When Torsten returned to Marianne’s office, Augustin looked up. “What did Brundin have to say?”
Torsten shook his head. “Not much. I know this sounds far-fetched, but I’m getting the strange feeling that this death is connected to Turin’s on Narvavägen.”
Augustin stopped chewing. “Now I’m lost. Why should the two murders be connected?”
Marianne finished another phone call and said to Torsten, “Really? It’s not common for two people to be murdered within a few days of each other. But it’s not impossible. We should look at that long list of people who’ve been at Right Now and see if there’s a connection. I’m sure many Djursholm residents have also gone there. There could very well be a link.”
Torsten and Augustin looked at each other and nodded.
Marianne continued. “If you want, I could go through the lists myself. Then you can keep on with what you’re doing.”
Soon, all three were busy. Marianne still had to answer the phone every few minutes, and finally, at just past eleven p.m., Jan Brundin called. He’d finished his report. Torsten got up and put on his jacket.
“I’ll head downstairs, but Augustin, you stay here. There’s no reason for both of us to see such a sad sight.”
Augustin nodded gratefully as Torsten walked to the elevator.
Marianne thought having their company was pleasant. She admitted to herself that she was slightly less afraid. It wasn’t much fun to be alone in the middle of the night in an empty office, having to answer questions from journalists about a murder.
She smiled at Augustin.
“Why don’t we have some coffee? And there’s still some coffee cake in the cupboard. I was trying to soften up my colleagues this morning, but they didn’t really appreciate it.”
She shrugged. Augustin had to laugh. “Already that bad, is it?”
Marianne rolled her eyes. “That’s just the half of it. But I have only myself to blame. I’ve popped up like a jack-in-the-box and stolen someone else’s job.”
“I understand. But you can soften me up with some coffee cake. And the coffee that goes with it.”
“How nice. I think you and I are going to get along well.”
She walked to the kitchen and started the coffeemaker. A sudden noise came from down the hall. It sounded like someone was trying to open a door by the bathrooms. She stepped quietly back to her office and whispered to Augustin: “I think there’s someone in the bathroom. I heard a strange sound. Did you see anyone go in there?”
Augustin got up as quietly as he could and peered down the hallway.
“Were you alone up here when we got here?”
Marianne whispered, “Yes. The last person left right after six. I’ll check with the security guard to see if he let someone in. Did you hear anything?”
Augustin shook his head but kept his eyes on the long dark hallway in front of him.
“I’ll sneak up and check.”
Suddenly there was a crash. The bathroom door flew open, and it sounded like a body fell out. Both Augustin and Marianne instinctively ran toward the noise. Then they heard someone retching. Augustin hit the light switch, and they saw Lillemor Rootander huddled on the hallway floor. She’d vomited quite a lot already. Her straggly hair covered her face, and her eyes were shut. The stench of vomit mixed with alcohol was overwhelming, and Marianne and Augustin flinched. Meanwhile, the elevator door opened and Torsten strode into the hallway.
“What the hell?” He looked shocked at the heap of human being before them. Marianne didn’t know what to do. She felt sorry for this woman she’d hated for so many years. Anyone would be mortified to be found drunk and throwing up at work.
“I’m calling an ambulance,” Marianne said. “She really must be seen by a doctor.”
Torsten and Augustin agreed. Torsten bent over Lillemor and said gently, “Lillemor, can you hear me?”
There was no answer, just heavy, ragged breathing.
Torsten shook his head. “Jesus, I knew Lillemor liked the bars. But this…someone ought to call Olle as well.”
Lillemor moved slightly, groaning, and turned her head toward them. “Not Olle…not Olle…please.”
Her voice was weak, but she pleaded, “Please don’t call Olle…please.”
When Marianne returned from the telephone, she looked into Lillemor’s devastated face and said softly, “I’ve called an ambulance. You have to see a doctor. I think you might have alcohol poisoning.”
Lillemor Rootander closed her eyes and let her head fall back. The ambulance medics arrived quickly, as they’d been parked nearby, outside the jail. Lillemor was unconscious by the time they lifted her onto the stretcher. Marianne looked on worriedly as they began to take her away.
“Does one of us need to go along?”
“Any of you close relatives?” a medic asked.
“No, we’re just work colleagues.”
“It’s better if you stay here. We’ll contact her family.”
Marianne opened her mouth to protest but quickly closed it again. It wasn’t her responsibility to take care of this woman who’d been involved with her husband…yet she did feel that she had to do something.
“Take my number in case you don’t reach anyone. I’m not sure she has a family,” Marianne said.
The man nodded, and she hurried to find pen and paper.
“Where are you taking her?”
“To Karolinska Hospital. They’re the only one with open beds tonight.”
Torsten looked at Marianne as she returned to the office.
“How was she?”
“Passed out. I wonder how long she was in the bathroom.”
Torsten shrugged. “I have no idea. I knew she liked her liquor, but I had no idea it was that bad. How well do you know The Root?”
Marianne looked away and shook her head. “We knew of each other, not more than that.”
Torsten studied her, then decided to say nothing.
