Detective Inspector Huss: A Huss Investigation set in Sweden, Vol. 1 (60 page)

“We know that Bobo and Shorty planned a major narcotics purchase, via Bobo’s old friend Glenn ‘Hoffa’ Strömberg, vice president of the Hell’s Angels Göteborg chapter. The guys from Holland were supposed to deliver it. Everything was arranged and ready, when suddenly Bobo had trouble raising the cash. We now know why. Richard refused to pay.”

Charlotte was pale gray beneath her makeup, but her eyes were fixed on Irene. Slowly Irene continued. “Five hundred thousand. Half a million. For pictures in which Richard’s face can’t be seen. No wonder he refused to pay!”

With these words Irene whipped out the sex pictures, in which there was no doubt who the female participant was. For a moment it looked as though Charlotte was going to faint. Irene declared, “We know that it’s Richard you’re having sex with in these pictures.”

“No! It’s . . . someone else!”

“Who?”

“I don’t remember.”

“So . . . you don’t remember. Are you accustomed to having sex with men whose names you can’t remember afterward?”

Charlotte raised her head defiantly. “It happens!”

“And this man isn’t Richard?”

“No.”

“Then I can tell you that his face is actually in the picture. And it
is
Richard.”

“No. His face can’t be seen.”

“Yes, it can. Do you see the big painting in the background of the picture? Yes, that one. One of Bengt Lindström’s famous ‘monster heads.’ I had our technician blow it up and make a copy. Then I took it to Valle Reuter last night. He identified the painting as the portrait of Richard von Knecht that he gave to Richard for his sixtieth birthday! Since Sylvia thought they already had plenty of Bengt Lindström’s paintings on the walls, Richard hung the painting in his office apartment. How do we know that? Because the pictures are of Richard von Knecht’s office apartment, taken with a telephoto lens. Where from? From across the street. Who lives there? Why, Shorty Johannesson, cousin of your pal Bobo Torsson! Who took the pictures? Bobo, obviously! Don’t try to tell us that the man you’re fucking is anyone other than Richard von Knecht!”

One look at Charlotte was enough. Her face was a clay mask. It was inconceivable that it could ever have been considered beautiful. Her features were distorted with loathing. Half choking she said, “I was forced to do it. I didn’t have any choice. I owed Bobo money. A lot of money.”

“Drug debts?”

“Yes. I thought I could get a little money over at the car dealership, but Henrik managed it all through his account. I was desperate. I didn’t have a cent.”

“Didn’t you get money from Henrik? For the household, I mean.”

“Sure. Ten thousand kronor a month. But it wasn’t enough. At first I had my own money, from my modeling days. But that ran out. Henrik took care of all the payments for the house and the cars and that was all.”

“How much did you owe Bobo?”

“Eighty-five thousand.”

“Cocaine and amphetamines, I suppose.”

Charlotte nodded.

“How did Bobo find out about your relationship with Richard?”

“He met me a few times on the stairs, on the way to or from Richard’s apartment. And at a models’ party in September he asked me straight out. And I was dumb enough to tell him. I’d snorted a lot and was babbling.”

“And so he got the bright idea to blackmail Richard by taking pictures of the two of you.”

“I didn’t want to. He forced me. And I owed him money.”

“But you did it. Tell us.”

“I actually liked Richard. At first. He was cool and loved sex. Henrik didn’t at all. The past year we’ve hardly touched each other. He’s . . . was abnormal, I think. And boring. Boring in bed.”

“But Richard wasn’t?”

“No.”

“How and when did your relationship with Richard start?”

“Last summer. At the end of July. Sylvia had gone to Finland to visit her mother and sister. Henrik was at Marstrand, of course. Richard called and asked me out to dinner. There was nothing strange about it. But it turned into something more. We suited each other, in some way.”

“How did you manage to get the pictures taken?”

“We used to meet in Richard’s office apartment. But we usually did it in the bedroom. It was a great room for . . . that. The only time I managed to lure him into the living room, he had to put on that damned hood! Or ‘Roman helmet’ as he called it. He called himself ‘the Roman commander’ when he had it on. Ha!”

“And that’s why he refused to pay when he saw the photos?”

