The Golden Calf

by Helene Tursten

  Tommy interrupted. “If you’d seen her yesterday, you’d know she’s telling the truth. Believe me. I’ve heard a lot of lies out of her mouth the past few days—and she’s not even a good liar.”

  Jonny glared around the table, but he said nothing more. Everyone knew he hated to be on surveillance. You had to be awake and alert for hours at a time.

  “So when do we start?” asked Irene.

  “After lunch,” said Andersson. “Kajsa and Birgitta, you two take the first watch.”

  “Should we let Sanna know?” asked Birgitta.

  This question caused a repeat of the chipmunk-cheek performance. After another round of lip-sputtering, Andersson made up his mind. “No. We don’t know who the killer or killers may be, nor does she. If she knows that she’s being watched, she might inadvertently tip off whoever it is.”

  Irene was relieved that Andersson took the threat to Sanna and her son so seriously. There were certainly good reasons to act on it.

  They worked out a schedule for the surveillance teams. Tommy and Irene would take the evening shift from six P.M. to midnight. On Saturday morning, Irene would be paired with Jonny. Tommy had asked for that morning off for “private reasons,” and Irene had a lump in her throat when she heard. The “private reasons” had to do with Agneta moving out of the house. Tommy and the children would be at his parents’ home over the weekend. He certainly must be going through hell right now. Irene glanced sideways at him and saw the dark circles under his eyes. Obviously he hadn’t been getting much sleep. His face had grown thinner. He’d lost a lot of weight around the middle. Of course, he’d joked about needing to lose the pounds, but he certainly would not have wanted to look so tired and hollowed out. So far, only Irene knew that he was going through a divorce, and the others didn’t seem to notice the physical changes. Tommy was trying hard to hide his pain, but how long could a person hold it in before they burst? Sooner or later, everyone reaches a breaking point. Tommy had been hiding his difficulties so well that even Irene hadn’t noticed them.

  The last time Irene and Krister had gotten together with Tommy and Agneta had been Midsummer weekend. It was their tradition to meet at the Persson’s summer cottage on Orust to celebrate the holiday. There’d always been a crowd of relatives and neighbors. Tommy’s eldest son, Martin, was Irene’s godson, and usually the two of them would laugh and joke around. But last Midsummer there hadn’t been much of that; the fifteen-year-old had kept to himself and hadn’t been particularly friendly. Martin and his friends had gone away on bikes, and they hadn’t returned until two A.M. Agneta had mentioned that Martin’s girlfriend was in London taking a language class that summer, which had made him depressed.

  Maybe the girlfriend story was a cover for why Martin was so unhappy. Maybe he’d actually been dealing with the true emotional state of the entire family. He certainly was old enough to understand what was going on. Maybe he’d overheard something. Other than Martin’s behavior, there had been no other hints about what was really going on in the Persson household. Tommy and Agneta had done a good job hiding everything.

  Irrationally, deep in her heart, Irene felt that somehow they’d betrayed her.

  • • •

  JUST AS IRENE was finishing her lunch of Falun sausage with macaroni in cream sauce, her cell phone rang. It was Glen Thompson, and before she could even say hello, he started to speak.

  “It’s amazing how you manage to stick your nose into the most unusual cases, but this time I think you’ve really kicked the hornet’s nest!” He laughed, and Irene wasn’t sure whether she should, too, but before she could decide, he went on in a more serious tone.

  “When I started checking around this morning, no one knew where Edward Fenton was. Everyone I talked to sounded nervous when I brought him up. Finally I was connected to a guy who told me he was an information manager. He finally let it slip that Edward Fenton has been missing for the past few days.”

  “For the past few days?” Irene repeated. Not good news to hear.