“I just feel extremely sorry for her,” Marianne said.
Torsten said, “We still have to tell Olle about this. He is her boss. Keeping him in the dark wouldn’t do her any favors. It’s better if she’s forced to confront her problem.”
“That’s probably true. But what drama! She must have been in there since this afternoon! I’ll have to go take a look.”
The bathroom was spattered with vomit and other fluids Marianne didn’t want to think about. She found a pair of rubber gloves on a shelf and went to work. She felt like vomiting herself from the smell. From this mess all over the bathroom, she figured that Lillemor Rootander had drunk an incredible amount. It took Marianne forty minutes to clean the bathroom, and still there was a slight stench. She thought it should disappear by morning. She’d also found a bottle of Rosita behind the toilet. Marianne remembered seeing Lillemor Rootander on the bench in Kronoberg Park. Perhaps she was already tipsy by then.
Marianne’s cell phone rang. She hurriedly stripped off the rubber gloves so she could answer.
“Marianne Jidhoff here.”
“Darling! You’re such a loyal worker! I must tell you that you’ve just missed the gallery opening of the decade! I missed you, and so did lots of other people…especially one person in particular! But since I am your very good friend, I will make sure you two have the chance to talk tomorrow!”
“I’m so sorry I missed it. It’s been absolute chaos here. I’m happy the opening was a success.”
“You are coming for dinner tomorrow, right? I will make that Olle Lundqvist regret it if he forces you to work tomorrow night, too!”
“I promise, I’ll be there, but I’ve got to go right now.”
“So you don’t care who wanted to meet you?”
“Of course, but I’ll let it be a surprise for tomorrow.”
They hung up, and Marianne sm
iled slightly as she plopped down into her chair. Augustin was finishing a phone call in the hallway. Torsten put his hands together and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumbs.
“I just thought I’d quickly go through Brundin’s report with you, and then we can summarize what we have.”
Marianne said, “Sure. I’m just going to get some more coffee. Does anyone else want a cup?”
The other two smiled gratefully. Marianne was soon back with three cups along with a plate of cookies.
Torsten yawned and rolled his shoulders. “Thank God for coffee. Am I the only one here who’s tired? I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck. I guess I shouldn’t complain. Unfortunately, Brundin found nothing of interest. The girl died. That’s all he has. Someone suffocated her by holding a hand over her nose and mouth. Perhaps using a cloth—maybe a piece of clothing—though no fibers were found except those from her sweater. No fingerprints. All Brundin found at the site were bicycle-tire marks, and unfortunately, it wasn’t an unusual bike—just a standard model. Nine out of ten Swedes have it. There are no signs of resistance, which, to Brundin, indicates that the attack was a surprise. There were many footprints around the boat, but that’s a well-used path along the waterfront. Brundin says there’s nothing more he can find. So we have nothing.”
Marianne said, “Except for the fact that she didn’t resist. That is a big clue. I believe it shows she trusted this person, either because he seemed trustworthy or she knew him.”
Torsten said, “Yes, that would point to her father, or a boyfriend no one knew about. What have you found, Augustin?”
“Not much. As far as her work on the Iraqi boy’s asylum issues, I see nothing to indicate anyone was upset. I think nobody took her seriously, not even when the deportation was annulled. People seem to think the only reason she got media attention was because she was young and attractive.”
Torsten raised an eyebrow. “And that isn’t deemed worthy of respect?”
Augustin shrugged. “I really wouldn’t know, but at any rate, she had no enemies to speak of. I dug and dug, but there’s nothing. No threats to her of any kind.”
To Marianne, Torsten said, “How about your lists? Anything useful?”
“Yes. I’ve gone through them all. I’ve cross-referenced them and seen who changed addresses and so on. Eight people living in Danderyd township, which is where Djursholm is located, have also attended Right Now courses. Four of them are married. I see no direct connection to Ellen Nyhlén, but that will be up to you to find out. Many of these people are wealthy and famous. I can understand why the Right Now people didn’t want to give you participants’ names. It’s explosive stuff if it gets leaked to the media. I also have the information you wanted about the founders of Right Now, but I think we can wait on that. I assume Ellen Nyhlén’s case is a higher priority.”
Torsten sighed.
“Most likely. Still, I want to see that information as soon as possible. Perhaps after tomorrow morning’s press conference. I need to head home, now. Noah is alone, and I am exhausted. Augustin, I suggest we meet at eight—before the press conference. We can go through all this material again before Olle has to speak, and perhaps something more will turn up during the night. The local police from Danderyd township are combing the neighborhood. They might find something, though I doubt it. Something tells me this devil knows how to keep under the radar. Marianne, I assume you’ll stay here until Olle arrives? See you tomorrow, then. Aside from all this, I hope The Root realizes that you literally cleaned up after her, and she has enough manners to thank you. Will you be all right alone?”
“I’ll be fine,” Marianne said, smiling. “Olle will be here any minute. I also have the feeling that not much more is happening tonight. Go home. You need your rest. You’re going to be working hard tomorrow.”
