Helene Tursten - Detective Inspector Huss

“Certainly, I’ll be right over. Mamma is quite unstable right now. Why did she break down?”

That was precisely the question Irene wanted to avoid.

“I tried to cheer her up with something positive. I congratulated her on becoming a grandmother. . I thought she knew.”

There was a long silence. Irene wondered whether Henrik had keeled over too. Finally he snapped, “God damn it!”

Click! He had hung up on her. Irene felt stupid. As if she had done something wrong. Had she? Guiltily, she thought about how she had restrained the hysterical Sylvia. Could she have done it some other way? Hardly.

When she turned back to the bed again, she saw that Sylvia was holding a medicine bottle in her left hand and was about to put her cupped right hand to her mouth. The top drawer of the nightstand was open. Instinctively, Irene bent over and grabbed the woman’s right hand. Three small white tablets with a notch across the middle lay in her palm. There was no question of a suicidal dose.

Making an attempt to regain Sylvia’s trust, she said in an overly cheerful voice, “Would you like some water to take the pills with?”

Sylvia nodded without looking at her. Irene pried loose her grip around the medicine bottle. She quickly read the label: STESOLID TABLETS, 5MG. When she put the bottle back in the drawer, she saw several more just like it. The technicians must have noted this so she closed the drawer.

She went out to the luxurious bathroom and ran some water into a toothbrush glass hanging in a gilt holder on the wall. The glass was cut crystal; and the faucets were gold plated. A large, wet terry-cloth bath towel had been tossed on the floor. Absentmindedly, she hung it up on the heated towel rack on the wall. Pirjo would have a lot to straighten up when she returned.

Sylvia lay staring up at the ceiling when Irene brought her the water glass. She raised herself up on one elbow to take the pills. Then she sank back, exhausted, on the comforter. With her eyes closed she whispered in a barely audible voice, “I didn’t mean to hit you. I wasn’t prepared. It’s all been too much for me.”

Irene didn’t want to let Sylvia off quite yet. It was easy to be seized with sympathy for the small, fragile woman, but Irene had a strong feeling that there was much hidden beneath the surface that needed to be dug out. Why not the truth?

She decided to proceed more cautiously. In a voice overflowing with empathy she said, “You have to forgive me. I thought you knew that Charlotte is pregnant. They told me about it yesterday at police headquarters.”

Sylvia kept her eyes shut. It was an effective way to block out Irene and her disagreeable prying.

Irene was at a loss; how was she going to make any headway? Then she remembered something. “The telephone list, the addresses and phone numbers of the guests last Saturday. Could I have the list?”

Reluctantly Sylvia raised her eyelids. Her eyes were furious and cold, just as hostile as her tone of voice. “I can’t do it. You made me faint. My head is spinning and it feels like I have cotton in my ears. I feel terrible.” She pressed her thin fingers against her temples and began to massage them.

To her own amazement Irene felt anger rising from the pit of her stomach, to her throat, to explode in her head. She tried to control herself, but it was no use. In a cold, neutral voice she said, “Now that you’re lying down anyway, I might as well ask my next question. I’ve looked through a bunch of old newspaper clippings. Richard was seen remarkably often with various beautiful young women. How did you react to that?”

Sylvia stopped massaging her temples. Her eyes again blazed with rage, but her voice revealed nothing when she replied. “Those stupid bimbos were his hobby. He had strong. . desires. I was always the most important woman in his life. He always came back to me when he began to lose interest in his latest conquest. It usually didn’t take long. He would cower behind me when they started pressuring him, making demands. It’s no use my denying it, because he never made any effort to hide anything. I just had to take it!” Finally, it was out. The bitterness.

Irene said benignly, “And what about you? I didn’t see any similar photos of you.”

Sylvia gave a harsh, scornful laugh before she replied. “We gave each other great freedom. Freedom for him, I should say.”

She made a show of closing her eyes again, pressing her lips into a thin line. With a sigh Irene realized that it was time to change the subject and her tactics. She sat down on the edge of the bed. Her knees almost hit her in the chin when she sank down into the downy softness. “Sylvia,” she entreated, “we’re trying to investigate your husband’s murder. We have no clue as to a motive or a suspect. You have to help us. We have to ask unpleasant questions so we can try to get at the truth.”

Sylvia’s blue-glazed eyelids twitched. But when she opened her eyes they were completely expressionless. She gazed vacantly at Irene.

“Who would be served by the truth?”

Irene was at a loss for words. But she had one question left that she had to ask. She took a deep breath and steeled herself for whatever might come.

“We’ve studied Richard’s personal records, which means everything contained in his files. It’s the sort of thing that parish ledgers used to protect in the past. Now the tax authorities use this sort of information and for that reason it’s now in the public record.”

Irene stopped, because she wasn’t sure that that was completely accurate. But Sylvia’s expression didn’t change. She didn’t want Sylvia to have time to think about it, so she continued quickly, “Did you know that Richard had admitted paternity of a son before you were married?”

Sylvia shut her eyes instantly. Her nostrils flared and she exhaled audibly before she replied tonelessly, “I’m not entirely surprised. There were some mysterious phone calls in the early days of our marriage. A woman who called and argued with Richard. I managed to overhear some of it. I gathered that it had to do with. . a child.”

There were decades of sorrow in those final sentences. Irene felt a tug of sympathy, but she decided to press a bit harder.

“He never told you anything about the child?”

“No.”

“Does Henrik know anything?”

“Don’t tell Henrik!”

“Unfortunately, he’s going to find out anyway. If not before, then when it’s time to read the will.”

It happened like lightning. Sylvia was suddenly sitting, her slender legs hanging over the edge of the bed. Red patches of indignation burned on her cheeks, her eyes flashed with wrath, and the cool elfin features were transformed into those of a shrew.

“That despicable bastard inherit? Never! Over my dead body! I won’t permit it! I’m going to call Tore right now. . Never!”

She fell silent. Irene understood that she was referring to Tore Eiderstam. Unless she was a spiritualist, it would be impossible to contact the attorney. But someone must have taken over the firm, she supposed. She said as much to Sylvia, who looked bewildered.

“There are several attorneys in Tore’s law office. I presume I’m permitted to call them? Damn it all! It was always Richard who kept track of our financial and legal affairs,” she said helplessly.

She was interrupted by the doorbell. Irene went down and opened the front door. Henrik looked haggard but resolute. He gave her a curt nod and took the stairs two at a time to the top floor. Irene followed him, lost in thought. Sylvia’s reactions were very odd. What should have evoked happy exclamations and chatter about the anticipated joys of being a grandmother had unleashed instead an absolute explosion of rage. She had responded readily, if bitterly, to the embarrassing topic of the other women in her husband’s life. The other son was not entirely unexpected and provoked no reaction until she realized that he might have a right of inheritance. Maybe it would be a good idea to contact von Knecht’s lawyers, even though they couldn’t say anything before the will was read to the family.