Detective Inspector Huss: A Huss Investigation set in Sweden, Vol. 1 (54 page)

Arja took her hands from her eyes and looked straight at Irene. Curtly she said, “They were sucking each other and . . . ” She looked away and red flames shot down her neck.

“It was disgusting! We went back outside. They didn’t notice we had been there. Sylvia fainted, of course, but recovered quite rapidly. She made me promise never to tell anyone what we had seen. Not anyone.”

She paused and fingered the key to the apartment. In a low voice she said, “But I’m breaking that promise now. I think this has something to do with Richard’s death.”

“Why do you think that?”

“The keys. I know that Charlotte took them.”

“Tell me.”

“The next day the mood was naturally flat. Richard had fallen asleep on a sofa in the living room. He lay there snoring when I came into the big house. Mother had misplaced her little travel pillbox with her heart tablets. We found it later in the guest cabin, but not that morning. Mother swore that she had left it in Sylvia’s bedroom when she went there for a little nap the day before. I tiptoed in as quietly as I could so I wouldn’t wake anyone. Sylvia and Richard had separate bedrooms up at Marstrand. I sneaked into Sylvia’s room and woke her, of course. She sleeps so lightly. She hadn’t seen Mother’s pillbox, and I couldn’t find it either. When I left Sylvia’s bedroom, I ran into Charlotte coming out of Richard’s! We both stopped short and then she said, “Hi, I forgot my keys. But I found them.” And then she stuffed the key case she was holding in her hand into the pocket of her dressing gown. I was tired and a little hung over, so I didn’t give it much thought then. But I’ve thought about it many times since. Why would Charlotte leave her keys in Richard’s bedroom?”

“Did you tell Sylvia about this encounter with Charlotte?”

“No. I didn’t want to mention Charlotte too much in her presence.”

“Do you think Henrik knew what was going on between Richard and Charlotte?”

Arja thought about it. She shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. But Charlotte hasn’t been up to Marstrand since the sixtieth birthday party, I know that.”

“But Henrik goes there as often as he can?”

“Yes, he loves his cabin.”

“Do you know that Henrik is sterile?”

“Yes. Sylvia told me.”

“Do you know that Charlotte is pregnant and nearing her second trimester?”

Arja nodded and said, resigned, “Yes. Sylvia told me.”

She took another deep breath and looked steadily at Irene. “I told you all this because I want the murder of my shithead brother-in-law to be cleared up. Sylvia needs rest. It has to be solved. But I will never testify in any trial. This is just between you and me,” she said firmly.

“Not even the fact that you met Charlotte on the way out of Richard’s room, with a key case in her hand?”

Arja thought for a moment. “All right, I could testify to that. But not the rest. Not a word about it! Sylvia would lose her trust in me. And rightly. I’ve already betrayed it. But I thought I had to. The murder must be solved, not swept under the rug.”

 

WHEN IRENE came back to the car there were no twins, but a note on the front seat. “We went to Glady’s. Hungry as hell! Hugs, K&J.” She really couldn’t blame them. She had been gone more than an hour and it was cold in the car. With a sigh she started the engine, rolled down Aschebergsgatan, and turned off toward Avenyn.

She parked in an employee parking space in the back lot of Glady’s Corner and went in through the kitchen entrance. In the large restaurant kitchen there was feverish activity, and steam was pouring out of the huge saucepans. People were running around and shouting out orders. But everything was functioning smoothly; the big evening rush hadn’t started yet. Not a sign of the girls that Irene could see. She managed to catch sight of Krister. He was lifting rolled-up fish fillets out of a wide sauté pan with a perforated ladle. His concentration was total, and he didn’t notice her until she was right next to him.

She chirped in his ear, “Hiya, pal. Have you seen our kids?”

He jumped and the tender piece of fish plopped back into the pan.

“Damn, now it broke! Hi. I sent our kids off to McDonald’s,” he said, annoyed.

“To McDonald’s?”

“Yes, the food here wasn’t good enough for the ladies. And they kept buzzing around bothering people. So I sent them off across the street. A Big Mac is always a culinary hit according to our daughters. It must be your genes coming through.”

He gave her a hasty kiss on the nose and dived for his fillet again, rescuing what he could.

