Way of Escape (10 page)

“Fine, fine. I graduated from Uppsala last summer and I'm studying medicine in the Karolinska Institute now.” He brushed the accomplishment aside and said, “What, exactly, does this first wife inherit? And how will it affect me?”

There was a long silence while Inge Person shuffled through the folder. She produced a sheaf of papers held together with a bright yellow plastic paperclip. “Mrs. Bonnie Ixey,” she read, “inherits all the estate, except accounts held in trust for the castle upkeep, your college expenses, and the organization your Dad was helping, Emigrant Women, which has a small Swiss account.”

“I had a call from…someone in EW,” began Sture—which was the truth, he had, “and they've not been able to access their money.”

“Ahhh,” she said, “that's because the Swiss banks have a hold on the accounts until the Swedish authorities get a response from Mrs. Ixey confirming her acceptance of the inheritance. You see, the trust accounts are not of one certain amount. They get money from the accounts, which keep monies from the businesses' and investments' profits. So you and the castle can keep on running since they're from Swedish accounts, but EW's account is frozen until the Swiss banks get papers from the Pastorkirche that everything has been transferred.”

“Damn it!” swore Sture. “I know Dad wants, er, wanted EW to go on operating without any hiccough. It's probably life and death for them.”

“You're probably right. But there's nothing I can do, absolutely nothing. The Swiss banks are a world unto themselves. Not even a Swiss lawyer could do anything for you or EW.”

Sture hesitated a moment before springing the real reason he came to her. Taking in a breath, he asked, “Would you come with me to the Pastorkirche to talk to this Birgitta Algbak?”

“Why do you want to talk to her face to face? And why have me come with you?”
Her
had been said with complete distaste.

“Because I don't want to face
her
by myself,” explained the giant of a young man rather shamefacedly. “It's devilishly important to find out what's been done, how all this came about and if Algbak has any word from Mrs. Ixey yet. Come on, you're supposed to be my advocate.”

Inge Person wrinkled up her handsome face. “I'll charge you for the time, oh yes, I will.”

“Thank you, Ms. Person,” Sture Hermelin replied in mock ruefulness. “Let's go.”

“I'll get my coat.” Her sigh of resignation was heart rending.

As they exited the office, she gathered up a handful of kronor for the drunks and, although Sture tried to lead her around the other side of the fountain, as he had come, she went directly past them and slipped the coins into their outstretched hands.

When they had reached the Saab, Sture commented, “That's illegal.”

“My own philosophy,” she said back, “I feel they have the right to remain free. Why should they be locked up in the winter if they don't want to?”

“‘Cause they're sick and they need to dry out,” Sture responded with the appropriate explanation. He knocked on the café window where Krister sat, drinking coffee, and reading the
Dagbladet
newspaper. He dropped the paper and jumped to his feet.

“We could walk,” Ms. Person said.

“No, we're going to drive up in the Saab,” the young man insisted and when Krister opened the back door, he motioned the attorney in, before sliding in himself. “To the church offices,” he told Krister.

They drove around the block and down the boulevard that led over the twelfth century bridge into the part of Norrkoping that was much as it had been for centuries. Some of the wooden buildings, painted the traditional dark red, were in the exact spot they had been since the church, always the center of feudal towns, had been established in the ninth century. Archaeologists were finding that some of the huge oak logs, corner pieces of the houses sitting right on the river's edge, had come directly from the hills around Mora far to the east in Dalarna, probably at the same time the church was being constructed. Only recently had the church, a beautiful example of an early Gothic abbey, been renovated, with the help of archaeologists, who managed to save authentic historic features, such as the ancient woodwork, the graffiti on the back walls drawn by bored parishioners in the back pews, and the uneven floor trod by so many feet.

The Saab drove past the freshly whitewashed, small abbey and pulled up at the office next door, which was fairly modern, built in 1920. They parked in a spot quite visible to the rows of lighted windows on the left. Sture and Ms. Person got out and trailed by Krister, who would wait in the lobby, they went into the small area where supplicants to the bureaucratic system could call for various officials. Sture filled out a little piece of paper requesting an interview with Birgitta Algbak. The secretary hurried away.

