Helene Tursten - Detective Inspector Huss

Irene sighed blissfully. “What a wonderful car!”

Mona sounded quite pleased when she said, “I picked it up last week. I don’t allow smoking in this car! My old one was only three years old, but it stank like a tar factory. At home I only smoke out on the balcony.”

“So where are we going? Where does Jonas live, I mean?”

“At his private hospital. We like to joke about it. ‘Jonas Söder at Söder Hospital.’”

Mona fell silent and stared out at the evening darkness, which was not really dark. In a big city there is never any real darkness, just another sort of light. Artificial. It creates hard contrasts and deep, frightening shadows.

“God, how sick I am of Stockholm!” Mona said. “Why did I stay here? I long to go home to Norrland, to the soft twilight and the night. The silence.”

“Härnösand isn’t really all that rural. And it’s cold as hell in Norrland.”

“The outside temperature, yes. But not between people.”

Irene didn’t really follow the reasoning, but decided not to dwell on it. It was time she made some progress with respect to the purpose for her visit to Stockholm. Calmly she said, “Why is it so important that I meet Jonas?”

Mona took a deep breath before she answered. “You have to see how sick he is. He’s getting large doses of morphine now. You can’t tell him that Richard was murdered. I haven’t told him. He hasn’t heard any news or read a newspaper in several weeks. He’s got enough to do with dying.”

She started to sob again but then pulled herself together. “The reason it’s important for you to come tonight is that the nursing staff working the swing shift is the same one that was working last Tuesday night.” Mona had turned her head and was staring hard at Irene from the side. Slowly she said, “You have to ask them if I was there last Tuesday. Jonas has been there for almost three weeks and I’ve come every evening, right after work.”

“What time?”

“Around six. I normally stay with him until about eleven. By then he’s usually asleep.”

“And you haven’t missed a single evening or come late?”

“No.”

Mona turned her head and stared with unseeing eyes straight into the headlights of the oncoming cars. “When you’re convinced that what I’m saying is the truth, I want to ask that Jonas and I be protected from the media. We have nothing to do with Richard’s life or his death. We just want to be left in peace.”

This last sentence contained enormous resignation and sorrow. But Irene felt that there was more that needed explaining.

“Is that the only reason?”

“No. You’re not stupid. And neither are the other detectives working on the investigation. Jonas will inherit from his father. And when Jonas dies, I’ll inherit from him. That’s why it’s important that you convince yourself of our innocence. You have to ask the nursing staff. There mustn’t be any doubt. We need peace and quiet so he can die.”

“But what if there’s a will? Can Jonas really inherit then?”

“A child always has the right to his lawful share of the inheritance, which is half of the estate. And by law Jonas is counted as a stepchild. Stepchildren always have the right to demand their share of the inheritance when their parents die.”

“Sounds like you’ve read up on the subject.”

“Of course. I looked it up right away in Everyday Jurisprudence when I read in the papers that Richard was dead. This was bound to come up eventually, but I repressed it. Neither Jonas nor I need his money. In the eyes of the police, though, we must be suspects. I realized this when the papers started talking about murder. But we want nothing to do with his money. He has never shared in our lives, or we in his. Except for the generous support payments. He bought his way out. And for our part that was certainly the best thing that could have happened. We had no financial worries while I finished my studies. Or later, when Jonas was growing up. The salaries of social workers have never been huge, but thanks to Richard’s support my school loans were modest. I paid them off long ago. And I got out of living with Richard. That was my best revenge against Sylvia. And I didn’t have to lift a finger.”

She gave a curt, joyless laugh. “I had no reason to kill Richard. Besides Jonas, he’s the only man I ever loved, but he has been dead to me for thirty years. And I intend to donate Jonas’s inheritance from Richard to Noah’s Ark, the AIDS support organization.”

For the rest of the way they sat in silence, each absorbed in her own thoughts.

ON THE way up in the elevator, Mona told Irene that Jonas was in a special ward for AIDS patients. There were eight beds. Jonas’s condition had declined so drastically that he now had a private room. Unsentimentally she said, “We had decided that he would be allowed to die at home on Fjällgatan. But it didn’t work. Sometimes he’s completely incontinent and can’t hold his urine or excrement. We couldn’t handle things at home. Both of us were thankful that he was allowed to come here. We thought that he’d only have to come in for a few days to be rehydrated a little. But he can no longer keep food or fluids down. He has to be on an IV all the time. That’s not something I can take care of. Thank the good Lord that the national health-care system is still functioning!”

They went in through the glass doors to the ward. As they approached the door marked STAFF, Mona slowed, smiled wanly, and whispered, “He’s in the first room on the left, just past the staff room.”

Mona quickened her step and opened a door a few meters down the hall.

Irene could hear hard-rock music streaming out the door. She recognized the sound; the glam-rock band Kiss, playing “Heaven on Fire.” She entered the staff room and found two nurses, dressed in blue scrubs. One of them was young and blond. When he stood up Irene saw that he was close to two meters tall. His female colleague was middle aged and plump. She said in a friendly voice, “Hello. Are you looking for someone?”

“Well, yes. I’m a friend of Mona Söder. We’re visiting Jonas. Mona hasn’t arrived yet, has she? Isn’t she always here in the evenings?”

Good grief! Why was she lying? But she knew she wanted to help exclude Mona from the von Knecht case.

The nurse nodded and smiled. “Every evening. Why do you ask?”

Irene managed an apologetic and helpless smile. “I tried to call her Tuesday evening. Here. But no one answered Jonas’s phone. I got the direct number from Mona. So that’s why I thought maybe she wasn’t here last Tuesday?. .”

“Oh yes, she was here. We were working Tuesday night. Maybe she pulled out the jack if Jonas was sleeping.”

“Yes, maybe that’s what happened. I just wanted to mention that Jonas’s phone might not be working right. . But I suppose it’s fine. Sorry to disturb you.”

With an apologetic smile Irene backed out into the corridor. The nurses gave her a friendly nod, turned back to each other, and continued their interrupted conversation.

It was as easy as that. She was without doubt a natural-born liar. Once you start down that path, you might as well keep following it. She quickly slunk out through the glass doors and went over to a pay phone she had seen near the elevator. She fed in some coins and took out the crumpled note with the number of Swedish Data. Maybe there wouldn’t be anyone at the switchboard on a Friday evening just before six o’clock?

“Swedish Data, good afternoon.”

Irene sighed with relief before she spoke.

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

“She’s gone for the day.”

“Will she be in on Monday?”

“Just a moment. . No, she has three weeks’ vacation.”