The Golden Calf (29 page)

“Hardly,” said Birgitta. “That would be too big a risk. After something like that, you’d want to keep low. So he took a boat or a car.”

“Maybe he jogged,” said Tommy.

“Jogged?” repeated Andersson as his brow furrowed even
farther. He looked surprisingly like a bulldog whenever he did that. Irene recognized the other similarities he had with bulldogs—once he got hold of an idea, he had trouble letting go of it again. His stubbornness had helped them get to the bottom of many an investigation over the years.

“Yes, jogged. A jogger was seen out in Askim at the time of the murder. We’ve had no replies to our many calls to come forward, even after we’ve put it in the newspaper. We also found a jogging reflector inside the house,” Tommy reminded them.

Irene had almost forgotten about the man running in the pouring rain, who’d been seen by the dog walker. Of course talking to the jogger would be important; if nothing else, he might have seen something vital so near the house at the time of the murder. Tommy was right; the jogger was a person of interest.

“I’m also concerned about Sanna,” Tommy said. “According to her, someone has threatened both hers and Ludwig’s lives. Of all the people who received a finger, she’s the only one still alive.”

“Edward Fenton has one,” Irene said.

“Or so he told Sanna. We won’t know the truth until we’ve talked to him.”

Irene had to agree. Besides, she thought it was odd that the head of HP Johnson’s European office would be the victim of blackmail.

“The killer is still active. He’s threatened Sanna via that Fenton guy,” Tommy said. “The next question should be: What can we do to insure her safety?”

“If an officer is posted at her door, the killer will know that she’s squealed,” Fredrik said.

Andersson sucked air into his cheeks like a chipmunk and then let the air out again, lips sputtering. All of his subordinates knew this meant their boss was deep in thought. Finally,
he clapped his hands. “Surveillance! Twenty-four-hour surveillance on Sanna and the boy. We have two reasons: to protect their lives and the chance to grab the killers when they try.”

“What if she’s lying?” Jonny complained. “Then we’ll have a meaningless surveillance team that will cost a huge amount of—”

Tommy interrupted. “If you’d seen her yesterday, you’d know she’s telling the truth. Believe me. I’ve heard a lot of lies out of her mouth the past few days—and she’s not even a good liar.”

Jonny glared around the table, but he said nothing more. Everyone knew he hated to be on surveillance. You had to be awake and alert for hours at a time.

“So when do we start?” asked Irene.

“After lunch,” said Andersson. “Kajsa and Birgitta, you two take the first watch.”

“Should we let Sanna know?” asked Birgitta.

This question caused a repeat of the chipmunk-cheek performance. After another round of lip-sputtering, Andersson made up his mind. “No. We don’t know who the killer or killers may be, nor does she. If she knows that she’s being watched, she might inadvertently tip off whoever it is.”

Irene was relieved that Andersson took the threat to Sanna and her son so seriously. There were certainly good reasons to act on it.

They worked out a schedule for the surveillance teams. Tommy and Irene would take the evening shift from six
P.M
. to midnight. On Saturday morning, Irene would be paired with Jonny. Tommy had asked for that morning off for “private reasons,” and Irene had a lump in her throat when she heard. The “private reasons” had to do with Agneta moving out of the house. Tommy and the children would be at his parents’ home over the weekend.
He certainly must be going through hell right now
. Irene glanced sideways at him and saw the dark circles
under his eyes. Obviously he hadn’t been getting much sleep. His face had grown thinner. He’d lost a lot of weight around the middle. Of course, he’d joked about needing to lose the pounds, but he certainly would not have wanted to look so tired and hollowed out. So far, only Irene knew that he was going through a divorce, and the others didn’t seem to notice the physical changes. Tommy was trying hard to hide his pain, but how long could a person hold it in before they burst? Sooner or later, everyone reaches a breaking point. Tommy had been hiding his difficulties so well that even Irene hadn’t noticed them.

