“That’s awful,” Usthanga Erik said. “How is his family doing? He has a number of children.”
“We have been in touch with the widow.”
Torsten wasn’t going to say anything about Isa Turin to this man she certainly didn’t care for. “How would you characterize Christopher’s situation?” he asked instead.
“His ‘situation’? What do you mean?”
“How he was feeling, what he was doing up here. What were his needs?”
“That’s a difficult question. I don’t think I am the right person to answer. You should ask Christina.”
He didn’t call his companion by her “new name.” Torsten took this as additional proof that this was all mumbo jumbo.
Erik Bergström stood up and looked at them gravely. “I’ll go get her at once.”
Torsten watched the man stride through the wood-paneled hallway—painted white, of course. He turned to Augustin and whispered, “What a bunch of shit!”
Augustin rubbed his hand over his face and said, “It’s actually kind of sad. I can’t decide whether he believes in his own blessed gifts or he’s just an extremely savvy businessman.”
“He has a great story, even if he’s used it much too often. But odd things can happen. Let’s check his background to find out what he’s up to. Same thing with his partner. Even if they feel reborn, there’s bound to be some stuff we can dig up. No one can avoid time, but that old guy is in great shape. He surely has enough neurotic upper-class women to keep his engine going. He talks about their souls and gets into their pants. The minute a spouse comes to their partner and says they’re going to take a Right Now course, all you have to do is count the days until the divorce. Here they come.”
Torsten took a deep breath, and they smiled at each other. Augustin took a pack of gum from his pocket and offered a stick to Torsten, who shook his head. The woman who walked beside Ushtanga Erik was strikingly beautiful. Her skin was olive and her curly, golden-brown hair fell past her slender shoulders. Her green eyes were in stark contrast to her black lashes, and her eyebrows were beautifully formed. She wore no makeup, but she made a strong impression. Her white tunic over her dark-gray linen pants looked good against her skin. She was barefoot, and her feet and hands were well manicured. If the women went crazy for Erik, the men must be even more affected by Christina Filipsson. Even Torsten had to fight off his immediate attraction.
She held out her hand, saying, “I’m Tchinti.”
“Torsten Ehn, National Police. My colleague, Augustin Madrid. According to the tax authorities, you are Christina Filipsson—and you are divorced with a son?”
She nodded yes.
“We’ve just talked to your partner about one of the participants in your course—Christopher Turin, who is recently deceased.”
“Ushtanga told me. It’s terribly tragic. Christopher was a close soul who had come far. It’s painful that he’s left our plane of existence.”
“Yes, he was murdered. Someone ran him over on purpose.”
The woman studied them, then said, “So how can I help you?”
“How did you ‘experience’ Christopher? What were his needs?”
“I found him a lost soul when he first came here. He gained strength the longer he was with us. He needed to break free from his former way of life.”
“How did you help him here?”
“We don’t believe we help people. We can only show them how to increase mindfulness in the present.”
Torsten was losing patience. “So you decided that he was feeling bad?”
Christina looked at him with steel in her eyes. “Yes, he felt bad. And he felt better after he started coming to us.”
“I would hope so. He paid a fortune for your courses. Can you tell me exactly how much money he invested in your operation?”
Ushtanga Erik frowned, answering brusquely. “He wasn’t an investor. He took our courses. He owns nothing here.”
“I mean, how much money did he pay you?”
“I wouldn’t know, but I believe that would be confidential information. If you want it, you’ll probably have to get a court order.”
“That won’t be difficult. My boys will come here and turn this place upside down. It’s up to you how you want it done. Besides, we can always contact the widow for the information.”
Augustin quietly entered the conversation. “How does this operation work? Do the two of you have equal shares in the firm?”
The partners looked at each other. Erik replied, “I own the island and the buildings. The firm is registered in both of our names. We share the expenses and profits equally.”
Torsten scratched his cheek, looking at Christina Filipsson. “Are you romantically involved? You are both divorced and according to the tax authorities, there are no spouses or partners registered at your addresses.”
Christina Filipsson raised an eyebrow.
Neither of them replied.
Torsten sighed and wrote something in his notebook. “I’ll take that as a yes. Don’t you find it difficult to always be so opaque? Or have you been so affected by all this crazy stuff that it seems normal now?”
Ushtanga Erik Bergström replied drily, “We live according to the way we interpret the world—and that may not agree with your worldview.”
Augustin entered the conversation quietly, asking, “Many participants in your courses have said there’s lots of sex going on here. Is that true?”
Christina gave Augustin a gentle smile. “Sexuality can be interpreted in many different ways. We do whatever it takes to rid ourselves of stress. Sexuality is one of our tools. It doesn’t mean that we’re all down on the floor having orgies.”
Torsten was amused to see Augustin blush in response to the woman’s charming offensive. Augustin continued in spite of his red cheeks. “So you have a free interpretation of sex?”
“Everything depends on your interpretation.”
“Doesn’t it sound logical that a participant’s partner might feel threatened by their spouse coming here and having sex with other people?”
