Detective Inspector Huss: A Huss Investigation set in Sweden, Vol. 1 (19 page)

“Valle Reuter is a very pathetic man. He has been a serious alcoholic for many years. I’ve been in contact with the president of his brokerage house, Mats Tengman. When I explained to him what it was all about he was quite candid. Valle is still part of the firm in name only. He owns it, but has no influence on the business end, and no one is more aware of this than Valle himself. He still has his office. He sometimes goes inside and locks the door, saying that he’s extremely busy and is not to be disturbed. This usually means that he’s hung over. But they have to keep him on. The president calls it ‘social therapy.’ Reuter doesn’t have anywhere else to go. Except on Tuesdays, when Richard von Knecht was in the habit of having lunch with him. This was the high point of the week for Valle, Mats Tengman told me. But now we know that there were also other high points on Tuesdays . . . Valle was thoroughly loaded when he came here and he gave us a good deal of information. I checked with Johanneshus, where von Knecht and Reuter ate lunch last Tuesday. The restaurant owner confirms the time. They arrived between one and one-thirty, left around three-thirty. The reason Valle Reuter wasn’t home on the night of the murder was that he spent the night with his girlfriend of the past three years, Gunilla Forsell. He managed to remember the address, and I contacted her this morning. She wasn’t particularly happy about the attention, to put it mildly. At first she refused to meet me. But I threatened to have her picked up by a squad car if she didn’t show up voluntarily. Then she was more cooperative, because the neighbors in the fancy boardinghouse on Stampgatan have no idea what little Fru Forsell does on the side. An extra job that pays more than her regular job. Guess what her day job is.”

Birgitta looked around among her colleagues, who were following her report with interest. “Stripper,” “day-care worker,” “nurse” were some of the suggestions. Birgitta laughed and shook her head.

“Wrong, wrong! Librarian!”

Everyone around the table looked disappointed. None of them had imagined such a genuinely musty occupation. Jonny Blom whispered to Fredrik Stridh, “Ha, the driest bushes burn the best!”

Birgitta pretended not to hear him and continued. “I went over there at eleven. She turned out to be thirty-five years old and good looking—but no supermodel, if you know what I mean.”

Jonny interrupted again. “No, I just don’t get it. I’d better head over there and check her out!” He pretended to get up, grinning broadly at Birgitta.

She gave him an icy stare and said in a neutral tone, “It’s no news that you don’t get it. But the rest of us, of normal intelligence, will proceed. As I said, Gunnel was not happy to see me. But after a while she started to talk. She’s been divorced for five years, no children. For ten years she’s had a part-time job at the city library. She didn’t think it would be so hard to find a full-time job after her divorce. But it turned out to be impossible. In these times of cutbacks, all the municipalities are reducing their library staffs. She couldn’t make ends meet on a half-time salary, so the solution for her was four gentlemen on the side. All of them are older men. Valle is the only one who isn’t married. She has Tuesdays, Thursdays, and weekends off from her library job, and that’s when she devotes herself to the gentlemen. She didn’t want to explain the arrangements, but apparently they have fixed days and times. On Tuesdays she has two visitors. Gentleman number one usually comes at twelve and leaves at two. ‘Extended lunch,’ he calls it. Valle is gentleman number two and has a special agreement. He comes at five-thirty, they have something to eat, talk, and watch TV. He’s always fairly loaded when he arrives, since by then he’s already had lunch with von Knecht. They usually go to bed around eleven. For the most part he falls asleep right away, but sometimes he wants to have a ‘little massage,’ as she called it. Then they sleep in her big queen-sized bed. In the morning they have breakfast together, then she goes to work and he toddles home.”

Andersson couldn’t help interjecting a question. “How much does he have to pay for that?”

Birgitta looked at him with her clear brown eyes until he started to blush. “She wouldn’t say. But I can tell you this: She lives in a cozy three-room apartment on Stampgatan. The art and furniture are firstrate. She wears jewelry that could easily have financed my trip to Australia, and she was impeccably and expensively dressed. When I was leaving I saw a car key on the hall table. I asked what kind of car she has. A Saab 900, she said, last year’s model.”