The last time Irene and Krister had gotten together with Tommy and Agneta had been Midsummer weekend. It was their tradition to meet at the Persson’s summer cottage on Orust to celebrate the holiday. There’d always been a crowd of relatives and neighbors. Tommy’s eldest son, Martin, was Irene’s godson, and usually the two of them would laugh and joke around. But last Midsummer there hadn’t been much of that; the fifteen-year-old had kept to himself and hadn’t been particularly friendly. Martin and his friends had gone away on bikes, and they hadn’t returned until two
A.M
. Agneta had mentioned that Martin’s girlfriend was in London taking a language class that summer, which had made him depressed.

Maybe the girlfriend story was a cover for why Martin was so unhappy. Maybe he’d actually been dealing with the true emotional state of the entire family. He certainly was old enough to understand what was going on. Maybe he’d overheard something. Other than Martin’s behavior, there had been no other hints about what was really going on in the Persson household. Tommy and Agneta had done a good job hiding everything.

Irrationally, deep in her heart, Irene felt that somehow they’d betrayed her.

•   •   •

J
UST AS
I
RENE
was finishing her lunch of Falun sausage with macaroni in cream sauce, her cell phone rang. It was Glen Thompson, and before she could even say hello, he started to speak.

“It’s amazing how you manage to stick your nose into the most unusual cases, but this time I think you’ve really kicked the hornet’s nest!” He laughed, and Irene wasn’t sure whether she should, too, but before she could decide, he went on in a more serious tone.

“When I started checking around this morning, no one knew where Edward Fenton was. Everyone I talked to sounded nervous when I brought him up. Finally I was connected to a guy who told me he was an information manager. He finally let it slip that Edward Fenton has been missing for the past few days.”

“For the past few days?” Irene repeated. Not good news to hear.

“That’s right. The management team for HP Johnson had an emergency meeting this morning. This is the story I was told. Edward Fenton had been in the United States to visit his family during the first two weeks of September. His wife and sons stayed behind for another two weeks when he returned to London. What was strange is that he didn’t show up for work on Monday. He also didn’t show up on Tuesday. It wasn’t unusual for him to work from home, but he usually checked in. On the seventeenth of September, Wednesday, he returned to the office. According to the secretaries, he had a wound on his face. He said that he’d tripped on the stone path of his garden, but he said nothing about where he’d been on Monday and Tuesday. Then he worked as usual for the rest of the week. On Friday afternoon, he told his secretary that he was going to Berlin on Monday morning, and the whole week following he checked in with his secretary every day. His last telephone call was on Friday the twenty-seventh. Since then, no one has heard a word from him.”

“What was he supposed to be doing in Berlin?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?” Irene repeated.

“He never went to Berlin. He booked a flight, but he never boarded.”

“So where did he go?”

“No one knows. And now he’s gone.”

Irene felt her mouth go dry. Something was terribly wrong.

“Glen, remember what I already told you? Four people have been killed. Because of death threats we have two people in Göteborg—a woman and her baby—under surveillance. And these threats were passed on two days ago through Edward Fenton. He told this woman that he, too, was being threatened.”

Glen was silent a moment and then asked, “So you think he might have been murdered, too?” All cheer had disappeared from his voice.

“There’s always a risk that that might have happened.”

“What do you know about this Fenton fellow?”

Irene told him everything she knew. Glen listened and said nothing for a while after she’d finished. Then he asked, “Did you say he was married to Janice Santini? The daughter of Sergio Santini?”

“That’s right.”

“You really did stir the hornet’s nest, Irene. I have a colleague who specializes in this kind of thing,” he said thoughtfully.

“What kind of thing?” Irene asked. She had trouble hiding her impatience.

“He worked for the FBI. A few years ago, he met an Englishwoman and moved to London. Since then, he’s been working for us.”

Irene felt as if things were whirling around in her brain like the hornets whose nest she’d supposedly kicked.

“I’ll call you back as soon as I’ve found out anything more,” Glen said.

“Thanks—thanks so much,” Irene said.

As she ended the call, she felt exhausted, as if she’d just undergone an extra long bout of jiujitsu.

