, leather paddle across it! How beautifully buttocks change colour when you have a pale skin, like Joe. First pink, then red and finally a nice dark red with the promise of purple bruising!
Satisfied with his colouring, she had turned him over and given him a good hard fucking. She still remembered how he gasped as she brought her weight down on his cock and pressed his sore, bruised buttocks against the sheets. The pain had pushed him to a stiffer erection than he had imagined possible but it hadn't been long with her riding his cock before he had cum. Then she had straddled his head with her legs and had him clean her with his tongue, tasting and swallowing his own cum until she was absolutely satisfied that she was one-hundred-percent clean!.
They had slept soundly together that night, wrapped in each other's arms. In the morning they'd been at it all over again! Spanking! Fucking! Cuming! Sucking! Cuming all over again! It was what the boy had needed. It was what he probably needed again. Hmmm. Yes, he needed to be trained. And Gwenda is sure that she is the one to make sure that Joe gets what he needs.
Gwenda arches her back. While she's been recalling these happy memories, her fingers have been lightly stroking her labia and rubbing at her clit. They've slipped and slid in her vaginal juices, called forth by her reflections and actions. They are sticky with her thoughts and anticipations of more time with Joe.
After coffee, Gwenda takes her hire care and gingerly edges out into the traffic along Rålambshovsleden. The car has satnav – an English speaking satnav - but she is still unfamiliar with the traffic flows and signs.
She drives carefully – diffidently - under Route 275 at the roundabout and onto Lindhagensgatan and left following signs for E20-E4
Gwenda’s satnav takes her south across the islands of Lilla Essingen and Stora Essingen to Gröndal, onwards to an impressive traffic interchange at Midsommarkransen and then through the even more impressive Södra Länken and Årstratunneln system, to join Route 73. She's looking at the road system with an engineer's eyes. These are definitely something she should find out more about. The effort expended in constructing the tunnels alone! She scans the smooth bore of the tunnel as she drives; it's something which should be on the Stockholm tourist itinerary for every engineer, she thinks.
After several kilometres, Gwenda leaves R73 and begins to thread her way eastwards though suburban Stockholm towards Drevikken. The sat-nav in the car has guided her carefully and effectively to her destination. At last it brings her along the winding lakeside roads, towards the Summer House.
As she nears her goal, Gwenda’s level of anxiety begins to rise. Has she chosen a good time to call? Late morning seems reasonable. If it's not the right moment she doesn't have to stay. Perhaps after a polite interlude for coffee she could leave. If, on the other hand, there's a warmer welcome, she could stay longer and get to know Joe’s in-laws a little better. Perhaps she can arrange to meet Joe in central Stockholm the next day – and devour him all over again!
As she drives along the winding approach road, Gwenda is vaguely aware of a white and blue Saab behind her but now when she looks in her mirror there is no sign of it. There's not another car in sight as she drives up to the Summer House. She parks her car and gets out. It’s a bright summer morning. She feels the sun on her face, warm after the cool of the car's air conditioning. There's a smell of pine trees. The sunlight is strong and casts dark pools of shadow through the trees. Gwenda picks her way carefully up the path to the front door. There's a bag with a gift of biscuits in her hand. She is holding the tin under her right arm and knocks, stepping back so as to leave space for whoever answers the door.
“Control? We are following a silver VW Golf driving to the Palmer’s cottage. One occupant.”
There's a crackle on the police car's radio. "Stand by."
“Thank you Control we are dropping back. The car has stopped at the end of the drive. Occupant getting out. Still only one visible.”
"You should have assistance shortly."
“Second car behind us. Copy that: back up approaching.”
A second police vehicle arrives, containing the Palmers and two more police officers. It parks, blocking the road from the Summer House and its two occupants carefully get out. There is a short urgent conversation with the officers who have ferried Joe and Jenny in the first car and who have secreted their car in a neighbour’s drive way, out of sight from the road.
Two of the officers begin to stalk the solitary figure, now just arrived at the door of the Summer House. She has a package under her arm. It is difficult to know what exactly it is. It could be a weapon. The alternation of bright light and deep shadow under the trees makes a difficult situation worse. If they challenge the intruder will the intruder understand to surrender or surprised, turn to attack?
