Who Watcheth

by Helene Tursten

This was all too much. Irene suddenly felt just as exhausted as she had before lunch.

  “You’re . . . what?” was the best she could manage.

  “It’s not as dramatic as it sounds. I’m taking over the admin at the restaurant. As you know, the so-called restaurant king who’s owned the place for the past few years has run into some problems with the tax authorities. Yesterday it all came crashing down. He’s selling his entire empire, and guess who’s buying Glady’s and Sjökrogen? Janne Månsson!”

  Krister was positively glowing. Irene was finding it difficult to take everything in, but she definitely recognized that name.

  “Janne? Your old friend from The Ritz? He’s buying Glady’s?”

  “Yes. He’s selling his bar in Stockholm and moving back to Göteborg. He wants me to take care of all the admin—staff, purchasing, marketing, menu planning . . . everything except the finances. He’s farming that out to a professional accountant. I’ll be cooking one weekend a month, but I can choose when that is so it fits in with your shifts. I’ll be working seventy-five percent of the week. When I’m in the kitchen you’ll be at home with Egon, and when I’m in the office, he can come with me. It’s next door to the restaurant, with a separate entrance from the loading bay. I’ll be on my own in there, so no one will be disturbed by Egon.”

  It sounded like the perfect arrangement. Apart from one detail.

  “Sometimes I have to work late. Pretty often, in fact,” Irene said wearily.

  “I know that, but it’s not a problem. I’ll be working office hours, and Egon will be fine on his own for a couple of hours in the evening if the worst comes to the worst. And I’ve made my mind up about the house, too. I think we should sell this place and move to Guldheden. That means both of us will be closer to work. I’ve actually spoken to a realtor today. Someone is coming over this afternoon to do a valuation. Apparently they have a long list of people who are keen to buy in this area.”

  Irene was at a loss for words. Krister had certainly been busy sorting things out. Which was just as well since she wasn’t even sure she could get up the stairs to the bedroom.

  “Darling, that all sounds fantastic, but I really do have to get some sleep. When I wake up I’m sure I’ll be a much nicer wife who can actually appreciate what’s going on.”

  She got to her feet and staggered upstairs. Summoning up the last of her strength, she removed her clothes. She was asleep before her head touched the pillow.

  18.

  Irene was awoken by the sound of the alarm clock. She had set it for six o’clock, just to be on the safe side. She didn’t want to sleep for too long, otherwise she would be facing another disturbed night. She could hear voices from downstairs. It took a while before the fog in her brain cleared, and she realized Krister must be talking to the realtor.

  No doubt they would want to come upstairs, but Irene still allowed herself a long shower. The needles of hot water got her circulation going, and she finished off with an ice-cold blast. She pulled on her jeans and a sweater and went down. Egon shot out of the kitchen. Irene could hear a woman’s voice talking to Krister. Suddenly she wasn’t sure if it was the realtor; she had even more doubts when she walked in and saw the owner of the voice.

  She was tall and slim, wearing stilettos and a beige suit, the short skirt exposing her long legs. Her blonde hair hung down her back, all the way to her waist. She looks like one of the lawyers on Ally McBeal, Irene thought. The woman turned around, smiling warmly.

  “This is Madeleine Siegfrid from Siegfrids’ Real Estate,” Krister said.

  “Hi,” Madeleine said, extending a well-manicured hand. Her grip was firm and dry. This lady knows what she’s doing, Irene thought.

  “Okay, let’s take a look upstairs,” Krister suggested.

  Irene glanced out of the newly repaired window and saw that it was no longer raining, although the dampness still hung in the air. Dusk was falling, the sky darkening.

  The food bowls by the wall were empty. Egon was probably ready for a walk.

  “I’ll take Egon out,” she said. She pulled on her jacket and put him on the leash, remembering to slip a couple of black plastic bags in her pocket at the last minute.

