Detective Inspector Huss: A Huss Investigation set in Sweden, Vol. 1 (59 page)

“We didn’t have shit to do with any bombs or the murder of Pappa von Knecht! We needed the bread to do business. That’s all.”

“It was these pictures that were going to get you the five hundred thousand, right?”

Light rustling was heard from the tape recorder. Shorty took a very deep breath before he wheezed, “Where the fuck did you get hold of those? That shithead said he burned them!”

“As you see, he didn’t. Why didn’t Richard von Knecht pay?”

Sullen silence. Then came a petulant, “Because his God damned pig-face didn’t show. We couldn’t prove it was him.”

“So that’s why you tried to extort the money from Henrik von Knecht instead?”

“Fucking dumb idea. We didn’t have much time. We should have knocked over a bank instead!”

Then Andersson pushed the off button. Chuckling, Irene said, “I can imagine that discussion, between the two cousins.”

“Me too. I asked when they had contacted Henrik von Knecht. Shorty wasn’t sure, because it was Bobo who was taking care of that part. It was probably on Thursday. It must have been two days before the party that Sylvia and Richard had, celebrating the Thirty Years’ War. And on Friday Henrik primed the bomb, if it all went the way we think.”

“Actually a brilliant plan. If he’d been lucky, both his father and Bobo Torsson would have been blown up in the same explosion! It didn’t happen, but you can understand what Henrik was thinking. He knew that he couldn’t pay the amount the extortionists were demanding. When he saw the pictures he also knew about the relationship between Richard and Charlotte. If the bomb had been triggered by Richard, Henrik would have solved at least one of his problems. In the best-case scenario, both of them.”

“Why did Henrik bother to pretend to pay? His revenge could have been to let the world see the pictures of his unfaithful wife and his lecherous father.”

“He was probably concerned about the family’s reputation. And Sylvia would have had a breakdown!”

“There’s still the murder of Richard von Knecht.”

“That’s where everything started and that’s where everything will end. And we’re going to crack the last part too.”

“One more thing. Jonny traced Charlotte’s phone calls on Sunday. After Shorty came by she made a call. To reserve a table at Brasserie Lipp.”

Andersson leaned over and pulled out the bottom desk drawer. In a subdued voice he said, “Here are the pictures you asked for from Pathology. Disgusting. He’s a murderer and deadly arsonist, but the question is whether anyone deserves this. The poor devil is completely mashed. He could pass for the chop suey special at a Chinese restaurant. God damn!”

She took them and stuffed them into the interdepartmental envelope along with the other pictures she had gotten from the lab earlier that morning.

AT EIGHT-THIRTY Irene went into the interview room where Jonny sat with Charlotte. Jonny loved the whole setup. He would get to play his favorite role, the bad cop. It would be a shame to bother a great actor during his big scene, so Irene sat passively in a corner and made herself invisible. The time for her entrance would come soon enough. Her role would be determined by the progress of the interview. Nothing must be allowed to go wrong. Charlotte wasn’t exceedingly intelligent, but she was cunning and totally self-centered. Those were dangerous characteristics combined with a beautiful body.

Charlotte ignored Irene’s entrance and concentrated completely on Jonny. The moist film over her turquoise eyes shimmered, and she ran her tongue over her lips, carefully, so as not to disturb her lipstick. Irritated, Irene noticed that she had taken time to put on her contacts and some makeup. There was a strong scent of Cartier in the room. Charlotte tilted her head and glittered turquoisely at Jonny.

“My dear man, I want an attorney and I don’t have to answer these horrid questions. I don’t know anything. And I need some breakfast. I’m pregnant,” she said in explanation.

Jonny showed his teeth in a reptilian smile. “Calm down, little lady, we’ll get to that too, eventually. Of course you’ll have an attorney. Do you have one of your own?”

“Well . . . no . . . Father-in-law did . . .”

“But you and Henrik don’t have a family lawyer?”

“No.”

“Why do you think that the attorneys at the firm Eiderstam and Sons would have any great desire to take on your defense? There’s reason to suspect you were an accessory in the arson murder on Berzeliigatan and the bombing murder of Bobo Torsson. As well as conspiracy to murder your own husband, Henrik von Knecht. Deeds that were indirectly aimed at one of their biggest clients, Richard von Knecht, who has also been murdered. We’ll come back to that later. If I may give you some advice, ask for a public defender.”

