Detective Inspector Huss: A Huss Investigation set in Sweden, Vol. 1 (51 page)

Valle Reuter looked very impressed. He raised his eyebrows to his hairline and said, “Are you really going to send little Birgitta on such dangerous missions?”

He moved his shapeless body and made an inviting gesture toward the hall. It wasn’t as big as von Knecht’s. But the lovely carved closet doors were there, along with a magnificent mirror. Irene stepped in and hung her leather jacket on an ornate brass hat rack. At first she didn’t notice it, but then she had an unpleasant déjà vu experience. A distinct smell of Ajax and cigars hung in the air. Involuntarily she shuddered. The last time she had been in this building surrounded by this mixture of smells it was due to an evil, sudden death.

Aloud she said, “There’s a nice smell of Ajax. Have you already done the Christmas cleaning?”

He laughed and peered at her. “You could say that. As a matter of fact I’ve hired a cleaning firm. Three people were here all day yesterday. Fantastically talented people. They cleaned the whole apartment and put up new curtains everywhere. I want the place to look good when my fiancée comes here for the first time,” said Valle.

He smiled happily and glided before her into the large living room. It was somewhat smaller than the room upstairs at the von Knechts, but still about a hundred square meters. With a proud gesture he motioned for her to take a seat in a pompous-looking leather easy chair. The smell of new leather stung her nose. The leather furniture was heavy, shiny, and obviously brand new. Two sofas and four easy chairs. The glass table was the biggest one Irene had ever seen; it reminded her of an octagonal pool. In the large open fireplace of iridescent green marble and black slate a wood fire crackled. High cupboards with shiny glass doors towered on either side of the fireplace. Silver pieces glimmered behind the glass. Large paintings with heavy gold frames were reminiscent of the art in the von Knechts’ apartment. Reuter also owned a paint-laden monster, like the one von Knecht had on the wall of his library—although von Knecht’s was green and this one was blue.

At the other end of the room a large dining table with twelve chairs was enthroned. Above it hung a heavy crystal chandelier. Glittering light from thousands of prisms radiated over the room.

Valle Reuter stepped over to the wall and began twisting a small control dial. Softly the illumination was toned down; then with a quick twist in the other direction he bathed the room in light.

“They came to install this today. A dimmer, it’s called.”

With a thoroughly contented expression, he turned the light back down to a comfortable level.

“Your fiancée will like this apartment, I’m convinced of that.” Irene said this with genuine honesty, because it was actually very pleasant.

“I think so too. Everything is new! It all came today.”

“Everything?”

“Well, not the art and the carpets. Those are things that Henrik bought for me. Investments. The crystal chandelier is old too, very old, but superbly renovated. The furniture is new. You’re the first one to sit in that chair.”

“And all this you bought because your fiancée will be coming here for the first time?”

He gave her a long look and nodded solemnly a few times before he said, “She accepted my proposal last Tuesday. I was overjoyed! My life has been as black as night. Dreary years . . . alone . . . and then this thing with Richard. When Gunnel said yes, I thought a light was being lit for me too. I almost don’t dare believe it! I decided to start a new life. Got rid of all the ugly old furniture that Leila picked out once upon a time! I’m not very good at cleaning . . . the place was a little dirty. But the cleaning company took care of that. Although I had to pay double because they had to come at such short notice. But it was worth it! The day before yesterday I went into that furniture gallery on Östra Hamngatan. I pointed out exactly what I wanted. Some of it wasn’t in stock, so I took the display items. The dining room table and one of the sofas. ‘I need it delivered Friday evening at the latest,’ I said. It cost quite a bit, the whole thing. But it’s worth every öre! I donated the old furniture to the City Mission. They came and got it yesterday. May I offer you a glass of something? No, I suppose not.”

He looked disappointed, not unlike a pug dog that has his heart set on a treat but doesn’t get it.

“We’re not allowed to drink on duty,” said Irene.

“But it’s seven o’clock on a Friday night!”

“And I’m on duty.”

“Oh.”

“Naturally, that’s why I’m here. But I would like to congratulate you on the new furniture. And wish you all the best in your new life together with Gunnel.”

