The freshly painted blue front door was equipped with a digital lock and a sturdy cast-iron door knocker. Firmly she knocked the clapper three times against the plate. Behind the door everything was quiet. When she had waited quite some time she rapped on the door again: ta-ta-ta-ta-ta-ta echoed from inside the house. After another minute or so she took her phone out of her jacket pocket. In the corner of her eye she noticed a camera hanging over the door, but she pretended she hadn’t seen it. Instead she called Nisse’s cell phone again. After a few ringtones he answered.
“This is Nisse.”
“Hi. It’s me. I’ve run out of gas and of course I forgot the gas can. It’s still in the garage. Now I’m standing outside the door to Hansgården. It doesn’t look like Peter is at home. And I haven’t seen the dog.”
She fell silent and listened to what Nisse said.
“The soonest in half an hour . . . an hour, okay. So they’ve seen Seppo? That’s great! Then maybe you’ll get ahold of him . . . Okay, I’ll wait half an hour at most by the car. If it takes longer I’ll walk over to Karin and Björn’s, so you can go there with the can and pick me up . . . Yes, that’s fine.”
She clicked off the call and raised her hand to the cast-iron ring for a third and final time. At the same moment the door soundlessly swung open on well-oiled hinges, leaving her standing there with a raised fist. Peter stood in the doorway smiling at her. His hair was wet and he was barefoot and dressed in jeans and a red T-shirt.
“Hello there! What are you doing here?”
He sounded sincerely happy.
“I’m out looking for Seppo. He ran off. And I drove in this direction . . . and now I’ve run out of gas.”
“I see. And where’s the car?”
“A short distance away. Half a kilometer maybe. The fuel gauge is broken and I forgot the extra can. It’s usually in the back of the car but it got a little stressful and . . .” With an apologetic smile and a shrug, she did not complete the sentence.
“I understand. Come in. I hope you’ll have a cup of tea because I intended to have one myself.”
“That sounds great. Thanks.”
She stepped across the threshold and he closed the door behind her.
“Unfortunately I only have alkylate gasoline in the outbuilding. For the lawnmower. Environmentally sound,” he said.
“It’s probably not worth putting it in the Veteran then. He’d just choke.”
“The Veteran?”
“The car. It’s twenty-four years old.”
“Impressive!”
“Yes. Although it does have a few issues—the fuel gauge, for one.”
The hall was roomy without any furnishings other than a closet that peeked out behind sliding doors of mirrored glass. The light-gray granite floor tiles were tinged with warm pink. When she had taken off her shoes, she could feel the heat from the coils under the stone. A few spotlights in the hall were on, but the rest of the house was still submerged in darkness. He took her jacket and hung it up on the hat rack behind the sliding door.
“Excuse me for not answering right away. I was taking a shower.”
That was somewhat superfluous information considering his bare feet and damp hair, thought Embla.
“I didn’t think you were home. The house was completely dark. Or well, there was a light in a window on the top floor . . .”
“The office. I was working. Then I forget to turn on the rest of the lights. But now there will be light!” From the pocket of his jeans he took out an iPhone and poked at it a few times with his index finger. Spotlights came on all over the house, and it immediately felt much cozier.
“You have a smart house,” she observed.
“Of course. I was actually involved in developing the technology. Modern homes are full of electronics and small computers. And because it’s my job . . . voilà.” He threw out his hands, looking like a magician who was expecting applause after a skillfully performed trick.
“So can you, like, turn on the tea kettle with your phone?”
“Yes, actually. Although it’s important to remember to always keep the kettle filled. Same with the coffeemaker.” He quickly tapped on his iPhone a few more times.
“So with your phone you can control the stove, the refrigerator, the furnace . . .”
“Yes, you name it. I can be anywhere in the world and still have complete control of my house. And I can let people in, like repairmen, when I’m not home.”
Although you should never do that, the detective in her thought, but she didn’t say it out loud. Instead she asked, “All that’s required is that the electronics are connected to some type of computer, right?”
“A modern cell phone is enough. It’s actually a small computer. Then you just need smart plugs in the outlets for the electrical devices you want to turn on and off.”
He smiled and made an inviting gesture with his hand that she should step into the kitchen. Sure enough, an electric tea kettle was bubbling away on the stone counter. He took out a teapot from a cupboard and placed it beside the kettle. He grabbed a metal filter and measured out tea from a lovely tin that looked old.
“I only have Earl Grey,” he said.
“That’s fine.”
“So you don’t just drink herbal tea?”
“No. Although I don’t like green tea.”
While they talked she took the opportunity to discreetly look around the kitchen. The lower cabinets had smooth, glossy white doors, while the upper ones were equipped with glass doors. Spotlights inside the cabinets made the glass and porcelain glisten. The appliances were stainless steel. Everything was new and of modern design. The floor was the same kind of granite tile as in the hall; it seemed as if the stone floor covered the entire downstairs. Nice, he has good taste, she thought. She herself never would have come up with such well-thought-out décor. She didn’t have time, interest, or money for that matter.
“Unfortunately I only have some frozen store-bought rolls to offer. Or would you like a cheese sandwich?”
