Helene Tursten - Detective Inspector Huss

“So that’s why you tried to extort the money from Henrik von Knecht instead?”

“Fucking dumb idea. We didn’t have much time. We should have knocked over a bank instead!”

Then Andersson pushed the off button. Chuckling, Irene said, “I can imagine that discussion, between the two cousins.”

“Me too. I asked when they had contacted Henrik von Knecht. Shorty wasn’t sure, because it was Bobo who was taking care of that part. It was probably on Thursday. It must have been two days before the party that Sylvia and Richard had, celebrating the Thirty Years’ War. And on Friday Henrik primed the bomb, if it all went the way we think.”

“Actually a brilliant plan. If he’d been lucky, both his father and Bobo Torsson would have been blown up in the same explosion! It didn’t happen, but you can understand what Henrik was thinking. He knew that he couldn’t pay the amount the extortionists were demanding. When he saw the pictures he also knew about the relationship between Richard and Charlotte. If the bomb had been triggered by Richard, Henrik would have solved at least one of his problems. In the best-case scenario, both of them.”

“Why did Henrik bother to pretend to pay? His revenge could have been to let the world see the pictures of his unfaithful wife and his lecherous father.”

“He was probably concerned about the family’s reputation. And Sylvia would have had a breakdown!”

“There’s still the murder of Richard von Knecht.”

“That’s where everything started and that’s where everything will end. And we’re going to crack the last part too.”

“One more thing. Jonny traced Charlotte’s phone calls on Sunday. After Shorty came by she made a call. To reserve a table at Brasserie Lipp.”

Andersson leaned over and pulled out the bottom desk drawer. In a subdued voice he said, “Here are the pictures you asked for from Pathology. Disgusting. He’s a murderer and deadly arsonist, but the question is whether anyone deserves this. The poor devil is completely mashed. He could pass for the chop suey special at a Chinese restaurant. God damn!”

She took them and stuffed them into the interdepartmental envelope along with the other pictures she had gotten from the lab earlier that morning.

AT EIGHT-THIRTY Irene went into the interview room where Jonny sat with Charlotte. Jonny loved the whole setup. He would get to play his favorite role, the bad cop. It would be a shame to bother a great actor during his big scene, so Irene sat passively in a corner and made herself invisible. The time for her entrance would come soon enough. Her role would be determined by the progress of the interview. Nothing must be allowed to go wrong. Charlotte wasn’t exceedingly intelligent, but she was cunning and totally self-centered. Those were dangerous characteristics combined with a beautiful body.

Charlotte ignored Irene’s entrance and concentrated completely on Jonny. The moist film over her turquoise eyes shimmered, and she ran her tongue over her lips, carefully, so as not to disturb her lipstick. Irritated, Irene noticed that she had taken time to put on her contacts and some makeup. There was a strong scent of Cartier in the room. Charlotte tilted her head and glittered turquoisely at Jonny.

“My dear man, I want an attorney and I don’t have to answer these horrid questions. I don’t know anything. And I need some breakfast. I’m pregnant,” she said in explanation.

Jonny showed his teeth in a reptilian smile. “Calm down, little lady, we’ll get to that too, eventually. Of course you’ll have an attorney. Do you have one of your own?”

“Well. . no. . Father-in-law did. .”

“But you and Henrik don’t have a family lawyer?”

“No.”

“Why do you think that the attorneys at the firm Eiderstam and Sons would have any great desire to take on your defense? There’s reason to suspect you were an accessory in the arson murder on Berzeliigatan and the bombing murder of Bobo Torsson. As well as conspiracy to murder your own husband, Henrik von Knecht. Deeds that were indirectly aimed at one of their biggest clients, Richard von Knecht, who has also been murdered. We’ll come back to that later. If I may give you some advice, ask for a public defender.”

Charlotte’s lips began to tremble, and for a moment Irene thought she was about to cry. But she crossed her arms firmly under her breasts, making sure to push them up a little at the same time as she paused to think. After about a minute her strategy was decided. With her eyelids lowered and in a soft voice, she cooed, “I’ll follow your advice. I’m sure you know best. I would like to have a public defender.”

“We’ll arrange that. But until then you have to answer my questions. If you don’t I’ll take it as an indication that you have something to hide. And then there will be a very tough interrogation!”

Her eyes widened slightly and the hint of a satisfied smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

“So. . this isn’t an interrogation?”

“No. You just have to answer my questions.”

Would she bite? Did she really believe that it wasn’t an official interrogation? She might be lulled into feeling safe for the time being, but she would find out otherwise.

“Let’s begin with the bomb on Berzeliigatan. Why did you never mention to us that Henrik stored a large quantity of explosives in a box in your bedroom at Marstrand?”

She rolled her eyes so they flashed turquoise lights, and made sure to expand her bust by sighing deeply. “I didn’t know that Henrik had explosives in the box. He always kept it locked.”

“Didn’t you ever ask him what was in the box?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Why should I?”

“I’m the one asking the questions. Why didn’t you ever ask him what was in the box?”

For the first time she looked uncertain before she replied. “I wasn’t interested. He had so many gadgets and so much junk all over the place.”

“So you never cared about finding out what was in the box?”

“No.”

“Then you must understand that the prosecutor has good reason to suspect you of complicity in the bombings. A married couple can’t live together for years without the wife knowing that there are explosives in the bedroom.”

“But God da. . I’m almost never there!”

“Almost never there? At the cabin at Marstrand?”

“Yes.”

“But you have keys to it? To the gate and the cabin?”

A clear glint of fear behind the turquoise film. “Yes. .”

“Where are they?”

She knew it was serious now. The smell of fear broke through the perfume.

“I don’t know. I haven’t looked.”

“No, of course not. Shorty had the keys yesterday. He says you gave them to him.”

“He’s lying! He must have stolen them!”

“When?”

“I don’t know.”

“But we do know a few things. We know that Shorty drove by Långåsliden on Sunday evening, stayed barely fifteen minutes, and then drove straight up to Marstrand and killed your husband.”

“How do you know. .?” She cut herself off and quickly bent her head. Her hair slid forward like a curtain in front of her face, a move she had learned from her mother-in-law. Irene recognized it at once. After a while she looked up and said in a low voice, “He came by to ask if I was planning to come to Bobo’s funeral next week.”

“Funny. He didn’t tell us that.”

Basically, Shorty had refused to say anything as soon as they started asking about Henrik’s murder, but Charlotte couldn’t know that. With an audible quaver in her voice she asked, “What did he tell you?”

“That you gave him the keys and directions to Marstrand.”

It was a long shot, but Irene could see that it struck home.