The strange visitor steps back away from the door – as you might if you planned to kill the person who opens the door in response to your knock. The visitor waits. They can see now it’s a woman. She reaches across to take her weapon – and one of the officers makes the rational decision. He takes his Taser, powers up, aims and fires! The two darts from the weapon find their target and empty 50,000 volts of current into Gwenda.
Gwenda feels a sudden overwhelming pain in her back, radiating throughout her body. She collapsed in a shuddering heap on the ground and lays incapable and twitching as the police take charge of her. Through her astonishment and surprise, Gwenda can comprehend the policemen standing over her, can feel herself being pulled to her feet and her arms handcuffed behind her and is aware of being manhandled into a blue and white car - a police car - but throughout, the effects of the taser have left her almost completely paralysed and incapable.
Gwenda has just a moment to register another police car and two passengers. Nearest to her is a dark skinned girl – she notices because she has not seen many like herself in Stockholm. She doesn't really have time to take in any more before she is pushed into the vehicle and strapped into the back seat. One of the officers sits next to her as, through the car window, she sees a couple and the two others being led quickly up to and into the house.
Gwenda hears a stream of Swedish barked into the radio. If she could understand it she would hear, “Control. Intruder disarmed and in custody. The others now at home. Two officers on guard. Will wait until the back-up arrives before driving to Kungsholmsgatan.”
Gwenda shifts uncomfortably in the back of the police Saab. Her hands are still cuffed behind her and she remains strapped into her seat, next to a large policeman. She sits on an absorbent paper towel which dries the urine she spilled when she lost control of her bladder after the taser attack. She is also revising her opinion that all Swedes speak English. The two officers who took her have not said a single intelligible word since the moment she was taken.
Gwenda is torn between several emotions: shock at her arrest; terror at the way she was apprehended; dismay that her protestations of innocence and good intent have been ignored; humiliation at the way she has been bundled into a police car and driven away. Most of all though, she is angry that no one seems to want to communicate with her.
The car is now deep inside Stockholm. Gwenda thinks some of the areas she is driven through are vaguely familiar but perhaps it's just because Stockholm is unfamiliar and every part of it is unfamiliar in a characteristic way?
The car takes a sharp right and passes through a pair of large metal security gates between two modern buildings – and stops. She looks around and sees the gates sliding shut behind them. The officers get out and open the door for her – as they must because on her own, she is helpless. The officer who sat next to her takes her arm and propels her to the building. A female officer meets him and the three of them enter and pass through a maze of corridors (or so it seems) before she finds herself in an interview room. Her wet panties are stripped from her and she is wrapped in an adult diaper. Her handcuffs are removed and the female officer presses down on her shoulder as a signal to sit. There's a woman and a man opposite her. The female officer remains standing behind her.
The woman looks straight at her and then, to Gwenda's relief, speaks in English. She says: “I am Anna Thomassen from the Rikskriminalpolisen – that is the Swedish National Investigation Bureau and you are …?”
“Fucking outraged!” snaps Gwenda. She knows she is completely innocent. Completely innocent? Well, she had plans to seduce Joe McEwan again but that was not a criminal offence. Definitely not in Sweden, surely?
“I am sure your name is not ‘fucking outraged’. Perhaps you can try again?”
“Fucking outraged is what I am!” replies Gwenda.” I was visiting a friend for goodness sake!”
“Were you really?”
“Yes”
“No, I said were you really?”
“Yes, I heard what you fucking-well-said, thank you and I am telling you that I was visiting a friend. Look, even the cops in the ’States do not behave like this!”
“I think you will find that in the right circumstances, this is exactly how they behave. You were going to tell me who you are?”
Gwenda squeezes her lip into a thin line and thinks about answering. Eventually she says “Gwenda Hyacinth Andrews.”
Thomassen considers her answer and replies slowly. “What a lovely middle name you have. In Sweden children do not get named after flowers – not normally.”
Gwenda decides this rejoinder is another provocation. “Have you brought me here at the point of a gun just to make insulting remarks about my name?”
Gwenda is not the only person who can feel irritation. Thomassen says, “I think this interview would progress more satisfactorily if you chose to cooperate with us, Hyacinth.”
“Gwenda!”
“You said your name was Hyacinth?”
“I have always been called Gwenda. Will you please call me Gwenda!”
