CHAPTER 13
Marianne began preparing her meal by peeling the King Edward potatoes she planned to mash. By the time they were bright and clean and ready to be dumped into the pot, her hands were red and wrinkled. Next, she shredded the cheese and fried the beefsteak tomatoes. After a while, the casserole was in the oven and the potatoes were boiling in the pot.
Today’s newspaper was among a pile of magazines, and she pulled out the cultural section. The wine she’d opened the evening before was gone, so she decided to open a new bottle. She took a glass from the cupboard, noticing the dust on it. She rewashed the glass, thinking it made no sense to drink out of something that was dirty. Might as well start drinking straight from the bottle in that case, she thought. She hadn’t sunk that low—at least not yet.
She flipped to the crossword and puzzle page, smoothing it down with her right hand. Soon, she got up and found her cigarette pack. She argued with herself before taking out her third cigarette of the day, but at least she would skip having a chocolate truffle. She’d already gotten the items for her new diet, which she would start tomorrow. She had no choice. Things couldn’t get much worse. And even though she planned to eat heartily this evening, there was no reason to be gluttonous this afternoon. She’d have to stay away from the truffles for a while now, so she’d make sure to offer them generously after dinner and hope there wouldn’t be any left to tempt her.
The day’s difficult Sudoku was hardly a challenge. It annoyed her that the levels of difficulty varied so much. A feeling of emptiness swept over her as she entered the final number. It was no fun when the puzzle was too easy. Cigarette smoke hung over the kitchen table, so she opened the window as wide as possible. She drank some wine and stared outside, thinking she should put on some makeup—although that wasn’t what she really wanted to do. She headed for the bathroom, almost against her will, and touched up her face with a dash of rouge and a bit of mascara. She skipped the lipstick and went back to the kitchen to sip her wine.
A creeping feeling of unease made her want to understand what frightened her about returning to work. The only strong emotion she felt was rage. She had been living with that night and day for the past few months. She was furious that her husband had willingly treated her so badly, hurting her even during his last minutes on Earth. His final words had hurt so much. She was still angry even if he didn’t know what he was saying, and now she had no way to tell him off. It was beginning to make her crazy. She didn’t know whether going back to work would give her a sense of redress, but she at least felt that her compass was pointing in that direction.
Just as the potatoes were finished and she’d guiltily poured herself another glass of wine, the doorbell rang. She had completely forgotten that the man from the National Police was stopping by. Here she was sitting alone and drinking! She quickly rinsed her mouth with water and headed toward the entry hall. In a jacket pocket, she found a wrinkled pack of Läkerol Special throat lozenges. She tossed a few into her mouth and hoped for the best.
The man on the other side of the door was her own age, perhaps a few years younger. His hair matched his grayish-beige jacket. It had been combed back, although there were curls at the back of his neck. He had steel-gray eyes, which gazed intensely at her. He was a touch shorter than average, and she could not tell if he was pudgy or in shape. At any rate, he was compact. He held out his firm, dry hand. Then, to Marianne’s great surprise, he gave her a wide smile.
“Hello. I’m Torsten Ehn. You must be Marianne.”
“Yes, that’s right. Come in.”
Torsten looked around curiously as he hung up his coat and wiped his shoes on the mat. Marianne was relieved that he didn’t take them off, although that was the usual custom. She wasn’t all that eager to see his socks—the odor of sweaty feet was always off-putting, no matter how charming the person in question might be.
“Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Tea? A beer?”
Torsten looked up from his shoes. “A beer, please, and if you have some folk beer, all the better. I’m really thirsty.”
“Of course. I also have some alcohol-free beer.”
“That sounds great.”
He followed her close behind into the kitchen and glanced at the kitchen table, where her wineglass sat beside the open newspaper.
“You like those puzzles? I’ve never figured out those Sudoku things. They’re pretty hard, aren’t they?”
“Not really. There’s a code you have to break. Do you do the normal crossword?”
Torsten Ehn shook his head. “I don’t do those, either. I’m the kind of guy who likes to do things with my hands. But my son likes crossword puzzles.”
“How old is he?”
“Almost seventeen. How about you? What about your kids?”
Marianne answered as she poured the cold, alcohol-free pilsner into a tall cylindrical glass.
“Three. They’re thirty, twenty-eight, and twenty-five.”
“So they’re all grown up. Does that mean you live here by yourself?”
“Yes, it does.”
They both fell silent for a minute before Marianne added, “Let’s go into the living room. It’s more comfortable.”
“No, this is fine.” Torsten sat down on a chair across from where she’d been sitting. Stiffly, Marianne sat back down and tried not to look at her wine. She had to control the urge to move it aside and risk bringing more attention to it. What would he think of her—drinking wine before dinner?
Torsten sniffed the air. “What are you making?”
“Kassler Florentine. It’s my son’s favorite. He’s going back to Australia soon, and I wanted to make sure he had the chance to eat it. He’s studying there for the time being. We’re having a family dinner in a few hours.”
“It smells wonderful.”
Marianne found her shoulders relaxing, and she smiled.
