The couples trip, p.1
The Couples Trip, page 1
Winner of the Swedish Academy of Crime Writers’ Award Best Debut of the Year
Short-listed for the Crimetime Award 2022
“One of the best suspense novels I’ve read.”
—Camilla Grebe, award-winning author of the Hanne Lagerlind-Schon series
“The Couples Trip is a small masterpiece that offers its readers uninterrupted spine-chilling suspense, and I envy every person who has not read it yet. Incredibly well written!”
—Kristina Ohlsson, award-winning author of Unwanted
“Ulf Kvensler has a sure sense for horror ambiences, tempo, human aggression, and nature’s relentless dangers alike.”
—Dagens Nyheter
“Ulf Kvensler has written what has to be one of this year’s must-reads.”
—BTJ
“This is one of those books that grabs the reader from the very first page and refuses to let go.”
—Norrköpings Tidningar
Ulf Kvensler is a screenwriter, creator and showrunner of numerous hit TV series, including The Restaurant, Solsidan, Molanders and Om Stig Petrés hemlighet. He started out as a comedian but has in recent years written drama, horror and thriller. The Couples Trip is his much anticipated debut. He lives in Sweden.
The Couples Trip
A NOVEL
Ulf Kvensler
To Adam and Olivia
1 - Campsite Night 1
2 - Campsite Night 2
3 - Campsite Night 3
4 - “Rovdjurstorget,” Predator Square. Anna sees Milena on the other side of the river.
5 - Campsite Night 4
6 - The ridge where Henrik suffers a dangerous accident.
7 - Campsite Night 5
8 - Anna leaves Milena to get help.
9 - Anna is located
To some degree, the topography has had to conform to the dramaturgic needs of the narrative. Parts of the route that the characters in this book travel do not exist in real life. In general, I would dissuade from going to Sarek if you do not have great prior experience with mountain hiking. My friends and I have hiked every year for the past twenty years, but we were still caught off guard by the difference between hiking on versus off trail. (Okay, I was caught off guard. I will not blame the others.)
Contents
Radio Communication
Stockholm, July 2019
Interview with Anna Samuelsson
Chapter 1
Interview with Anna Samuelsson
Chapter 2
Interview with Anna Samuelsson
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Interview with Anna Samuelsson
Uppsala, November 2009
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Interview with Anna Samuelsson
Chapter 7
Interview with Anna Samuelsson
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Interview with Anna Samuelsson
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Stockholm, June 2010
Interview with Anna Samuelsson
Interview with Anna Samuelsson
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Interview with Anna Samuelsson
Chapter 16
Interview with Anna Samuelsson
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Interview with Anna Samuelsson
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Interview with Anna Samuelsson
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Interview with Anna Samuelsson
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Interview with Anna Samuelsson
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Interview with Anna Samuelsson
Two Days Earlier
Uppsala, October 2009
Interview with Milena Tankovic
Chapter 33
Interview with Milena Tankovic
Chapter 34
Interview with Anna Samuelsson
Interview with Milena Tankovic
Uppsala, June 2010
Interview with Milena Tankovic
Chapter 35
Interview with Milena Tankovic
Interview with Anna Samuelsson
Uppsala, November 2009
Acknowledgments
Radio communication between the air ambulance and Gällivare hospital, September 15, 2019, at 2:16 a.m.
“We’ve just picked up the woman in Aktse.”
“What’s her condition?”
“She’s suffering from hypothermia, and is in a pretty bad way. Conscious, but only just.”
“Okay.”
“She doesn’t have any ID on her, but says her name is Anna.”
“Noted.”
“She has cuts and bruises all over her body, and her right arm is broken. We’re giving her a couple of liters of a crystalloid infusion.”
“Has she fallen?”
“Looks that way, but she also has marks around her neck. Possible attempted strangulation.”
“Okay.”
“Hard to be sure, though.”
“We’ll be ready for her.”
“Thanks. Over and out.”
STOCKHOLM, JULY 2019
I love Stockholm in the middle of July. The residents escape to Gotland, Båstad or the French Riviera, the place sinks into a summer trance. You can kind of have her to yourself.
It was a Saturday evening, the end of a very hot day. It became significantly cooler when the sun no longer reached down into the streets of the built-up city center. I had been in my office since seven in the morning, and decided to walk home in order to get some fresh air. The farther I went, the fewer tourists I saw and heard.
Vasastan was practically deserted. In a few hours, when darkness fell, the drunken, noisy weekend revelers would head for Odenplan—but by then I would be safely tucked up in bed.
I stopped and laid the palm of my hand on the ochre-colored facade of an apartment block. It was as warm as a radiator.
