A Small Indiscretion

by Denise Rudberg

  “How’s the first day going?”

  Marianne almost dropped her lunch. A small grimace flickered across her face.

  “Well, so-so.”

  “That bad?”

  They laughed, and Marianne set the tray on her table, shaking her head. Torsten gestured to the empty chair.

  “You want to be by yourself, or may I join you?”

  Marianne looked at him in surprise, then she hurriedly smiled and said, “Of course. Please sit down.”

  “Let me just go inside and order something first.”

  Torsten came out with a similar lunch.

  “I rarely meet people from work here.”

  “Well, perhaps it’s too charming for the average police officer.”

  Torsten laughed. “That’s exactly what I think, which is why I choose to come here and avoid them all!”

  “And here I come and destroy your safe haven.”

  “Not at all, especially since you’re not a police officer. Although, you’d probably be the best of them if you joined the force. You’re kind of a legend over there.”

  “What? What do they say about me?”

  “That you have amazing analytical skills.”

  Marianne took a bite of the delicious sandwich. She shook her head, but she was smiling.

  “I’m an administrator. No more than that.”

  “Weren’t you going to become a prosecutor yourself once?”

  Marianne hesitated before replying. “Yes, well, that was a long time ago. I was young and naive, wanting to change the world. I’ve let most of that go now.”

  “That’s too bad. I believe you would’ve gone far.”

  Marianne took a spoonful of soup. “How did you hear all this?”

  Torsten laughed. “I have my sources. It’s my job to poke around in everybody’s business. They what they pay me for!”

  “But most of the stuff you hear is just rumors.”

  “You can call it rumor, or you can call it information. It’s what I work with. You’d be amazed how far a rumor can take you in any investigation.”

  “I’m sure you’re right,” Marianne said. “Speaking of investigations, your recent one landed in my lap, too. I’ve gone through it this morning and will read it again more thoroughly this afternoon.”

  “You are quick on the draw.”

  Marianne looked at him. “It’s a heavy file. You’ve been on this for a long time.”

  “Yes, more or less around the clock for the past two years,” Torsten said. “But you think they’re going to shut it down, don’t you?”

  “Well, I can’t answer that.”

  “Or put it on ice.”

  Marianne said, “Whatever they decide, you’ve done an outstanding job.”

  “That doesn’t mean shit, unfortunately. This was great soup…they have good food here. What do you say—should we have a cup of coffee? Do you want it with or without cream?”

  “A touch of cream would be nice.”

  Torsten got up and returned soon with two cups. “We interviewed Jonas Carlfors again this morning. It turns out he’s had a long affair with the victim’s wife.”

  “Yes, there seemed something not quite right about Turin’s marriage.”

  “What do you base that on?”

  “Well, his wife was alone on Mallorca for two weeks with the children.”

  “Why is that so strange? Don’t all you upper-class people travel whenever you feel like it?”

  “No, actually, not during the school year. That’s quite unusual. I’d guess she went away with the children because a divorce was in the works.”

  “His colleague didn’t seem to think so.”

  “Check if he was involved in any kind of therapy. Counselors, that kind of thing.”

  “We’re going to meet her this afternoon,” Torsten said. “I’ll remember to look into it.” The way he gazed at her made Marianne wonder if he thought she’d brought up a red herring or if she’d just contributed something important.

  Suddenly, he sighed, and looked out over Kronoberg Park.

  “Do you sail?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Do you sail? You know, on a sailboat.”

  “No, I’m a landlubber. At best I can row a few yards in a rowboat.”

  “All I can think about in this beautiful weather is how much I want to head out on my boat.”

  “Then why don’t you?”

  “Because I have a job to do.”

  “Well, just hang your jacket on your office chair. People will think you’re nearby if they look in.”

  Torsten had to laugh. “Great tip. But I don’t think I’m the kind who can get away with that.”

  “How long have you been a police officer?”

  “Almost thirty years. It’s crazy when you think about it.”

  “Well, if we’re going to form a mutual-admiration society, I’ve heard you’re one of the best investigators on the force.”

  “It doesn’t matter how good I am. Most of the time, it’s wasted effort. And you? Do you miss your husband much?”

  Marianne was so taken aback she couldn’t keep her mouth from dropping. “Well…I guess I do.”

  Torsten studied her intently.

  “We had a complicated relationship. What about you, are you married?”

  Torsten shook his head. “No, I’m divorced, and I have a son. I think I mentioned that before. He’s sixteen. Almost seventeen. Most of the time he lives with me. His mother moved to Norway.”

  Torsten glanced at his watch. “Oh, hell. I promised to pick up my colleague on the other side of town. I’ve got to run. I’ll check in with you this afternoon after we’ve chatted with the widow.”

  He surprised her with a pat on the arm, and she couldn’t help recoiling at his touch. She watched him cross the street and almost get hit by a honking truck.