“Maybe you’re hungry, too? I can offer you a sandwich.”
Torsten seemed reluctant to accept. Marianne hurried to say, “It really is no trouble.”
“All right, then I’ll have one, but only if you’re fine with it.”
Marianne got up and found the loaf of bread she’d bought for Peder’s breakfast the next morning.
“What would you like? Cheese, liver pâté, salami?”
“Cheese and salami would be great.”
Marianne took the ingredients out of the refrigerator and made two open-faced sandwiches with great care. She noticed him following her every movement and seeming touched as she placed a napkin at his place. The Danish rye bread was freshly baked, and the whiskey-infused cheddar was well aged. She’d bought a quarter pound of sliced salami, and it had the pleasant aroma of smoke and a touch of salt. It would certainly suit his cold beer.
“Wow! These are great sandwiches!”
Torsten Ehn had torn off half of one sandwich in one bite. Marianne had to keep herself from laughing. Moments later, he’d already finished his first sandwich and washed it down with beer.
“So, the deal is, we have a man who was run over by a car on Narvavägen, just around the corner from here. He lived at number 8, next to King Oscar’s Church. The man’s name is Christopher Turin. The case is considered a homicide, since the driver not only hit him once, but backed over him again.”
Marianne tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. She peered at Torsten and wished she could go get her glasses to help her concentrate. She couldn’t remember for the life of her where she’d put them. Probably out in the hallway. She must have been wearing them when she was doing the Sudoku puzzle. She rubbed her eyes with her knuckles. As Torsten was going to continue talking, she decided to act.
“Excuse me for a moment. I need to get my glasses—I can’t think without wearing them.”
She was happy to find them in the hallway, and she grabbed the pen next to them, too. Returning to
the kitchen, she opened the cupboard to get the block of paper she used for shopping lists. Torsten had finished his second sandwich and the beer. She didn’t ask if he wanted more. She wanted to get to the facts of the case right away.
“So, let’s start again from the beginning. I’ve learned through the years that the only way I can get to the bottom of these tricky situations is by writing things down.”
“I’m the same way,” Torsten said.
Marianne wrote as he spoke.
“I’ve just visited Christopher Turin’s office. I’ve spoken to his boss, who knew him for years. They do management consulting, and I’m not sure what the hell that is. They’re all connected through a complicated in-law relationship as well.”
“That’s not uncommon. People recruit other people they know. We do the same thing in law enforcement.”
“True enough. I’ll pay a visit to the other partner in the firm. He is married to the sister of the man I interviewed today. According to my files, he lives in Saltsjöbaden.”
“Was the victim married?”
“He had a wife and three daughters, all of whom are on the island of Mallorca. They won’t be home until tomorrow.”
Marianne kept writing and asked, without looking up, “Do you think someone made sure the family was out of town first? Someone who didn’t want them around?”
“That’s a good thought. Brundin, our forensic man, thought the killer must have really hated the guy. The fact that he backed over the victim after he was on the ground indicates that he knew him or had some kind of relationship with him.”
Marianne put down her pen for a moment. “It could also be someone who knew the victim without his being aware of it. A stalker of some kind. The world is full of crazies like that these days.”
“That’s also a good point. I’ve printed out the reports we have so far. I’ll send the rest later by messenger. Are you aware of the latest security rules?”
“No, what are they?”
“We can no longer e-mail information concerning ongoing investigations, so it’ll be easier to discuss this when you’re back on Monday. By the way, why did you decide to return after your leave of absence?”
“Olle asked me to.”
Marianne said nothing more, though it seemed Torsten was expecting her to elaborate.
“Well,” he finally said. “Olle is good at getting people to do what he wants. For now, I should leave you to go over these reports in peace and quiet. We can keep in contact by phone. I’ll make sure to call if something comes up. Phone me if you think of anything in the meantime.”
After a moment’s pause, he flung open his arms. “Fantastic place you have! It’s huge. Those beautiful tile ovens. And those windows! How high is the ceiling?”
“About twenty feet. I’ve lived here my whole life. This apartment belonged to my mother.”
“I see. I see.”
“It is a bit much for one person, but I can’t imagine living anywhere else.”
“You should stay here—as long as you can afford to, of course.”
CHAPTER 14
Marianne’s father, Harry, and her daughter Sigrid wound up arriving at her door at the same time. It was routine for them, as they both lived in the building. Sigrid’s two-room apartment had once been part of Harry’s three-room. The apartments were divided when the pipes had been replaced.
When the doorbell rang, Marianne was in the bathroom trying to remove an eyelash from her eye.
“Peder, can you please get that? I’ll be right out!” she called.
She managed to get the lash out and hurried to the entry hall.
“It’s for you, Mamma!” her son said.
Sigrid held out a bouquet of gladiolus, which Marianne knew right away she’d bought at Norrmalm Square’s open market. Hardly a single person who lived in Östermalm bought flowers at the market in Östermalm Square, even though it was geographically closer. The prices and the quality of the flowers were better at Norrmalm Square.
