“How nice that you’ve made yourselves at home. What can I offer you? I assume you can’t have wine on duty? What about tea? I don’t have coffee, unfortunately. Or how about a glass of juice?”
“Juice would be fine,” Torsten said.
They sat down at the large white Corian dining table.
Christina Filipsson moved lazily. She tried to look seductive as she pulled out a juice press and some oranges. Augustin and Torsten exchanged glances, and Augustin even managed a discreet gesture of puffing an invisible cigarette. Torsten smiled, looking down at the table so he wouldn’t laugh. Soon they each had a glass in front of them.
“We’re here because we want to know more about your relationship to Christopher Turin.”
Christina Filipsson started squirming; she kept her lips pressed together, as if she wanted to control any careless word. After a moment, she said, “He was a careful man. He was stifled by his spiritual blocks.”
“Yes, you mentioned that the last time we spoke to you. Now, please forgive me, but I want you to speak to us clearly without all the nonsense. A killer is on the loose—someone who murdered Christopher Turin—and I need direct answers. We don’t have time for any fluff.”
Augustin looked at Torsten in surprise. He hadn’t expected him to be so tough right off the bat. Christina Filipsson seemed caught off guard as well. She was about to say something, when a voice came from the hall.
“Hello?”
Christina was tense as she looked at the officers. She called out: “Hello, sweetie, I’m in the kitchen. A few police officers are here to ask me some questions. Something happened to a guy from work. Do you want anything?”
“No, thanks, I already ate.”
A young man stuck his head into the kitchen. He nodded hello to Torsten and Augustin, and they nodded back. He turned away, and it was clear she was his mother.
“Is it all right if I go to my room? We have a big test tomorrow and I should study.”
“Sure, but tell me if there’s anything you need. How was Adele?”
“She’s doing better. It was strep throat, and she got some antibiotics.”
“Poor little thing. I’ll come in and say good night later.”
He smiled and left, and Christina turned back to them. “That’s my son, Casper. He’s started his first year at the University of Stockholm, and he spends all his time with his girlfriend. It’s kind of sweet, actually. She’s a lovely girl.”
Torsten smiled. “Nice. I have a son the same age. Where does Casper’s father live?”
“In Canada. He moved after we separated. Casper visits on his vacations. This past summer, he was there for two months.”
“How is your relationship with your ex?”
“Pretty good, now that we each live on our own sides of the Atlantic.”
Torsten smiled. “Perhaps that’s wise. Now I have a few questions about your business. The one you have on the side—in addition to Right Now. What kind is it?”
Christina squirmed again. “The same thing I do there. Coaching.”
“According to your website, you’re a lifestyle coach. What is that?”
“I help my customers find the right path.”
“What does Erik Bergström think about your side business?”
“Not much.”
“He’s aware of it?”
“Yes, he is.”
“So why did you start it up?”
“Because I got tired of so many long ferryboat trips. I wanted to stay home with Casper.”
“Was Christopher Turin a customer in this business, too?”
Christina looked down at the table. “Yes,” she said quietly. He was one of the first clients outside Right Now that hired me.”
Torsten took a deep breath. He looked directly at her. “Did you sleep with him?”
Christina turned to him.
“You don’t understand what I do. Sex can be freeing when used the right way. Yes, sometimes I slept with him—when I thought it could be helpful. Sometimes we just talked. It depended on what he needed at the time.”
She said this with such conviction that both Torsten and Augustin jerked back.
Torsten’s eyes narrowed. “Is sex typically part of your job?”
Christina Filipsson sat up straight and glared at Torsten. “Yes, if it is useful. But it doesn’t come up most of the time.”
“How many of your customers have you slept with?”
“Only three of them.”
“So Christopher was one of three.”
“Yes.”
“Who were the other two?”
“I’m not about to reveal that information. You can lock me up—I don’t care. That’s extremely private, and it has nothing to do with your investigation. Just because I don’t see sex as narrowly as you doesn’t mean I should be punished.”
Torsten shrugged. “Possibly, but according to the laws of the Kingdom of Sweden, what you are doing is called prostitution. Or, as it was called in the good old days, whoredom. Is coaching the modern term?”
Christina didn’t take her eyes off Torsten. Augustin drank the last of his juice and put his glass on the table.
“Is there anyone close to Christopher who would have been upset by this? One of your other customers who might have become jealous?”
Christina shook her head. “No. I keep everything I do strictly confidential. The person who would be most upset would be his wife, but I believe she was happy he kept his distance from her.”
“Did you know about their custody battle?”
“Yes, everyone did. Christopher spoke about it openly, even to those he didn’t know that well. He needed to talk.”
“What did you think of their custody battle?”
Christina Filipsson frowned and looked at the table. When she looked up, she turned her gaze to Augustin. “Christopher would never have gotten sole custody. Honestly, he needed the fights with her. He did everything he could to make his wife angry. He just wanted her to react.”
“So he liked having a nasty custody battle that affected his children?”