  The air felt fresh and clear. Irene took several deep breaths. She had always loved the fall, and it was definitely on its way. She could happily live without the endless rain, but there was nothing like a crisp autumn day. The change of season made some people feel melancholy, but she was filled with a warm sensation of calm and happiness. It was nice to let go of all the stresses and obligations of the summer, take the time to breathe out and build yourself up before the long winter. The fall gave her strength.

  She was so pleased that Krister had gotten a handle on the issue of where they were going to live. She remembered that evening in her mother’s empty apartment, the powerful sense of Gerd’s presence. Admittedly she would have mixed feelings when it came to leaving the house where they had spent almost twenty years, and she would certainly miss being so close to the sea. But there is a time for everything. The twins were grown up now, and hadn’t lived at home for years. She and Krister were going to become city folk, and Egon would be a city pooch.

  The twilight was gathering fast, blue-black clouds racing in from the sea. The wind was picking up, promising more rain. Irene decided they would take a quick walk around the local streets before returning home.

  The path behind their house led down a small hill, which boasted a few trees and dense undergrowth. That would have to do as far as nature was concerned this evening, particularly as Egon and Krister had been out in the forest in the morning picking mushrooms. Irene glanced down at the little dog, who was happily trotting along investigating interesting smells. The leash gave him a range of five meters, and he was making full use of it. His silky fur was soon wet as he rooted around under the rain-sodden bushes. What kind of care did his coat need? Would he need to be clipped, or was a strip-comb more suitable? She would have to check it out. She looked down lovingly at her new dog, and immediately noticed the change in his body language. He stiffened, his gaze fixed on something deep in the dark undergrowth. Irene quickly turned and realized she could see straight in through the window of her own living room, where Krister and Madeleine Siegfrid were standing chatting. The neighbors had neatly clipped hedges, but the Huss family had never bothered to plant a hedge. Their property was separated from the path by a low fence.

  The crack of a snapping twig made her quickly turn back, focusing on the undergrowth once more. She heard a sound like fabric rubbing on fabric—or was it just the dry leaves rustling in the wind? It was impossible to see—could it be a deer? Hardly—it would have run away as soon as it picked up the scent of the dog. There was silence now. Whoever was in there was standing perfectly still, watching her.

  Egon started to whimper, tugging at the leash. He was scared, and wanted to get away. Alone and unarmed, Irene had no desire to push her way through the bushes to see who was hiding there. Could Angelika have come back to smash another window? Or was she planning a physical attack on Irene and Krister? Suddenly Irene wished she had read the printout of Angelika’s blog. It’s always best to know as much as possible about an opponent, so you are aware of what you’re dealing with. Should she stay here and request a patrol car? No—what if it was just her imagination (and Egon’s) playing tricks? Besides, it could take a while before a car turned up. The best thing would be to get away as quickly as possible.

  Egon made a beeline for home, taking full advantage of his extending leash. Irene could feel eyes burning into the back of her neck, but she forced herself not to look around. Instead she concentrated on listening as hard as she could in case someone tried to creep up on her from behind.

  Outside the front door she stopped and called the Unit. As she expected it was Hannu who answered. When she asked if they had picked up Angelika, he was very apologetic.


  “The latest address we have for her is Distansgatan in Högsbo. We’ve tried there, but no luck so far.”

  “That means she’s moved back to her old apartment, or at least to the same street. I guess her money ran out, and her relationship with that older guy came to an end.”

  “Probably. She’s no longer working as a dance teacher either. We checked with the dance school. She gave it up five years ago.”

  Things had obviously gone downhill for Angelika if she was back on Distansgatan. Irene had been there a few times during the investigation into Sophie’s death. Presumably the rich fiancé was out of the picture; he was hardly likely to be living in a two-room apartment. As far as Irene recalled, he had had big plans for the house in Änggården that Angelika had inherited from her daughter.

  And now Angelika had disappeared—or at least she was keeping a low profile as far as the police were concerned.

  “Have you got her apartment under surveillance?” Irene asked. She could hear her voice trembling.

  “We have,” Hannu replied.