Minutes passed. White-haired women in business attire came and went from the front desk, collecting other attendees of the system. Finally, a chunky woman, most likely in her mid-fifties with pitch-black hair, so obviously dyed as to hurt one's sensibilities, came to the desk. Half-lens reading glasses hung by a cord around her neck. In her hand was their little paper.

“Sture Hermelin and Ms. Inge Person?” her matronly voice croaked. The absence of a title before Sture's name was emphasized.

Inge pushed ahead in her role as advocate for the Hermelin estate and Sture followed her through the desk gate, which Miss Algbak held open for them. They wandered along through hallways until they reached a tiny office where, as Miss Algbak sat, she motioned them into plastic chairs that had surely been designed for robotic imitations of humans, certainly not for a real human, in front of her desk.

“Why did you come here?” Her directness was accented by sliding her reading glasses onto her nose and peering over them as if examining a couple of bugs that had had the audacity to crawl into her office.

Inge sat on the edge of her uncomfortable chair and began, “We are requesting any update on the status of Baron Hermelin's estate. We understand the Swiss accounts, which feed money into the trusts accounts, are locked up until word comes from the…” She almost said
supposed
and thought better of it, “first Mrs. Hermelin.”

A smile of majestic proportions filled the lower part of Miss Algbak's face. The red lipstick she was wearing made it all the more grotesque. “Why yes, I imagine young Mr. Hermelin here would like to know when he'll have money available to him.”

“It would be useful,” Sture glowered.

“Oh, your estate monies can be used at any time. Except for the household budget, most of that trust fund has gone into holdings by the Swedish National Historical Trust.”

Inge said, “That happened a long time ago. The entire west wing of the castle is a bed and breakfast for travelers and hikers and scientists visiting the Ostby area. What's of much more urgent concern is the trust fund for the organization Baron Hermelin was working with…”

“You mean that group in Israel?” Miss Algbak's smile became a half sneer. “The one helping battered women? Yes, that is too bad their funds are on hold, but there is nothing I can do until the first,” which was said with a severe tone and a told-you-so glance at Sture, “Mrs. Hermelin sends her forms back to us filled out and complete. Even then, legally, we are required to do a thorough check on her to make sure she is the correct person. This will be done after she's come to Sweden and presented herself in person to this office.”

There was no doubt in Sture's mind at that moment that Miss Algbak meant to drag this whole process out as long as was possible. “That organization is a very worthy one. You as a woman should be trying your damnedest to help.”

“I imagine you feel you are right,
pys
,” she responded insultingly by calling him a young twerp, “it is all a matter of opinion, and my opinion has always been that the family together is a much healthier way to live.”

Inge's bottom was only barely on the edge of her chair. She was so frustrated she plunged ahead, “Regardless of your opinion, legally you must move forward with the paperwork as soon as the forms are returned by Mrs. Ixey of California, whether she is here in person or not. The Swiss banks will proceed with monies for Emigrant Women as soon as you acknowledge Mrs. Ixey's assignment of the estate.”

“As an attorney of such good standing,” that also came out as an insult, “you realize we cannot be too careful in these matters, especially when this has all been such an unusual case.” Miss Algbak peered again over her spectacles, this time giving the attorney a piercing stare that would have fried lesser mortals than Inge Person who, being one of the only lawyers in the entire parish, had actually done a number of criminal trials.

“I'll warrant your finding of Mrs. Ixey and her legitimacy of being the first wife, I'll even grant your holding up of the accounts as proper until receipt of Mrs. Ixey's credentials, but,” Inge fought back, “I don't see why you have such antipathy toward an organization such as Emigrant Women.”