Harry held out a bottle of Italian wine. He never bought flowers unless there was a funeral. In honor of the evening, he was wearing his dark-blue blazer and gray flannel pants. He’d added a colorful scarf around his neck and resembled a parody of Loa Falkman playing the typical upper-class man in a mediocre movie. His white hair was combed back perfectly. And he’d had a manicure. Marianne was often surprised by her father’s vanity, but also proud of him. Many elderly fathers no longer knew how to take care of themselves. Marianne was certainly going to be too busy from now on to look after her father.
Harry looked around. “Where’s Nina? She’s usually the first one here.”
Marianne shook her head. “She and Robert are out this evening with some of his friends from Handels. I think it’s great she’s getting out and socializing. For the past few months, they’ve just stayed at home.”
Marianne heard Peder whisper to Sigrid, “Nice to be without her for a change.”
Marianne cleared her throat in disapproval, raising an eyebrow at her son.
He shrugged at her warning.
“Come on, Mamma, we all know she can be a pain in the ass. Do you want me to bring out the champagne?”
Five minutes later, they were all sitting in the living room and sipping champagne. Marianne wondered how much she should drink without it affecting her sleeping pills. Her friend Lola had assured her that if she stuck with one bottle and didn’t drink before bedtime, there’d be no harm. Still, Marianne wasn’t reassured. Lola had been a friend almost as long as Chrisse, and she could really count on her—she took on the task of always telling her the truth. If there was something Marianne was refusing to notice, Lola could be counted on to speak to her about it directly. Marianne loved her friend as if she were a sister.
Harry was flipping through a coffee-table book. He raised his eyes and looked Marianne over. “How nice you look this evening. You’re wearing normal clothes for a change.”
Marianne glared at her father and pouted. “Yes, I had to do some laundry.”
Marianne had mostly worn pajamas all day long for the past few months. She knew it made her family worry about her—it was such a contrast to her normal, classic style.
Sigrid pulled at a loose thread in the rug, and Peder took advantage of the lull to refill their glasses. Marianne held her hand over her glass. She got up and headed to the kitchen, muttering, “I’ve got to check the oven temperature. The gas line really needs to be checked. It’s probably time for a new oven.”
Once she got into the kitchen, she turned on the faucet full force and let the hot water form steam over the sink. She knew they were whispering about her out there in the living room, but they were entitled to, as long as they left her in peace.
The top layer of cheddar had formed a light-brown crust on the casserole. Marianne took out two pot holders with perfect pink-and-yellow patterns. Nina had knitted them twenty years ago in fourth-grade home crafts.
As she hung them back in their usual spot, she spied her cigarette pack. She glanced quickly at the living room and turned the stove fan to the highest level before opening the pack and lighting a cigarette. After her sixth drag, she rinsed the butt under the faucet and threw it away.
Sigrid came into the kitchen and frowned.
“Do you have to have the fan on high? Oh my! Look at your hair!”
Marianne felt her hair and realized that it had formed a tuft right on the top of her head. Sigrid took a deep sniff of the casserole.
“It smells great.”
Then she smiled at her mother. “You’ve been smoking, haven’t you?”
“No, not at all.”
“Oh, come on, does it matter? Are the Smoking Police going to burst down the door? Let me help you set the table. Where are we going to sit? The dining room?”
Marianne thought for a minute. “Why don’t w
e sit in the kitchen for a change? It’s just the four of us.”
Sigrid took some fine china from the cupboard in the servants’ hall, and Marianne noticed she was wearing a new dress. Sigrid tended not to sew dresses for herself, pleading too much work. But this ice-blue wool dress complemented her curves as well as her blonde hair, which hung down her back in a braid. Sigrid had rosy cheeks that reddened every time she made any effort, and Marianne had to resist her desire to pinch them lovingly. Ever since she was a little girl, Sigrid would cry, dismayed that so many people were always pinching her cheeks. Marianne would comfort her and try to explain why people were always tempted, while also understanding Sigrid’s need to protect her personal space.
This evening, Sigrid had matched her new dress with a pair of elegant brown patent-leather shoes. Marianne knew that Sigrid had gotten tired of hearing that her beautiful clothes were made for well-shaped women. Sigrid didn’t like her own body. She was in constant warfare with it as she tried one radical diet after another, and Marianne felt bad. She knew she’d passed on her own negative body image to her daughter. Here was her beautiful daughter, and she couldn’t recognize her own beauty.
Not long afterward, they were all seated at the table. Peder piled a large portion of the casserole onto his plate, and Marianne smiled, seeing her hard work hadn’t gone to waste. Sigrid was talking about her new atelier. As Peder started into his food, he began sharing his plans for the upcoming year. He would finish his last year of graduate school in Sydney and return to Sweden, as he didn’t see much of a future in Australia. Marianne gave a sigh of relief. She had worried that he would settle down and maybe even start a family on the other side of the world. Of course, Peder had always been fond of his native country and loved Stockholm above all other cities, but Marianne secretly feared he might suddenly need to distance himself from his family. She was happy that her child’s absence was coming to an end.
A Small Indiscretion Page 7