I thought I would pick up some food on the way, and called Henrik to ask if he wanted something. He did, so I ordered a poke bowl with salmon for him, and an eleven-piece for myself from the local Japanese place. When I picked up the dishes the man behind the counter gave me a cheerful nod, and so he should; we went there at least twice a week.
I carried on to our block and took the lift up to the fifth floor. I opened the front door and called out to Henrik.
“Hello!”
“Hi,” came the muted response from the living room. I could hear the sound of the television.
In the kitchen I was confronted with a pile of dirty dishes in the sink, and a messy table. Henrik’s coffee cup was still there, along with bits of kitchen paper. Crumbs everywhere.
I could have wept.
It was Saturday and I’d worked for more than twelve hours, as I had virtually every day throughout the summer. I’d called Henrik and asked what he wanted to eat, I’d ordered the food and picked it up, and he hadn’t even bothered to drag himself off the sofa to tidy up after himself—let alone get out the glasses and something to drink.
He was on holiday, and spent all his time in the apartment.
This massive fucking kitchen with a table that seats ten. What’s the point? We’re pathetic.
The TV fell silent, and he shambled into the kitchen.
“I’m sick and tired of...” I began, my voice shaking with anger. “I’ve sorted the food, couldn’t you at least clean up after yourself? Do you expect me to do that as well?”
Henrik said nothing, but he put his coffee cup in the sink, threw away the kitchen paper, fetched the dishcloth and began to wipe down the table. Judging by his body language, this required an almost superhuman effort.
* * *
I sighed, took a bottle of sparkling water out of the fridge and poured myself a large glass.
“I think we’re going to have to postpone our trip.”
Henrik looked up but said nothing. He simply carried on wiping the table. “I can’t be away for a week right now,” I went on.
“I see.”
“The beginning of September works better for me.”
“We’ll have to check with Milena.”
“Obviously. I’ll call her.”
* * *
I was too angry and upset to sit down and eat with him, so I went and took a long shower instead. The stream of hot water washed away some of my frustration, and soon I was regretting my harsh words. I was tired and had overreacted.
We made up later on. Henrik managed a wan smile when I apologized and gave him a hug. We drank a glass of wine and watched an episode of a series on HBO, cuddled up on the sofa. I fell asleep halfway through, woke up as the credits rolled at the end. I kissed Henrik and went to bed. He stayed where he was, staring blankly at the screen.
How did we end up here? Do I even know who Henrik is anymore?
Interview with Anna Samuelsson 880216-3382, September 16, 2019, Gällivare hospital, conducted by Detective Inspector Anders Suhonen.
“So... I’m recording now. Hi, Anna, my name is Anders.”
“Hi.”
“I’m very pleased that you’re willing to talk to me—I realize you’re tired and in pain, but it’s good to tackle these things as soon as possible.”
“Yes.”
“If you start to feel too tired or in too much pain, we can take a break or stop for today and carry on tomorrow. Is that okay with you?”
“Yes.”
“You promise you’ll tell me?”
“Yes.”
“Your pain is manageable now?”
“It’s fine.”
“In that case I’ll just go through the formalities first... What is your full name?”
“Anna Signe Samuelsson.”
“ID number?”
“880216-3382.”
“Where do you live?”
“Stockholm.”
“What’s your profession?”
“I’m a lawyer.”
“Marital status?”
Silence.
“Anna? Are you married, single...?”
“Engaged.”
“To...?”
“Henrik Ljungman.”
“Was he with you on the trip?”
Silence.
“Did Henrik travel into Sarek with you?”
“Yes.”
“Henrik Ljungman... Do you happen to know his ID number?”
“820302-7141.”
“Thank you. So we’ve got...”
“Have you found Milena?”
“Milena? Who’s Milena?”
“Tankovic. She’s... She was... When... What day is it today?”
“Monday September 16th.”
“Yesterday... I think... We split up...”
Silence.
“Milena Tankovic. Was she alive when you last saw her?”
Silence. Sobbing.
“Anna? Do you know if Milena was alive when you last saw her?”
Sobbing.
“No... But you have to find her...”
“She wasn’t alive?”
“No...”
Sobbing.
“Was Milena with you from the start of the trip?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know her ID number?”
“No.”
“Where did you leave her?”
Silence. Sobbing.
“I can’t...”
“Did you... You were alone when you were found near Aktse. Can you tell me how long you’d been walking on your own?”
Silence. Sobbing.
“Do you think we might find Milena in the same area?”
“I don’t know...”
“Okay... I’m going to go and fetch a map, see if you can give me an idea of where Milena could be. And Henrik. Is that okay with you?”