A meditative silence fell over the room. This wasn’t your usual type of prostitute, selling herself for a couple of hundred kronor on the backseat of a car and quickly spending it on booze or dope. Everyone had heard of call girls and high-priced “escorts,” but no one in the room had ever actually encountered someone in that category. Not until now.

Andersson wanted to proceed with the investigation and broke the silence. “What did she say about Valle’s visit on Tuesday?”

Birgitta smirked when she replied, “That must have been some entertaining day! It’s precisely for that reason that Gunnel was quite sure of the times. On Tuesday, gentleman number one didn’t show up at twelve like he normally does. She assumed that he was sick or tied up. But at four-thirty he rang the doorbell and demanded his weekly screw. That’s a good deal of money for Gunnel. She said that if he hurried it would be fine. And it would have been, if Valle hadn’t come staggering to her door just before five on that particular Tuesday. She couldn’t have him yelling out in the stairwell, so she had to let him into her living room and prop him up with a stiff drink while she finished off gentleman number one. Then she had to pilot him out so that the two gentlemen wouldn’t see each other. According to Gunnel, all four of them think they’re ‘the one and only’ for her.”

“Could Valle Reuter have paid her to give him an alibi?” Irene interposed.

“No, I don’t think so. Their stories fit pretty well. Neither of them was overly eager to talk. No, it doesn’t seem made up. But . . .” Birgitta fell silent and smiled slyly before she went on, “in exchange for a promise that we leave her in peace with her ‘gentlemen,’ I got the name of Tuesday’s gentleman number one!”

“Hot damn!” said Andersson, looking impressed.

“I called him at his office and explained what it was all about. He was not eager to cooperate, but faced with the threat of a formal request to come down here to make an official statement, he gave in. He confirms Gunnel’s and Valle’s stories.”

She looked up from her notes and stretched her shoulder muscles before she went on. “If I have to draw any conclusions, then it would be that Valle Reuter is no murderer. Which I never believed for a moment anyway.”

The look she gave Andersson was challenging, and he hurried to agree. “No. You don’t murder your best and only friend. He has no motive and isn’t the killer type. As I said, I listened to Birgitta’s interview with Valle. Speaking of conversations, that photographer, Bobo Torsson, called me just before the meeting. He’s thinking of staying another night in Stockholm. He’s taking the train tomorrow and will come straight here after lunch. One of you will have to talk to him. I have to go and get fitted for that damned uniform.”

Jonny looked surprised. “But wasn’t that what you were doing earlier today?”

“Yes, but they only had pants in children’s sizes. By the way, did you get hold of Ivan Viktors?”

“Yes, by phone. He called around three and said that he had just returned from Copenhagen. It was evidently on the TV news in Denmark, because he already knew what had happened. I guess you have to be sure to wash your hair and change your shirt every day now, so you look fresh on screen.”

He licked the palm of his hand and stroked it lightly over his hair. Birgitta snorted, but before she managed to make any derisive comment, the boss headed her off.

“I’ll handle all contact with the media. Refer them to me. That’s easiest. I don’t have much hair to wash.”

The superintendent imitated Jonny’s gesture over his own pate. Irene snorted, trying to stifle her amusement.

Jonny pursed his lips and assumed a professional tone. “Ivan Viktors is coming here tomorrow morning at ten.”

“So you can be the one to talk to him. Anything else?”

“Yes, I had a look at the house up in Marstrand. On the map, that is. It’s located on a peninsula north of Marstrand called Kärringnäset. It includes the peninsula itself and property a bit inland. The total we’re talking about is fifteen hectares. On the map you can see a big stable and paddocks. And down by the sea there are two cabins, each about a hundred square meters. I saw that the boundary of the plot was marked with a sturdy fence or maybe a wall. Next to the stable, right next to the road, down toward the von Knecht palace, there’s a house labeled the ‘caretaker’s residence.’ Then I got the phone number of the summer residence and was connected to the caretaker, Lennart Svensson. He and his wife take care of the horses and property. The wife evidently cleans the big house. He’s fifty-seven and has worked for the von Knechts for fifteen years. Before that he was in the military. He told me that von Knecht’s parents owned this land. After they both died, Richard tore down the old house and built a giant mansion.”

