A Small Indiscretion

by Denise Rudberg

  She turned the water on as hot as possible and soaped herself up twice to make sure she was clean. She even rubbed body wash between her toes. As she toweled off, she remembered the new scale. She took it out even though she’d decided not to look at her weight until finishing her diet. She stepped on and off a few times to make sure she’d read the numbers right. The scale reported she’d lost four pounds. How could that have happened? She’d just had breakfast, not to mention the hamburger the night before. Happy as a puppy, she returned the scale to the cupboard and looked at her naked body in front of the mirror. Four pounds were gone. It was a miracle. She didn’t look all that different, but her stomach appeared a little less bloated, and she did seem to have more energy. Her face wasn’t as droopy as it had been, either. Perhaps that was due to her new hair color. Her blowout still looked good, despite having been slept on.

  She chose a gray skirt and a dark-lilac cashmere sweater, both of which Sigrid had given to her, complaining they no longer fit her. Marianne didn’t believe that for a minute; she knew that Sigrid just wanted her to have a few nice pieces of clothing. She had to admit that the sweater looked good on her.

  As usual, her nylons got twisted when she tried to put them on, and she had to start over. Instead of putting on her slippers, she found a pair of natural leather loafers she hadn’t worn since the previous summer. Perhaps it was high time she returned to dressing properly, even at home. No reason to look like a schlump. She unpacked her computer, and when she logged into her e-mail, she couldn’t help smiling. Someone had logged into her mail program earlier and read her incoming messages. Since she had set it up to divert any sensitive mail before landing in her inbox, no valuable information was compromised. It would be interesting to find out who was behind this.

  The doorbell rang and she hurried to answer it. Torsten Ehn and Augustin Madrid stood at attention, and she let out a chuckle.

  “Well, you’re right on time, you two. It looks like you brought something interesting with you.”

  Torsten smiled and waved a paper bag. “You can say so. Cinnamon buns.”

  They came in, and Augustin looked around with curiosity. “What a beautiful apartment! How long have you lived here?”

  “Since I was born. This is my childhood home. My mother grew up in this building, and I inherited it when she died.”

  Torsten exclaimed, “You own this entire building?”

  Marianne laughed. “Well, I did. Now I share it with my children. I do have some renters in some of the apartments as well.”

  “I can understand that. Well. I never would have guessed.”

  “Guessed what?”

  “That you were independently wealthy. You don’t seem the type.”

  They laughed. Torsten looked around while Augustin pulled out his laptop. He asked where they should sit, and Marianne pointed to the living room. “We have sofas in the living room. We could also go into my library, where I have a dining table and we could spread out our paperwork. Perhaps that would be better? Would you like something to drink? Coffee? Tea?”

  Marianne walked quickly into the library and shivered. She opened the tile stove to throw in some logs from the basket beside it.

  “It gets so cold in here. I have no idea why. It doesn’t matter whether it’s summer or winter. I’ll start a fire, and soon it will be much more pleasant. Go ahead and sit at the table, and I’ll go heat some water.”

  Augustin put his computer on the table and smiled at her. “I’ll have coffee, thanks.”

  Torsten followed her into the kitchen. He placed the paper bag on the kitchen table, watching Marianne as she took cups from the upper cupboard and set out napkins for the cinnamon buns. She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “What’s wrong? You’re looking at me so suspiciously.”

  Torsten shook his head as he opened the pantry door. He looked at all the items she stored inside. “Not suspicious at all. I just think it’s fascinating.”

  “What is fascinating?”

  “That you ever married Hans Larson. I can’t put it together. You enjoy your food and seem to enjoy life. In my eyes, Hans Larson was a sour old man who only thought about himself. A full-time egoist, however you look at it. Did he even like to eat?”

  Torsten made such a face that Marianne had to laugh. “You’re bad!”