“I told you, that’s not how it works here. That is your own interpretation.”
“Yes, and it’s how some people in your courses interpret it, too. Don’t you think that you as leaders shouldn’t encourage sexual relationships between your disciples, or whatever you call them? Psychologists and doctors would lose their licenses doing that.”
Ushtanga Erik hissed at Augustin, “This has gone far enough. We have never claimed to be psychologists or doctors. We practice an alternative to the usual forms of therapy. That doesn’t mean we have sex with our participants. If you’d like to take us to the station for questioning, go right ahead. But otherwise, this conversation is over.”
Torsten focused his gaze on the man with the ponytail. In a forceful tone—but with a smile—he said, “I’m the one with the authority to conclude this conversation. As I said, this place will soon be crawling with police officers doing a thorough search. We’re asking these questions to find the motive for Christopher Turin’s murder. We really don’t give a damn what you all do up here. We don’t care about your sex orgies and diapers and God knows what else. But we do need you to answer our questions. If you don’t cooperate, I will need take you down to the station immediately. Then you can forget all about your courses for a good long time.”
Christina Filipsson looked shocked, and she no longer appeared so beautiful. Her appearance seemed to wilt with each passing second.
“Are you saying that we are suspects?” she said.
“Not at this time. But I’m going to need a list of all the participants in these courses from the day you opened. And I need to know who was in each course. There’s indication that the murder was somehow connected to this place. Meanwhile, my colleague and I will take a look around.”
Ushtanga Eri
k Bergström’s eye twitched, and he clenched his jaw so tightly that Torsten worried his teeth might break.
“Of course,” he said. “Would you like one of us to escort you, or do you want to look around on your own?”
Torsten smiled. “We’d appreciate it if one of you could show us around.”
Ushtanga Erik turned to Christina. “If you could meet the incoming participants, I’ll have the office put together this information. Let me show these gentlemen around.”
Relieved, Christina turned toward all three of them. “Then I’ll take my leave. I’ll be in one of the other buildings if you have any more questions. Erik can tell you where I am.”
As she left, her bountiful hair swirled around her back. Ushtanga Erik walked her out, and Torsten noticed not a hair in his ponytail out of place. His linen clothes were immaculate and without a single wrinkle, despite the fact he’d been sitting in a chair.
Augustin plopped back into his armchair. “Good God in Heaven, I’m exhausted! I don’t know how you do it.”
“Do what?”
“Get them to open up, to say stuff. How do you keep them on the right track? I’m completely wiped out from the tension.”
“Oh, you get used to it. You put in a few good questions yourself.”
“Well, I wanted to take part. Do you think he’s gone to hide things now that he’s in his office?”
“Probably. What he likely doesn’t get is that makes it easier for us. We’ll find whatever he’s hiding, and then we’ll know right away that’s what we’re after. But maybe he gets that and he’ll show us everything we need. That’ll mean we have our work cut out for us. We’ll have to bring in some experts, or other help, if we have to sort all that out.”
Augustin looked at him in amazement but said nothing. Torsten grimaced and motioned toward the hallway. “He’s already coming back. If he hid things, he’s impressively fast.”
They got to their feet, and Ushtanga Erik Bergström took them on a tour of the property.
CHAPTER 55
So, what did Purran say?”
“Not much. She just asked how long we stayed out. I said we left right after she did, and that we were really wasted.”
“That wasn’t an exaggeration.”
“No, but it’s far from the truth. So how was it? Have you two gotten together since?”
Paula hesitated before replying. She hoped Lotta wouldn’t notice she was lying. “No, I haven’t called. I thought I would at first, but I didn’t know where it would lead. I have enough problems already.”
“Oh, go on and call him.”
Paula took a bite of her cinnamon bun and chewed slowly. She looked at Lotta. “How do you and your husband manage things? Have you come to some agreement about sex with other people?”
Lotta pressed her lips together. “Not exactly. But I found the bill from his last business trip. He spent a lot of money at a certain kind of club, if you know what I mean.”
“Strippers?”
Lotta shrugged. Her voice was hard. “Or prostitutes. I don’t know, and I don’t care. I went through his stuff and found bills from previous trips, too.”
“Yuck. Have you asked him flat out?”
Lotta shook her head. “No, and I’m not sure I want to know. If he confesses he goes to whores, I’ll have to divorce. What kind of person would I be if I didn’t? As long as I don’t know for sure, I can put up with a great deal.”
“You can put up with it? Come on, isn’t life more than that?”
“Well, what about you? Aren’t you just putting up with things, too? Your husband comes home from a long business trip and goes right out to the archipelago for one of his strange courses…and his yoga…and God knows what else.”
Paula cringed. Lotta had assessed her marriage so clearly. Hearing it from someone else made it sound so much worse. “I know. I’m putting up with things, too.”
“Think about how life would change if we didn’t! Not being able to see the children as often as we want? Maybe losing the house? Let me tell you, some strange woman would be moving into my house the minute I finished packing, and then I’d have to live in a terrible apartment in a terrible place like Mörby Centrum. How would I ever deal with that?”