Irene waved her hand. “Good that you’re talking about Marstrand, Jonny. Henrik asked me if it was okay for him and Sylvia to go up there this weekend. I said I didn’t think there would be any problem.”

Jonny leaned across the table and said in surprise, “Sylvia? Don’t you mean Charlotte?”

“No, Charlotte is going to her sister’s in Kungsbacka.”

“Ha! Now you see that Henrik and Sylvia have an incestuous relationship! They did away with Richard and the next in line is the lovely Charlotte. She needs a bodyguard! I’ll volunteer!”

“And who stuck a quarter in you? Such a shame that the two of them were standing five stories below when he was shoved off the balcony.” Just at the right moment the intercom beeped and a voice reported that the pizzas were ready to pick up down at the front desk.

 

“THIS PIZZA habit is getting a little monotonous. I’m going to make a radical change in diet. Next time I’ll have a kabob.” Tommy Persson groaned and unbuttoned the top button of his jeans. He leaned back in his chair and drank his light beer in big gulps. It was his turn to report on the day’s activities. He stifled a yawn with the back of his hand before he began.

“Fredrik already told you what it was like last night on Berzeliigatan. The damage to the adjacent property is quite extensive. All the windows on the neighboring buildings were blown out. The only one that survived, strangely enough, was the shop window of the tobacconist’s on the corner. Irene already knows who owns it, but the rest of you don’t. Any guesses?”

Jonny grumbled, “A lot of damned guessing here today!”

Tommy ignored him. “Our own Lasse ‘Shorty’ Johannesson!”

Even Jonny shut up.

The color rose in the superintendent’s cheeks, and his eyes gleamed with excitement. “The worst possible hooligan right at our doorstep! Literally. That might mean something. Damn it, it’s got to mean something!”

He was unconsciously rubbing his hands together. Impatiently he signaled Tommy to continue.

“The arson techs can just barely get up to the third floor. Higher than that it’s too risky. As luck would have it—well, depending on how you look at it—the guy’s body was found behind the door to von Knecht’s office. Apparently he barely managed to make it that far and crept behind the door for protection. He was horribly burned. The pathologist is looking at him now. Poor devil,” Tommy said glumly.

He paused briefly. Then he went on with his report about the legwork in the neighboring buildings. No one had noticed anything suspicious. Everyone had heard the powerful explosion and felt the blast wave. The techs had found parts of a large homemade bomb in the entryway to von Knecht’s office. Pelle, the arson tech, had found some lumps of plastic around the site of the bomb. According to him, they were probably remnants of gasoline cans. Whoever placed the bomb there wanted to make sure that everything would burn up. The techs would report tomorrow with more details about the bomb.

Andersson was still looking flushed when he said, “Tommy, you and Fredrik check out Lasse ‘Shorty.’ Find out when he got out. This might be a lead. Hans, did you get hold of anyone who saw anything at the parking garage Tuesday night?”

Hans Borg shook his head. “I went through the building a second time. I concentrated on the apartments facing Kapellgatan, but there was nothing. From two o’clock until four-thirty I talked to people who came to get their cars from the parking garage. No one saw a thing. A teacher from Ascheberg High School loaned me a notepad and a felt-tip pen. So now there’s a note inside the entrance of the garage asking for anyone who saw anything unusual on the night of the murder to contact us.”

“There’s not much more we can do. Maybe we should show up around five-thirty in the evening. Someone who may have observed something might put in an appearance at that time. No, now I know what we should do. Tomorrow we’ll launch an intensive drive in the parking garage. We’ll start at six in the morning and keep it up till seven in the evening. Everyone who parks in the garage will be quizzed about anything they noticed Tuesday night. If that doesn’t produce anything, we’ll have to call this approach a dud. But I think it’s unlikely that the killer would have walked away in the pouring rain after the murder. I still think he had a car. Jonny and Hans, I’m giving this assignment to you,” Andersson said firmly.

Neither of the designated officers looked particularly enthusiastic about it, but they realized there was some logic to their superintendent’s reasoning.

“All right, only Hannu is left. Did you get hold of Pirjo?”

“No, just the kids. I drove out there this afternoon. They live near Angered Square. Two rooms and a kitchen.”

“Not much room for five people.”