  “But Marianne, I can’t imagine him in this place. In your life. He couldn’t have felt at home in this elegant apartment. That man couldn’t even dress properly. All his suits were ill-fitting, and that’s being kind. They were even worse than Olle’s, if that’s possible. And you. You are always put together. You seem to enjoy the good things in life.”

  “How did you come to that conclusion?”

  “I just glanced through your pantry. The different olive oils, the balsamic vinegar, the spices from around the world. You use imported jams and jellies—and I see that you grow your own herbs on the windowsill. Hans Larson was just an everyday sausage-in-a-cafeteria kind of guy. Nothing wrong with that. But you’re something else. You don’t have to say anything. I see you know what I mean. How the hell did he manage to land you?”

  Marianne smiled, pouring coffee into three cups.

  Augustin looked up when they came in, happy to see the coffee.

  Torsten had already finished one of his cinnamon buns and was looking at the plate, wondering if he should take another. Marianne sat down at the head of the table. She looked with great interest at the papers, and Augustin moved in her direction.

  “So what happened in Djursholm? What did you find out?”

  Having finished his internal debate, Torsten took a healthy bite from his second bun and was too busy chewing to reply. Augustin spoke instead.

  “We met Ellen Nyhlén’s family. Her parents were devastated. It was hard to communicate with them. Her little sister seemed to be in shock. We think they’d been given sedatives, and that must have influenced how they reacted to us. We have no indication that any of them were part of the murder. The parents seem to have devoted their lives to their daughters.”

  Marianne shuddered. “How horrible. What about a boyfriend, or an admirer?”

  Torsten took a long sip of coffee, which went down the wrong way. He coughed for a few seconds. Then he picked up from where Augustin left off.

  “We haven’t found any. The little sister had a boyfriend, but Ellen did not. And, yes, we did check into the little sister’s boyfriend. He studies in Gothenburg, and we found through our channels that he was there at the time of the murder. Ellen’s work is a bit complicated. Her boss was bullheaded and sometimes didn’t pay his employees for weeks. Ellen decided the staff all needed to join a union, and he didn’t like that.”

  Marianne smiled, impressed at their work. “She sounds like a special girl. Have you met with the boss?”

  “He’s extremely upset about what happened. And although Ellen fought him about the union, she was one of his best workers. He found her the most responsible of all the girls working there. He depended on her. Today the place was closed, and we’ve talked to all of them but one. We’re going to meet her later today. All the girls were extremely upset.”

  Marianne’s brow furrowed. “There must have been lots of people going to that café every day.”

  Augustin said, “The girls told us that customers often ask them out. Young guys, because there are a number of schools nearby, as well as married men who want a little whoopee on the side.”

  Torsten snorted. “Whoopee? Where’d you pick that up? And you tell me I use old-fashioned slang!”

  Augustin glared at him, then turned to Marianne. “There could be something there. A married man who wanted some side action and then thought he’d gotten in too deep.”

  Marianne looked at him doubtfully. “It seems odd. She was so young. I have difficulty believing she’d be a demanding lover. And what would she want wit
h a married man? In her eyes, he’d be, well, old. I don’t think she’s the kind of girl who’d be seduced by roses or small presents. But perhaps I’m being naive?”

  Torsten shook his head. “I think you’re right, Marianne. Ellen Nyhlén wasn’t that type. Still, we should definitely check into the customers. I also want to check what we’ve found out about Christopher Turin and Right Now. This afternoon, we’re going out to talk to the last girl on our list from the café, and we’ll also stop by some of those addresses of the Right Now participants in Djursholm. It may be a long shot, but it’s worth a try. I also think we need to visit Erik Bergström and Christina Filipsson again. Their business adventures have been extremely interesting. Erik Bergström, as it turns out, sold his advertising business in a sneaky way, not aboveboard at all, while he was divorcing. He certainly didn’t want to go into detail about it when we had our little chat. His ex-wife reported the shady dealings, which broke a few legal precepts. Christina Filipsson may be working legally now, but she hasn’t always. There have been many legal twists and turns because of her various debts, although most of them are from twenty years ago. Still, it shows that she wasn’t always careful with money. Also of interest, she has another small business on the side. I wonder if Ushtanga Erik is aware of it. Her website shows she has customers from the finance and advertising worlds. I wonder what she helps them with? She calls it ‘lifestyle coaching,’ but hell if I know what that is.”