“So what brings you to Stockholm?”
Gwenda bites back the temptation to say ‘an aeroplane’ and settles for “I am
here on business”
“I see. What exactly does ‘on business’ mean?”
“It's confidential.”
“Everything in business is confidential to other business people but nothing is confidential from the police.”
“Look: I wish to speak to someone from the British Embassy.”
“You will be given full consular access. Now you have told us who you are we can let them know about you. You were telling me about your business …”
Gwenda’s mission is highly confidential. She suspects that this determined police woman is more than capable of cross checking what she says with Joe McEwan and her instructions were that the fewer people who knew what she was doing, the better.
“I was here to talk about a joint project.”
“Who with?”
“Skandia Konkret ”
“What project?”
“I am not supposed to say – I mean it is at an early stage. We do not want to
upset negotiations.”
Anna Thomassen knows about business confidentiality, but this angry British engineer may not be all she claims – she could be working for the people trafficking organization who have been holding Jennifer McEwan. She could be on a mission to eliminate her. Thomassen is not going to take chances. It's time to be blunt.
“Ms Andrews. We have reason to believe you may be involved in people trafficking." Thomassen sees Gwenda's incredulous response. Perhaps there is something in her story after all? "If you want to convince me that you are merely an engineer, you have to answer my questions fully and frankly.”
“You think I am what?”
“Last night a woman who had been abducted in London was found in Stockholm. We are concerned for her safety whilst the woman is still in Sweden. We are anxious in case the abductors of the woman know where she is. This morning, you arrive at her address without warning. The police knew where she is. How did you know where she is?”
“I was going to see Joseph McEwan … he had told me – you see we work for the same company – he told me he was going to Stockholm and I told him that I was going to be there too and I would look him up. So is this his wife, Jennifer? Are you saying Jennifer has come back?”
So now you understand why I need to know a lot more about you. Let's start with your business. I will of course contact Skandia …”
“Oh … er … do you have to?”
Thomassen inclines her head towards Gwenda, quizzically: “of course, unless you can explain why I need not do so.”
Gwenda takes a deep breath: “OK, if I tell you, I will have to have to break a confidentiality agreement I have signed with Skandia and with the company I work for in the UK.”
“That is just too bad”, is all the reassurance Gwenda gets from Thomassen.
Gwenda continues, resignedly. “In the UK I work for a civil engineering company called New Horizons in Civil Engineering. We are beginning merger talks with Skandia Konkret. I was sent to Stockholm to begin the talks. We have to keep the meetings strictly confidential so we do not affect the share price of either company and there are only a small number of people in each company who are aware of these ‘contacts’.”
“I see. What about Mr McEwan?”
“Joe works for NHCE. With me.”
“Does he know about the merger?”
“No, he does not. He knows I am in Stockholm and we arranged to meet but I did not say when. He thinks I have come to find out more about the Sysav Project in Malmo. (2) That is my cover story for anyone at work who asks.”
“Sysav? You can’t be serious? Why would a UK Civil Engineering Company be interested in solid waste management?”
“Well … why not? There will be infrastructure needs …”
Whose idea was this?”
“Well … er … I am not sure. I think the people at Skandia. No one back home knows what Sysav actually is and it sounds very exotic in English …” Hyacinth’s voice trails off, diffidently.
“Hyacinth, if you really expect me to believe your story you need some better explanations than this. Who is your contact at Skandia?”
“Michael Selberg.”
“Who do you report to in your own company?”
“Christopher Parker.”
“Give me Mr Parker’s number and I will call him.”
Relieved that Skandia will not learn about her misadventure and get the wrong impression about the sort of people who work for NHCE, Gwenda passes over the NHCE Head Office number and the number of Chris Parker’s mobile.
“Before I contact them, when did you arrive in Stockholm? How did you travel? Where are you staying?”
Gwenda, glad to reach some easy questions is only too happy to answer but notices Thomassen smiling when she gives her hotel address.
“What’s funny?” Gwenda asks.
“I will tell you later”, is all the enigmatic Anna Thomassen chooses to reply. Then she says, “You must stay with us until I have been able to verify your statements. I am afraid our guest accommodation is more functional than your hotel.” She looks over Gwenda’s shoulder and says to the officer standing behind her, “Bodil, can you look after Hyacinth? Thank you!”
