A Small Indiscretion

by Denise Rudberg

  Augustin said, “This family resembles the Turins, with one exception. Christopher Turin was much more pleasant.”

  Torsten used the back of his hand to rub away some of the fog from the inside window. “No, Turin can’t be faulted for having a bad personality. I wanted to give this guy a punch when he told his wife to be quiet right in front of us.”

  “Though we must consider that he was under stress. Two police officers had just shown up in the middle of dinner to ask him questions.”

  “But we weren’t there to talk just to him. We also wanted to talk to his wife. She didn’t seem a big fan of Right Now,” Torsten said.

  “Do you think he hits her?”

  “No,” Torsten said, “but he’s not a kind man. I thought she was generally nervous. Did she say anything to you when you went out to the kitchen with her?”

  “No. Just that she didn’t like the fall weather and the early darkness. She’s apparently afraid of the dark. She thinks she hears breaking twigs outside and unusual noises in the house all the time. She says it’s gotten worse since Ellen Nyhlén was murdered. She told me her husband thinks she’s just trying to get attention.”

  “Anyone would be afraid of the dark in that mansion,” Torsten said. “Especially when there was a murder just a mile away. How do you interpret the husband’s reaction to us mentioning the murder?”

  Augustin frowned. “He mostly seemed angry that we hadn’t found the killer yet. I don’t think he fits the profile of a crazy murderer on the loose.”

  Torsten snorted. “I think he’s too taken up with his own sweet self to kill anyone. But, Augustin, can you tell me—what’s the deal with all these upper-class women and their sweaters?”

  “Their sweaters?”

  “Yes, all the weird colors and lace and small roses.”

  Augustin laughed. “You mean the Odd Molly sweaters?”

  “Is that a brand? Why do grown women wear clothes that look like they were designed for children? That woman was dressed just like her little girls. Why’s that? I’ve never seen that style before. I’ve heard about women who dress like their teenagers, but this is taking it to an extreme.”

  “It could be a matter of taste, but I see your point.”

  “It’s as if they want to deny their femininity. Diminish their sexuality.”

  “Aren’t you exaggerating just a bit?”

  “No, especially considering who these women are. Most of them are completely supported by their egotistical husbands. Let’s consider what all these Right Now families had in common.”

  “We didn’t find out all that much. It’s a collection of people where at least one spouse wants to find meaning in life because he or she is bored. Though I have to say, that last couple was really in bad shape. I have very little sympathy for that husband.”

  “He seemed more extreme than most of them. Am I being prejudiced saying that practicing yoga every day is neurotic?”

  Augustin laughed. “Maybe, although it’s supposed to be an effective way of getting in shape. I’ve never tried it myself, but I have a lot of friends who have.”

  “I think exercise should involve sweat and a racing pulse and all that. I can’t see standing still with your leg behind your head. How can that be exercise? It’s stretching, isn’t it—what you do after exercising?”

  Torsten’s phone rang. The conversation didn’t last long. He hung up and turned to Augustin. “Change of plans for me. Noah has decided to sleep over at a friend’s house. They want to pull an all-nighter before a big exam tomorrow. So, I have a little more time. Why don’t we drop in on Ushtanga Erik and Christina Filipsson again? Or do you have other plans?”

  Augustin shook his head to indicate he had none. “Why not?”

  “Anki and Per have called both Isa Turin and Jonas Carlfors in for questioning tomorrow,” Torsten said. “Let’s pay a visit to Christina Filipsson. She lives in town. And Erik Bergström has a large house on Lidingö Island—or ‘Suffer in Pain Island’ as we like to say.”

  “Ha, ha, funny. What’s Christina’s address?”

  CHAPTER 72

  Guests devoured the Swedish river crabs with great relish—and lots of happy slurping sounds. Marianne scraped out every last bit of meat with the attention of a forensic specialist. The crabs were of the best quality and Marianne suspected that Lola had chosen each and every last one herself from Melanders in Östermalm Food Hall. Harry had always insisted that there were top-quality and second-best shellfish. An average customer got second best, but when a top customer was spied, the top-quality stock was hauled out of the back. Lola certainly would be considered an important customer. No one would ever consider trying to pass off second best to her. But Marianne didn’t command that level of attention. Whenever she came to the Food Hall to buy game and lingonberry gelée, she was just content when a salesperson remembered her well enough to greet her by name.

  The aged cheese had been set on pieces of crisp bread spiced with cumin. Ice-cold schnapps was served, and just one schnapps song was sung in broken Swedish by Philippe. Marianne felt the strong drink burn down her throat. She shivered, both from the harsh taste and a sense of well-being.

  “How have you been lately? Has it been unbearable?” The question came from Simon Zetterberg, the famous economics journalist. He had curly golden hair and was looking down at her from his six-foot-three inches. Marianne realized he was bringing up Hans’s death. Before she replied, she dried a drop of crab juice from the top of her hand, enjoying the feeling of the napkin’s starched linen for a second.