  Marianne took another sip of her coffee, which had cooled by now. She’d enjoyed company for lunch. Obviously, Torsten Ehn was passionate about police work, and she respected that. She also liked talking to him. It was easy and effortless. She watched him turn the corner onto Polhemsgatan. His jacket blew in the wind as he tried to button it. He had an admirable body, even if he wasn’t what you’d call elegant.

  CHAPTER 40

  Augustin waved both arms over his head to catch Torsten’s attention. Torsten couldn’t help smiling. There was something disarming about this young man. Despite his stiff and formal ways, Torsten saw the eagerness and engagement in his work. He reminded Torsten of a Labrador puppy. Pleasant, happy, and a touch naive, even while exhibiting great intelligence.

  Torsten crossed Narvavägen and walked over to him.

  “You had no trouble getting here?”

  “No,” Augustin said, “I met my father here for lunch anyway.”

  “How nice.”

  “We try to meet up once a week.”

  Torsten pressed the buzzer at the entrance, and the door opened.

  “All right, let’s go.”

  Looking serious, Torsten and Augustin walked through the long hallway leading to the elevator, and Torsten pressed the button to the fourth floor. The grill on the elevator door had been cut into skillful patterns; they saw beautiful landings pass by with tasteful Art Deco wall paintings. Despite all the beauty, Torsten shuddered. Something about this elegant building felt dark and threatening, and not just because one of its inhabitants had just been murdered. The atmosphere seemed to have embedded itself into the walls decades before. The bronze signage indicating the servants’ entrances to the kitchens bothered him—probably because he knew they were still part of everyday life here.

  Augustin whispered to Torsten, “I imagine she’s a hell of a beauty.”

  Torsten lifted an eyebrow, nodding. They stepped out
of the elevator and Torsten rang the bell at the Turin’s apartment door. A woman of about forty opened the door. Her hair was honey-blonde, slightly on the brown side, and it was elegantly blown dry to hang straight to her shoulders. Torsten liked the curly hair she’d had in the wedding photo better. She was thin to the point of skeletal; her collarbone jutted from the collar of a gray sweatshirt matching a pair of tight gray jeans that hugged her legs. Her clothes appeared common enough, but they were probably from a pricey designer. Torsten didn’t get these semi-starved women who only ate crumbs to keep their thin figures.

  Isa Turin was tanned, probably from her recent visit to Mallorca. There wasn’t a trace of makeup on her face, and she wore thick socks on her feet. Torsten surmised that because she had so little body fat, she must be constantly freezing. Her left ring finger still wore two rings with bright, shining stones. Torsten wondered if such large rocks interfered with her housework. Did she take them off? Did she have a cleaning lady? Isa Turin held out her right hand.

  “Welcome. I’m Isa Turin.”

  “Thanks for seeing us. My name is Torsten Ehn, and I work for the National Police. This is my assistant, Augustin Madrid.”

  “Madrid…the name sounds familiar. Have we met before?”

  Augustin held out his hand. As he’d said to Jonas Carlfors, he replied, “I believe we have.”

  He didn’t elaborate, so Isa Turin didn’t pursue it. She just put on a strained smile.

  “May I offer you anything? Coffee or tea?”

  “No, thank you. We’re fine.” Torsten said.

  “Then let’s go inside and sit down. You have to excuse the house. It looks like a storm hit it…we’re in the middle of moving. I don’t know what the future will hold, but we had been planning to move.”

  Torsten felt that his earlier suspicions, when he’d visited the apartment on his own, were confirmed.

  “Where are you moving?”

  “A few blocks away. Torstenssonsgatan on the other side of Narvavägen. There’s so much traffic here. When we heard that apartment was coming on the market, we jumped on it.”

  Torsten coughed into his sleeve.

  “So you were planning to move together?”

  Isa Turin stared at him, hesitating, then her eyes filled with tears. She blinked several times before continuing. “We hadn’t yet decided how to arrange it, but I decided to move nonetheless. We were going to take it from there. Are you sure you don’t need anything? I need a cup of coffee.”

  Torsten smiled. “If you’re already going to the trouble, then sure.”

  Augustin said, “Yes, please. By the way, this is a terrific painting. Who is the artist?”

  “Cita Theander. She’s a Swedish artist who also lives in New York. The Americans pay tons of money for her work. Cita is one of our friends.”

  Augustin walked over to the enormous painting and studied it carefully. Torsten thought the painting looked interesting, but no way would he pay a fortune for something just to hang in his living room. Yet, he was hardly someone who understood art.

  They followed Isa to the kitchen, where she stuffed small capsules into an espresso machine.

  “Latte or pure espresso? Caffe macchiato?”

  Torsten shook his head. “What does that last one mean?”

  “Espresso with just a touch of cream on the top.”

  “Well, then I’ll have one of those.”

  “Mr. Madrid?”

  “A simple espresso, please.”

  Isa took out three small cups and placed them on matching saucers; then she turned to Augustin. “I remember where I met you. You used to go out with Nilla Martin, right?”