“Yes. He said that Bobo could never prove who the man in the pictures was. Laughed right in his face. Although it was over the phone, of course.”

“And then you two got the brilliant idea of blackmailing your husband for the money instead?”

“I didn’t know anything about it. It was all Bobo’s idea. He didn’t mention anything to me.”

“When did you find out that Henrik had seen the pictures?”

She put her hands to her face and whimpered. When she took them away there were no tears. Tonelessly she said, “The Thursday before Richard and Sylvia’s anniversary party. The Thirty Years’ War, you know. All the men said that in their dinner speeches. It was the worst thing I’ve ever been to. Henrik knew that Richard and I . . . and then to sit there and pretend that nothing was going on.”

“What happened on Friday?”

“Henrik drove up to Marstrand. In the morning.”

“And you went to the gynecologist, to get confirmation of your pregnancy?”

“No. I knew that I was pregnant two weeks earlier. But I didn’t know what to do about it.”

“Whether you should keep the child?”

“Exactly.”

“Let’s return to Henrik and Friday. When did you see him again?”

“On Saturday afternoon. We were supposed to go to the party that evening.”

“Had he taken the keys from you on Friday?”

“The keys?”

“The keys you took from Richard, after his sixtieth birthday party at Marstrand. Arja stated that she saw you coming out of his bedroom, with his key case in your hand.”

“That fucking dyke!”

She slumped down in her chair and said, resigned, “Richard didn’t want to give me any keys of my own, but I saw them lying on the nightstand that morning. I figured it might be good to have them.”

“Did Henrik take the keys from you on Friday?”

“Yes, I discovered that the keys were missing on Friday. I usually kept them in my handbag, but they were gone on Friday evening. I immediately suspected it was Henrik who took them. On Sunday I found them again.”

“In your handbag?”

“Yes, he had put them back.”

“When did you find out he really had taken them? Or did you just have a hunch?”

“No, I knew. He wanted to have them back on Wednesday morning, the day after Richard died. He just took them out of my handbag, dangled them in the air, and said something like, ‘You’ve never seen these keys! Get it?’ And then he left.”

“Do you know what he did with them then?”

She nodded. “Yes. He gave them to that cleaning woman. The Finn. I didn’t figure it out until Bobo was blown up too. But I had nothing to do with those bombs. It was Henrik. He was jealous of Richard. He wanted revenge. And he refused to pay for the pictures.”

“What about your baby, Charlotte? Who’s the father?”

“Henrik.”

“No. We’ve learned that he became sterile after having the mumps. And don’t forget that we have him up in Pathology. We’ve already asked the postmortem examiner to check to make sure.”

She had fought as hard as she could but finally collapsed over the table and buried her head in her arms. For a long time she stayed like that, without moving. Once again Irene noticed that there was no trace of tears when she showed her face again.

Charlotte said harshly, “It was Richard’s. The child is a genuine von Knecht.”

“So that’s why Henrik chose to kill his father and not you. Isn’t that right? This was his chance to become a father, as biologically close to the real thing as he could get. Father to his own half sibling. The continuation of the line would be secured. But he wanted revenge.”

“Yes.” She answered in a whisper.

In a low, neutral voice Irene asked, “You knew nothing about the bomb on Berzeliigatan?”

“No.”

“That’s why you decided to murder Richard yourself. Isn’t that true?”

“No! That’s not true! I have an alibi! I was out picking up my car from the dealer.”

“That alibi has been cracked wide open. Your little cowboy from Mölndal, Robert Skytter, told us exactly what happened. How you missed the appointment on Monday. Suddenly you called on Tuesday and demanded that he had to be the one to handle the delivery of your new car. Then the cunning seduction; naked under your coat, wearing only stockings and high-heeled shoes. Not a very original move, but it worked on a young man like Robert.”

“But the time. I could never have made it back in twenty or twentyfive minutes max.”

“No. But in forty or forty-five, yes. You gained fifteen minutes with that remark, ‘Oh, it’s the five o’clock news already! I have to run!’ And little Robbie was probably still giddy from fucking in the Ford, so he didn’t react. Clever. But you made a mistake.” Irene paused.

