A Small Indiscretion

by Denise Rudberg

  “Darling, what is happening to you? Why are you feeling like this? How could you ever imagine there was someone in the house? Why would anyone want to come in? There are hundreds of other houses around here, and most of them are empty during the day. You’ve got to get control of yourself, or else you’ll have to see a doctor. We can’t have you like this. Do you understand?”

  Paula felt a wave of nausea and pressed her jaw shut. She wanted him to just be quiet and sit there. She had no strength to listen to him. She knew what she’d seen. She’d gotten a good look at him, and he had seen her.

  CHAPTER 26

  Torsten deliberately let his finger linger on the doorbell just a second too long. He couldn’t resist antagonizing Marianne just a little. Something about her peevishness made him want to stir her up—not to be nasty or start a fight, but to see that spark in her eyes that showed she wanted to say something she fought to control. He wanted to push Marianne Jidhoff off-balance, to find out what was behind the shield she’d built around herself—a shield that showed up in her strict posture and stubborn integrity. He knew why she was like this—anyone who’d been married to Hans Larson would have been the same way. Hans Larson had that effect on people: making them stand at attention and do exactly what he demanded. His wife had certainly been no exception.

  The door opened, and he noticed that she looked even more tired than the day before. He recalled her saying she’d be sending her son off to Australia—perhaps it had hit her hard.

  “Sorry, I haven’t had a chance to deal with these magazines and newspapers,” she said.

  Torsten looked at the newspapers piled by the front door and decided there were two weeks’ worth of them. He smiled as he bent to untie his shoes.

  “As I mentioned, I have a teenage boy myself. So…how was your family dinner?”

  Marianne wanted to skip the personal chit-chat. “It was pleasant,” she said. “In the end, it was pretty nice. That’s life.”

  “You mean, because of Hans?”

  “No, because Peder had to leave. Actually, Hans seldom attended our family dinners. I can count on one hand the times he was able to come.”

  “That’s right, you did tell me your son was leaving. It must be difficult for you.”

  “I certainly don’t want to cry over the children and keep them from leaving home.”

  “You don’t seem to be the kind of mother who ties her children to her apron strings. But it would be strange if you didn’t feel sad about not seeing your son for an entire year. I’d wail like a stuck pig.”

  “Pigs wail?” Marianne laughed. “I thought they squealed. Speaking of dinner last night, I’m warming some leftovers in the oven. It would be unfair not to offer you some of the casserole you were longing to try yesterday. Or do you have to go home for dinner?”

  Now it was Torsten’s turn to look surprised. “Leftovers? Here I’ve called and gotten myself an invitation to dinner, although I didn’t mean that you’d take it like that—giving me dinner, that is.”

  “I understand completely, but I thought you might be hungry.”

  “Me? Hungry? I’m always hungry. It’s one of my worst faults.”

  “Yes, I know that already.”

  They went into the kitchen and Torsten was filled again with a feeling of peace. Although she decorated in a conservative style, Marianne Jidhoff knew how to make people feel at home. Her home was very welcoming.

  Marianne pulled the casserole out of the oven and set a plate before Torsten. Marianne knew from experience that the Kassler potatoes always tasted better on the second day. Torsten was amazed by the large portion she ladled onto his plate. He opened his napkin and laid it on his lap.

  “I can’t believe I’m being served something so elegant!”

  Marianne laughed.

  “This is the first time I’ve ever heard anyone call Kassler Florentine elegant!”

  “Good home cooking is always a luxury in my book. Can I dig right in?”

  “Go ahead. I’ll be eating some grilled chicken later tonight.”

  “That seems a shame to me, with such delicious food so close at hand. But nobody is happier than I am right now.”

  Marianne noticed that Torsten handled his knife and fork well, in spite of his rough hands. She’d thought he might have had trouble using the delicate silverware. She gave him time to finish a good part of his portion before she moved to the topic at hand.

  “So tell me how things went at Saltsjöbaden. Any new leads?”

  “Pretty much the same as from Jonas Carlfors. Carlfors’s sister Hanna is married to Tom Malmström, the other partner. Talk about a family business! Still, Jonas Carlfors was sympathetic and polite. This business partner of his was exactly the opposite.”

  “That’s often the way.”

  “Right. Tom Malmström was a boor. He never let his wife or me get a word in edgewise. He kept saying how things should be—whether it was the coffee they were serving, or Christopher Turin’s marriage. He had an opinion about everything—kind of refreshing in a way, but fairly exhausting. His wife was more discreet and had no desire to broadcast her opinions the way he did.”

  “So what opinions did this Tom Malmström have? It sounds to me as if he already knows who the suspect is.”

  “Yes, he does, and he is absolutely sure of it, too. He insisted that Christopher Turin’s new lifestyle was getting him on the wrong track. He was probably tricked into something or other.”

  “What did he suggest?”

  “Christopher Turin enrolled in a lot of courses the past few years. Tom Malmström insisted that these ‘courses’ were actually some kind of cult. Malmström ripped into alternative therapies of all kinds, saying that the people who called themselves ‘coaches’ were just opportunists without any kind of real education.”