Paula said, “So your strategy is to have a little something on the side to help you put up with all his shit?”
“That’s about right. But I’d never tell the world.”
“What if you meet someone special?”
“Then I’m out of here.”
Paula felt ill. She didn’t know if it was from the stress-eating of two cinnamon buns after a hefty lunch, or from seeing the picture Lotta painted for her.
Suddenly, there were loud voices. The sweet young girl who had just waited on them and always knew what Paula wanted was getting harassed by some woman patron.
“I’m very sorry, but we can’t accept your credit card unless you show some ID.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me. Are you stupid or something? I’m always in here. Do I look like a thief to you?”
Without thinking, Paula got up and walked to the cashier. “Excuse me, but this girl is not in the least bit stupid. Can’t you hear how you sound to other people? She didn’t make the rules. You should carry your ID when you leave home. How can she know if this is really your credit card? Do you truly believe that every human being on the planet knows who you are?”
The woman stared at Paula in disbelief. Paula herself actually couldn’t believe what she’d done. The entire crowd at Café Gateau had fallen silent. Realizing all eyes were on her, the woman threw the bag of bread on the counter and stormed out.
The young clerk smiled gratefully at Paula. “Thanks—that was so kind of you to step in like that.”
“Well, she was being particularly unpleasant.”
“If you and your friend want free refills, just ask.”
Paula went back to her chair. The girl’s next customer was a young man. The girl motioned toward Paula, and the young man turned to look at her with a particularly intense stare. Paula thought there was something familiar about him.
Lotta interrupted her. “Can you believe that lady? What an idiot!”
“Oh, I shouldn’t have been so hard on her. I don’t know what got into me.”
“It was the right thing to do. She had no right to chew that girl out. So, what do you say? Shall we get our refills?”
Paula nodded. As Lotta got up, Paula pulled out her phone. She knew it was wrong, but she couldn’t help herself. The only thing she wanted after that morning’s terrifying discovery was to lie in Passi’s arms and inhale his scent. Before Lotta returned, she quickly texted:
I want to see you again. /Paula
CHAPTER 56
Marianne called the family court offices and after being put on hold four times, she finally reached a person competent enough to send over the required information. A few minutes later, the material arrived via e-mail. She had already finished Alexandra Baranski’s assignments and recorded the day’s results from another investigation. She called the tax authorities and asked for Gunnar Blad.
“Hello, Gunnar. Marianne Jidhoff here. Sorry to bother you during your coffee break.”
“Marianne! How nice to hear from you! Have you returned to work?”
“Just yesterday.”
“Please accept my sympathies for your loss. I saw Hans’s obituary in the paper.”
“Things have been difficult. But I have to tell you, it feels wonderful to be back at work. I’ve been surprised by that.”
“I can imagine. I think I wouldn’t have any trouble playing golf for the rest of my life, but, really, having a routine makes life meaningful. The thought of retirement can actually be frightening.”
“I’ve begun to realize that retirement isn’t everything it’s cracked up to be. Ho
w is your wife doing?”
“She’s having an operation to take out her gall bladder. But I assume you didn’t call me to ask about her. What can I help you with?”
“I’m working for Olle Lundqvist again. I need some information to complete a preliminary investigation.”
“Name and tax number?”
“Just a minute…there are several names.”
“Send them, and please send the authorization code in a separate e-mail.”
“Another thing, Gunnar. Don’t tell anyone about this. Everything in this specific file is confidential, even internally.”
“Is this a part of Olle’s new system?”
“Well, partially.”
“You can trust me. I’ve also set up my server to eradicate everything five minutes after downloading.”
“That’s good. Thanks for all your help.”
Marianne noted this on a Post-it as she hung up. She e-mailed the list and the authorization code while calling Eje’s Chocolate Factory.
“Hello, Marianne Jidhoff here. I would like to send two boxes of truffle nougat—yes, that’s right, the middle size—one is for a hairstylist on Nybrogatan and the other is for Gunnar Blad at the tax authority on Södermalm. You can choose the delivery service. Just make sure they’re delivered today. Yes, please put it on my account. Write the same thing on both cards: ‘Warmest greetings from Marianne Jidhoff.’ No, sorry, I won’t be ordering anything for myself today.”
Marianne wasn’t sure what to do next. She drummed her fingers on her desk. She had sworn she wouldn’t do this, but her fingers started working on automatic pilot. She typed “Irene” into the search engine, but the results weren’t useful. She knew she shouldn’t dig any further into this subject. How could it lead to anything good? She had nothing to gain from knowing more about Hans’s greatest love. Her destructive side wanted to know, but her sensible side said to put it all behind her. The painful truth would reveal itself soon enough.
While waiting for Gunnar Blad’s reply, she decided to visit the ladies’ room. She looked in the mirror and saw that her hair still fell in place. The hairstylist definitely deserved that box of chocolates. Suddenly, she heard voices outside the door.
A Small Indiscretion Page 22