Helene Tursten - Detective Inspector Huss

He looked disappointed, not unlike a pug dog that has his heart set on a treat but doesn’t get it.

“We’re not allowed to drink on duty,” said Irene.

“But it’s seven o’clock on a Friday night!”

“And I’m on duty.”

“Oh.”

“Naturally, that’s why I’m here. But I would like to congratulate you on the new furniture. And wish you all the best in your new life together with Gunnel.”

Valle lit up again. “A thousand thanks! You’re the first to know. No one else knows yet. Sylvia was here and asked whether I was moving, but I evaded the question. She’ll really love hearing my news! And my son doesn’t care. Gunnel and I are getting engaged here secretly tomorrow night. It feels best that way, thinking of Richard. And we’re getting married at Easter!”

Happiness shimmered from his round figure. Irene decided that it was time to get to the reason for her visit. She cleared her throat and said, “I would like to ask a few questions concerning last Tuesday. We received information that when the two of you took a taxi home from lunch at Johanneshus, you didn’t take the direct route. Richard von Knecht stopped at the SE-Bank on Kapellplatsen around four o’clock and withdrew a large amount of cash.”

Valle raised his eyebrows. “Indeed?” He gave her a friendly squint and seemed to be waiting for her to continue.

“Do you recall that he went into the bank?”

“Recall? I always sleep in the cab on the way home! Always! Richard wakes me when we stop here at the front door. Or used to wake me. .” His cheerful voice became subdued and sorrow was clearly evident in those last words.

To clarify, Irene went on, “So on the Tuesday afternoon in question you were asleep the whole time in the cab until it was time to get out?”

“Yes. I must have gone to sleep almost instantly. I was asleep until Richard woke me. As usual.”

“Do you recall if he was carrying anything in his hand?”

Valle really made an effort. Irene was struck by his resemblance to a worried seal. He squinted his eyes and concentrated.

“I think he was. . as a matter of fact. A small white object in one hand. A bag. Did he take out the money in a paper bag?”

“No. He went into the bakery next to the bank and bought two sandwiches.”

“That could be right. He and Sylvia often did that on Tuesdays. Just had a sandwich for dinner. We always ate a substantial lunch, and then Richard had to deal with Sylvia’s starvation diets again. She wanted to be as slim as a ballerina. Poor Richard almost starved to death!”

From what Irene could remember, there hadn’t been anything in the autopsy report about severe undernourishment, but she decided to change the subject.

“Did he say anything to you about the money? It was quite a large sum, ten thousand kronor.”

“He probably wanted to buy something. Clothing, perhaps.”

Valle sounded uninterested. Evidently he didn’t think it was a large sum. Irene suspected that the easy chair he was sitting in cost more than that.

“Did he usually take out cash when he was going to make a purchase?”

Valle thought about it with renewed interest.

“No, he always used a credit card. He didn’t like carrying cash. He said you shouldn’t have any, in case you’re robbed. You never know these days, with all the skinheads and drug addicts.”

For a second her daughter’s bald pate swam before Irene’s eyes, but she pushed away the image. She motioned toward the monster painting and asked, “Did Henrik help you acquire all these fine paintings?”

“Yes. A fine boy. Talented and competent. He also purchased the rugs. And the crystal chandelier.”

He pointed at the painting with the blue-headed monster and went on, “He arranged the contact with Bengt Lindström, a noted Swedish painter in Paris. This is his portrait of me. I had him do Richard too-from a photograph-for his sixtieth birthday. Richard was overjoyed! Said it was the gift he valued most. But of course Sylvia didn’t like it! She said that they had enough Bengt Lindström. She was mad because he liked the painting.”

To her own astonishment Irene suddenly saw that it really was Valle Reuter in the painting. His expression of a jovial seal was right on the mark. The blue seal had a crimson-red glint in his left eye that clearly said, Be careful you don’t underestimate me!

Since they so opportunely had begun to talk about Henrik, Irene decided to pursue the subject and pump Valle. In a tone of friendly interest she asked, “What did Richard think about his son’s choice of profession?”

“Well, he was extremely disappointed after Henrik’s illness. Probably thought he would continue in the financial world. Just as I thought about my son. Or more correctly, Leila’s son.”

His face clouded over and Irene sensed a trauma that she ought to avoid getting into. She swiftly said, “But Henrik went his own way, as we know. From what I understand, he stays up at his house in Marstrand most of the time, doesn’t he?”

“Yes, that was the house that brought him back to life. He was apathetic and depressed after his illness. Had to fight to become reasonably healthy again. He was unhappy. But then Richard decided to build a guest cabin down by the water at their country place, and Henrik asked if he could have his own cabin. I assume he probably wanted to be left in peace. The two houses were built at the same time. Henrik was full of energy. He was with the workmen from the first dynamite blast to the last roofing tile! It did him good, both physically and mentally. Doing manual labor.”

“Dynamite blast?”

“Yes, quite a bit had to be blasted out there on the rocks by the sea. For the building site. Henrik thought it was fun. He used to be a commando, you know. They learn a lot about explosives. Good grief, my throat is getting so dry with all this talk! Shall we have a little glass after all?”

She declined, friendly yet firm, as her brain worked in high gear. Henrik had both access to explosives and the knowledge to handle them. They had to go up to Marstrand and search for plastique explosive and detonators. And the det cord. Proof! That would be tangible evidence. Although there might not be any left. Maybe he used all of it for the devil bomb and Bobo’s briefcase. She suddenly realized that Valle had started talking again.

“. . extremely lovely up there. But Charlotte doesn’t like it. She thinks it’s too isolated. At first she went up there often. But not so much lately.”

“How was Richard’s relationship with Charlotte?”

“Good. He didn’t talk about her very often. Although he thought it was a shame that they couldn’t have children.”

Crash! The whole roof fell in on Irene’s head. Mentally, at least. Without betraying her inner excitement she asked in a neutral voice, “Can’t she have children?”

“It’s Henrik who can’t have children after his illness. He was tested several times, but he had no viable sperm. Richard told me the boy is totally sterile.”

“Did Charlotte know about this when they got married?”

“Yes. But she didn’t think it mattered. She didn’t want to have children, probably didn’t want to ruin her figure. If you’re a photo model, you have to think about your appearance. Really a very beautiful girl.”

“Did Richard also think she was beautiful? I mean, did he ever mention it?”

Valle gave her a surprised look. “Yes, I suppose any man can see that. Most normally constituted men probably consider Charlotte to be tremendously beautiful,” he said with emphasis.

“He never talked to you about his relationship with his daughter-in-law?”

Now Valle looked annoyed. “Since he seldom talked about her, it must have been fine! What does Charlotte have to do with Richard’s murder?”