A Small Indiscretion

by Denise Rudberg

  With some irritation, she closed the door to the library. That had been her favorite room in the house, but she hadn’t entered it since that day in May when Hans had passed away. Something was keeping her back. She just wasn’t ready yet.

  She went into the guest bathroom. The Josef Frank wallpaper looked worn, but it gave this room some character, as opposed to the somber look of the rest of her house. Little by little over the past decades, Marianne had come to discover her own personality in the house. The more Hans worked at his career, the more time she put into their home. This was also a hidden strategy on her part: the more elegant her home became, the more Hans felt lost in it. He’d brought only one thing into the house when they married thirty years ago—a wall clock he’d inherited from his mother’s side of the family. The clock had never worked and wasn’t all that attractive, either.

  She found herself in her own bedroom. She gathered up all the dirty clothes she’d flung on a chair and put everything in the hamper. She smoothed the sheets and arranged the pillows against the brown headboard from Muscat. She’d changed the sheets a few days earlier and wasn’t about to do it again. They were summer sheets, with light-blue stripes. It was highly unlikely that Olle would need to come in here, but still.

  Marianne’s daughters often teased her for decorating her home according to the seasons. They told her there was no reason to change sheets, slipcovers, and curtains just because the thermometer showed a different temperature. Marianne disagreed. It was important to keep track of the seasons. It made daily life better and made her appreciate her home even more. Probably it was a generational thing.

  Time was getting short now, so she shed her rumpled sweater and pulled out a white linen blouse, which she’d hung over a gray linen pair of slacks. Her hair had grown fairly long recently. She’d never dyed it, so she felt even more bohemian-looking than usual. But what did it matter? She found a clasp and pulled her hair back. She had just put on a scarf and tied it in a soft knot when the doorbell rang. No time to worry about any deodorant or perfume. It was more important that Olle just tell her what he had to say and leave. She wanted the meeting over and done with.

  Olle Lundqvist took a sip of mineral water and set the glass down on a coaster with a map motif. He pressed two fingers to his mouth—a gesture he often made when he was about to plead a case. He cleared his throat, and Marianne realized he was embarrassed to ask for a favor directly.

  “I know it’s difficult making decisions now, but by the end of the week I need to know what you’ve decided. Your replacement has asked for the job permanently, and it will be hard to ask her to leave if you end up deciding to return. I know you think you’ve made up your mind—and I have your letter of resignation. But for my sake, Marianne, would you reconsider? Would you come back?”

  Marianne’s heart leapt, but she didn’t know if it was from worry or relief. Most likely the latter. Her dry lips felt rough as she pressed them together. She smiled at the man she’d known as a good friend for the past twenty years.

  “I understand your thinking, Olle, but you might as well give her the permanent position.”

  “Are you absolutely sure? I think that’s unwise on your part. And sad. Well, I won’t do anything until Friday, at least. I want you to come into the office and give your final answer in person. Damn it all, Marianne, I need you! I need your skill! Not a single one of the legal secretaries has a law degree. They don’t have your experience—not by a long shot. You should feel responsible! Do you really think your replacement should come from a pool of temps? Do you understand the difference between your abilities and theirs?”

  “This is starting to sound like bribery.”

  “Call it whatever you like. You’ve also had over twenty years of experience assisting Hans. I know you felt it was your duty since you were married, but you’ve learned a lot because of it.”

  Marianne could see that Olle looked tired—like something was weighing on him.

  “Is anyone I know still around? Aren’t there a lot of new people?”

  “Yes, people come and go. You know that.”

  He steered the conversation in a different direction.

  “How have you been dealing with the practical side of things? Do you need help with anything? How about your summer house on Dalarö? Are you keeping it?”

  With a hard edge to her voice, Marianne answered, “I have no plans to sell my summer house. Hans never had much to do with it. He even hated going there. It wasn’t just that he’d rather be working—to him, Dalarö symbolized everything he didn’t like. He used to call it Snob Island. He wasn’t much for status—it was a miracle I managed to convince him to move to Östermalm in the first place.”

  Olle nodded. “He never felt at home in your world.”

  Marianne shook her head and sighed. “Otherwise, everything is fairly well taken care of. Some paperwork left, but I need some forms from the tax office. Nina is taking care of it, actually, and my father is the executor.”

  “How is Harry, by the way?”

  “I think he’s getting more energetic by the year. It’s almost annoying. He’ll outlive us all! Last spring was his seventy-eighth birthday. I doubt there’s a single charitable organization without him on the board. Recently, he even joined the board of some organization providing exercise classes for Östermalm’s retirees.”

  Olle whistled. “It sure is hard to believe he’s reached that age. He looked imposing at the funeral in his air force uniform. Is he still in contact with his military buddies?”

  “Of course. They have lunch once a week.”

  The conversation paused. Marianne hoped that Olle had finally changed the subject now that the funeral had come up. She decided to let the mood hang in the room instead of putting him at ease.

  She felt the need for a smoke. She kept a pack of cigarettes near the stove, on the top shelf of the kitchen pantry. She hadn’t really smoked in over thirty years but liked having them on hand to offer guests. A few times she’d taken a puff or two. Now, she was surprised that the need to smoke had come on so suddenly and strongly. Drinking often brought with it the desire to smoke, but she hadn’t even had any alcohol.

