Detective Inspector Huss dih-1

by Helene Tursten

  “We met in the spring of ’sixty-four, Richard and I. He blew in like a whirlwind one April evening, as Strindberg writes in The People of Hemsö. I was twenty-two and he was twenty-eight. I had been attending social work college for a year but I didn’t feel at home in Stockholm. If you’re born and raised up north in Härnösand, Stockholm is a real culture shock. Some people thrive and have a blast. Others just get homesick. Like I did.”

  Only now did Irene notice the slight lilt of the Ångermanland accent in Mona’s speech. At first she had just heard a nicely enunciated, cultivated Swedish, but the hint of Norrland was there like a pleasant undertone.

  “But I had nothing to go back to. Pappa died in a sawmill accident when I was fifteen. Mamma met another man. They got married and she moved to Umeå with him and my two younger sisters. I stayed behind in Härnösand, paying for room and board with Mamma’s cousin and her husband while I finished up high school. In a fit of boldness I answered a classified ad: ‘Young lady with a talent for languages wanted for office position.’ In Stockholm. I almost fainted when they called and told me I could start in August. I found a room in a boardinghouse run by an old lady on Birger Jarlsgatan. A sad little room in back off the courtyard. But it was cheap and suited my modest salary.”

  Mona broke off for a coughing fit. She took a sip of lukewarm coffee to clear her throat. After a deep, greedy drag on her cigarillo, she went on. “The job was pure shit work. After a year I had had enough, and I applied to the social work college. Everybody was going there in those days! With my grades it was no problem, I got in. After just one semester I realized that sitting in a welfare office was not what I wanted to do either. Bringing salvation to tattered lives would have to be left to others. I didn’t feel I was the type who could really get involved. I had enough problems of my own.”

  She fell silent and downed the last of her cognac. Irene was fascinated. It was hard to imagine this worldly and obviously authoritative woman as a lonely, uncertain student in the big city. But she must have been hard nosed even then, since she didn’t stay at the office job long.

  “My fellow students were Communists on the far left who wanted to change the world. The Social Democrats were viewed as a bourgeois party. Imagine, how the pendulum always swings back!”

  She laughed heartily and stubbed out her cigarillo in the little glass ashtray.

  “I followed the administrative path and have always worked as a civil servant. First a few years in Södertälje municipality. But I started in the private sector in the late seventies. The past ten years I’ve been the personnel director of a computer firm.”

  She coughed again and rinsed out her mouth with the last drops of coffee.

  “My life. That’s all there is to it. The only things that ever happened are Richard and Jonas. So, back to Richard.”

  Again she fell silent. Her hand trembled a little as she ran her fingers through her short, well-coifed steel-gray hair. Their waiter appeared in the doorway, and to Irene’s surprise Mona whistled softly to him. When he came over to their table, Mona said, without taking her eyes off Irene, “Two cognacs.”

  Irene tried to object but Mona silenced her by placing her hand over hers.

  “Richard and I met on a glorious April evening at Mosebacke in southern Stockholm. As you can hear, the ghost of Strindberg is back. There was spring in the air even though it wasn’t very warm yet. I was wandering around aimlessly, feeling lonely. I had just broken up with a boy at school. I was fed up with him and all the other boys. I was sitting on a bench, trying to think of nothing at all. Suddenly a man sat down next to me. I was scared to death, and it was quite obvious. We started talking and the time just whirled away. He was simply effervescent with. . the joy of life. Yes, that’s the phrase I associate most with Richard. Joie de vivre. Jonas has that in common with his father. I had never ever experienced anything like it before!”

  Mona paused to light another cigarillo.

