Helene Tursten - Detective Inspector Huss

“Yes, it must have been.”

“Thanks, Robert. Please forgive the laughing fit, but you really made my day.”

“No problem. Drop by if you ever need a good car.”

Well, damned if a faint clearing on the horizon didn’t herald a clear day. A little sun never hurt. It hadn’t been seen in almost two weeks. Irene felt renewed energy flowing through her body. Wasn’t that called “comic relief”? Screw the ginseng; a little flirting on the phone works wonders with ladies approaching forty.

Andersson was sitting in his office. When Irene knocked lightly on the door frame he jumped in his chair.

“Jesus, you scared me!”

“Sitting there trying to think? It smells like something’s burning.” Irene sniffed the air.

He gave her a weary look. “How do you manage to be so cheerful in the morning? And smells like burning is the right expression. The fire on Berzeliigatan doesn’t seem to fit in with von Knecht’s murder. Yet it was incredibly convenient. And now the cleaning woman has disappeared.”

“I spoke to Hannu’s pal in Stockholm, Veiko Fors.”

“So how were things going for him?”

“Nothing yet. He had shit by the boxful.”

“Shit by the boxful. . are you nuts?”

Irene laughed and even got Andersson to smile a little.

“Those were his exact words. Stockholm slang, you know. The shit is that Jonas Söder can’t be found. He’s apparently an artist. His mamma went crazy when Veiko Fors said he wanted to talk to both of them regarding von Knecht’s murder. She refuses to speak to anyone but the detective in charge of the investigation.”

Andersson looked out his overgrown window thoughtfully. The poor lily hanging in its macramé holder had given up the ghost long ago. He sat in silence for a long time. Without looking at Irene, he said pensively, “Besides myself, there’s only you and Jonny here right now. Jonny is talking to Ivan Viktors. They may have already started by now. How are you doing?”

“I thought I’d call Sylvia von Knecht in a while and ask how many hours a week Pirjo works for them. Otherwise, I just talked to the car dealer in Mölndal. He gives Charlotte an alibi up to about ten minutes past five.”

“Then she couldn’t have made it downtown and hoisted her father-in-law over the balcony railing. It’s also hard to believe that Charlotte is particularly skilled at bomb making.”

“Something tells me she can’t even cook a meal.”

It was meant as a joke, but she could hear her own cattiness. In her mind Rob’s cheerful voice exclaimed: Who needs to know how to cook with steering wheels like that. . wow!

Andersson didn’t seem to notice the comment about Charlotte’s deficiencies in the domestic arena. He was busy with his own thoughts and plans. “And then Jonny and Hans have to watch the parking garage. Tommy and Fredrik are checking Berzeliigatan. Birgitta has to talk to the photographer, Bobo Torsson, and help Hannu look for Pirjo Larsson. And I have to talk to Yvonne Stridner. Richard von Knecht is finished being examined, you might say. What else is there? Oh yes, I have to try on some pants.”

At the last sentence a shadow came over his face. He took a deep breath. “No, it’ll have to be you, Irene-you’re going to have to take care of the mother and son in Stockholm.”

“That’s fine. I have Veiko Fors’s phone number. But first I’m going to call Sylvia.”

THE PHONE rang about a dozen times before Sylvia’s slurred voice was heard at the other end of the line. Have you overdosed now, little Sylvia? thought Irene. But she didn’t say it. Instead she chirped in her softest voice, “Good morning, Sylvia. Pardon me for waking you. It’s Inspector Irene Huss.”

An incoherent mumble and grumbling was her reply. Irene hastily plunged ahead, “I’m calling on behalf of Superintendent Andersson. We’re searching for Pirjo Larsson. She’s been missing since last Wednesday afternoon. You still haven’t heard from her?”

“No-o-o. Not. . gone. . I think she lives in Angered,” Sylvia mumbled.

“We know that. But she’s been missing from her apartment and left her three children alone since last Wednesday.”

“Oh. . that’s odd.” It sounded as though she was starting to wake up. “So who’s going to clean our apartment then?”

She was awake now. Irene stifled a sigh and continued undeterred, “We were wondering how many hours a week Pirjo works for you.”

There was silence for half an eternity. Finally came a dejected, “Fifteen hours.”

“Divided over three days? Monday, Wednesday, and Friday? Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“How much do you pay Pirjo?”

“I can’t see that that’s any of your business!”

Irene tried to sound as convincing as possible. “Yes it is, actually. We’re investigating Pirjo’s financial situation.” That sounded good. But it didn’t impress Sylvia.

She snapped, “According to her it’s not nearly enough!”

“Does Pirjo want a raise?”

“Yes.”

“What does she get per month?”

Again silence. Finally Sylvia said, resigned, “Eighteen hundred.”

“And she wants?. .”

“Two thousand five hundred! Insane!”

“How much will she get?”

“No raise at all! I was utterly shocked!”

Anger made her sound like she was completely alert now. Irene decided to wrap it up on a more neutral subject. “I heard from Henrik that you’re going up to Marstrand over the weekend.”

“That’s right. Nothing wrong with that, I hope.” Her tone said that even if there was, she planned to ignore them.

“Not at all. I just wanted to mention that if anything should turn up, or if you need to contact us, give us a call. The investigative group is always here.”

“Do you work around the clock?”

“No, not really. We have a duty schedule.”

Guardedly they wished each other a nice weekend and hung up. She needed a quick cup of coffee before she called Mona Söder.

“SWEDISH DATA, good morning. How can I help you?” The voice was professional and friendly.

“I’m looking for Personnel Director Mona Söder.”

“Just a moment, please.”

Click, click. A soft whirring to indicate that the signals were actually going through. A smoky and pleasant female voice answered.

“Mona Söder.”

“Good morning. My name is Irene Huss. Detective inspector with the Göteborg Police. I’m working on the investigation of the murder of Richard von Knecht.”

Mona Söder took a deep breath. “I don’t want to get involved! Not now. . not the way things stand right now. We don’t want to have anything to do with him. Are we under suspicion for something?”

“As you no doubt are aware, this is a homicide investigation. We’re going over all the facts about the victim. We discovered that you and Richard von Knecht had a son together in July nineteen sixty-five.”

Quiet sobbing was heard on the line. But only briefly, before Mona Söder sniffed loudly and steadied her voice. “Could we meet in person?”

“Meet? You’re in Stockholm!”

“Yes, I know. But this is important for your investigation. You have to come up here!” It sounded like both an appeal and a command.

“Can’t we do it on the phone?”

“Absolutely not! It’s very important that you come here, because you have to see with your own eyes.”

“I’ll have to talk to my supervisor. The Göteborg Police are on an austerity program, like everyone else.”

“Call me as soon as you know. See you later!”

Irene hung up the phone, impressed. It was obvious that Mona Söder was a woman who was used to telling people what to do.

“WHERE DID you get that idea? Going up to Stockholm! What is it the woman can’t say on the phone?”