  “I must say, I agree with him there. I can’t tell you how many sleazy salespeople are out there.”

  “Well, I guess it all depends on how you look at it, and how the people involved feel about it. He was not at all sympathetic toward Christopher Turin. All his sympathy lay with Isa Turin, the widow.”

  “Why did they let Turin continue as a vice president if Malmström had so little confidence in him?”

  “That’s an interesting thing—and it didn’t come up in the conversation with Jonas Carlfors yesterday. Our friend Tom said that if Christopher hadn’t up and died on them, they probably would have fired him in the next few weeks. They’d already made the decision—they were just looking for a good excuse to fire him and trying to decide the amount of the severance package.”

  “Do you think Jonas Carlfors was trying to keep all that from you?”

  Torsten thought a moment and said, “No, I think he was uneasy bringing it up on the same day that Christopher died. Perhaps he didn’t want to, with everything else going on. The mind does funny things after a shocking bit of information—and I think that’s what was going on with Jonas Carlfors. Tom Malmström, on the other hand, didn’t seem to mourn his former college friend’s death all that much.”

  “Still, that doesn’t sound like a reason to murder him, does it?”

  “I don’t think so. They had enough capital to replace him—even if buying him out cost them a bit of cash. The amount of money actually wouldn’t have been all that much, and Tom didn’t seem like the sneaky type.”

  “He’s probably much too concerned about his social status to even risk any criminal act.”

  “Probably. So we still don’t have much new. By the way, let me compliment you on this dish. I can understand why it was one of your son’s favorites. It’s absolutely wonderful.”

  “It’s not all that special, but it does the trick.”

  “Does the trick? You’re kidding! It’s a delicacy! Actually, may I be so bold as to ask for a second helping?”

  Marianne was pleased b
y his compliment, even if she hid it well. They chatted some minutes, before Torsten forced himself up from the table. He would have gladly stayed the rest of the evening if he could, opening the bottle of wine he saw on the kitchen counter. But he knew not to overstay his welcome. They said good-bye in the hallway, and Torsten thanked her again for letting him stop by—and for feeding him such great food. When he closed the door behind him, he had to sigh contentedly. Just like her casserole, Marianne Jidhoff gave him the desire for another helping.

  CHAPTER 27

  You don’t dive?”

  Augustin shook his head and stiffly stepped down the ladder into the water. Torsten stared at this slender young man. He had such an athletic body that a Greek god would have wept from pure envy. Augustin started to swim toward the other side of the pool with small, paddling strokes.

  “What? You can’t do the crawl, either?”

  Augustin shook his head. He was struggling to stay above the surface.

  Torsten stepped to the side of the pool and dove in. He caught up to his new colleague with one stroke. Augustin fought as hard as he could, while Torsten floated leisurely at his side.

  “When did you learn to swim?”

  “A year ago.”

  “Excuse me? How the hell did you manage to get through the Police Academy without learning how to swim? Didn’t you have physical tests?”

  “No. Well, I mean, yes, but I always made sure I was absent when it was time to go into the water. Nobody checked.”

  Torsten snorted, then burst into laughter. He heaved himself up on the far edge, looking out over the empty pool. He shook his head. “So, you’re telling me you actually have a weakness? I wondered when I’d find it. You must know I was a part of the Junior National Team?”

  Augustin said yes and did the best he could to turn at the wall without grabbing the edge. Then, he went beneath the surface.

  “Come on, get out of there. Let’s go to the sauna instead. I really didn’t mean to torture you.”

  Augustin used the ladder to climb out. His entire body was shivering from the cold. He gave Torsten a grateful glance. “Sorry I disappointed you.”

  Torsten gestured his apology away, and they headed toward the sauna. On the way, they crossed paths with some colleagues who jumped into the pool, screaming “Cannonball!”

  The air inside the sauna was dry, but a tad too cool. Torsten liked it hot enough that the dry planks almost hissed against his thighs when he sat down.

  “So how come you never learned?”

  Augustin undid his thin gold wristwatch and laid it on a towel beside him.

  “I’ve been afraid of the water ever since I was small. I’d faint just entering a place with a swimming pool. My parents did everything they could, but I had a panic attack every time.”

  “Did you fall in once and almost drown?”

  “Not that I can remember. I even refused baths. Until I was ten, I only took showers.”

  “Jesus! What a phobia!”

  Augustin shrugged. “Maybe, but I think it was harder on my parents than it was on me. I didn’t really care.”

  Torsten started to laugh again. “Sorry, but I can’t get it out of my head that you played hooky from water training in the Academy. It must be the first time someone ever got away with it. The Academy is filled with all those coarse super-athlete types!”

  “Yes, it was strange. Nobody seemed to care, though. I didn’t try to make many friends there, anyway.”

  “And why not? Those guys were going to be your future colleagues.”

  “I’ve never fit into big groups. It’s just not me.”

  “But from what I read in your report, you have no trouble with authority. How does that make sense?”

  “Is it supposed to?”

  “I always thought so, but obviously not, judging from you. Do you think you were making enemies instead?”