“No, thanks. We had a late dinner.”
“Dinner . . . that reminds me. I forgot about that. Then it will have to be a sandwich for me.” He pointed toward a wide doorway and said, “Please, go and have a seat, and I’ll join you shortly.”
Probably not enough time to have a look around, Embla thought, and she followed his instructions. On her way toward the big room she passed the glassed-in veranda. It was a decent size; presumably it had been expanded during the renovation. The dining room was there, with a substantial table of oiled oak and six matching leather-clad chairs. Above the table a small chandelier sparkled with holders for candles.
The L-shaped living room was impressive; she had a strong feeling that this room, too, had been expanded. A large soapstone stove towered in the inside corner of the L. In front of it were two dark-gray leather swivel armchairs and a small, round smoke-colored coffee table. At the far end of the room she saw an elegant sofa, upholstered in light-gray linen fabric, and a second coffee table, this time oval, with a wrought-iron frame and a sturdy top of dark-gray marble. Over the table a large, wrought-iron chandelier was hanging with glass candle holders. Almost the entire wall above the sofa was covered by a gigantic oil painting in various shades of blue and green with patches of white. The painting depicted an agitated sea where the storm whipped up foam like smoke from the crests of the waves. The sea felt threatening and mighty and had a powerful effect on Embla. It was the only painting she had seen so far in the house.
She sat down in one of the armchairs in front of the stove. Through the glass in the door, she could see a neatly stacked wood pile, and a box of long matches were above the stove.
“Should I light the fire?” she called so that he would hear her out in the kitchen.
“Absolutely.”
She bounced in the chair when she heard his voice right behind her; she hadn’t heard him come in.
Carefully he set down two red-glazed mugs on the glass table. “
Milk? Sugar?”
“Neither, thanks.”
When he turned and went back to the kitchen she stood up and took the matchbox from the shelf. She opened the door and struck a match. Before she lit the fire, she hesitated. Under the wood were large wads of paper. She took a quick look at them: financial pages from a newspaper. Nothing interesting. She lit the papers and returned to her seat.
This time she was more on her guard and heard his steps approach. Quickly she arranged her face into a friendly smile before she turned around.
“What a great stove!”
“Yes. Efficient. Finnish. The soapstone retains the heat for a very long time. It gets so warm you can cook food on it. Practical in case of a power outage.”
“You’ve thought of everything.”
He gave her a contented look and smiled but did not reply. He set down a small pitcher of milk and a tray with a large open-faced cheese sandwich on the glass table. On top of the cheese were two rings of red pepper, two tomato wedges, and some cucumber slices. To top it off he had set a sprig of parsley. This guy is too heavily trained! was the thought that passed through her mind. And he’s a mind reader too! She didn’t share either thought.
“You’ve done such a nice job with the house.” She said, mostly to change the subject, but she meant it.
“Yes, it turned out well if I do say so myself.” Greedily he sank his teeth into the sandwich.
“When you have a space like this, I can see why you prefer to work from home,” she continued.
“That was the idea with this renovation: create an environment that was just mine.”
“It’s great. Really great!”
“Thanks.”
They sat quietly for a while and watched the fire crackle and jump behind the glass door.
Once Peter had finished his sandwich, he leaned back in the chair and inspected her. “Does Seppo run away often?”
It was a question she was prepared for. “According to Nisse it’s happened a time or two before. For the same reason. Ladies. He’ll be three years old soon. Now he knows what’s going on when his lady friends start smelling irresistible.”
“Personally I was probably a few years older . . .”
Their eyes met and she felt that she was starting to blush. She seldom did that, and she felt a little confused. At the same moment her phone rang, and was relieved to have somewhere else to direct her attention.
“Sorry, it’s Nisse. One moment,” she said to Peter as she slid the button on her phone to accept the call. “Hi, Nisse . . . That’s great! Then you just have to retrieve him . . . Okay!”
With a satisfied expression she clicked off the phone. Damn. How quickly the time had passed. She hadn’t even been in the vicinity of the top floor or anything resembling a locked room.
“Nisse has a lead on Seppo. Karin called and said he’s in their neighbor’s garden and refuses to move. They have a fat, old female dachshund who is apparently in heat.”
There was no risk that Peter would see through the lie because there really was an old dachshund at Karin and Björn’s neighbor’s house. The elderly couple who owned the dachshund usually let her out in the yard to do her business. What the dog got up to then, no one could say for certain. A meeting with a considerably younger admirer was completely possible.
“Ah, well, you know what they say. Love is blind,” said Peter.
“True. But Nisse said he’s coming with the gas can in around twenty minutes.”
“Then you have time for another cup.”
“No, thanks. But I do need to use the restroom.”
“Sure. Come, let me show you.”
He got up and went ahead of her toward the hall. She had already seen the bathroom door when she came in, but she also remembered a door somewhat farther away. To catch up with Peter she hurried her pace and started talking.
“Will you be able to come up to hunt on Saturday?”
“I will. I’m getting home late tomorrow night, but that’s no problem . . . No, not that one!”