  Marianne said, “Personally, I think that the Estonia story is just that. A story. It would be interesting to track that one down.”

  “You think they’re not telling the truth?”

  “I don’t know, but it seems too much of a miracle to me. And wouldn’t we have read about an incident like that in the papers? I’ve read about various heroes who helped save people, but I don’t remember reading anything about those two. Wouldn’t people remember them?”

  Torsten said, “Yes, and even if the story is true, it’s in bad taste to boast about how he survived. It’s not proper. I think we’ll also want to call in Isa Turin again to find out more about their custody battle. We might as well bring in Jonas Carlfors, too. We’ll find two more officers to help us with the interrogations. I’ll check around. And…am I completely out of line if I take a third bun?”

  Augustin shook his head and sighed. “Yes, you are.”

  Torsten shrugged and grabbed it anyway. He sighed contentedly and took a big bite. Marianne looked through the papers and then her finger stopped.

  “Do you have more information about the car used to drive over Turin?”

  Torsten shook his head.

  “Brundin couldn’t tell us more than that it was a smaller vehicle, due to the damage on Turin’s shins when he was first hit. So it’s not a jeep or an SUV. Brundin looked for evidence at the scene, but he didn’t find anything specific. Hit-and-runs are hard to solve, even if we know the driver intended to commit murder. It’s a damned shame, but in both cases, we don’t have any evidence to follow up on. That makes me think that the two cases are linked. The person who drove over Christopher Turin and suffocated Ellen Nyhlén knew exactly what he was doing. He must have studied up on the best way to kill someone without leaving any evidence. But on the other hand, it could be an unfortunate coincidence.”

  Augustin looked skeptical, “I have trouble seeing a connection. The methods were completely different. Running over someone and suffocating a person aren’t similar actions at all.”

  “I agree that in theory, there should be no connection,” Torsten said. “But we’d better leave now if we want to interview everyone. Marianne, is it all right to call you later this afternoon to keep you in the loop?”

  “Of course. But get in touch with Olle for any real emergency. He’s on call tonight. Make sure he doesn’t feel left out.”

  Torsten nodded, patting her on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. We won’t bother you on your night off.”

  Marianne felt sure that she was blushing, and she hoped no one would notice it in the soft light of the library. For some reason she felt found out, even though she hadn’t mentioned her dinner plans.

  Marianne locked the door behind them and went back to the library. As she picked up the serving tray, she couldn’t help smiling. She hated to admit it, but she liked feeling needed. She liked it very much indeed.

  CHAPTER 66

  Passi closed his eyes. His breathing was deeper, quicker, and Paula moved slowly so it wouldn’t go too quickly. She touched herself at the same time. Jens had never liked it when she did that, but Passi didn’t mind. He watched her fingers in fascination. She was tender from the activity of the past few hours, and her tenderness made her more excited. She felt everything in a beautiful, more intense way.

  Passi pulled her closer and enclosed her breast in his mouth, grunting when her nipple hardened. Paula knew this would make her come before he did, but she let it happen. Passi continued to move, slowly and carefully. His penis was slippery from her wetness. He pulled up her knees and slid his fingers into her as well. Paula lay still and let him penetrate her so completely. She was amazed that he had such control over his lust. Much more than she did.

  Afterward, they stood together in the tight shower stall. Holding him close, she whispered, “When you were away earlier, I had no idea how I’d get through the day.”

  He smiled and kissed the tip of her nose. “I just needed some groceries.”

  She closed her eyes and shivered. “It will be difficult to be alone tonight.”

