A Small Indiscretion

by Denise Rudberg

  “Yes, here, you see, I’ve found a connection, even though I don’t have a solution. Still, now we have somewhere to look, except…nothing about the young girl’s death. Perhaps that will become clear. Well…”

  Marianne cleared her throat and pointed to the Post-it on the top left corner.

  “Here is Christopher Turin. He is married to Isa Turin. They go to Right Now when their marriage is in trouble. Right?”

  Torsten and Augustin agreed.

  “Isa Turin decides not to continue and stops. Christopher Turin continues anyway and begins a separate counseling session, if you could call it that, with Christina Filipsson. Christina is single and has a teenage son. She also has a sporadic relationship with the cofounder of Right Now, Ushtanga Erik. He is also single. Christina runs her side project as a form of ‘lifestyle coaching,’ which also includes sex with certain clients. Clients she’s handpicked from Right Now. Am I correct so far?”

  Torsten nodded. Augustin’s phone rang again. He got up and headed for the hallway, saying, “Please excuse me. I have to take this. He’ll just keep calling if I don’t. Keep going.”

  Marianne tapped her pen on the note about Isa Turin. “Yes, here’s the interesting thing. Isa Turin said someone had been calling her daughter and leaving anonymous messages a month or so before Christopher was killed. I decided to follow up. The phone was registered in Isa Turin’s name, so I began to wonder if the caller was trying to reach Isa, not her daughter.”

  Torsten looked at her curiously.

  “I read through your reports on the Right Now attendees in Djursholm. Nobody mentioned any anonymous calls, but when I called the police in Danderyd, I got a bite. A woman living on Friggavägen reported someone breaking into her house two days ago. She also said someone had been calling her anonymously for some time. The woman hadn’t attended Right Now, but her husband—”

  Augustin came running back. “Sorry, but my pal just asked me to help him with his new girlfriend…well, she’s actually not so young…but she’s being terrorized by somebody calling anonymously, someone who broke into her house two days ago. Guess who she is? The woman we visited last night.”

  Torsten looked up, saying, “And she lives on Friggavägen.”

  Augustin looked at him in surprise.

  “I’m going to call in a patrol immediately,” Torsten said. “Now, who is behind all this? Who are we looking for?”

  Marianne said, “Someone close to Christina Filipsson. She’s the point around which everything revolves.”

  Torsten looked at Augustin. “If your pal is having an affair with the woman on Friggavägen, it’s pretty damned obvious that her husband is our guy. If he was also one of Christina’s special clients, he’d have a motive for getting rid of Christopher Turin. And he’s a very unpleasant person.”

  “But you said he was too self-involved to be a killer?”

  “Yes, but there could be another side to him. I have to call Christina Filipsson. Find her number for me, will you? And I need to send that patrol to Friggavägen right away.”

  Torsten was reassured after three patrol cars were on their way to Friggavägen. Then he called Christina Filipsson.

  “Hello, Christina. Torsten Ehn. From the police. I know you don’t want to tell me who your special clients were, but please listen to me. It’s a matter of life and death. Just say yes or no. Was Jens Steen one of them? All right, thanks.”

  Torsten turned to the others, excited. “He was. Put out an alert on Jens Steen. Tell the patrols.”

  Augustin looked at him. “Can we be sure it’s him?”

  “Pretty sure. But not one hundred percent. Jens Steen also lives just a few yards away from the café where Ellen Nyhlén worked. Perhaps he had a reason to kill her, too.”

  Marianne looked at her bulletin board. Something didn’t fit. It was too simple, too quick. Though perhaps she wasn’t yet used to the fast pace of police work.

  Torsten asked to be connected to one of the patrols. He lifted his hand, requesting the others to be silent. When he finished, he turned toward them.

  “Jens Steen is dead. He’s just been run over right outside his office. The driver backed over him, according to some eyewitnesses. The car used was Jens Steen’s own silver Porsche.”