  Irene’s heart was heavy as she opened the door of her safe, secure home. Or rather what had been her safe, secure home until yesterday.

  •••

  “It might have been my imagination, but I’m getting kind of paranoid! I feel like someone was actually standing behind the bushes looking into our house . . . We’re not safe in our own home!”

  Irene had managed to hold onto her self-control until the realtor left, but as soon as the door closed behind her, everything had come pouring out. Krister had listened in silence as she told him about her reaction, and Egon’s, to the sound of the breaking twig, and the growing conviction that they were being watched.

  “I’ve never been scared of the dark, you know that.”

  “I do,” Krister agreed.

  “But now I am.”

  He looked at her, his expression grave.

  “What is it that’s scaring you?”

  “The thought that someone I can’t see is standing out there in the darkness, watching me. Someone who is out to get us.”

  It sounded theatrical, but it was true. Irene wasn’t really scared of the dark, but she was terrified of the person who was hiding in the darkness.

  Krister nodded to show that he understood. He went into the kitchen and came back with two glasses of whiskey.

  “Here. You look as if you could do with this. It’s all been a bit too much.”

  “You don’t say,” Irene said sarcastically.

  “So what are we going to do? You have to be able to feel safe in your own home,” Krister went on.

  Irene tasted the whiskey and felt its warmth spreading through her body. Deep down she knew what they ought to do. There was one place where she did feel safe.

  “Mom’s apartment. We move to Guldheden right now,” she said firmly.

  Krister took a sip of the amber-colored liquid, then he put down the glass with a bang.

  “Let’s do it.”

  They had to act fast so that Angelika wouldn’t realize what was happening if she was keeping the house under surveillance. Irene packed a case with towels and bed linen, and they pushed pillows and the quilt in a black garbage sack. Egon’s basket and his toys went in another sack—the poor little soul was on the move again.

  Krister went down to the storeroom and fetched the two folding beds and chairs, then started emptying the refrigerator while Irene took Egon into the front yard for a few minutes. The dog didn’t know what was going on. Hadn’t they just been for a walk? Feeling anxious, he stuck close to Irene’s feet as she patrolled the yard. The street lamps and the external lights provided some illumination, but it was dark and chilly. Her plan was to prevent Angelika from coming up to the windows to see what they were doing. Then they would simply disappear.

  Irene hoped her colleagues would pick Angelika up within the next few days, but until then hiding from her seemed like a good idea, and that was exactly what they were planning to do.

  Irene went back indoors and packed some clothes, laying Angelika’s blog on top of the pile. It was time to get to know her enemy. Krister fetched his car and drove up to the gate. Irene thanked the Lord that the battered old Volvo was a station wagon. They loaded everything in the back as quickly as possible.

  They had left the interior lights on a timer so that they would stay on until midnight. The security lights at the front and back of the house worked on sensors, while the other lamps would switch themselves off at daybreak.

  •••

  Krister didn’t drive straight to Guldheden but took a detour via Vasagatan, Aschebergsgatan and past Chalmers Institute of Technology. The streets were pretty busy, mainly with young people. The bars and restaurants in the Vasastaden area looked both tempting and welcoming, offering a wide range of food and drink. We’ll be within walking distance of all this from now on, Irene thought. However, at the moment that was irrelevant. The main thing was to get to the apartment on Doktor Bex gata without anyone spotting them.

  There was nothing to suggest that they were being followed. After driving around for a couple of minutes they managed to find a parking space not far away. It took several trips to carry everything up the stairs. When Irene opened the door she was greeted by a slightly musty smell, but it felt like home. They were safe. Only then did she allow herself to breathe out. Subconsciously she had been on full alert for the past twenty-four hours, but now she could relax. She sank down in the only armchair in the living room. Fortunately there was also a floor lamp that had belonged to Gerd.

  “Shall I help you with one of the chairs so that you can sit down, too?” she asked.

  “Please. It’s a bit tricky with one hand,” Krister said, holding up his bandaged paw.