“Yes, I’d say so.”
“Did he ever think that his wife might not want to be with him any longer? That she might not love him anymore? Didn’t you bring that up during your coaching?”
“Yes, many times. Christopher still needed to internalize his conflicts.”
“Did he?”
“Well, unfortunately, he ran out of time.”
Torsten changed the subject. “Now about Erik Bergström. How come he doesn’t have a share in your extra business?”
“He’s one hundred percent engaged in Right Now. He has no time for anything else—he already puts hours into his yoga every morning. He thought it would be good for me to have something else to do. He understood that I was frustrated being away from Casper so much—and that in the long run, it wouldn’t work out.”
“So how often do you see each other? As a couple, I mean?”
“When we’re giving our courses together. Sometimes he comes into the city, but not very often. We do our best to communicate through meditation.”
Torsten sighed again and shook his head.
She said, “Why does our spirituality bother you so much? You should look inside yourself and find out.”
Torsten smiled. “Yes, perhaps I should. Or perhaps it’s all a bunch of crap that makes money off of other people’s misery. Add some sexual services, and I find your entire business to be unpleasant and unlawful. But now we won’t take up any more of your valuable time.”
They both stood up, and Christina Filipsson led them through the hallway toward the door.
“I think you have a much too narrow view of how the world works. People have different needs, and there are different ways to solve one’s problems.”
Buttoning his jacket, Torsten said, “Certainly, but the one you are practicing is still illegal. Usually, the consequence of that is jail. Have a good evening.”
They didn’t wait for the elevator but walked down the stairs. Torsten listened to the messages on his cell phone.
“They’ve found Ellen Nyhlén’s bicycle. Someone threw it into a ditch near the crime scene. The tech guys are going over it now, but it probably won’t give us much more. We might not even have the offender’s fingerprints in the system. If there were no fingerprints on the body, I doubt we’ll find any on the bicycle. Do you think Ushtanga Erik is at his house on Lidingö?”
“Actually, I doubt it. He’s probably still out in the archipelago. Perhaps we can call him in tomorrow.”
Torsten said, “Yes. It’s too late to call tonight. And we got all we needed from her.”
“Such as?”
“We know what kind of relationship she has with Ushtanga Erik. We know what her coaching is really about. I don’t think Bergström is involved in this case, actually. On the other hand, the connection to Christina Filipsson seems clear to me.”
“Do you think we should check out her ex-husband in Canada?”
“Maybe, but that’s a long shot. You know, the more we find out about the people involved here, the more my head spins. I just don’t see the connection yet,” Torsten said.
“It’s only because you’ve decided that Christopher Turin’s killing is connected to Ellen Nyhlén’s. But they’re different cases. They have nothing to do with each other.”
“They are connected. I’m absolutely sure.”
“We have nothing to show they are,” Augustin pointed out. “Not a single thing. I think you’re fixated. You’re like a dog staring at nothing.”
“How do you know? Dogs see things we can’t. At least, they can certainly hear things.”
“You’re starting to sound just as crazy as Christina Filipsson,” Augustin said. “Oh, I get it. That’s why you’re so upset. You believe in some of that mumbo jumbo yourself, but you’re ashamed to admit it.”
Torsten replied, “The amateur psychologist has spoken.” Then he sighed. “Maybe you’re right, and I’m on the wrong track. Let’s just go home. We’ll write up our reports tomorrow morning and send them to Marianne and Olle.”
“I’ll drive you home. Unless you want to grab a bite to eat first. I need some dinner.”
Torsten beamed. “Are you inviting me?”
“Absolutely. We think the same. What do you want? Expensive pizza? Hamburgers? Gourmet food to go?”
“Pizza sounds fine to me. Where do you get it?”
“Dell’attore. It’s on the crossing between Kommendörsgatan and Karlavägen. You can’t find more expensive pizza in all of Stockholm.”
“Sounds perfect. I promise to invite you for pizza at a place on Verkstadsgatan sometime. They don’t make the most expensive pizzas, just the biggest.”
Augustin laughed, shaking his head at his colleague. It was almost touching how much Torsten needed company. Augustin had nothing against it since he didn’t have a damn thing to do, either.
CHAPTER 75
Have you been enjoying yourself, Marianne?”
Marianne looked up from her perch on the sofa to see Ralph approaching. “Yes, I’m enjoying myself very much. Are you?”
Ralph looked around conspiratorially before sitting down. He lowered his voice and said, “I was next to Cita Theander. She’s fascinating, but dear Lord, she is so neurotic I don’t know how she can stand being with herself. Even for an artist, she’s extreme. Did you know that she decides what to eat each week by the color of the food?”
“She’s following the color method?”
Ralph said, “She had a lucky break because red was this week’s color. She could eat both the crabs and the fillet of venison with lingonberries. She had to skip dessert because orange is next week.”
“Interesting. So I guess you have no intention of trying this diet.”
“Of course not! I like a mixed palette. But it was interesting to talk with a person so different from us everyday mortals.”