  “That’s right. The management team for HP Johnson had an emergency meeting this morning. This is the story I was told. Edward Fenton had been in the United States to visit his family during the first two weeks of September. His wife and sons stayed behind for another two weeks when he returned to London. What was strange is that he didn’t show up for work on Monday. He also didn’t show up on Tuesday. It wasn’t unusual for him to work from home, but he usually checked in. On the seventeenth of September, Wednesday, he returned to the office. According to the secretaries, he had a wound on his face. He said that he’d tripped on the stone path of his garden, but he said nothing about where he’d been on Monday and Tuesday. Then he worked as usual for the rest of the week. On Friday afternoon, he told his secretary that he was going to Berlin on Monday morning, and the whole week following he checked in with his secretary every day. His last telephone call was on Friday the twenty-seventh. Since then, no one has heard a word from him.”

  “What was he supposed to be doing in Berlin?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?” Irene repeated.

  “He never went to Berlin. He booked a flight, but he never boarded.”

  “So where did he go?”

  “No one knows. And now he’s gone.”

  Irene felt her mouth go dry. Something was terribly wrong.

  “Glen, remember what I already told you? Four people have been killed. Because of death threats we have two people in Göteborg—a woman and her baby—under surveillance. And these threats were passed on two days ago through Edward Fenton. He told this woman that he, too, was being threatened.”

  Glen was silent a moment and then asked, “So you think he might have been murdered, too?” All cheer had disappeared from his voice.

  “There’s always a risk that that might have happened.”

  “What do you know about this Fenton fellow?”

  Irene told him everything she knew. Glen listened and said nothing for a while after she’d finished. Then he asked, “Did you say he was married to Janice Santini? The daughter of Sergio Santini?”

  “That’s right.”

  “You really did stir the hornet’s nest, Irene. I have a colleague who specializes in this kind of thing,” he said thoughtfully.

  “What kind of thing?” Irene asked. She had trouble hiding her impatience.

  “He worked for the FBI. A few years ago, he met an Englishwoman and moved to London. Since then, he’s been working for us.”

  Irene felt as if things were whirling around in her brain like the hornets whose nest she’d supposedly kicked.

  “I’ll call you back as soon as I’ve found out anything more,” Glen said.

  “Thanks—thanks so much,” Irene said.

  As she ended the call, she felt exhausted, as if she’d just undergone an extra long bout of jiujitsu.

  Chapter 19

  IRENE CHOSE TO park in the lot above the pedestrian and bicycle path. It was surrounded by high trees and dense bushes that could hide their unmarked car. On the other side of all the greenery was an open field all the way to Sanna Kaegler-Ceder’s house. Irene parked by a gap in the greenery. They could easily see the house with the help of the abundant outdoor lighting.

  “From here we can overlook the front and west side, but not the back or the east, so one of us will have to relocate to cover the whole house,” said Tommy.

  Tommy had an average set of binoculars, even though they were especially light-sensitive. Irene had lifted a set from the guys in the narcotics department, despite their protests. “Now, now, you have to learn to share, just like the children at day care,” she had chirped, smiling broadly as she headed out the door, her plunder in a tight fist.

  Since the Askim house did not have trees or bushes close by, they would have to set up their lookout farther away. If the weather turned bad, a normal set of binoculars wouldn’t do, so the set of night goggles that Irene had snagged would be put to good use. Night goggl
es strengthen light by 10,000 percent; Irene had learned that when she’d used them on earlier investigations.

  Now she used them to make a quick survey of the surroundings. She saw what she was looking for.

  “I’ll stroll the bike path and duck in near the back of the house. I’ll be in the grove of trees over there on the other side of the field; you can see the treetops behind the house,” she said, pointing.

  “Good.”

  They synchronized their watches and put their cell phones on vibrate. Irene hung the night goggles from her neck underneath her coat. She also had her holstered Sig Sauer. There were heavy clouds in the sky, and the wind had picked up, so she’d chosen a winter overcoat. The forecast called for cooling temperatures.

  “Give me a call when you want to change places,” Tommy said.