Bodil, another officer and Gwenda journey to another part of the building. It's the custody suite. Several locked doors have to be negotiated. They pause outside a cell, it's door yawning open.
“Please give me your belt and your shoes,” says Bodil.
“Do you have to? asks Gwenda. You are making me feel like a criminal.”
“You might be a criminal, so we take precautions.”
Gwenda sighs. She unfastens her belt and slides it out from the belt loops. She steps out of her sandals and immediately she is turned round by the firm grip of the female officer and feels a firm push on her bottom sending her into the cell. In other circumstances, the woman’s hand on her bum might have been interesting, but not now.
Gwenda feels she is being forced into a role others have chosen for her, the role of ‘criminal.’ By the time she has turned back around, the door is shut and locked and she is alone. She inspects the cell. It is bare apart from a bed plinth formed by a concrete projection from the floor, the rubber mattress with a wipe clean plastic cover and a window high up in the wall glazed with opaque frosted glass. Gwenda slumps down on the bed. Joe McEwan is not worth this sort of experience. If Jennifer has come back, he is even more not worth it.
References:
1. . Hit by a Taser:
http://magicvalley.com/news/local/taser-offers-painful-terrifying-experience/article_ded3925a-47e6-551d-bf82-bad9d2f94ee9.html
2. The Sysav project: http://www.sysav.se
London and Stockholm. The afternoon after Jennifer’s release.
Lightning Strikes Twice
In the early afternoon, Grantby receives another unexpected call. Alice buzzes his telephone.
“Grantby?”
“I have an Inspector Ackroyd on the line for you from the Warwickshire Force.” (1)
“Oh, put him through.” Grantby remembers Ackroyd from their work together on the McEwan disappearance. He assumes that the energetic Inspector Thomassen must have got Ackroyd’s name from Joseph McEwan and contacted him separately. Hmmm. Thoroughness. He liked that. He could see himself growing to like the insistent Inspector Thomassen.
“Chief Inspector? This is Brian Ackroyd here from ‘Warwickshire. Look, I don’t know how significant this is going to be but I have had a bit of a peculiar call from a lady called Cathy Corbyn. She is a friend of that girl Jennifer McEwan. Do you remember? She was the one who disappeared a couple of years ago …”
“Yes, I do as a matter of fact. I have just been glancing through her file.”
“Really? Co-incidence, that. Well, this woman Corbyn was a colleague to Jennifer McEwan at the University of Warwick and she has just told me …”
Grantby is trying to guess where this conversation is going. It seems that Inspector Thomassen had not got hold of Ackroyd after all.
“… that she has found some academic work done by Jennifer McEwan in Warwick before she disappeared, all written up in a Russian technical journal just recently, so I thought you might like me to run that past you, so you could add it to the file. What do you think?”
The hairs have begun to rise on Grantby’s neck as Ackroyd has drawled through his message. Lightening was striking twice in the same place. He clears his throat
“Well, funny you should ring because this morning I had a call from the Swedish National Investigation Bureau. McEwan has turned up in Stockholm.”
“Stockholm?”
“Stockholm! I have just had an email with some details. She swam ashore from Stockholm harbour yesterday evening. Her husband and parents were there to greet her. They were on there holiday and they just happened to be sitting on the quay, so what do you think of that?”
“No! Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
“So is that where the little blighter has been all along whilst we have been running around like blue-arsed flies trying to find her?”
“Well, that is the question. According to someone called Inspector Thomassen who ‘phoned me this morning, McEwan is very reluctant to say where she has been, even after the Swedes threatened to arrest her for obstruction of justice or the Swedish equivalent of same”
“Well, I am not surprised she is keeping her mouth shut if she has been sat with her feet up in Stockholm all the while. I don’t think I would want to say much, either!”
“Of course, if she was abducted, then her reappearance counts as an escape, so perhaps we should start by being sympathetic, at least till we get a feel for the way the land lies?”
“Well, there is that I suppose.”
“This article thingy. That puts an interesting complexion on it.”
“Yes, true enough. What are you going to do?”
The family are flying back to Heathrow on Saturday. I will have Borland meet them - do you remember her?”
“Borland? Yes, nice girl I thought.”