  The three of them froze. Marianne looked back at her bulletin board and at her Post-it notes, tapping them with her pen. Torsten had sunk into a chair, and Augustin was leaning on the door frame.

  “Wait a minute,” she said. “Remember our conversation earlier? Torsten, you thought we were dealing with a young man. Which young man is connected to Christopher Turin, Jens Steen, and Christina Filipsson?”

  Torsten leapt from his chair. “Damn it! Okay, call Josefine, that young woman we interviewed from the café, and ask her to be ready for identification. We have to find Casper Filipsson immediately! Perhaps he’s on his way to Friggavägen. But why? Why did he want to kill these men?”

  “To protect the women,” Marianne said. “And to protect his mother. He wants to save them from these ‘evil men.’”

  Torsten added, “Some kind of justified killing. We’ll probably find out he had a violent father who beat Christina Filipsson during their marriage. Nine out of ten murderers have violent fathers, so that wouldn’t surprise me in the least. But how does Ellen Nyhlén fit in?”

  Augustin said, “Perhaps she just got in his way.”

  Torsten sighed. “Could it be so simple? Maybe so…”

  He sighed again, and Marianne realized he was taking it hard. Torsten turned to Augustin. “Ask Brundin to get ready to inspect a vehicle. I have a feeling that Jens Steen’s Porsche was used to mow down Turin, too. If we’re lucky, Brundin will find evidence to prove it.”

  CHAPTER 84

  Torsten drove to the station where Casper Filipsson was waiting for his defense lawyer in one of the interrogation rooms. The patrol had spotted him up in one of the trees next to the house on Friggavägen, perched on a branch. When he saw the police, he came quietly. Casper had looked tired, fragile, and very much the adolescent.

  Torsten decided not to park on Bergsgatan. Augustin sat beside him, shaking his head, “The guy’s not even twenty.”

  “Yes, but he’s been in the children’s psychiatric hospital several times. He’s been violent toward his mother. A year ago, he attacked a teacher, and that was reported to the police. Later, he stalked the teacher and stood outside his house. The teacher reported him again when he found his daughter’s cat dead in the yard. He got a restraining order, and things calmed down. Another thing, just as suspected, his father had been abusive toward Christina.”

  “Just think, a boy with mental problems knows his mother is engaging in prostitution. She sleeps with clients, for money, in her own home. How did the identification go?”

  “Josefine said Casper had been at the café and talked to Ellen Nyhlén a few times. They spoke the same day she was killed. According to Josefine, Ellen took a liking to him—thought he was cute. Perhaps he panicked and thought he’d be recognized.”

  Torsten locked the car, and they walked to the entrance. Then he changed his mind and started walking toward the café. “Let’s have a real cup of coffee? I don’t think I can stand one from the machine.”

  After ordering their coffee, Torsten motioned toward the jail. “I believe the motive is simple. He wanted revenge on the men who took advantage of his mother.”

  Augustin swallowed. “I can almost understand why.”

  “Me, too,” Torsten said. “What a terrible childhood. I’m glad the local police will be handling the case from now on. I think I’ll let them do the questioning and all the follow-up.”

  Augustin raised an eyebrow. “I thought you wanted this. That’s nice of you to let it go. Or was it an order from Olle?”

  “No,” Torsten replied. “We’ve solved the case. As far as I�
�m concerned, I really don’t want to deal with someone just a couple of years older than my son. He’s still not a hardened criminal.”

  Augustin raised his other eyebrow. “No, he’s just killed three people, including a young girl who got in his way.”

  “Yes, that’s true,” Torsten replied. “Well, at least we can look forward to a good weekend. Don’t you think we deserve it?”

  “Maybe. I’m going to get together with my pal, Passi. He seems to be serious about that widow on Friggavägen. He’s going to help me with physical training—get me in better shape.”

  “Well, that’s been a remarkable coincidence, hasn’t it? Tell your pal to take his time. Widows need tender care.”

  Augustin laughed, shaking his head. “Sounds to me you’re thinking about a different widow altogether. But I could be wrong?”