 

IT HAPPENED unconsciously, but she did notice it. Her steps slowed when she saw the shiny motorcycles parked in a row outside the hamburger restaurant. A sense of uneasiness began churning in her stomach. Maybe she ought to talk to a shrink about her incipient—or manifest—phobia about motorcycles? Maybe it could be cured with a few doses of Porsche? This was something she’d have to figure out for herself. She gave herself a mental kick in the rear and began walking toward the entrance. The girls were sitting by the window and waved happily to her when they saw her. Just as she reached out her hand to push open the door, she saw him.

He was sitting with his back to the door but she could see his face at an angle from behind, since he was talking to a man on the seat facing him. The greasy hair curled thinly down his back and his shoulders jerked nervously under the padded leather jacket. It was the Thin Man, alias Paul John Svensson.

First she was mad as hell. He was pretty cocksure, all right! To sit in the open chowing down on hamburgers on Avenyn, when he had to know he was wanted by the police! A second later the fear came. She couldn’t go in. He would recognize her. Her daughters were sitting inside, with a madman. Presumably he was fully tanked up on dope. And no doubt armed.

She spun around and tried to look like she had forgotten something. She hurried across the street and was almost run over by a streetcar in the process.
Calm down,
she had to try to stay calm! Safely on the other side she started jogging toward Glady’s. She didn’t have time to go around the back, but slunk in through the main entrance. The maître’d was new and didn’t recognize her. She wasted a few precious seconds as she argued with him. Finally she had to wave her police ID at him, since the chef’s wife apparently couldn’t just walk in. She realized that it was her jeans and the worn leather jacket that had landed her in hot water. Authoritatively she shouted, “This is a police matter. I need to borrow a telephone immediately!”

With a disapproving expression he led her into the office. She and the owner were old acquaintances, but he also looked at her curiously as without explanation she grabbed the telephone on the desk. As she leafed through the Yellow Pages under RESTAURANTS, she snapped, “Police matter. I’ll explain later. Here it is!”

She found the number for McDonald’s on Avenyn. With shaking hands she first misdialed and then had to try again . . . ten, eleven, twelve. On the thirteenth ring a very young voice answered, “McDonald’s, Tina.”

“Hi, Tina. Would you please announce over the loudspeakers that Jenny and Katarina have a phone call? It’s extremely important. There’s been an accident, you see. I’m their mother. But don’t say anything to the girls. Everything’s under control.”

“All right, yeah, I can do that.”

There was a clatter when she put down the receiver and half an eternity passed before Katarina’s querulous voice came on the line.

“Hello?”

“Hi, darling, it’s Mamma. Don’t say a word, but listen to me. I want you and Jenny to leave that place immediately.”

“But we haven’t finished our ice cream!”

“The hell with it! Do as I say! Dear Katarina, it’s very very important!”

“Okay. But Jenny will be mad.”

“Get her out of there. Come over to Glady’s right now!”

Katarina must have sensed her panic. It was something she had never heard before in her mamma’s voice.

“Okay. We’ll be right there,” she said quickly.

Irene’s hands were shaking so much she could hardly hang up the phone. She ignored the owner’s questioning glance. The direct number to the department was free, but no one answered. Five-thirty on a Saturday night, no wonder. Instead she called Dispatch. She got a connection fast. A confident voice answered, “Dispatch, Inspector Rolandsson.”

“Hello, Irene Huss, inspector in Violent Crimes. I’ve spotted a wanted perp. He’s sitting in McDonald’s on Avenyn. Dangerous. Belongs to the Hell’s Angels. Probably high, and armed. Name: Paul John Svensson.”

Rolandsson was silent a moment before he said, “Roger. We’ll send the team in the van and a patrol car. Armed, you said.”

“Yes, that son-of-a-bitch probably has a SIG Sauer he took from me or Jimmy Olsson!”

“So it’s one of those guys from the fray out in Billdal. We know what he looks like. The team has a photo. Can you stay there to facilitate the arrest?”

“Yes. I’ll be across the street on the other corner, on Engelbrektsgatan. In front of the display window at KappAhl.”