The last comment had a sharp edge to it. With a few quick steps she had crossed the hall and gone up to the door she had seen earlier. Quickly she pulled down the handle, simply to confirm that it was locked. Beside the doorframe was yet another digital lock. She giggled and said with surprise, “Oh! Have you locked the bathroom door?”
“No. That’s the door to the bathroom over there.” With a blank expression he pointed toward the door in the hall.
With some embarrassed apologies she went into the bathroom. To be on the safe side she pulled down her jeans and sat down on the seat. She had to play her role well, down to the slightest detail. With some effort she managed to squeeze out a squirt.
When she came out again she saw he had put on shoes and a sweater.
“I’ll go with you. You don’t have a flashlight,” he said.
His voice sounded normal again.
She put on her jacket and they went out on the front steps. Peter pressed lightly on his phone display and she could hear the door locking behind them. In silence they started walking toward her car.
When she took hold of the handle to the locked door the trust between them had cracked. It was clumsy, she knew, but at the same time it had been important to find out whether the rumor about the locked room was true. And it was. And it was worse than that: the door to the whole top floor was locked.
“Why do you lock the door to the top floor?” she asked.
Without sounding the least bit hesitant, he answered, “The insurance company requires locks everywhere. As I’ve told you, I work on security issues for various companies, and there’s a major risk of industrial espionage. Millions, sometimes billions is at stake. The computers and other equipment that I have at home also cost a lot of money.”
“I see.” She tried to sound as if she weren’t particularly interested, but the doubt remained.
When they came up to the car her uncle was already there, filling the Veteran’s tank from a big metal can.
He said hello to them and blinked in the sharp light from the flashlight. Peter lowered the beam of light toward the ground and returned the greeting. Embla went up to Nisse’s Mazda and looked into the backseat. With a happy bark Seppo jumped up and pressed her nose against the window. To his surprise she started scolding him.
“Naughty pup! Running off in the dark to go courting! That lady is much too old for you!”
Seppo lowered his tail and looked unhappy—not because he understood what she was saying, but because he could tell from her tone that she wasn’t pleased.
“Now you have enough gas to take you a few kilometers. Don’t forget to fill her up,” said Nisse.
“Thanks so much, you’re an angel!”
He went back to his own car and his bewildered dog. With a roaring start he drove toward a turnout a dozen or so meters away and made a U turn.
When the taillights of the Mazda had disappeared down the road, she turned toward Peter. He had turned off the flashlight. Now she could only see his silhouette a little ways from her.
“Thanks for the tea.”
“Yes, that was very nice. See you Saturday.”
Before she could say anything else, he had turned on his heels and started walking back toward the house. With a sigh she picked up the two warning triangles. Then one last glance toward the house made her stop. The indirect light from all the spotlights illuminated the whole bottom floor with a warm glow. It really was an extremely fine house he had built for himself.
“What do you think? What kind of shady business is he involved in?” Nisse was looking at her urgently over the edge of his teacup.
“No idea. He says he has to protect his computers and client information . . . and that sounds credible. But . . .” She fell silent and sipped her hot tea. “I don’t know . . . maybe it’s him. One moment he’s as sweet and easygoing as anything. The next moment it’s like he closes himself off and turns . . . cold.”
Nisse scrutinized he
r through narrowed eyes. He knew her well, and it was not just in appearance that they resembled each other. “You would like him to be sweet through and through and . . . what did you say . . . easy-going. But there are actually very few people who are. All the time, I mean.”
“I know. But there’s something else.”
He gave her a thoughtful look. “He has a responsible, stressful job. And perhaps he has a dark side. It runs in his family,” he said.
Embla’s feet were starting to get numb because Seppo’s head was lying on them. He’d been lying that way ever since they got home. According to Nisse it was because the dog was eager for them to be friends again after the scolding in the car. It was impossible to explain to a dog that it had all been just theater. Dogs don’t lie and play act; they always show their true feelings. Truthfully, she was ashamed of the trickery she and Nisse had staged. Peter had the right to privacy. She herself was not someone who ran around shouting out her own secrets.
Someone who had to pay the price for that was Lollo.
At long last there was peace and quiet in the house. Jan-Eric had fallen asleep after dinner, but he would soon wake up again and insist on some sandwiches, accompanied by aquavit and beer. And obviously they would continue to discuss the questions that they had dwelled on over the past twenty-four hours: Who was M? It couldn’t be . . . No. Absolutely not. So who was it? And what were the sender’s intentions? Probably blackmail, they were in agreement on that. But why right now? And why had they received the key ring and the scarf? Or the bandanna, as Jan-Eric persisted in calling it. Sure, in their youth they had had a certain connection to the things they received in the envelopes, but that was a very long time ago. So why . . . why . . . why?
The questions played through Anders von Beehn’s mind as he plopped down on the bed. It was impossible to rest. His gaze fell on the book on the nightstand. It was worth a try. He took his reading glasses out of their case, set them far down on his nose, and puffed up the pillows against the head of the bed. A dose of business law would surely calm his overheated brain.
Hunting Game Page 7