  Irene got out of the car and started to walk down to the bike path. She’d go about one hundred and fifty meters and then leave the bike path for the grove of trees. A strong wind blew in from the sea, carrying the smell of salt into her nostrils while droplets from the ocean hit her face like gnats. Black clouds scurried across the sky. Between the sparse streetlights, the twilight had already turned to darkness. The wind was chilling, so she pulled up her hood. In the distance, she saw a man walking a German shepherd. Maybe this was the same witness who’d seen the jogger that night when Kjell B:son Ceder was murdered? The man and the dog were going the same direction as she was, and they seemed to take no notice of her. To keep oriented, Irene counted her steps. When she reached one hundred and fifty, she turned off the bike path and headed up the slope for the trees. It was grass-covered and steep, and she had trouble making her way up. She saw the tall trees about fifty meters to her right. Not bad, not bad, she thought. At least I still know how to count. The tall, dry grass and a tangle of raspberry stalks impeded her steps. She finally got to a good spot in the grove of trees, ideal for a stakeout. She could look out from behind a tree trunk while still being concealed by a thicket of young birches, and there was no risk that someone from the house could see her dark figure beneath the branches.

  She lifted the night goggles to her eyes and studied the back of the house. The night goggles didn’t show color—every object was different shades of green. Through the glass of the outdoor room she could see directly into the living room. It looked empty. There was light in Ludwig’s room. Irene could see Elsy Kaegler moving around in it. She was moving her lips and bending over often. Sanna had closed the curtains to her room although a sliver of light shone through a tiny gap. Perhaps Sanna was lying in bed and watching the wide-screen TV.

  Irene and Tommy had made sure to eat dinner before their shift, but by nine o’clock, Irene was starting to feel thirsty. She would have loved something hot. Even though the wind from the ocean was not very strong on the lee side of the island, especially within the grove of trees, cold fingers of air had found gaps at Irene’s ankles and wrists, and she was starting to feel the chill in her bones. It was surprisingly strenuous to stand still and keep watch as long as she had done, even with periodic stretching to keep her blood flowing. Perhaps it was time to call Tommy and change places?

  Just as she was about to press his number, the door at the back of the house opened. Irene froze with her finger over the button. Through the goggles, she saw how Sanna Kaegler stuck her head out and peered around. When Sanna saw that the coast was clear, she slipped out and shut the door behind her. Irene hit the button.

  “Tommy,” he answered.

  “Sanna is leaving the house by the back door. She’s wearing outdoor clothes: a long coat to her knees and long pants. Hair in a ponytail. She is heading in your direction,” Irene said quietly.

  “I see her. She’s coming around the corner of the house now, heading to a point between me and the bike path. Perhaps she’s aiming for it. Oops, she just stumbled.”

  “Doesn’t she have a flashlight?”

  “I don’t see one.”

  Irene could also see how Sanna wobbled. It must be difficult to walk across the damp field in the darkness of night. I hope she’s wearing a good pair of boots! Irene couldn’t help thinking, but she had her doubts. She had never seen Sanna in any footwear with spike heels less than ten centimeters high.

  “I’m going to move along the edge of the grove,” Irene said. “I’ll try to follow her.”

  “OK, I’ll go down to the bike path. Don’t turn off your cell phone.”

  “Got it.”

  It was difficult to step without sound through the thickets and undergrowth. Sanna was also having difficulty moving. She kept stumbling and catching herself. Irene suspected that her conjecture was right—Sanna was wearing heels that would sink into the mud. Irene realized she was catching up to her.

  Tommy also seemed to be correct in his assumption that Sanna was heading to the bike path. She had just about crossed the field and was nearing the fringe of bushes lining the bike path, Irene barely more than fifty meters behind her. Then Irene caught a sudden movement in the bushes ahead. She stopped and put the night goggles to her eyes.

  A figure in a stocking cap and wind jacket was crouching among the branches. Sanna was only about ten meters away when Irene saw him lift an arm and leap toward the unsuspecting Sanna. Without thinking, Irene ran forward, fumbling under her jacket to pull her gun from her holster while yelling as loud as she could:

  “Police! Stop or I’ll shoot!”

  At the same time, Tommy came running from the other side of the bike path. He was also yelling, “Police! Stop right there! We’re the police!”