Charlotte’s lips began to tremble, and for a moment Irene thought she was about to cry. But she crossed her arms firmly under her breasts, making sure to push them up a little at the same time as she paused to think. After about a minute her strategy was decided. With her eyelids lowered and in a soft voice, she cooed, “I’ll follow your advice. I’m sure you know best. I would like to have a public defender.”

“We’ll arrange that. But until then you have to answer my questions. If you don’t I’ll take it as an indication that you have something to hide. And then there will be a very tough interrogation!”

Her eyes widened slightly and the hint of a satisfied smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

“So . . . this isn’t an interrogation?”

“No. You just have to answer my questions.”

Would she bite? Did she really believe that it wasn’t an official interrogation? She might be lulled into feeling safe for the time being, but she would find out otherwise.

“Let’s begin with the bomb on Berzeliigatan. Why did you never mention to us that Henrik stored a large quantity of explosives in a box in your bedroom at Marstrand?”

She rolled her eyes so they flashed turquoise lights, and made sure to expand her bust by sighing deeply. “I didn’t know that Henrik had explosives in the box. He always kept it locked.”

“Didn’t you ever ask him what was in the box?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Why should I?”

“I’m the one asking the questions. Why didn’t you ever ask him what was in the box?”

For the first time she looked uncertain before she replied. “I wasn’t interested. He had so many gadgets and so much junk all over the place.”

“So you never cared about finding out what was in the box?”

“No.”

“Then you must understand that the prosecutor has good reason to suspect you of complicity in the bombings. A married couple can’t live together for years without the wife knowing that there are explosives in the bedroom.”

“But God da . . . I’m almost never there!”

“Almost never there? At the cabin at Marstrand?”

“Yes.”

“But you have keys to it? To the gate and the cabin?”

A clear glint of fear behind the turquoise film. “Yes . . .”

“Where are they?”

She knew it was serious now. The smell of fear broke through the perfume.

“I don’t know. I haven’t looked.”

“No, of course not. Shorty had the keys yesterday. He says you gave them to him.”

“He’s lying! He must have stolen them!”

“When?”

“I don’t know.”

“But we do know a few things. We know that Shorty drove by Långåsliden on Sunday evening, stayed barely fifteen minutes, and then drove straight up to Marstrand and killed your husband.”

“How do you know . . .?” She cut herself off and quickly bent her head. Her hair slid forward like a curtain in front of her face, a move she had learned from her mother-in-law. Irene recognized it at once. After a while she looked up and said in a low voice, “He came by to ask if I was planning to come to Bobo’s funeral next week.”

“Funny. He didn’t tell us that.”

Basically, Shorty had refused to say anything as soon as they started asking about Henrik’s murder, but Charlotte couldn’t know that. With an audible quaver in her voice she asked, “What did he tell you?”

“That you gave him the keys and directions to Marstrand.”

It was a long shot, but Irene could see that it struck home.

“He said that? He’s lying!”

“Why would he lie? He’ll be doing hard time for your husband’s murder and has everything to gain from putting you away too. You’ll be sent up for instigation of homicide, and he’ll be sentenced for doing the job at your request. It’ll be a lighter sentence. For him.”

A person familiar with the law wouldn’t have fallen for it. But Charlotte was both ignorant and scared.

“That asshole! He threatened me! He wanted to get hold of Henrik, and he forced me to tell him where Henrik was. If I didn’t give him the keys he was going to kill me.”

“Why didn’t you call Henrik on his cell phone?”

“I couldn’t remember the number. It’s a new phone.”

“So why didn’t you call the caretaker and ask him to warn Henrik? Or the police?”

Now the scent of fear pervaded the room.

“I did! But the caretaker wasn’t in.”

“We checked your phone calls from Sunday evening. None were made to Marstrand or the police. On the other hand, one was made to the Brasserie Lipp, to reserve a table. And that’s where you went later that evening. We checked it out. You were a lively bunch, from what I understood from the owner. He wanted to get hold of the guy who pulled down the lamp; it’s going to cost five thousand to replace. All right, one more time. Why didn’t you call Henrik and warn him? Or the police?”