“Yes, exactly. So Borland will meet them and I will arrange to speak to her parents pronto and perhaps you can speak to her in Warwick. Oh – the Swedish Inspector is coming over to discuss the case with me on Monday.”
“That’s quick.”
“Quick? Insistent is just not the word for her. She is interested in whether we are dealing with a people trafficking racket or something like that.”
“Ah … I see … look, after Borland has met them, can she give me a ring, just to bring me up to speed ?”
“I will tell her. Keep in touch Brian.”
“Thank you Sir. I will do that.”
Anna Thomassen spends some of her afternoon making telephone calls to NHCE and to the reception staff at Gwenda’a hotel. At 4pm she decides it is time to see Gwenda again.
Gwenda has dozed off through the boredom of not having anything to read, to look at, to listen to, or to think about, apart from thinking about Anna Thomassen, but at the sound of her cell door opening, Gwenda is instantly wide awake. The first thing she notices is that Anna Thomassen is not alone.
Another police officer stands guard behind her.
“Good afternoon Hyacinth! I wanted to call on you before I went home.”
As soon as she hears that, Gwenda knows that Thomassen has not come to give her good news. The realization even prevents her from reacting to being teased again about her middle name. Gwenda merely says, “I wish you would call me Gwenda.”
“Hmmm. I understand but I do not usually have the chance to call anyone Hyacinth.”
“Surely there are not many Gwendas in Stockholm?”
“Yes, well, that is also true. Still, I have news for you. I have good news and not so good news.”
Gwenda sighs: “well what is it?”
“Your hotel confirms that you arrived when you say you did. That is in your favour.”
“And the not so good news?” Gwenda voice is resigned. She sees no choice but to play the games of those keeping her from her freedom. She is sure that this will be just one more reason to keep her here.
“I am afraid I have been unable to contact your Mr Parker. He is not in his office. I have tried to contact him on his mobile more than once but he seems to be out of range. I guessed you would not want me to explain to just anybody in your office why I was calling? Because of your secret mission?”
“Oh fuck!” gasps Gwenda. Thomassen is right. Gwenda is very glad the detective has kept her confidentiality but … Gwenda realises what is coming next before the other woman speaks.
“Mr Parker will be back in the office at the end of tomorrow morning, so I am afraid you are going to have to stay with us till at least then,” says the smiling Anna Thomassen, “enjoy your evening!”
Gwenda sinks back on her bed. There is nothing for her to do but wait.
It is twelve o’ clock on the following day, 11 am in the UK. Anna Thomassen estimates that this corresponds to ‘the end of the morning’, the time when Chris Parker was expected in the office. She rings NHCE and this time, is put through.
“Christopher Parker?”
“Yes, that’s me”, replies a bright confident voice.
“Hello, I am Anna Thomassen, from Stockholm.”
“Oh”, replies Chris carefully
“I was just ringing to clarify some things regarding your colleague.”
“Gwenda Andrews?”
“Exactly!”
“Ah … er … I'm sorry, Ms Thomassen. I have to say that you are not on my list of contacts at … ah that Ms Andrews was expecting to meet with.”
Clever and careful, thinks Thomassen. That rather bears out what Hyacinth (she smiles again at the girls quaint name) said about anxiety and secrecy.
“Actually, Mr Parker, I wanted to check the authenticity of Gwenda Andrews with you. I have your mobile number. May I send you a picture message and then you can confirm we have the right person?”
“Er, ye-es”, replied Chris Parker even more cautiously.
In a moment Anna has sent the image and Chris Parker’s mobile chimes to confirm the arrival of the message. When he opens it, his jaw drops. Its Gwenda all right but standing with her is an armed policewoman!
“Do we have the right person, Mr Parker?”
Chris Parker clears his throat; “yes, Ms Thomassen you do but I have to say … I mean … you are not from Skandia, are you?”
“No, Mr Parker I am not. I am an inspector in the Swedish Rikskriminalpolisen. Yesterday your colleague blundered into a police investigation into what is potentially a very serious crime. We did not know if she was part of the gang or an innocent, so we had to arrest her and ask her some questions.”