Once they’d gone, Marianne looked at the clock. It was just before midnight. She picked up her phone and asked to be connected to the emergency room at Karolinska Hospital.
“I’m calling about Lillemor Rootander. She came by ambulance an hour or so ago.”
“Are you a relative?” a voice answered.
Marianne hesitated a moment, then said, “I’m a close colleague from work. I was the one who found her.”
“One moment. I’ll connect you to the ICU. She’s under observation.”
A few moments later, someone at the ICU picked up. “Nurse Lena here.”
“Hello, I’m Marianne Jidhoff. I’m calling about Lillemor Rootander.”
“One minute. I’ll take a look at her chart.”
Nurse Lena came back after a minute or two. “Lillemor Rootander has informed us that she has no family, and she doesn’t wish to have any contact with people from her workplace.”
“I just wanted to know if she’s going to be all right. I’m the one who found her this evening.”
“Lillemor will contact you when she is released. I must care for a patient, now. Please excuse me.”
Marianne frowned as she put down the phone. She knew she ought to discuss what had happened with Olle, but all she could remember was Lillemor’s desperate look when begging them to leave Olle out of it.
She stared into space for a while, finally deciding to work on the material she’d promised Torsten. She went through all the information Gunnar had sent and made her own notes, hoping Torsten would be able to read her scrawls. On the computer, she added the addresses of the Right Now participants and put everything in a private folder, which she hid inside another folder. She carefully deleted the irrelevant data on her computer. Then, an idea struck her. She could plant some red herrings to see where they turned up. She might discover who’d been poking around in her office. She already had a good idea who it might be: it was probably no coincidence that Lillemor Rootander had been hiding in the bathroom.
She inserted random documents into a prominently visible computer file and gave it the title CONFIDENTIAL, with today’s date. She almost giggled over her own cleverness. She hoped it wouldn’t be too obvious that she’d set a trap.
She heard the hum of the elevator, and a few moments later, Olle came rushing in.
“Forgive me, Marianne. How have you been holding up? I heard that Torsten and Augustin kept you company. Can you brief me on where the case stands now?”
Marianne took out her notes, and she and Olle went through them for almost two hours. Marianne noticed that Olle smelled of sweat, just a bit. She hoped she, herself, didn’t smell too bad. They each poured a cup of coffee and continued to prepare the release for the press conference. Olle had changed the time of the conference to seven a.m. since he didn’t want to keep the journalists waiting for too long. Without facts, they’d start inventing things to write about. Better to release what they had now. Perhaps it would prompt a witness to come forward with more information.
The telephones started ringing almost as soon as Olle entered the building, and Marianne suspected that many journalists had camped out in the reception area just waiting for him to appear. Nearly an hour passed before they stopped calling. Olle finally took off his jacket and undid his tie.
“I am eternally grateful that you’ve come back to work. You can’t imagine how much I missed working in a partnership like this.”
“But why don’t you have more assistants?”
“I do, but I can’t call them in the middle of the night, and they don’t have your knowledge. They have no idea how to talk to the press, and no clue how to keep information to themselves. That’s a profession in and of itself.”
“And your press secretary?”
“I use her only when we’re further along in a case. In the beginning, everything must come from me. I know how much Hans valued having you at his side.”
“That was the only good thing about us. We worked well together.”
“You’re underestimating yourself. I know he loved you very
much,” Olle replied.
Marianne looked at Olle seriously. “I imagine that he did, in his own way. But he cared much more for his work. Of course, he loved our children. But I believe that if he’d had to choose between me and his job, the job would have won out.”
Olle blinked. “Hans always said he wanted to change. That was his mantra. He was very sad at times. I don’t believe he would have risen as far as he did without making some sacrifices.”
Marianne swallowed. She knew there was a hard gleam in her eye as she said, “Would you sacrifice your own children?”
Olle jerked. “Actually, sometimes I do just that. Tonight, for example. A murderer is on the loose and someone has to make sure he is caught before he kills again. I do this for the sake of my children, as well as society. Sacrifices have to be made. I’m probably no better than Hans. I’d never be able to do this work without my wife’s help.”
“And do you have other women on the side?”
Olle looked down at the desk, then back at Marianne. “I know Hans hurt you. I know he promised again and again that he’d change and that this affair would be the last. He was weak—and not just concerning women. But despite all of that, I know he loved you—and the children.”
Marianne gave Olle a firm look. “How do you grieve for someone when you’re angry at them, too? It is terrible.”
“I understand.”
They fell silent, and Olle’s cell phone rang. As he headed into the hallway to answer, Marianne watched his bulky silhouette in the darkness. She realized he hadn’t answered her question.
CHAPTER 62
Paula looked at Passi’s profile on the balcony, and she sighed over the contoured muscles of his upper body. The glow from his cigarette shone on his face every time he took a drag. Paula pulled the synthetic blanket closer to her body and closed her eyes. The cool autumn air coming in through the open balcony door made her shiver. He smiled as he came back into the room, closing the door behind him. He threw himself on the bed.
A Small Indiscretion Page 25