  They set up the chair and sorted out the beds; Egon was there as soon as they had finished. He curled up contentedly and fell asleep immediately.

  “Tea?” Irene said.

  “No thanks, honey. I’m exhausted. I’m going straight to bed.”

  I’m not surprised, given everything you’ve achieved today, Irene thought tenderly. She didn’t say anything, just kissed him goodnight.

  She picked up the printout of Angelika’s blog and settled down. Then she began to read.

  2009-04-29

  Welcome to Angie’s blog. My plan is to write about my bitter experiance of the outragous behavior of the police and other authorities. It’s disgusting that the police can do whatever they like, and go unpunished! If they decide to persacute an individual, they can do it, and they can even drive that person to their death! I know this from my own experiance. Both my children are dead, after years of police persacution! There’s one cop in particular who decided to hound me and my kids: Irene Huss. She works here in Göteborg. Just writing her name sends shivers down my spine, and I feel terrified! I don’t know why she started hounding me and my kids, but maybe it was because my daughter was different. She was kind of quiet, and because of that she was bullied in school. Sophie wasn’t diagnosed with Asperger’s syndrome until she was twelve years old, although the doctors still weren’t sure because she wasn’t a typical case. She was quiet and kept to herself when she was little. I knew there was something wrong, and I took her to see lots of different doctors, but none of them knew what it was. Dance was her great passion. When she danced she was like everyone else. She started to dance when she was only four years old, and gradually she got really good. That’s not surprising because I have a classical dance background, and am a qualified dance teacher.

  This was followed by a lengthy description of Angelika’s brilliant dance career, then she finished off with further examples of what Irene had done to Sophie. The final words of this entry were:

  I’ll carry on tomorrow; I can’t write any more now. Grief has me in its iron grip once again. It is tearing my heart to shreds.

 
Irene could feel her own heart pounding. She put down the blog and took a sip of lukewarm tea before she continued reading.

  The entry had attracted several comments, all expressing sympathy for poor Angie. Several of them had personal experience of police harassment; some comments were obviously written by total nut jobs. For example: Good!!! Keep going!!!!! We’ll kill the bastard bastard bastards!!!!! Let’s blow all the cops sky high!!!!!

  So according to Angelika, it was the police, in the form of Irene Huss, who had caused the deaths of Sophie and Frej. To anyone reading the blog who was unfamiliar with the details of the case, Irene came across as a malicious persecutor who had hounded two young people to their deaths. How do I respond to something like this? Irene thought wearily. Can I report it as slander? She had no idea.

  After a while she forced herself to read on.

  2009-04-30

  It all started with a tragic accidant. My beloved husband Magnus had gone for a lie down after lunch, and fell asleep with a cigarette in his hand. He had a bad habit of smoking in bed, and I’d told him over and over again that he shouldn’t do it. He’d started minor fires several times, but this time the bed caught fire. He didn’t wake up, because as usual he was out cold and the whole house burnt down! Me and the kids were devastated when we found out that our beloved Magnus was dead! The cops started hassling us before we’d even buried him! It was mostly Irene Huss, but also some male cops. I remember one of them, he was a superintendant called Andersson. He yelled at poor Sophie, trying to get her to confess! The cops got the idea that Sophie had started the fire—she was only eleven years old, for God’s sake! My little girl couldn’t answer their questions, because she was disabled. They got mad and started interrogating her at the station—long interrogations, with poor Sophie facing several cops at the same time, all by herself! She was only eleven years old! They wanted her to confess that she’d started the fire. Irene Huss subjected my little girl to several long and painful interrogations. She didn’t stop until the child psych team intervened and told the cops they weren’t allowed to treat a kid that way. The experiance affected my little girl for the rest of her life. She suffered from periods of depression. She was lucky that she had her dancing, because otherwise I don’t know what would have happened. I’m crying now, the grief is too much for me. I can’t write any more today. Thank you for your support, you wonderful people out there! Your Angie.