“Everyday? You’re hardly common. Aren’t you the one who has to sleep with the window open, no matter what the season? And don’t you always purchase the exact same pajamas from Brooks Brothers every time you go to New York?”
“Definitely. I demand the same pattern because the others are of lesser quality. Still, I bear my OCD with a certain consistency, of which I am proud.”
They both laughed. Ralph bent closer to her. “I’m quite impressed that you remembered that.”
“It was so odd that I could never forget it.”
“And how do you sleep?”
Marianne gave him a seductive look, hearing herself say, “Naked.”
Ralph was startled. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him studying her while she searched for her third Davidoff of the evening.
“Would you think it forward of me,” she said, turning to him, “if I asked you to bring me a gin and tonic?”
“Not at all. Your wish is my command.”
Marianne inhaled deeply, waving her hand at the smoke. She leaned into the sofa and felt the cool night air sweep through the room through the open balcony doors. She could smell the sticky sweet scent of the chestnut trees and hear the sound of the Djurgården ferry picking up tourists. The Gröna Lund Amusement Park was closing for the night. A few colored lights twinkled from the stilled Ferris wheel. She could see a lone man walking his dog along the dock below and the Vasa ship dock and museum, both dark shadows on the other side of the water. A passing wooden Delfin boat was illuminated by its party lights.
She held her cigarette between two fingers, letting her thumb rest on the dampened end. Naked. Where had that come from? She hadn’t slept naked in years. Perhaps it was time.
She closed her eyes and listened to the buzz of voices from the party. Someone was in a heated discussion about the corruption within third-world NGOs. She heard Lola explain what her friend who worked at Sida told her. For every donated hundred-crown bill, it’d be lucky if fifty made it to those in need. Marianne hoped Lola was wrong. She fingered the cell phone in her purse and wondered if she should call Olle or Torsten to see how the case was going. But what could she do at this hour of the night? She could hardly go over to the station now: tipsy and dressed for a party. She’d be of more use tomorrow.
“Now, I’d like to know your plans for the rest of your life.”
Ralph had returned with her drink, filled to the brim with ice. She smiled at him and then sighed deeply.
“I don’t know. I’ve thought so much about that I feel like I’m going crazy. Ideas just tumble around in my head, and I can’t get them to make sense.”
“What do you want?”
Marianne shrugged. “If only I knew. Part of me thinks I should just enjoy the time I have left. Retire and leave all thoughts of a career behind.”
“And the other part?”
“I should stay at work and take pride in what I’m able to do.”
“Aren’t you proud of yourself now?”
“I’m proud of how my children turned out.”
“But they are not you,” Ralph replied.
“No. I’m not proud of myself. I’m not ashamed, but…”
“You would prefer not to talk about it.”
“Not really, no.”
“Then you do know what you want. It’s the opposite of me. I’ve worked hard all my life, and now I want to explore something different. The parts of life you’ve already experienced.”
“You mean you want to start a family?” Marianne looked at him in surprise.
Ralph laughed and shook his head. “No, not with children, no. I mean, I want a relationship with someone. Find someone to love. During most of my life,
I pushed that away. I told myself I’d think about it later. Perhaps I was afraid—or, even worse, lazy.”
Marianne watched the ice cubes swirl in her glass for a moment. Then she said, “I can understand that. So you think I should keep working?”
“Yes, obviously.”
“Even just as a secretary to a prosecutor? Even though I never pursued a big career, the way I’d planned?”
“You are not just a mere secretary to a prosecutor. You do yourself a disservice looking at it like that. Yes, of course you should keep working, my dear Mary. You’re not ready to retire.”
He looked at her with tenderness.
“But don’t you think it’s pathetic? To come back to work after years of leave and actually think I’ll make a difference? It’s not like I need the money.”
“It’s never been about the money. Most of us from Lund don’t need the money. We need to work.”
“Perhaps you’re right. I shouldn’t think like that.”
Ralph finished his drink as Marianne took a deep drag on her cigarette. She promised herself it would be the last of the evening.
He took her hand and held it to his lips for a moment. He gently set it back on her knee and said, smiling: “May I offer you another drink? And would it be too forward to ask if you’d like to have it at my place?”
CHAPTER 76
Torsten waved to Augustin as he drove away. He’d decided to walk the few blocks home to help digest his meal. And yet that wasn’t the only reason. The past few days had been filled with too much driving and coffee drinking. He was looking forward to his weekend sailing trip with Noah, hoping they’d be able to get away; but it wouldn’t be easy if this case didn’t resolve soon. He’d been around long enough to take weekends off, and lately, he’d been able to ensure he had a private life, even though there were times when the workload was heavy. Still, there’d been two murders in a part of town where murder was rare. He wanted to think, to go over everything without anyone interrupting his thoughts.
Augustin was absolutely right that there seemed no connection between the two murders. But Torsten was convinced there was, which meant his subconscious mind already knew—it must be right before his eyes. He was just waiting for the lightbulb to go off.
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