“I didn’t dare. Shorty said he’d cut the baby out of my belly if I contacted anyone.”

“But you weren’t so upset that you couldn’t go out and party with your friends later that evening.”

She had no reply to that. She looked down at the table, under which she was hiding her shaking hands. Neither she nor Shorty had suspected that they were under surveillance. The police wouldn’t have known about his quick visit to Örgryte if they hadn’t been tailing him. She would have had a neat alibi at the restaurant with her pals and plenty of other people all around. Cunning, but not intelligent. Cunning approaching boldness, bordering on recklessness. All the ingredients necessary for successfully murdering Richard von Knecht. Add a little intelligence to the mix and the murder would have been much harder to solve. Maybe impossible.

Jonny continued pressing her for almost half an hour about the bomb on Berzeliigatan. When she protested that she didn’t know a thing about it, Jonny pressed even harder. After a while she turned chalk white, and Irene decided the time was ripe for the entrance of the good cop.

In a softly admonishing tone she interrupted the interview. “Okay, Jonny, time for you to take a break. Can’t you see that she’s completely worn out? Would you like some breakfast, Charlotte?”

“Yes, please. Tea and a sandwich. And I have to go to the bathroom.”

“Okay. But no more than ten minutes.”

Jonny was in his element as the bad cop. A certain natural talent for the role, Birgitta would probably say, but Irene thought he had conducted himself brilliantly. If he had gone on to study law, he would certainly have been a feared prosecutor.

After a visit to the toilet and a cup of coffee, Charlotte had plucked up her courage again. But Jonny and Irene had made good use of the break. Tactics had been planned, and she had given Jonny the pictures showing Henrik beaten to a pulp.

Charlotte said curtly, “Now I’d like to have an attorney. I won’t say any more.”

“Good idea. But you’ll have to wait in this room. Meanwhile I think you should take a look at these pictures.”

Jonny shoved the photos across the tabletop with a flick of his wrist. Purely out of reflex, Charlotte caught the pictures and then glanced at them. Her eyes widened and her breathing grew heavier. She seemed unable to tear her gaze away.

Jonny said in a low voice, “Was he really such a pig that he deserved this?”

She didn’t seem to have heard the question. He slammed his fist hard on the table and screamed, “Answer me! Did he deserve this? Was he a pig?”

She seemed to wake up and looked at him in bewilderment. Her eyes narrowed and she had to clear her throat before she replied. “Not a pig. A . . . sawhorse. A wooden sawhorse is what he was!”

“And now you’re free of him. Does it feel good? Look at the pictures! Does it feel good?”

No reply. She stared straight ahead, into the wall. But Irene could see her hands twisting under the table. Soon, soon . . .

Jonny was merciless. For the next half hour he went over all the events of Sunday night and the early hours of Monday morning once more. She had no explanation for Shorty’s visit to her before the murder, no explanation for how he got hold of her keys, no explanation for why she went out to eat with her friends instead of warning Henrik. Charlotte was in the frying pan, and she knew it. She lamely tried to prevaricate, but there were no more lies for her to tell.

The time was ripe. Irene got up and walked across the room. In wordless agreement Jonny stepped aside and left the room. Birgitta slipped in and took over the listener role.

Irene began. “Charlotte. I’ve been working on the investigation of the murders of Richard von Knecht and Bobo Torsson, the two arson fire victims on Berzeliigatan, and now Henrik’s death. A lot has come out in the course of the investigation, strange connections and relationships. As you no doubt know, we have arrested both Shorty and one of the Hell’s Angels gang. And they’re telling us everything now. Both of them!”

Charlotte started and terror danced in her eyes. Irene calculated coldly that she didn’t know Shorty very well and consequently didn’t realize he had a reputation for always keeping his mouth shut. She had apparently never met Paul Svensson. The Hell’s Angels were Bobo’s contact. She also didn’t know about Hoffa’s fate, since she couldn’t have had time to read the morning paper or listen to a news program. If she ever did. Still in a friendly tone, Irene began to run down the facts for the terrified Charlotte.