After she hung up she began shaking all over. Curiosity was written all over the restaurant owner’s face, but she waved quickly at him and shouted that she’d explain later. Quickly, she went to the kitchen—and there stood her daughters. Krister looked annoyed and puzzled. Irene didn’t have time to explain, but threw herself on the girls and said, relieved, “Oh, you girls are so good! Thank the good Lord! Just a little while more, and we’ll go home to poor Sammie. Then the others will have to take over!”

Krister looked even more quizzical. “What are the others going to take over?”

“The bad guys and the bandits! God, I’m so tired of all this shit!”

He gave her an astonished look and said, “That’s probably the first time I’ve ever heard you say anything like that.”

She gave him a long look. To his consternation there were tears shining in her eyes when she finally replied. “This is the first time that my own family has been directly threatened because of my job!”

Like the wings of a brooding hen she spread her arms around the girls and admonished, “Stay here with Pappa. Don’t go before I come back!”

She gave them each a hasty kiss on the forehead and crept out the back door. The owner came into the kitchen from the other direction. He caught sight of Krister and gave him a questioning look. The head chef threw up his hands in a very French and telling gesture:
Women! What can you expect?

 

THE PATROL car was about to park when Irene arrived at the rendezvous. After a few minutes the van arrived. To her relief Håkan Lund was in charge of the van squad. It didn’t do him much good that the new uniform jackets had full-length, slimming white stripes. It’s not easy to wish away a hundred kilos.

He greeted her cheerfully, “Hello! I heard you’ve got a bead on Paul Svensson! We’re going to suck that scumbag right in. Here’s the plan. Take this radio. Walk past McDonald’s and locate Svensson. Make sure he doesn’t see you. We’ll move in as soon as you give us his position.”

He pressed a little walkie-talkie into Irene’s hand and waved her off. She walked along the outer edge of the sidewalk. Right outside the burger joint she stepped out into the street to gain some cover from the parked cars and motorcycles.

Irene saw him. He was still sitting, talking to his buddies. She raised the radio to her mouth and pressed the button. Exactly at that instant Paul Svensson got up. His lanky body began staggering around, until it suddenly seemed to remember its intention. He headed for the door marked with the international symbol for “Men.”

She whispered in the radio, “Irene here. He went into the men’s room.”

“Excellent! We’re going in.”

Twenty seconds later the police went in the back way with their weapons drawn. They surrounded Paul Svensson’s pals. Four officers went in the front and two of them took up positions on either side of the bathroom door. When the Thin Man came out he got two gun barrels stuck in his back. Even though he was as high as Kebnekaise Peak, he realized how lousy the odds were. Obediently he put his hands in the air. He was searched quickly and thoroughly. Irene saw Håkan Lund take a heavy pistol from a holster that Paul Svensson had under his jacket. A SIG Sauer. Hers or Jimmy’s? She just didn’t care. She wanted to go home.

 

SAMMIE WAS overjoyed when they arrived. He hadn’t peed on the floor, even though he’d been alone for more than seven hours. Once outside the door he couldn’t hold it any farther than to the rose bed under the kitchen window. He sighed with relief.

Irene tried to explain to her daughters what had actually happened inside McDonald’s and why it was so important for them to get out of there. They were sitting around the kitchen table drinking a cup of hot O’Boy.

Katarina said excitedly, “Wicked exciting! Why couldn’t we have stayed there and watched them nab him?”

“Because it’s not TV or a movie! That guy is a murderer. He was armed with a pistol and maybe a number of other weapons. He wouldn’t have hesitated to take the two of you hostage if he found that out you were a police officer’s daughters. Mine.”

Jenny was tracing her fingernail along the edge of the table again. “I thought they looked nice. The little I talked to them, I mean,” she said sullenly.

“Nice! Sure, because he’s tanked up on amphetamines and maybe some other shit!”

“You mean he could have killed us? I don’t think so! They didn’t seem dangerous at all, or like dope addicts,” Jenny insisted.

Obstinately she tossed her head, where an extremely short stubble could be seen in the backlight from the kitchen lamp. Irene forced herself to speak calmly and tried to select her words with care.

“Jenny, do you remember when you and Katarina visited me at the hospital on Monday? Do you remember how I looked? Do you remember that a young colleague I had with me was beaten up so badly that he’s still in the hospital?”