  “I understand,” Passi said. “Did the police say anything about patrolling the area?”

  “They said they’d drive by regularly, but what good does that do?” Paula said. “Jens called the police and told them I was overreacting.”

  “If you want, I can call someone I know—maybe he can help.”

  Paula reacted with fear. “What? Not to kill anybody!”

  Passi laughed. “No! What do you think? I know someone who works with these kinds of incidents. If you want me to, I can ask for his opinion.”

  “Perhaps. Let’s wait and see. Maybe it will stop. Those awful text messages stopped.”

  Passi nodded. “Things will calm down. You’ll see. Maybe it was just some crazy dude who wanted to see you naked. I can’t really blame him…”

  Paula pinched his middle and smiled. “Females are probably stalking you all the time!”

  They kissed.

  Paula knew she should have already left for home by now. She’d have to drive like a maniac to get to the girls on time. She hadn’t taken Jens’s car to the shop, as she’d promised. Nor had she picked up any groceries. She’d just have to order pizza for dinner.

  CHAPTER 67

  Torsten’s cell phone rang just as Augustin parked outside the tiny house.

  “Hi, my boy!” Torsten said. “Sure, when should I pick you up?…Okay, I’ll be there.”

  Torsten stepped out of the car. “We have to wrap it up by eight. I promised Noah I’d pick him up from school at eight thirty. Per and Anki are scheduled to help with the interrogations tomorrow morning, so we can tear through them all before lunch. We need to speed it up a bit. Olle starts to get jumpy—everything is on his shoulders.”

  “I’m impressed that you still make time for family, even with a case like this.”

  “Make time for my son? Of course!” Torsten said. “That goes without saying.”

  Augustin shook his head. “Not everyone does, especially police officers.”

  “I think people’s attitudes will change in the future,” Torsten replied. “I’ve been on so many cases that I know avoiding burnout is crucial. We have to sleep, to have a private life. Otherwise we become useless, and we’re no good for anyone.”

  “So you didn’t get divorced because you spent too much time on the job?”

  “No,” Torsten said. “She left me for comp
letely different reasons. By the way, tomorrow morning, when Anki and Per come in, we should split up with them.”

  Augustin smiled. “So we can keep an eye on everything?”

  Torsten shrugged, smiling back. “That’s the idea.”

  They were walking through the garden of a one-family house right on the border between Stocksund and Danderyd. The house was a far cry from the palatial mansions usually found in this neighborhood. The doorbell gave out a weak sound, so Torsten used the knocker. A young woman with red stripes in her hair opened the door. Her eyes were red from crying, and she was holding a paper tissue to her nose. As Torsten introduced himself, she looked at him in fright and shrunk back.

  “You’re Josefine, aren’t you? Is it all right if we come in to ask you a few questions?”

  The girl stepped aside to let them in.

  “Are your mother and father home?”

  “No, but Mamma will be home soon. She works at Mörby mall.”

  The house was clean. Most likely, it had been renovated around the beginning of the nineties. The walls were sponge-painted in pastel colors, and stripped wooden furniture dominated the interior. The atmosphere was cozy and snug, though Torsten knew quite well that for Djursholm it was outdated. He wondered whether Josefine cared about that. They sat down at a kitchen table with only a mint-green tablecloth. On the wall beside the table, a kitchen calendar with puppies on it hung from a hook. The weekdays were marked with M and P and a time. Torsten guessed that was when the parents returned from work.

  “As you must know, we’re here to talk about Ellen. I need you to describe her for us. How did you like working with her? What kind of a person was she?”

  “She was reliable. She’d tell me off if I was careless with the espresso machine. But she’d been there longer and knew how to run it better than I did.”

  “Was she always on time?” Torsten asked.

  The girl replied, “Yes, and she was the one who closed most often. Our boss depended on her. When I counted out the money at the end of the day, I always had trouble. I’m not that good with math.”