  “I realized that he was older than I was. So urbane! I was dazzled and very impressed. Of course I was attractive in those days, but no man had ever looked at me the way Richard did. He thought everything I said sounded intelligent. Everything he said sounded exciting and exotic to my ears. We talked and talked for several hours. Then we went back to his apartment on Fjällgatan. We split a bottle of wine and made love for three days and three nights. And I stayed there the rest of April and May. I still had my room on Birger Jarlsgatan, but I was hardly ever there. In June and July he went down to Göteborg. He had to help his father with the shipping company and was taking a combined vacation and leave of absence, he said. Later I found out that her name was Madeleine. They had a hot romance, although she was married. But I, who didn’t read any weekly magazines or have any close girlfriends to gossip with, I had no clue. It wasn’t until early September that I heard from him again. And I was idiotically happy. Didn’t ask a thing, didn’t want any answers. Just made love and made love. In late November I realized that I was pregnant. I wasn’t overjoyed, but I thought it would all work out. Richard did have a great job and made plenty of money. I would have to take a year off from my studies. Then we would get a nanny. And before that we’d get married. Or so I thought. Richard never let on what he thought about getting stuck with me and with a kid on the way! Getting married was the last thing he wanted to do. At least to me. But he didn’t say a thing; he was just as charming and tender to me as before. He did start working late more often, though. He said he needed money now that the child was coming. And I wanted to believe it was true.”

  She broke off and gave Irene a sharp look before she went on. “It probably doesn’t sound too smart to your ears. What a dope I was! But you have to realize that I’m talking about a different person. The girl I’m telling you about no longer exists. She’s been gone for years. But once she was a real person. With tears and laughter and love. She could love unconditionally. And she still believed that people were basically good. You get thick skinned from fighting and losing too many battles.”

  Irene saw the reflections from the candle flame glittering in Mona’s tears. Several years as an interrogation leader had taught her that the biggest mistake at such a moment would be to say anything. The person being interviewed has a need to talk things out.

  As if she had read Irene’s mind, Mona continued in a more businesslike tone of voice. “What I’m telling you now I’ve never told anyone but Jonas. It doesn’t concern anyone else. But since Richard has been murdered, everything has to be completely aboveboard. I want to explain how everything was and why neither Jonas nor I have anything to do with the murder.”

  She was embellishing her speech with many more sweeping gestures now than she had at the beginning of the conversation. It was the result of equal parts fervor and cognac.

  “Anyway. It was getting on toward Christmas. Richard said he had to go down to Göteborg. I had moved into his apartment in the middle of December and given up my room on Birger Jarlsgatan. When I realized that he didn’t intend to take me with him to meet his family, I finally staged the big scene that I should have attempted much earlier. We argued for several hours. More precisely, I argued for several hours and said what was in my heart. I was so young and had never heard of the concept ‘fear of confrontation,’ but after a while I noticed that he wasn’t defending himself. I would attack and he would side-step without any particular finesse. He was quite simply not used to arguing! Nobody could argue with the gorgeous, charming, rich, and talented Richard von Knecht! And that’s how it had been his whole life. Free of any conflict. If things got unpleasant, he would just slip away discreetly. If any unappetizing remains were left behind, there was always someone who could be hired to sweep them away.”

  Mona was now so agitated that she grabbed Irene’s untouched cognac. Irene didn’t say a word; she hadn’t intended to drink it. Mona needed it more than she did.

  “His father suffered a timely embolism and Richard was granted permission from the brokerage firm to
leave his job and go down to take over the family empire. You know, of course, that his father was a ship-owner. Richard left for Göteborg in early January. I was entering my second trimester. Abortion had not yet been legalized, nor did I consider it. Deep inside I believed that he would come back to me. And the child. He couldn’t ignore his child, could he? Good Lord, I was so naive!”

  There was no mistaking the bitterness in Mona’s voice. She downed half the cognac in the snifter in one gulp.

  “He paid the rent for six months in advance before he left. I stayed in the apartment and tended to my studies. I didn’t hear a word from him the whole time. I started using my meager student loan to buy the weekly magazines. There was a lot about him: ‘The crown prince becomes the new shipping king,’ ‘Most eligible bachelor.’ I don’t remember everything I read. In May I saw pictures from a ball in Göteborg. That’s when he met Sylvia.”