I
RENE CHOSE TO
park in the lot above the pedestrian and bicycle path. It was surrounded by high trees and dense bushes that could hide their unmarked car. On the other side of all the greenery was an open field all the way to Sanna Kaegler-Ceder’s house. Irene parked by a gap in the greenery. They could easily see the house with the help of the abundant outdoor lighting.

“From here we can overlook the front and west side, but not the back or the east, so one of us will have to relocate to cover the whole house,” said Tommy.

Tommy had an average set of binoculars, even though they were especially light-sensitive. Irene had lifted a set from the guys in the narcotics department, despite their protests. “Now, now, you have to learn to share, just like the children at day care,” she had chirped, smiling broadly as she headed out the door, her plunder in a tight fist.

Since the Askim house did not have trees or bushes close by, they would have to set up their lookout farther away. If the weather turned bad, a normal set of binoculars wouldn’t do, so the set of night goggles that Irene had snagged would be put to good use. Night goggles strengthen light by 10,000 percent; Irene had learned that when she’d used them on earlier investigations.

Now she used them to make a quick survey of the surroundings. She saw what she was looking for.

“I’ll stroll the bike path and duck in near the back of the house. I’ll be in the grove of trees over there on the other side of the field; you can see the treetops behind the house,” she said, pointing.

“Good.”

They synchronized their watches and put their cell phones on vibrate. Irene hung the night goggles from her neck underneath her coat. She also had her holstered Sig Sauer. There were heavy clouds in the sky, and the wind had picked up, so she’d chosen a winter overcoat. The forecast called for cooling temperatures.

“Give me a call when you want to change places,” Tommy said.

Irene got out of the car and started to walk down to the bike path. She’d go about one hundred and fifty meters and then leave the bike path for the grove of trees. A strong wind blew in from the sea, carrying the smell of salt into her nostrils while droplets from the ocean hit her face like gnats. Black clouds scurried across the sky. Between the sparse streetlights, the twilight had already turned to darkness. The wind was chilling, so she pulled up her hood. In the distance, she saw a man walking a German shepherd. Maybe this was the same witness who’d seen the jogger that night when Kjell B:son Ceder was murdered? The man and the dog were going the same direction as she was, and they seemed to take no notice of her. To keep oriented, Irene counted her steps. When she reached one hundred and fifty, she turned off the bike path and headed up the slope for the trees. It was grass-covered and steep, and she had trouble making her way up. She saw the tall trees about fifty meters to her right.
Not bad, not bad
, she thought.
At least I still know how to count
. The tall, dry grass and a tangle of raspberry stalks impeded her steps. She finally got to a good spot in the grove of trees, ideal for a stakeout. She could look out from behind a tree trunk
while still being concealed by a thicket of young birches, and there was no risk that someone from the house could see her dark figure beneath the branches.

She lifted the night goggles to her eyes and studied the back of the house. The night goggles didn’t show color—every object was different shades of green. Through the glass of the outdoor room she could see directly into the living room. It looked empty. There was light in Ludwig’s room. Irene could see Elsy Kaegler moving around in it. She was moving her lips and bending over often. Sanna had closed the curtains to her room although a sliver of light shone through a tiny gap. Perhaps Sanna was lying in bed and watching the wide-screen TV.

Irene and Tommy had made sure to eat dinner before their shift, but by nine o’clock, Irene was starting to feel thirsty. She would have loved something hot. Even though the wind from the ocean was not very strong on the lee side of the island, especially within the grove of trees, cold fingers of air had found gaps at Irene’s ankles and wrists, and she was starting to feel the chill in her bones. It was surprisingly strenuous to stand still and keep watch as long as she had done, even with periodic stretching to keep her blood flowing. Perhaps it was time to call Tommy and change places?

Just as she was about to press his number, the door at the back of the house opened. Irene froze with her finger over the button. Through the goggles, she saw how Sanna Kaegler stuck her head out and peered around. When Sanna saw that the coast was clear, she slipped out and shut the door behind her. Irene hit the button.

“Tommy,” he answered.

“Sanna is leaving the house by the back door. She’s wearing outdoor clothes: a long coat to her knees and long pants. Hair in a ponytail. She is heading in your direction,” Irene said quietly.