  Torsten glared at him. “You’re too young to know about these things. But you have to admit, she’s brilliant, isn’t she? Damn, she’s a smart woman!”

  “I agree, but keep in mind—those widows need special care!”

  Torsten couldn’t help roughing up Augustin’s stylish haircut.

  “All right, then! I’m off! Have a good weekend, and stay out of trouble,” he said.

  CHAPTER 85

  Marianne felt gratified that her input had been so important in solving the case. Olle couldn’t stop praising her. He was especially happy there had been no leaks—not a single detail of the inquiries had gotten to the press, even though these were the types of cases that the media loved to put on the front page.

  She had had no luck with the trap she’d set in her computer, but Lillemor was still her number-one suspect. Perhaps the woman’s alcohol abuse was one reason for that. But Olle thought the leaks were coming from more than one person. Maybe some secret inner organization. Lillemor could have been part of that, but that remained to be seen.

  Still, Marianne was on pins and needles. She couldn’t stop thinking of Nina. Olle had given her the rest of the day off—he’d be on call himself—but she almost decided to go in after all, just to avoid pacing the hall in her own home. Returning to work had been a wise move after all.

  When the doorbell rang unexpectedly, she jumped, hoping it was nobody she had to be nice to. She felt like slugging somebody—hard.

  “How are you, Mamma?” Nina said as Marianne opened the door. “You look shocked.”

  Marianne stared at the two suitcases in Nina’s hands. She had to force herself to close her mouth.

  “Sigrid’s downstairs with a truck,” Nina said. “Can you help bring up my stuff? I’m assuming that it’s all right if I stay with you. It would be hard to fit into Sigrid’s two-room apartment. We both know my old room is still empty.”

  Marianne shook her head. “I was convinced that you—”

  Nina laughed. “That I was going to stay with him? No. You can see for yourself, I’ve left him. I know I might feel bad in a few days, but I’m feeling pretty good right now. You should have seen his face. Come on, let’s get moving. I’ve also asked Grandpa to come help.”

  “Have you brought all your stuff?”

  “Almost everything but the sofa, which I never liked—and the bed. That’s not something I want to keep. Let me run down and help Sigrid move things out of the car. Could you please put these suitcases in my room?”

  Nina rushed down the stairs and Marianne watched her go. Nina didn’t look a day older than she did when she’d come home from high school for a quick lunch.

  The suitcases were heavy, and Marianne needed all her strength to lug them into Nina’s room at the end of the hallway. Nina’s room had been used for extra storage the past ten years. There was a great deal of junk in there, which, admittedly, should have been taken to the dump years ago.

  Marianne left the door open and headed downstairs to Nina. Double-parked on the street was a Statoil rental truck. Both her daughters were working as hard as they could to unload Nina’s things: everything including boxes, lamps, and chairs.

  “How in the world did you load all that?”

  “We started early this morning. Sigrid already had a ton of empty boxes from her move into her studio.”

  “What did Robert say?”

  “Not much. He seemed shocked.”

  “I can understand that. So who helped you pack the truck?”

  “No one. But don’t just stand there! We have to get all that junk out of my room this weekend.”

  “If you want, we can help you sort through Pappa’s things as well,” Sigrid said. Then we can drive everything to the dump at once. Or is that too much?”

  Marianne swallowed. She looked at her rosy-cheeked daughters, sweating from their hard work.

  She shook her head and smiled, “I don’t think it will be too much for me at all.”

  CHAPTER 86

  Torsten was sorting everything on his desk. He looked up as Per looked in.

  “What are you doing this weekend?” Per asked.

  “I’m going out on my boat. I think it’ll be the last weekend before winter.”

  “Wonderful plan. This weather has stayed surprisingly good for this time of year. Is Brundin going with you, or are you going on your own?”

  “Brundin has to stay home. I’m going with my son. He asked to go out, and you can’t say no to that.”

  “Fantastic,” Per said.