  Torsten was surprised, but Augustin didn’t move a single muscle in his face. His voice was as neutral as ever: “You could say we were going out.”

  Isa gave him a flirtatious look, and she turned the handle on the espresso machine. She wasn’t ready to drop the topic. “That’s right, you were at the Midsummer party Nilla’s sister gave. Everyone was talking about how Nilla had just gotten a divorce and then met you. I hope I’m not being too rude if I say you’re quite a bit younger?”

  If Augustin was embarrassed, he didn’t show it. Torsten saw no trace of a blush on his cheeks. Still, a slight rising of his voice indicated he wasn’t entirely comfortable.

  “It is possible, but I usually don’t worry about a woman’s age. I concentrate on more important things.”

  Now Isa Turin seemed embarrassed. She giggled in a way that made her seem more human to Torsten. Still, her flirtatiousness seemed odd for a recent widow. Did she forget every now and then? He couldn’t help but be impressed by Augustin’s reply.

  Isa poured the coffee into the cups and gestured to the living room.

  “Let’s sit down.”

  Augustin sat on an orange chair made of hard plastic and shaped like a bean. Torsten sat on the long sofa, avoiding a stain that looked like tomato sauce. Isa sat next to him. He took a sip of coffee and tried not to grimace. The coffee was terrible. Quickly, he gave a friendly smile and said, “Great coffee.”

  Isa Turin smiled back. “That machine is worth its weight in gold. Christopher thought it was ridiculous that I bought it, but he didn’t even like coffee. Tea was his drink.”

  Torsten looked straight at Isa. “How would you describe your marriage?”

  “Besides the fact that I drink coffee, and he drank tea? Our entire marriage was like that. He was more spiritual, and somewhere we lost our connection.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She shrugged, swallowing. A tear trickled down her cheek and she wiped it away.

  “We started to have problems after our third girl was born. We’d been hoping for a son. That’s when everything started. Don’t think we’re not grateful for our daughter, but a rift opened between us. Christopher had always worked a great deal, and I didn’t mind. But then he started to work all the time. I found myself alone with three small children, and he had no interest in helping me at all.”

  “Would he have been more involved if you’d had a son?”

  Isa hesitated before answering, “Yes, I believe so. But as things were, he started worrying about other things besides the family.”

  “Such as?”

  “Such as where we should go on vacation. What kind of furniture we should buy. Gray or white tiles in the bathroom—or all black. Lots of small things that would blow up into big arguments. We used them to take sides, like on a battleground. Typical problems for the privileged.”

  “Did you fight more often?”

  “Yes, certainly then. We fought a great deal. Christopher thought we should do something about it, so I agreed to go to that camp with him that was supposed to help our relationship.”

  “A camp?”

  “Yes, or a course, or whatever they call it. The place is called Right Now. It’s all about mindfulness and how to be present in the now, within a relationship.”

  Augustin interrupted to inform Torsten: “Right Now is a conference center in the archipelago, pretty far out in the Baltic. A couple—a man and a woman—decided to change their lives by purchasing an entire island where they began Right Now. They both survived the Estonia ferry disaster and decided to do something meaningful with their lives.”

  Isa Turin added, “Yes, and it’s very trendy to go there. TV personalities, pop singers, famous actors in ads…In the beginning I thought it would be good for us.”

  “But—”

  “But then Christopher started going there on his own. I think he took every course. They had everything from Find Your Newborn Self to…Reclaim Your Sexuality.”

  “How long are these courses? How much do they cost?”

  “They’re pretty expensive. From ten thousand crowns up to a few hundred thousand.”

  “A hundred thousand?”


  She nodded. “Yes, but those courses go for a full year. I really can’t tell you what they do, because I signed a confidentiality agreement when I enrolled.”

  “If it makes it any easier to speak to us, we understand the need for confidentiality. Especially if it’s something relating to our investigation.”

  “Well, the first course is called Open Your Window. It’s about learning to understand yourself. You sit in a ring in silence. Then you have to tell your deepest secret to the others in the circle. When you’re finished, everyone thanks you for sharing. Then the next person talks.”

  Torsten thought it sounded suspiciously like Alcoholics Anonymous. He’d attended with his brother before.

  “Then we go around hugging each other. The lights are turned off, so it’s completely dark. The idea is to let go of aggression. One girl in our group began to sob, and one guy couldn’t be talked to for the rest of the evening. As far as I was concerned, it was too touchy-feely, but Christopher and I actually did feel closer to each other. It broke down our defenses, and we were able to get through and communicate with each other again.”

  Torsten looked at her as if trying to understand what she meant. “And how about later?”

  “Christopher wanted to take more courses. I didn’t. I went to two more with him, but I wasn’t interested in them at all. Christopher thought I was just stubborn and unwilling to open myself up. I thought it was too weird, especially going around in the darkness and not speaking for days on end. And then that one course…”