  She paused and finished off the cognac.

  “Then I finally woke up from my coma. The baby inside me was kicking. I felt responsible for this tiny being. And suddenly I realized that I was utterly alone and would have to fight. The new Mona began to take shape. I started calling him, both at home and at the office. I could hear from his voice that he was scared shitless. He didn’t want either his mamma or the delicate little ballerina to find out about his escapades here in Stockholm. Suddenly I had the advantage. And I intended to use it. He paid another six months’ rent. To shut me up, of course. I took it easy and lay low that summer. On July twenty-third Jonas was born. The instant he was put in my arms I knew that for his sake I would be able to fight. He’s the most amazing thing that’s ever happened to me.”

  Her voice broke a little and she fell silent. When she resumed her story there was a diamond sharpness in her tone.

  “I began to demand my rights. And Jonas’s right to a father. After many heated arguments on the phone Richard promised to come up to Stockholm and ‘fix everything,’ as he put it. Instead he sent his lawyer, Tore Eiderstam. He threatened that Richard would deny all knowledge of me. Deny paternity. But I stood my ground. When he realized that I didn’t intend to back down, he started threatening me. I would never get a job, Richard and Tore would see to that. Then I threatened to go to the tabloids with my story. We went back and forth like this for several days. Suddenly one day Tore switched tactics. He said that he and Richard weren’t going to bother with me any longer. They proposed a settlement. Richard would admit to being Jonas’s father. He would put the apartment in my name and pay the rent until Jonas was twenty, plus child support of five hundred kronor per month. Remember that the rent in those days was four hundred kronor. A new car cost about eight thousand. A single mother who wasn’t even half finished with her studies had no choice. I accepted. In return I promised not to tell Jonas who his father was until his twentieth birthday. A week later I read in the papers about Richard’s engagement to Sylvia and their impending wedding. That’s when the old Mona disappeared for good.”

  Mona hid her face in her hands. Irene cautiously inserted a question. “Did you and Richard have any contact over the years?”

  “No, never. He didn’t even send presents to Jonas on Christmas or his birthday. And that had to be the worst thing. Seeing the boy’s excited anticipation before holidays. And then his wordless disappointment. After a while he didn’t care anymore. On his twentieth birthday I told him the same story I just told you. He just shrugged his shoulders and said, ‘My father never cared about me, why should I care about him?’”

  She fumbled in her handbag and took out a tissue. She tried to control herself, but the tears blurred her voice.

  “Jonas has always been such a fantastic person, even when he was little. Always happy and kind. He was born with artistic talent. He drew and painted before he could talk. There was never any discussion that he would be anything but an artist. I let him keep the apartment on Fjällgatan. I bought a condo on Lidingö when he was nineteen and had started at the Art Academy. We’ve always been very close. Even after he met Chester, who became like a son to me too. We lost him last summer. And now Jonas is going to disappear too!”

  Mona was sobbing uncontrollably now. Out of the corner of her eye Irene could see the waiter fluttering nervously over by the doorway. She tried to calm Mona down, and after a while she succeeded. Mona sniffled and dried away her tears. She gazed steadily at Irene and her voice was totally under control when she went on.

  “They got AIDS. Who infected them or whether both of them had HIV when they met, we don’t know. It doesn’t matter. But Chester died six months ago and Jonas is dying. That’s what I want you to see. You have to meet Jonas. So that you will never suspect that he had the least thing to do with his father’s death!”

  MONA INSISTED she was going to drive her Audi, but Irene was intractable. If she was going along to meet Jonas, she didn’t want to ride with a driver who risked arrest for drunk driving. Mona gave in. She knew that Irene was right. They got into the car, which smelled like it was brand new. The odometer showed thirty-two hundred kilometers.

  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 an
d 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!”