  Torsten finished up and headed for the garage. He had to admit that he was envious of Augustin’s car. Not because he could see himself driving a little sports car, but more because Augustin was able to buy such a vehicle in the first place. Augustin and his car fit the same lifestyle. Perhaps that was their biggest difference.

  Augustin had seemed almost downcast when Torsten told him he wouldn’t be working on Friday. Torsten told Augustin to take the comp time and stay home, too. He suspected that Augustin didn’t have a large circle of friends, but they had also just been through an extremely intense week—it was normal to feel empty and rootless after the adrenaline rush subsided.

  Torsten hopped into his Corolla and turned on the radio. He was supposed to meet Noah at their apartment to finish packing food for their trip.

  Noah was sitting on the sofa with his laptop on his knees. “Ready to go?” Torsten asked.

  Noah pointed to his bag on the hall rug. Together, they put together the last few items, and Torsten found a nylon bag for the food. They drove onto Hornsgatan, and it looked like they were in luck, as most of the traffic was heading in the other direction. Maybe they were beating the rush hour into the city. As they passed Slussen, Torsten rolled down the window and let the fresh air stream over his face. Noah drummed on his legs to the beat of the music.

  Skeppsbron Bridge was filled with traffic as usual, but once they reached the Royal Palace, the pace picked up again. As they swung past the Grand Hotel and the Nybro docks, the water glittered. A group of tourists with cameras dangling from their necks were boarding a Delfin boat.

  Torsten was able to merge his Corolla into the lot not far from the gates. He’d chosen the Hundudden Boat Club, although he’d had to wait ten years to get a berth. The offer had come through the mail slot right after his divorce, and he’d seen it as a sign. Katrin didn’t like the sea or life on a boat, which he could respect. People shouldn’t be forced to spend free time doing things they didn’t enjoy. Instead, he’d gone to sea when she had to work weekends. They’d done other things when she had free time.

  The berth at Hundudden had been a dream come true. It was situated in a good harbor facing the archipelago. This evening, they wouldn’t be able to sail far, since they had to tack across the wind. Still, the winds could change overnight, and at least they’d be able to make it to Grinda. There were a number of small bays there where they could drop anchor.

  After they’d loaded everything onboard, Torsten double-checked that they had
charcoal for the grill as well as toilet paper.

  “So, what do you say? Should we have a sandwich at Kruthuset before we go? Then we won’t have to worry about getting hungry too soon?”

  There was a buzz of activity inside the restaurant. Many people had come to either haul in their boats for the season or have one more sail, just as he and Noah planned. The owner was pleasant and knew them. He greeted them, announcing that his pâté sandwiches were fresh. He knew they were Torsten’s favorite, as he ordered them every weekend.

  The name Kruthuset, meaning “House of Ammunition,” was from an earlier era. The place had been set a bit away from the storage houses, due to the risk of explosion, and it had been remodeled as a café for the use of the boat club members and for the general public.

  A group of dog owners sat at one table outside in the sunshine, the dogs lolling at their owners’ feet. Torsten assumed they’d just gotten back from a long walk.

  They took their liver pâté sandwiches to a table, and Torsten also had a coffee, while Noah drank a raspberry soda. Like the dog owners, they chose a table in the sun.

  Noah grimaced as some bubbles from his soda went up his nose.

  “I called Mamma,” Noah said.

  Torsten looked up from his sandwich. He’d just taken a big bite. “And?”

  “I told her exactly what I thought. She went berserk and said I was spoiled. Peo told her I don’t behave properly.”

  Torsten swallowed a lump in his throat. He tried not to show his rage.

  Noah continued, “Then she started crying. She said some strange things that I really didn’t understand. Finally, she said she was sorry. She said that we could meet in Stockholm if I absolutely didn’t want to go back to Oslo.”

  “Is that how it ended?”

  “Yeah, except she asked if I needed any money and said that she could send some over if I did.”

  “And what did you say?”

  “I told her I had my student support and was fine. But she could buy me a winter jacket if she wanted to.”