Valle lit up again. “A thousand thanks! You’re the first to know. No one else knows yet. Sylvia was here and asked whether I was moving, but I evaded the question. She’ll really love hearing my news! And my son doesn’t care. Gunnel and I are getting engaged here secretly tomorrow night. It feels best that way, thinking of Richard. And we’re getting married at Easter!”

Happiness shimmered from his round figure. Irene decided that it was time to get to the reason for her visit. She cleared her throat and said, “I would like to ask a few questions concerning last Tuesday. We received information that when the two of you took a taxi home from lunch at Johanneshus, you didn’t take the direct route. Richard von Knecht stopped at the SE-Bank on Kapellplatsen around four o’clock and withdrew a large amount of cash.”

Valle raised his eyebrows. “Indeed?” He gave her a friendly squint and seemed to be waiting for her to continue.

“Do you recall that he went into the bank?”

“Recall? I always sleep in the cab on the way home! Always! Richard wakes me when we stop here at the front door. Or used to wake me . . .” His cheerful voice became subdued and sorrow was clearly evident in those last words.

To clarify, Irene went on, “So on the Tuesday afternoon in question you were asleep the whole time in the cab until it was time to get out?”

“Yes. I must have gone to sleep almost instantly. I was asleep until Richard woke me. As usual.”

“Do you recall if he was carrying anything in his hand?”

Valle really made an effort. Irene was struck by his resemblance to a worried seal. He squinted his eyes and concentrated.

“I think he was . . . as a matter of fact. A small white object in one hand. A bag. Did he take out the money in a paper bag?”

“No. He went into the bakery next to the bank and bought two sandwiches.”

“That could be right. He and Sylvia often did that on Tuesdays. Just had a sandwich for dinner. We always ate a substantial lunch, and then Richard had to deal with Sylvia’s starvation diets again. She wanted to be as slim as a ballerina. Poor Richard almost starved to death!”

From what Irene could remember, there hadn’t been anything in the autopsy report about severe undernourishment, but she decided to change the subject.

“Did he say anything to you about the money? It was quite a large sum, ten thousand kronor.”

“He probably wanted to buy something. Clothing, perhaps.”

Valle sounded uninterested. Evidently he didn’t think it was a large sum. Irene suspected that the easy chair he was sitting in cost more than that.

“Did he usually take out cash when he was going to make a purchase?”

Valle thought about it with renewed interest.

“No, he always used a credit card. He didn’t like carrying cash. He said you shouldn’t have any, in case you’re robbed. You never know these days, with all the skinheads and drug addicts.”

For a second her daughter’s bald pate swam before Irene’s eyes, but she pushed away the image. She motioned toward the monster painting and asked, “Did Henrik help you acquire all these fine paintings?”

“Yes. A fine boy. Talented and competent. He also purchased the rugs. And the crystal chandelier.”

He pointed at the painting with the blue-headed monster and went on, “He arranged the contact with Bengt Lindström, a noted Swedish painter in Paris. This is his portrait of me. I had him do Richard too—from a photograph—for his sixtieth birthday. Richard was overjoyed! Said it was the gift he valued most. But of course Sylvia didn’t like it! She said that they had enough Bengt Lindström. She was mad because he liked the painting.”

To her own astonishment Irene suddenly saw that it really was Valle Reuter in the painting. His expression of a jovial seal was right on the mark. The blue seal had a crimson-red glint in his left eye that clearly said,
Be careful you don’t underestimate me!

Since they so opportunely had begun to talk about Henrik, Irene decided to pursue the subject and pump Valle. In a tone of friendly interest she asked, “What did Richard think about his son’s choice of profession?”

“Well, he was extremely disappointed after Henrik’s illness. Probably thought he would continue in the financial world. Just as I thought about my son. Or more correctly, Leila’s son.”

His face clouded over and Irene sensed a trauma that she ought to avoid getting into. She swiftly said, “But Henrik went his own way, as we know. From what I understand, he stays up at his house in Marstrand most of the time, doesn’t he?”