  “Yes, it’s been extremely difficult,” she said. “Feeling loss is an odd state of being. One moment, it feels like you’re in a big black hole. The next, you’re acting as if the person’s still alive.”

  “I can understand that. What do you miss the most? Or is that an inappropriate question?”

  “I’ll give you an honest answer. Right now I am extremely angry at him. I want him to come back to life so I can tell him to go to hell.”

  Simon stared open-mouthed at her for a moment. Then he laughed heartily. “My dear Marianne, what a perfect description! But did you two really have it that bad?”

  Marianne looked across the table to where Ralph was laughing with the red-haired artist. Then she answered, “Yes, I guess we did. I’ve realized that our marriage wasn’t worthy of the name. It was hard on both of us.”

  Simon patted her knee. “Well, I’d already guessed that.”

  They both nodded, acknowledging this. Marianne remembered several years before when she’d come crying to Lola in the middle of the night. Simon and his wife Kitty, both good friends of Lola, had been there for dinner. They’d heard Marianne’s entire tale of woe about one of Hans’s affairs. The next day, she’d left Lola’s, convinced that it was time for a divorce. But Hans’s diagnosis of cancer had intervened. It wouldn’t have been fair to abandon him then. She’d been held in the marriage against her will, much like the day she discovered she was pregnant with Peder.

  “Marianne, skål! May this autumn bring you the happiest time of your life!”

  Marianne smiled slightly as she raised her glass. Simon was right: things could only get better now.

  CHAPTER 73

  Paula could hardly believe she’d said it out loud. She had told Jens she wanted a divorce.

  The living room was dark except for the light from the television. She felt safer with the TV on. She had no idea if Jens was asleep or not. She thought he’d taken some sleeping pills, however. She wasn’t going to need sleeping pills tonight. Her entire body ached from anxiety. She felt so physically exhausted that she didn’t think she could stay awake another minute.

  She had told him while he was showering. At first he was irritated that she’d disturbed his peace and quiet in the bathroom, but she ignored his protests and sat down on the lid of the toilet. When she’d to
ld him what she wanted, he stayed silent a few moments. Then he turned off the water, looking much older as he stepped out and reached for a towel. Old and exhausted, despite his excellent physique.

  “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

  “What do you want me to say? You’ve already made up your mind.”

  “But what do you want?”

  He didn’t reply—he just continued his after-shower routine.

  “You haven’t touched me for two years. Not since you started those courses of yours.”

  “I have no desire to discuss what you think I’ve done wrong. If this is how you feel, then we will divorce.”

  “You can’t put all the blame on me. You’re also in the wrong!”

  “But you are the one who wants a divorce.”

  “Because I can’t imagine living the rest of my life with someone who no longer wants me. You think of me as one of your employees. Don’t you miss sex with me at all?”

  “Sex is just a surface thing, something you have to control. If you had worked hard to understand the principles behind the power of yoga and meditation, you would know how primitive you seem to me now. Sex is just a tool.”

  “Stop that nonsense. I don’t give a damn how you see me. I want sex with my husband—the person I married.”

  “Let’s just divorce as quietly as possible for the sake of the children. I imagine you will be the one moving out.”

  “And why is that?” she said.

  “Because you can’t afford to purchase my half of the house. Or do you have some secret income I’m not aware of?”

  Paula knew money would be his weapon, but she avoided that bait. “I will look into the best way to divide the property. And what about the children? Especially since you travel so much?”

  She felt cowardly, as if she were hitting him below the belt, but she only had so much at her disposal.

  “I’ll have to think about it.”

  “Every other week or every other weekend?”

  “We’ll have to discuss this with experts in the field. You’re going to need a lawyer. I have one.”

  “You already have a divorce lawyer?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  Paula felt she should have expected this but thought he might be lying.

  The doorbell rang. Paula frowned.

  Jens called to the girls to open the door, and they answered that the police were there.

  Jens looked at Paula and hissed, “Don’t say a single word about your paranoid ideas. If you do, after our divorce, I will make sure you’ll never see your daughters again.”

  Stung, Paula followed Jens downstairs to meet the officers. The girls had politely shown them to the kitchen.

  As the two investigators asked Jens about his participation in Right Now, Paula could barely contain her laughter. Still, she kept silent in the face of Jens’s threat. She knew very well he was a fierce opponent in law and business, that he was always out to win. She couldn’t afford to lose this battle.

  When the officers left, the girls could sense that something was wrong. They repeatedly asked what was going on. Jens ignored them and stalked to the bedroom, closing the door behind him.

  Paula put the girls to bed and lay down between them while they read for a while.

  Then she double-checked the doors. She picked up her cell phone. She wanted to text Passi but was afraid he’d send one back while she slept. Jens could find it in the morning if he woke before she did. He’d never checked her cell phone before, but all bets were off now. Instead of worrying about finding a place to live and what she should do with her life, she thought about last night. Her time with Passi had given her much more than sexual satisfaction. That physical side of things may be fleeting, but she wanted to enjoy it as long as she could. Everything else was much too difficult to think about. She knew she’d feel hit by a ton of bricks in the morning.