Silence.
“It was the three of you, right? You, Henrik and Milena?”
Inaudible.
“What did you say?”
“There was someone else.”
1
I know exactly where and when I heard his name for the first time.
It was Friday August 30th, Milena and I were having lunch at Miss Clara on Sveavägen. It was warm and sunny but with a new freshness in the air, the sunlight was a little paler somehow, you could feel that autumn was on the way. We had met up in Naturkompaniet at twelve to update our equipment—a new supply of liquefied petroleum gas for the stove, fine woolen socks, anti-mosquito lotion and spray, and a supply of freeze-dried meals.
I’d booked a table for twelve forty-five, and by one thirty we had finished eating and were each enjoying an espresso. The bill had been paid and I really needed to head back to the office; a long lunch like this would mean working late, even though it was Friday. However Milena and I hadn’t seen each other for a while and she had agreed, at very short notice, to postpone our trip until September. I didn’t want to appear too stressed.
She sipped her coffee, took a deep breath. “So...there was something I wanted to ask you.”
“Oh?”
I could see that whatever she was going to say was making her nervous. Milena had always blushed easily, and the color rose in her pale cheeks. She had changed her hairstyle: the dark blond hair was still shoulder-length, but she had allowed her bangs to grow out, and her face was framed by soft strands. It made her look more feminine, and still as sweet and kind as ever. As so often over the years, I felt like giving her a hug.
“The thing is...” She smiled, almost reluctantly. “I’ve met someone.”
“Fantastic!”
“Yes, it is...fantastic.” She smiled again, took another deep breath. “So who is he?”
“His name is Jacob. We met online.”
“That’s brilliant, Milena!” I reached out and gave her hand a quick squeeze. “How long have you been together?”
“Just over a month, so it’s still pretty new.”
“Tell me all about him! What does he do?”
“Well, at least he’s not a lawyer, which is nice.”
“Sounds like a catch.”
“He’s a bit older than me...”
“How much older?”
“He’s thirty-eight.”
“You’re practically the same age,” I said. Which wasn’t true of course. Milena was thirty-two. I was thirty-one. But I have colleagues who are only a little older than me and who have started to panic, or realized that they’re going to panic in a few years, and have got together with men in their fifties, newly divorced with kids. A guaranteed recipe for a complicated life. Jacob was the same age as Henrik.
“He’s into climbing, kitesurfing, all kinds of extreme sports,” Milena went on. “The two of you have something in common there.”
I began to wonder if he might be someone I’d met.
“What’s his surname?”
“Tessin.”
“Jacob Tessin...”
“And he’s spent a lot of time in the mountains, both walking and climbing. So when he heard we were going up to Abisko, he...he asked if he could join us.”
The question took me by surprise; I didn’t know what to say. “Right,” I managed eventually.
“I know this is very last minute, so I understand if it’s not okay.”
“It’s just...this kind of trip can be pretty intense, and Henrik and I have never even met him...”
“No, it’s fine, I understand.”
“Do you want him to come?”
“Of course—he’s my boyfriend.” Milena smiled. I smiled back.
“I’ll have to ask Henrik.”
“Of course.”
“It’s just over a week until we leave—will he be able to get the time off work at such short notice?”
“He says it’s not a problem.”
“What does he do?”
“He’s a consultant with a company called BCG.”
“I’ve heard of them... Sorry, but I’m really curious now—have you got a photo?”
“No,” Milena said, half-heartedly digging out her phone. “It’s weird, but I haven’t.”
She fiddled with her phone as if some forgotten image of Jacob might suddenly appear.
“It’s fine, I was just thinking that if he’s a climber, I might know him from somewhere.”
“Sorry, no, I haven’t got...” She fell silent. I smiled again.
“I’ll have a chat with Henrik and give you a call. I’m so pleased you’ve met someone, Milena—I really am.”
“Thank you.”
“And I can’t wait to meet him. It’s just... We need to give it some thought.”
“I understand—and if you and Henrik aren’t cool with the idea, then tell me. It’s not an issue.”
“No. Great.”
We left the restaurant and said our goodbyes on the pavement outside with a hug and a promise to speak on the weekend.
On the way back to the office my curiosity got the better of me. I opened up BCG’s home page and searched for “Jacob Tessin.” Boston Consulting Group is one of the world’s largest and most prestigious consultancies. Admittedly its reputation in Sweden is somewhat tarnished due to its involvement in the New Karolinska building project, but even so. Many sought posts there, but few were chosen. Their salaries and working hours were similar to ours as corporate lawyers. Eighty-hour weeks were nothing unusual, nor was an annual salary similar to that of a company director.