  As she drummed her fingers on the armrest, Olle finally broke the silence.

  “How are the girls taking it?”

  “Nina hasn’t changed. She still needs to organize everything and tell everyone else what to do. Sigrid lets her big sister be in charge. She takes things more calmly, and she’s been able to lose herself in her sewing. She is opening a design studio on the first floor of this building. Nina was hit harder by Hans’s death: she was her father’s daughter. As the eldest, she’s used to taking on responsibility. And right now she’s having trouble understanding me. She thinks I’m not grieving for Hans properly.”

  “What about Peder?”

  “He’s heading back to Australia soon. He promised Hans he’d finish his studies. But to tell you the truth, I’m not sure how he’s feeling. He doesn’t show anything on the surface. I’m not even sure he cried during the funeral.”

  Olle nodded. “People grieve in different ways. Perhaps he’ll start to deal with it once he’s left Stockholm. And you? How are you doing?”

  “Well, honestly, I really don’t know.”

  As Marianne tried to ignore a memory playing in her mind like a snippet from a film, Olle looked at her with compassion.

  “You don’t have to tell me. I understand.”

  She surprised herself by blurting out, “I’m just so angry at him!”

  Olle replied softly, “People often feel like that in the beginning. It’s part of the grieving process. Being angry is perfectly normal.”

  Marianne’s eyes narrowed, and she almost hissed back at him. She pictured Hans again on his deathbed, his words a final humiliation.

  “I’m sure you’re right,” she said with a strained voice.<
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  After a long pause, Marianne stood up.

  “I’m sorry to be a bad hostess, but I need to shower and get ready for a doctor’s appointment. I’ve also promised to make dinner this evening, and I need to do my shopping. Peder has been eating sandwiches for weeks, and I don’t want him going back to Australia without having some of his favorite dishes. Pappa and Sigrid will be here, too.”

  “What about Nina?”

  “She’s going with her husband, Robert, to a friend’s place. She needs to take a break from all of us. She’s had too much responsibility for all this.”

  “We all choose our roles. I need to get going, too.”

  Marianne followed him to the entry hall and handed him his scarf. She could see in his eyes that he was debating whether to say something. Finally, he spoke.

  “Marianne, I’d like you to come back. I really mean that.”

  Marianne examined his face, surprised by the deep feeling in his voice.

  “Has something serious come up?”

  Olle swallowed. He buttoned his coat but then stopped. He turned and strode back into the living room, sinking down in a chair and covering his face. For a moment, Marianne thought he might start crying, but he sat up straight and looked her in the eye.

  “Marianne, I’ll tell you straight. Please forgive me, but I don’t want to mince words.”

  Marianne felt her heart flip-flop and got a sour taste in her mouth.

  Olle continued, “We have had some issues lately. There’s been a leak of confidential information. That’s not a new problem, as you know, but it’s never been as bad as we’re experiencing now. It’s out of hand. There have been leaks to different departments and the media, between local and national, and even to Säpo—though God only knows how they’re getting their hands on it.”

  “And you have no idea who might be doing this?”

  “We suspect a number of people. We’re in the middle of setting up a new internal security system. But that takes time. I’ve devised a new strategy, and you’re its linchpin.”

  Marianne was taken aback, but Olle went on.

  “I want to keep this group very small. If people report only to me, we can keep things watertight.”

  “You can certainly find someone to take my place. A true assistant to the prosecutor. What about that new guy, Tommy, you mentioned before?”

  “Listen to me, Marianne! It’s you that I want! You know this organization inside and out. You know it from your own work and Hans’s. I know this is a sensitive area, but…we both know that Hans was a fine person in his own way, one of the best we had in the Swedish legal system. Still, he had a weakness: women. I believe that’s where the leaks started.”

  Marianne coughed and ran a hand down her thigh. She looked straight at Olle.

  “What are you saying? Are you implying that he leaked sensitive information through some lover?”

  “Honestly, I’m not sure exactly how it happened, but everything I’ve learned makes me think he was involved. I knew Hans well. I don’t think he’d have willingly passed on information. But someone close to him could have been using him. I even suspect he was being blackmailed. So far, we have no concrete proof. It’s an old story, especially in cases involving state secrets and espionage. This is just on a much smaller scale. What I’m trying to say is, I think someone got to Hans through his weak spot.”

  “How did you arrive at this conclusion?”

  “I can’t say right now, but—believe me—I wouldn’t be telling you this if I weren’t sure.”

  “So why do you think I’m the one who can help you? If he was able to hide his affairs from me during our marriage, I could hardly stumble on them now that he’s dead.”

  “He didn’t do much to hide them. I don’t think he ever bothered. You just chose to keep your eyes shut.”

  The truth hurt. Marianne’s instinct was to get up and leave. But she stayed.

  “This is all very distasteful,” she said.