Again Charlotte’s eyes were fixed on her lips; she was incapable of tearing her gaze away. A barely audible whisper, “What kind of mistake?”

“There isn’t any five o’clock news on the radio.
Today’s Echo at a Quarter to Five
is what it’s called. Why do you think that is?”

Charlotte’s voice failed her when she replied, “It’s on at quarter to five?”

She was sitting erect, with her arms hanging down at her sides and her eyes fixed on Irene’s face. She knew it was over.

Irene tried to appear unmoved, even though inside she felt as if a volcano was about to erupt.

“Why, Charlotte? Why? Tell me.”

“Richard . . . two weeks before he . . . died . . . I told him I was pregnant and that he was the father. At first he tried to wriggle out of it. He didn’t know who I’d been sleeping with, and stuff like that. But I actually hadn’t been with anyone else since July. So I insisted, and I read about this technique of determining paternity with . . . DNA. When I told him I wanted one of those tests, he backed down. He promised to give me money every month. I thought that sounded fair. But then this thing with the photos came up . . . those lying on the table. He asked if I knew anything about them, but I denied it. You see, he didn’t know that Bobo was the one who took them. Bobo contacted him anonymously, by telephone. But I think Richard suspected something. He didn’t want to see me.”

Charlotte’s hands were twisting and turning now, though she was unaware of it. Irene sat in silence, waiting for what she knew was coming.

“But then Henrik ended up getting the pictures instead. He showed them to me and . . . he was out of his mind! He recognized Richard and me. I told him everything. He didn’t say a word. Wouldn’t speak to me, and then he left for Marstrand on Friday afternoon. I thought it was great that he left. Right after that I noticed that Richard’s keys were gone from my handbag. On Saturday around three he came home. He didn’t say a word, just got ready for the party. We went to it. It was abominable. But Henrik put on a good act. All those old fossils.”

She stopped talking, looking angry. A thin film of sweat appeared on her skin. Her gaze was still fixed on Irene, but it was doubtful whether Charlotte saw her. Her voice was strained when she went on. “On Sunday Henrik was supposed to fly to London. Right before he left, Richard called about some auction catalog that Henrik had forgotten to give him. Then Henrik said to me, ‘You can take it over to him tomorrow, since you have a key!’ And then he left. So I did. I had to talk to Richard. But when I arrived on Monday, the cleaning woman and her daughter were there working. Richard had a slight cold and was home, taking it easy. But when I handed him the catalog he whispered to me to come back later, around seven. And I did. And stayed overnight.”

“Had you ever been together in the apartment on Molinsgatan on previous occasions?”

“No, never. And on Tuesday morning, as we were sitting, eating breakfast, that shithead says, ‘I think we’ve had enough fun with each other so it’s time we call it quits. We won’t meet anymore, but will go back to being daughter-in-law and father-in-law. And you can raise the child as my grandchild. Ha ha!’ He laughed at me! That fuck laughed at me! Right in my face! He was dumping me like an old slut! But I didn’t let on, just asked him what financial arrangements he contemplated. He said I’d get five thousand a month. Five thousand! That’s not enough for anything. I gave him a piece of my mind. He kept on laughing at me, but finally he said . . .”

She paused, stretched, and assumed an arrogant tone of voice to imitate Richard von Knecht. “I understand that you’re a little oversensitive right now. Let’s do it this way. Valle and I are going out for our Tuesday lunch today. If you clean the whole apartment so that Sylvia can’t see the slightest sign that you’ve been here, I’ll give you ten thousand kronor this afternoon. But that’s all you’ll get during the pregnancy. You won’t get the five thousand a month until after the delivery. We’re coming home around four o’clock. See that the apartment is ready in time, because Sylvia will be here between five-thirty and six.”

She slumped down again and spat out, “‘The delivery.’ As if I was some breeding sow. And I knew that he wouldn’t give me any more money. He was kicking me out like a piece of worthless shit. That’s when I decided that he had to die! It would be much easier to get money out of Henrik. Now that the child is on the way . . . You wouldn’t believe how thoroughly I cleaned the rooms we’d been in. For safety’s sake I even wiped off the light switches and changed the sheets and towels. Gave the place a real once-over. Then I did exactly as you said. Called Robbie and . . . picked up the car.”