“Yes, that was the house that brought him back to life. He was apathetic and depressed after his illness. Had to fight to become reasonably healthy again. He was unhappy. But then Richard decided to build a guest cabin down by the water at their country place, and Henrik asked if he could have his own cabin. I assume he probably wanted to be left in peace. The two houses were built at the same time. Henrik was full of energy. He was with the workmen from the first dynamite blast to the last roofing tile! It did him good, both physically and mentally. Doing manual labor.”

“Dynamite blast?”

“Yes, quite a bit had to be blasted out there on the rocks by the sea. For the building site. Henrik thought it was fun. He used to be a commando, you know. They learn a lot about explosives. Good grief, my throat is getting so dry with all this talk! Shall we have a little glass after all?”

She declined, friendly yet firm, as her brain worked in high gear. Henrik had both access to explosives and the knowledge to handle them. They had to go up to Marstrand and search for plastique explosive and detonators. And the det cord. Proof! That would be tangible evidence. Although there might not be any left. Maybe he used all of it for the devil bomb and Bobo’s briefcase. She suddenly realized that Valle had started talking again.

“. . . extremely lovely up there. But Charlotte doesn’t like it. She thinks it’s too isolated. At first she went up there often. But not so much lately.”

“How was Richard’s relationship with Charlotte?”

“Good. He didn’t talk about her very often. Although he thought it was a shame that they couldn’t have children.”

Crash! The whole roof fell in on Irene’s head. Mentally, at least. Without betraying her inner excitement she asked in a neutral voice, “Can’t she have children?”

“It’s Henrik who can’t have children after his illness. He was tested several times, but he had no viable sperm. Richard told me the boy is totally sterile.”

“Did Charlotte know about this when they got married?”

“Yes. But she didn’t think it mattered. She didn’t want to have children, probably didn’t want to ruin her figure. If you’re a photo model, you have to think about your appearance. Really a very beautiful girl.”

“Did Richard also think she was beautiful? I mean, did he ever mention it?”

Valle gave her a surprised look. “Yes, I suppose any man can see that. Most normally constituted men probably consider Charlotte to be tremendously beautiful,” he said with emphasis.

“He never talked to you about his relationship with his daughter-in-law?”

Now Valle looked annoyed. “Since he seldom talked about her, it must have been fine! What does Charlotte have to do with Richard’s murder?”

Valle and Richard had been very close, had known each other for years. But clearly Richard had never mentioned to Valle any intimate relationship between him and Charlotte. Irene decided to drop the subject.

“You don’t happen to know what taxi company you took home from Johanneshus, do you?”

“But of course! We always use the same company, Richard and I. The only company in the downtown area with nothing but Mercedes cabs. A small firm, but they operate twenty-four hours a day. Wait, I’ll get you the number.”

He toddled off toward a door that led into a den. A window lamp with a flower-shaped glass shade shone faintly over a large, bare desk of dark, polished wood. The light reflected in glass doors and shiny leather. The reading chairs resembled those in von Knecht’s library. For a second Irene felt a longing to take a book from the shelves and sink down into one of the chairs. Just let herself be surrounded by its substantial leather embrace.

“Here it is!” Valle waved a slip of paper. He copied the number onto another piece of paper and came back into the living room.

“I always keep their card in my wallet too. It’s good to have it along. This company has excellent drivers. Helpful and friendly.”

Irene suspected that Valle was generous with his tips when he was in his cups, which would certainly be a contributing factor to the driver’s helpfulness. But she kept this thought to herself. She stood up and thanked Valle for his kindness.

“Oh, think nothing of it! If I can assist in catching the person who murdered my friend, I am at your service,” he said solemnly.

A little more of this attitude among those involved in this case and it would have been solved. Which made her wonder how the conversation at Sylvia’s was going.

 

“SHE WENT nuts when I asked about the sandwiches. She screamed at us to stop badgering her. She certainly shut up when Hannu said something to her in Finnish just as we were leaving. What did you say?”

There was a little tug at one corner of Hannu’s mouth as he hissed in a muffled voice, “This is about a murder investigation!”