  “I think the leaks are still getting out, so it would be very helpful if you agreed to work with me in this special group. We’re not going to bother with Hans’s former lovers. We want to get to the heart of the matter and find out who else is leaking this vital information. I suspect it is someone high up in the ranks, or a group of people who might not even be working together. This is way beyond Hans now. I need your help because I know I can trust you one hundred percent. You are an intelligent woman—you know it, and you know how this affects us. These leaks hurt our work.”

  Marianne stood up. Olle looked at her questioningly.

  She crooked her finger, saying, “Come with me to the kitchen. I need a cigarette.”

  Once Marianne closed the door behind Olle, she stood perfectly still, her feet planted on the coconut rug. She had agreed to go back to work the following Monday. How she was going to pull herself together by then was another question entirely. Today she’d hardly been able to get out of bed, let alone take a shower. Work, which would involve all her energy, seemed impossible at best. She sighed heavily and felt a strong tug of nausea. A second later, she was running into the guest bathroom to avoid vomiting on the hallway floor.

  Before showering, Marianne contemplated her worn-out body. Without the proper support, her breasts looked sad against her white stomach. The right one had a pressed line from her robe and seemed somewhat knobby. Her stomach looked bloated, and her sides were flabby. Even though she’d increased the size of her underwear, her sides never managed to stay in place.

  The bush between her legs was starting to look sparse. It was now a dull gray, unlike the steel gray of the hair on her head.

  Her white legs were soft, and their youthful elasticity was long gone. To her, it looked as if her thighs were melting into her calves. She sighed as she looked down at her feet. There was only a tiny fleck of red polish on one of her big toes. It had been a long time since she’d had them done.

  With a heavy heart, she pulled shut the shower curtain. The brown tinge around its bottom edge meant it was time to buy a new one. But today’s task was a routine visit to the gynecologist. She’d already canceled her appointment twice. She didn’t even want to think about how long it had been since her last Pap smear.

  She turned the water on cold for a last blast, but that didn’t energize her at all. Her exhaustion was debilitating. The morning had demanded more from her than she was ready to give, and she wished she could creep back into bed. Still, she couldn’t cancel a third time. She hurried to find some clean clothes before she could change her mind. Just to be on the safe side, she misted a bit of perfume into her panties, even though she knew the doctor wouldn’t care.

  CHAPTER 3

  Are you absolutely sure? The local police are going to be furious,” Torsten Ehn pointed out.

  “I realize that,” Olle said. “I wouldn’t ask you to come unless it was the highest priority. A dead finance executive in Östermalm is going to whip the media into a frenzy. We have to keep absolute control over this one. I’m going to the crime scene now, but I told Brundin that you’d be on your way.”

  “I’ll head over there now.”

  “Thanks! And give me a call as soon as you arrive. I want the news right from the horse’s mouth. One more thing. I want you to get in touch with Marianne Jidhoff and keep her in the loop.”

  “Who?”

  “Marianne’s a close friend of mine. She’ll be working on this case with us.”

  “What are you cooking up now?”

  “Look, I’ll send you her home number. Just make sure she gets all the information you find.”

  “Can’t you at least tell me her role in this? Just to be sure I’m not doing anything illegal.”

  “Cut it out. Marianne has been the head secretary for the Prosecutor’s Office. She’s just been on leave for a while, but I managed to convince her to come bac
k. She is one of the sharpest analysts we have. She figured out how to crack that shady lawyer’s ring, although we got it through her husband, Hans Larson.”

  “That son of a bitch.”

  “You know Hans was a friend of mine.”

  “Friend? I knew he was your mentor, but I never thought you’d call him a friend. Maybe you had to stay on his good side, but he was a real son of a bitch. You know why I never liked him. He was a hypocrite, a power-hungry member of the Socialist Party. So, it turns out his wife was the real brains behind his legal genius.”

  “She had been studying to become a prosecutor herself, but then she had three kids, and you know how that goes. She’s great. I want you to call her. And what I just told you stays between us.”

  Torsten Ehn hung up the phone. He turned off his computer and glanced at the heap of paperwork on his desk. Yesterday he’d told himself he’d sort through it all. He got up and took his jacket from its hook, wondering whether he should take his umbrella as well, but then decided against it. On his way down the staircase, he saw some colleagues on their way to play field hockey. Another match he’d have to miss. Perhaps it was just as well. The last time he played, he bruised his shins.

  Torsten opened the door to his Toyota Corolla, glad that he’d cleaned it over the weekend. He’d spent quite a bit of Sunday in his brother’s garage vacuuming the car’s interior and getting rid of all the garbage. Since moving recently, he’d been storing things in his car that should have gone straight to the dump.

  The car now smelled fresh and clean. He turned on the radio, which was playing music he recognized for once. This happened less and less. He exited onto Kungsholmsgatan and drove past the Court House. He’d put the note with Marianne Jidhoff’s number on the passenger seat so he’d remember to call her after assessing the crime scene. He couldn’t help being curious about what his boss Olle was cooking up—and how Hans Larson’s wife fit in. As far as Torsten was concerned, Hans Larson had been a total idiot; God had given more sense to ants. Larson was also notorious for his bad fashion sense. Torsten shuddered at the thought of what Larson’s wife must look like.