  “No, not that either. I’m just not the type that people make friends with. I’m kind of an oddball, so it’s no surprise I wouldn’t fit in.”

  “And despite this, you think you’d make a great police officer.”

  “Maybe because of it. I’m convinced that the police corps must have all kinds of people. There are some instances where police can’t just walk in and join the party. There have to be inconspicuous people who can slide right into a group—I’m one of those.”

  “What kinds of groups do you just slide right into, if I may ask?”

  “Immigrants, especially, because of my looks. I speak Spanish and Portuguese. And the upper classes—also because of my background.”

  “I read that your father was a professor of languages. What was your mother—?”

  “My mother is deceased. She taught psychology at the University of Barcelona.”

  “Why didn’t you mention her in your report?”

  “Because I knew you would ask, and I would rather talk than write about her.”

  “Then go ahead and talk.”

  “She died when I was ten. After she passed away, we moved from Spain to Sweden. Pappa got a position at the University of Stockholm—he had many friends here. A large gang of them came to Sweden in the seventies.”

  “Your father is originally from Chile?”

  “Yes, and Mamma was from Brazil.”

  “And that is the reason you learned capo—capowera?”

  Augustin laughed. “Capoeira. It’s a martial art from the streets. People arranged cage matches back in the day.”

  Torsten shuddered. “Why are you involved in such an aggressive sport?”

  “It’s not really aggressive—more like intense, and fairly demanding. Seven of us started a club in Stockholm a few years ago. We had already learned all kinds of martial arts, and then we found a spot in one of the guys’ basements. It’s still a small club, just forty members. The guys who began it are still involved in training others. It’s fun. We already have a few thirteen- and fourteen-year-old kids who are really getting good. They keep off the streets, and they’re training hard.”

  “I certainly can support a club like that. Maybe I should drop by and see what you do. What about your father? Do you have a good relationship?”

  “Yes, we go out for dinner sometimes. He lives just a few blocks away from me.”

  Torsten drew his hand through his hair. He noticed the sweat pouring down Augustin’s face. “Too hot for you?”

  Augustin smiled, shaking his head. “No, I’m fine.”

  “And about the swimming thing. We’re going to have to fix that. I have a friend you ought to meet. When things go down, I need you to be able to leap in the water, not climb down some damned set of stairs.”

  Augustin nodded. His face was serious. “I’d like to meet your friend. I know I have to solve this problem.”

  “Come on, let’s get going. I want something to drink. Do you drink beer, or does it have to be some wine of the proper vintage?”

  Augustin laughed. “I do like a nice wine from a good year, but not after a sauna. I’ll have a beer with you.”

  Torsten thought hard as he dressed. Augustin seemed like a pleasant person with a range of knowledge far greater than his own, but he wondered why Olle wanted to bring the two of them together. Olle was working on some kind of plan, but he hadn’t told them about it yet. Of that Torsten was absolutely sure.

  CHAPTER 28

  Paula Steen brought her knees up to her chin and adjusted the blankets so no cold air could come in. She was watching an episode of a reality show where the host saved people from their financial idiocies. She wondered if people ever really got back on their feet after being on the show.

  Jens slumbered beside her. She stroked his hair lightly. They’d had a good evening together. As the alcohol and the anxiety it caused left her body, she’d begun to relax, realizing that she must have been seeing t
hings. There hadn’t been anyone in her house. It had been a phantom from her own confused brain—due to her exhaustion, or the alcohol.

  As far as her “night’s adventure” was concerned, nothing dramatic happened after Jens came home. Slowly, as when one’s bowl is filled with sour milk, Paula had come to realize that she really wasn’t worried about it, either. If she’d had a one-night stand with a much younger man in Lotta’s house, then there it was. She also was beginning to feel that Jens wouldn’t even care. Perhaps he’d even be relieved. He might even regale her with all his own escapades. She wasn’t a complete idiot: she was convinced that was part of their problem. Of course Jens was getting some outside action. Why else wasn’t he interested in sex with his wife anymore? Paula was starting not to care about whom he’d been with or how often. She just knew that she loved Jens and liked when they were together. As long as their marriage continued, even if they had sex with others, she would be content. At any rate, that was what she told herself this Friday afternoon.

  Lotta had called and said that Passi had asked about her. He said he hoped she’d get in touch. Paula smiled and told Lotta she had come to feel much younger than her forty years. Although she’d firmly decided she’d never contact him again, she was beginning to change her mind. Calling him and arranging another meeting seemed an exciting idea. Maybe she would invite him here when Jens was traveling. Perhaps during the day, when the kids were at school. Spending an hour or two with Passi in bed would be a comfort she might enjoy every now and then—if he wanted her, of course.

  Paula quietly disentangled herself from the blanket on the sofa. She poured a glass of water, drinking it all in one go.

  Her cell phone on the kitchen counter showed she had a message, and it was from the same anonymous person as before.

  You weren’t imagining things. I watched you when you were taking a shower. Don’t let him think I don’t exist. I see you everywhere. Wherever you go, I will be following you. You never need to be alone. I am beside you. I know you need me. Soon it will be our time.