An enigmatic frown crossed Birgitta Algbak's face, her body slumped back into her chair, not in relenting, rather in ownership. One bony, pale white hand slowly moved to point straight up in the air. “The baron has his lordship thanks to Swedish royal decree in 1546. The Hermelin money has come through the good graces of the Swedish people; it would seem only right,” the bureaucrat's righteousness oozed, “that it be reinvested in Swedish interests. In this instance, he chose to invest in an Israeli organization. So we shall see…”

“It's a bloody international organization which is headquartered in Israel for safety!” exclaimed Sture, furious.

“Sweden is a perfectly safe country for women. I've never heard any complaints.” Algbak's pointing finger lowered and pressed upon the papers in front of her. “He should have founded it here.”

“Miss Algbak,” the attorney stated in her deepest voice, “Baron Hermelin was not the founder, nor does…did he have any administrative capacity with EW. It actually works through the auspices of the United Nations.”

“Not my concern,” said Birgitta Algbak and quickly changed the subject. “My particular goal is to help the Swedish government gain a way to reestablish tax rights on the Hermelin profits which heretofore have gone into Swiss banks.”

“
Fy fan!
” cursed Sture Hermelin jumping to his feet. “So that's what's up.”

Inge put a hand to his arm and tried to calm him. In a voice fit for telling a jury the truth, and nothing but, she said to Miss Algbak, “Almost every penny of the Hermelin wealth was made through investments in humanitarian enterprises in both Sweden and foreign countries. The baron was amazingly astute at picking starter companies, cottage industries, small ecologically oriented firms, and kicking them into full gear. Reindeer ranching in north Sweden, fish farms in Vietnam, medicinal pharmacology in the African jungle, a factory using hemp for building materials in Mexico, and every bit of that money is accounted for and taxed by the Swedish government.” Inge stood also, “No more, Miss Algbak, no more. I'll fight you on this.”

Birgitta Algbak smiled sweetly up. “There is only one person who can make any changes in the way things are disposed at this present time.”

“That damned Mrs. Ixey,” grumbled Sture.

Inge Person's pert blond eyebrows scrunched together, “Bonnie Ixey is an American.”

“No…wait!” exclaimed Sture. “Her father was Swedish. I remember seeing it on the copy of the papers Miss Algbak sent her.”

Birgitta Algbak nodded. “As soon as Mrs. Ixey officially registers in her Pastorkirche in Dalarna, she becomes a Swedish citizen.”

Inge's whole body went rigid. “And her newly acquired holdings become taxable through death duties.”

Birgitta Algbak had a thoroughly smug expression on her ugly face.

“Let's leave. It does no good to stay,” insisted Sture, pulling on his attorney's arm.

“This does not end here,” Inge said grimly as Sture forced her out the door.

“Goodbye, my dears,” a self-satisfied Algbak responded.

The two collected Krister in the lobby and, each bundling up against the bitter cold, headed for the big car. It was a relief to be in the warm Saab.

“Back to your office, Ms. Person?” asked Krister.

“Yes,” she replied, then turned to her young charge, “what time is it in America, specifically in California?”

“You mean now?” he asked and shrugged, “I'm not sure.”

“Pardon me,” interrupted Krister, “it's about nine hours earlier than us. My wife's sister lives in Seattle. That's the same time as California.”

“Drat. One a.m. That won't do,” she reflected. “Sture, what say we give the first Mrs. Hermelin a call around four o'clock this afternoon? Catch her at breakfast.”

The Saab pulled up in front of the little café again. The drunks noticed and their expressions looked hopeful.

“Sure, why not?” Sture said. “What do we ask her?”

“When she's coming over? What her decision will be on the funding of EW?” Inge continued more to herself than to the young man, “I'd like to find out if she understands all the implications of this. She may not have any idea at all!”

Sture Hermelin said, “You could well be right. I'm sure old moose's behind didn't tell her everything.”

Both Krister and Inge Person laughed at the translation of the bureaucrat's name. Inge went on, “Perhaps that's why the moose's-behind biddy has it in for anyone with money and why she instantly hated me!”

“Why?” Sture inquired, puzzled.

“Her name!” Krister managed between guffaws. “Who could stand having the name
algbak
, moose's back, without going crazy. Every kid in school must have called her
algbakdel
, moose's butt.”