  Paula fell asleep with the television on, completely unaware that someone watched her every movement, just ten feet away on the other side of the window. Someone who thought he loved her.

  CHAPTER 74

  Augustin looked up at the grand nineteenth-century building. It was half a block from Strandvägen and not more than a stone’s throw away from where Marianne Jidhoff lived.

  “How long has Christina Filipsson lived here?” he asked.

  Torsten checked his papers. “According to the tax authorities, since January of last year, when she bought her apartment. What can an apartment cost in this neighborhood?”

  Augustin shrugged. “About six million crowns. Maybe more. Nothing around here is ever affected by economic downturns.”

  “Good Lord. That must mean Marianne Jidhoff is really wealthy!”

  Augustin raised his eyebrow in amusement. “You think about her a lot, you know.”

  “I do, do I? Well, why not. She’s special.”

  Torsten looked at his younger colleague and said in all seriousness, “I like her. And I think it’s a damned shame that she never became a prosecutor. But none of that changes the fact that we work with her. She is highly capable. We can use her experience. Let me tell you, I know she’s part of Olle’s plan.”

  “Olle has a plan?”

  “You ought to realize that by now. You’re part of it. You don’t think you got your job with us through merit alone, did you?”

  “But…rather…”

  Torsten lowered his voice. “Olle Lundqvist has decided to bring about some changes, because he won’t let all these leaks end his career. Nothing will come between Olle and his journey to the top. That’s why he brought us together in the first place. He wanted you because he knows how much you have to give. You don’t fit in just anywhere. You were the best candidate to work with me: You’re the same type of person as I am, just with less experience. A strange bird that doesn’t fit in.

  “Now, Marianne Jidhoff may be a wealthy woman from the upper class, but at work, she’s also the odd man out. She’ll never fit into the department. Also, she was married to Olle’s best friend and mentor, Hans Larson. He knows exactly what she’s capable of. Quite honestly, everyone knows she was the brains behind Hans Larson’s successes in the courtroom. She will never admit it because she’s not the type to boast. We three are a unit Olle Lundqvist can trust no matter which way the wind blows, and no matter how hard.”

  “Has he told you this himself?”

  “Are you kidding? Olle is the most careful strategist you can imagine. This is just the first step in his plan.”

  Augustin laughed and shook his head. “So, according to your little theory, what’s the next step?”

  Torsten lifted an eyebrow and pressed the elevator button. “Go ahead and laugh now, but you’ll see. I think he wants to create a separate operating unit with just the three of us.”

  Augustin turned serious. “You mean, like the Huddinge Group?”

  “Yep.”

  Augustin knew well that Torsten Ehn had been one of the youngest members of the Huddinge Group, an investigative unit that had successfully infiltrated criminal gangs and garnered huge headlines. Finally, the unit became too well known, and so when Hans Holmér was the chief, he put an end to it. People at the Academy still talked about the Group with great respect. Its members were role models for many young recruits.

  “You’re sure about this?”

  Torsten opened the elevator gate and stepped out. “You can’t be sure of anything around here, but I know that’s what Olle would like to see happen. We’ll have to wait and see how long it takes. Well, it’s showtime, so let’s go.”

  Torsten pressed the doorbell. Two short rings echoed inside the apartment.

  Augustin wondered whether any of what Torsten had just told him was true, or if he’d just dreamed about a return to his glory days in the Huddinge Group. His thoughts were interrupted when Christ
ina Filipsson opened the door.

  She looked even more beautiful than when they’d seen her at Right Now. Since it was evening, she was wearing a black silk robe knotted loosely at the waist. Her hair was bound up in a loose bun, with some locks hanging freely over her trim shoulders. Her two round breasts swelled over the low neckline. Augustin noticed the freckles from the sun on her skin. She was barefoot, and her perfume was sweet but not overwhelming. She gave them both a big smile.

  “Welcome! I’ve been expecting you!”

  Torsten wrinkled his brow. “How’s that?”

  Christina continued smiling. “I read in my cards that strangers would be dropping in—strangers who meant well. I sense goodness in you, even though we are strangers right now.”

  Again she lost much of her beauty when talking. Her clichés were so banal that Augustin wanted to tell her to be quiet. Augustin glanced at Torsten, who also seemed irritated, but Torsten sounded friendly.

  “Can we come in? We have some questions we’d like to ask you.”

  “Of course. Please don’t see yourselves as strangers. From now on, you are taken into the circle of souls around me. Come in, please. Just let me change into something more appropriate. Please go ahead and sit down in the kitchen, and I’ll be right there.”

  Christina Filipsson vanished into an apartment that drew from the colors of nature. Torsten whispered to Augustin, “Has she been smoking something? She’s even more woo-woo than the last time we saw her.”

  Augustin sniffed the air. “Perhaps, but this scent could also be incense. It’s sometimes hard to tell.”

  The kitchen was enormous and brand-new. There were high, shiny cabinets, which had never seen a child’s handprint. No crumbs or stains were on these counters. Not a single detail had been left to chance.