  Irene saw how Sanna stumbled and fell just as a flash came from a gun muzzle. There was no sound. Silencer, Irene thought.

  Irene paused to locate the man again with her binoculars. All she saw was his back as he disappeared into the trees and bushes.

  “I’ll take care of Sanna!” Tommy yelled.

  “Keep your cell phone on!” Irene yelled back.

  “Got it!”

  Irene ran in the same direction as the gunman. Once on the bike path, she raised the goggles again to spot the man running toward Billdal. He was fast, and he had a good head start. Although she was a good runner, too, Irene realized she’d never be able to catch up to him. And, since he was armed, she realized it wouldn’t be a good idea to try to stop him on her own. Perhaps if she got close enough to wound him in the leg, it might be worth it, but, truth to tell, Irene was not the best shot. She always managed to pass the yearly test, but often by the skin of her teeth.

  She still had her cell phone, but she had to redial Tommy since he’d had to break contact to call for an ambulance. As she ran, Irene told him to send patrol cars toward Hovås to intercept the gunman.

  The wind had gotten stronger now, and hard drops of rain hit her in the face. It became even more difficult to run against the headwind. The distance between Irene and the gunman was increasing. Irene doubled her efforts to at least keep him in sight. The man ran easily, to Irene’s great irritation. He seemed young, tall, and athletic in his stocking cap and black jogging suit. She tried to remember every detail. Not much of a description, but better than nothing.

  From the corner of her eye, Irene saw that they were passing a small boat harbor. The gunman seemed to know exactly where to go. He went straight through the harbor parking lot and kept on, never seeming to tire in the least. Irene was sweating and panting. Her warm clothes were not meant for running. To make matters worse, her bad left knee was starting to ache again.

  Finally she could no longer spot him through the goggles; the bike path was completely empty. Irene stopped and tried to listen. Between the pounding of her blood in her ears and the howling wind, it was impossible. Even if a steam locomotive were headed right at her, she wouldn’t have been able to hear it. She struggled her way up a steep grassy slope and surveyed as much as she could through the night goggles. She peered inland and finally caught sight of him at the edge of a golf course. His pace hadn’t faltered at all. Although the trees w
ere sparsely planted, he hadn’t tried to veer off course or to hide. He probably did not realize that Irene could still see him with her night goggles.

  Irene called Tommy again.

  “He’s heading toward the club house parking lot on the golf course,” she panted into the phone.

  “Do you still see him?”

  “Yes, but the parking lot is surrounded by bushes.… Now he’s gone. Can one of our cars get him when he reaches the road?”

  “I don’t know. There’s no patrol in the vicinity. They said they’d send out what they could. I can—”

  “A car is exiting the lot!” Irene exclaimed. She tried to see its make and license plate number, but it went out of sight too quickly. Its rear lights flickered between the trees, and then it was gone.

  “Damn it all!” Irene said with feeling.

  “The ambulance is coming,” Tommy said.

  “How’s Sanna doing?”

  “The bullet grazed her head. She’s conscious but in shock,” he said.

  That was easy to understand. It’s very unpleasant to have someone shoot at you. Irene’s memory of the gunman in Paris was fresh—and that man was probably the same man who’d just shot at Sanna.

  “Let’s hope the patrol car can intercept him,” she said in an attempt to cheer herself up.

  But by then, Tommy had already hung up.

  Chapter 20

  SANNA’S STILETTO HEELS had saved her life. The second before the gunman fired, one of her heels had stuck in the mud and made her lurch sideways. The bullet had plowed a deep groove along her scalp and taken a surface layer of bone, but hadn’t shattered her skull and penetrated her brain. She would have a scar on the side of her head right above her right ear for the rest of her life: a permanent reminder that she’d almost been killed.

  The doctors determined that Sanna didn’t have a serious skull fracture. On the other hand, she did have a serious concussion and was in shock. Instead of showing gratitude to the police for intervening to save her life, Sanna kept up her lies and wriggled out of answering any of their questions. She finally said, “I have to go home and take care of my baby boy.”