“Oh my goodness, but how did you …”
“Ms Andrews wanted to keep the purpose of her visit confidential but as I told her, there is nothing confidential from the police in these circumstances, so she was forced to disclose the general purpose of her visit. I think your conversation earlier confirmed her story. I am pleased to say that I will be able to release her.”
“Release?”
“Yes; she has been in custody since yesterday morning and overnight. I tried to call you yesterday …”
“Yes, I was out of the office at my children’s school sports day and my mobile ran out of power.”
“Well, I will keep that information confidential from Ms Andrews – or should I tell her that your flat battery has cost her a night in the cells?”
“Oh dear. Oh dear. I am so sorry.”
Anna Thomassen chuckles. “I shouldn’t worry too much Mr Parker. We took good care of her and she was completely safe!”
Gwenda Andrews stands on the front step of the Police Headquarters building beside Anna Thomassen. She's facing the Kungsholmsgatan.
“The least I can do Ms Andrews to offer to send you to your hotel by taxi”, says Anna Thomassen brightly. “However, if you would like a little exercise, your hotel is just a few hundred metres away to your left: walk left up Kungsholmsgatan, cross Kronobergsparken – there: do you see? – and then into Drottningsholmsvagan and you will see your hotel on the left. Oh – an officer has returned your hire car, so that is dealt with.”
“Do you mean to tell me I have spent a day and a night in your police cells just a few minutes' walk away from my five star hotel room?”
“Yes Hyacinth, you have. I hope you can regard it as a positive experience. It is not something every business person or tourist gets the chance to do …’
Gwenda sighs. “The sun is so bright and the air smells good but the idea of a taxi is even better.”
“The taste and benefits of freedom?”
“You could say – but mainly the justification of the innocent.”
Anna Thomassen smiles. “We Swedes have a name for being thorough.”
“I thought that was the Germans?”
“They got it from us.”
“Well good-bye,” says Gwenda. “I hope it stays that way.”
“Yes”, replies Thomassen, “I think it will.”
Eventually, Gwenda reaches the safety of her hotel once more. She has paid the bill for the hire car at reception and regained her room. She closes the door and leans against it, as if to prevent any further invasion of her life.
Her best intentions, to visit Joe McEwan during a tough spell in his life, perhaps even to open a door to a happier future to him, have come to nothing. Gwenda’s good intentions lay in ruins at her feet.
Instead of conviviality, there had been humiliation. Instead of happy relaxation there had been her terrifying arrest at gun-point, a day and a night spent in a police cell whilst her innocence was verified.
Gwenda sighs. All because of Jennifer McEwan.
Then Gwenda realises: Jennifer McEwan must have been the person she saw in the police car just after her arrest! What an odd figure she was, from the glimpse Gwenda had of her. The tense, drawn face at a car window and the tall brown muscular body it belonged to when she had been hustled into the house by the police. Funny. She had no idea that Jennifer McEwan was black. Her parents were white. Maybe she had been adopted? Maybe that explained her off the wall behaviour and the way she had obviously got mixed up with the wrong sort of people. An adoptee increasingly uneasy with life as she grew older.
By this point in her reflections, Gwenda has shed her sandals, and her clothes and is running the shower in the bathroom, to wash off the dirt (as she feels) of her adventure.
As she stands in the running water, her soapy fingers running over her body, she wonders about what to do next. She had told Joe that she would not fight Jenny for his affections, if Jenny ever came back. After today, she is not sure. She is not sure whether to do her best to win Joe’s affections, so Jennifer could run off back to wherever she had been, or whether she should cut out any affection she had felt for Joe himself and leave him to survive in the stormy waters of a company merger as best he can.
Now Gwenda is out of the shower and drying herself on the huge hotel towel. She looks in her bag, to check for messages on her i-phone and sees the concert tickets she had bought for Joe and her. No More Mr Nice Guy was playing at Grona Lund. No More Mr Nice Guy? Yes, that was about right, just now. But maybe there would also be no more Ms Nice Girl?
References:
(1) The United Kingdom does not have a single national police force. The police are organised into a number of individual ‘forces’ based in the large cities or metropolitan conurbations or in distinct geographical areas. This is to try to make the police accountable to the population in each area they serve. There has been concern recently that small forces (such as Warwickshire) are not large enough to carry expertise in all the tasks presented to them and in Scotland all the forces have now been merged into one large Scottish police service
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