The Golden Calf

by Helene Tursten

  “I didn’t leave it today. The last time was yesterday afternoon.”

  “At what time?”

  “Around four. We went to my sister’s place to spend the night.”

  “Did you take your son with you?”

  “Yes.”

  “So you spent the night with your sister?”

  “Her husband was on call. We were both going to be alone that night anyway.”

  “Do you know who your husband planned to meet yesterday evening?”

  “No idea.” Her voice seemed tired and uninterested.

  “When was the last time you spoke to your husband?”

  “Yesterday at nine in the morning.”

  “Did he say that he had to meet someone that evening?”

  “Not that I remember.”

  “Had you already made arrangements to spend the night at your sister’s, or did you just decide to yesterday?”

  “I called her yesterday around lunch. We’d been talking about doing this—having a nice evening with some good food and wine. She’s also on maternity leave.”

  “Did you call up your husband and let him know that you were going to your sister’s?”

  “No.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “I’d told him that I might go when I talked to him on the phone that morning.”

  “So you didn’t try to call him today?”

  “No. He knew that Ludwig and I were at Tove’s and not at home.”

  “Tove is your sister’s name?”

  “Yes. Tove Fenton. Her husband is a doctor. He was on call.…” Her voice sank to a whisper, and she didn’t finish her sentence. Before any of the other police officers could ask another question, a young policewoman came in. Up until then, she hadn’t moved from her post at the door. Irene remembered her first name was Stina, but she’d already forgotten her last name.

  “The mother is here. That is, her mother.” Stina motioned toward Sanna. They could hear an agitated female voice at the outer door.

  “I have to know what’s going on … my daughter! And Ludwig.…”

  There was jostling at the doorway to the living room. Sanna’s mother was trying to push inside, but two officers were holding her back. She was not as tall as her daughter, but she had the same pale coloring. Sanna shakily got up and walked toward her mother on unsteady feet.

  “My dearest Sanna! What has been going on? The police called.…” Sanna’s mother stopped talking the moment she saw the expression on her daughter’s face. She stopped trying to force her way past the police. “Is it … Ludwig?” she asked in despair.

  “Why are you wearing that ugly jacket?” asked Sanna—then she fainted.

  *The colon here indicates an abbreviation of a longer name. In this case, for example, B:son could stand for something like Bergson or Borjeson.

  Chapter 2

  “HE WAS SHOT at point-blank range,” Professor Stridner said. “The shots entered through the forehead, and I can’t see any exit wounds, so presumably the bullets are still inside the skull. This suggests a small-caliber weapon.”

  “When did he die?” asked Tommy.

  “Rigor mortis has started to subside. He has been lying on a warm floor equipped with heating coils … let’s say eighteen to twenty-four hours. I can’t be more precise than that.” Stridner was a consummate professional, and she continued in her matter-of-fact manner. “I knew Kjell when we were children. He was one year younger than I was, but we lived nearby growing up. We played together a lot.”

  Irene was surprised by Stridner’s revelation. The victim was a childhood friend of the professor’s! They’d played together? Had Stridner ever played like other children? Not just dissected dead frogs and small birds?

  They stood now in the middle of the living room floor. Kjell B:son Ceder’s body had been removed to the pathology department’s morgue. Sanna, Ludwig, and Ludwig’s grandmother had gone to the Ceder family’s apartment in Vasastan. Apparently, they had kept the apartment even though they’d lived in this house for a while.

  “Do you still see each other socially?” Tommy asked when he had recovered from his surprise.

  “Now and then. My husband and I were invited to the hotel opening. Very elegant, I have to say. We also attended his wedding when he married Sanna. My husband and Kjell also know … knew … each other via Rotary. Small world.”

  “Do you know if Ceder had been married before?” asked Irene.

  “He had.”

  “Did he have any children in that marriage?”

  Stridner shook her head, and her red curls bobbed. “No. She died tragically in a sailing accident. They’d been married only two or three years.”

  “Was that a long time ago?”

  The Professor looked at Irene with irritation. “At least fifteen years ago. And why would this be important?”

  “This means that Sanna and her son will inherit everything.”

  Stridner gave Irene a long, thoughtful look. “Kjell is … was … always a lady’s man. He had many love affairs over the years. We never thought he’d ever marry again. He surprised everyone who knew him when he suddenly married Sanna Kaegler. His first wife was extremely wealthy, and he’d been living the playboy life for years. He didn’t just have the money she left him. He was quite successful in the hospitality business.”

  “When did he and Sanna marry?”

  “One year ago exactly. The end of September. There was a big party at the restaurant Le Ciel at Hotel Göteborg.”

  “One year ago. Ludwig is six months old. Sanna must have been pregnant when they got married.”

  “Yes, although it didn’t show. She was stunningly beautiful. But Kjell’s friends were more than wary about the whole thing. There were rumors about her questionable business affairs.”

  “According to the media, she used to have enormous amounts of money,” said Tommy. “Do you know if she still has any left?”

  “I have no idea. If she’d gone through it all, I imagine that would be a good reason to marry Kjell,” Stridner said. She glanced at her wristwatch. “I’ll try to take a look at him this evening, and tomorrow I’ll perform the autopsy. You’ll hear from me.” She tossed her last sentence over her shoulder on her way out. The sound of her voice died away in the hall, accompanied by the staccato of her heels.

  Irene and Tommy climbed up the spiral staircase to the second floor above the octagonal room. Even up here, glass panels enclosed the entire space, which rose above the roof of the rest of the house. The architect had succeeded in evoking the airy feeling of being in a lighthouse.

  “What a view! Imagine sitting here in the evening and watching the sun set into the sea,” Irene said as she looked out into the darkening evening.

  “I’m glad I don’t have that view.”

  “Why not?”

  “Too expensive. And look at all the booze you’d need.” Tommy grimaced.

  He was probably right. The first thing they’d seen when they reached the top of the stairs was a well-stocked bar cart. A generously sized wicker sofa with puffy red cushions dominated the room. Two wicker chairs, in the shape of half-shells, hung from the ceiling. Irene was reminded of birds’ nests as she watched them sway in the breeze from the open door. Tommy went outside to take in the view from the small balcony that ran around the outer walls. He returned and closed the door behind him. The breeze died quickly.

  “So, do you think Sanna did it?” Irene asked him.

  “Statistically speaking, yep.”

  “Åhlén didn’t see any spots on her jacket sleeves.”

  “No, but maybe there were spots yesterday afternoon, if that’s when she shot him. If she shot him.”

  Irene thought this over. “So, you think she shot Ceder, went over to her sister’s, spent the night there, and then returned the next day to ‘discover’ him.”

  “Something like that.”

  “We’ll have to talk to the sister and find out which clothes Sanna wore yesterday w
hen she came over. And we have to check if anyone was in contact with Kjell after four o’clock yesterday afternoon.”

  Tommy nodded. “Might as well get started,” he said.

  “I’ll call Sven. He can ask Birgitta or someone else to get in touch with Ceder’s office and question his employees. You and I can certainly find that sister of hers. I’m sure there aren’t too many doctors by the name of Fenton.”

  SANNA KAEGLER-CEDER’S SISTER lived only a few kilometers south, just across the city limits into Hovås proper. Irene and Tommy turned into the small cul-de-sac ringed by single-family houses with big yards. The houses were a bit older, built in the fifties or sixties. The Fenton’s house was at the bottom of the street, and Irene guessed that it, too, had a view of the sea. Not that they saw anything of the water in the darkness and rain, but they could hear how the wind drove the waves and flung them crashing onto the shore. A clear scent of salt and seaweed hit Irene’s nostrils, and she took a few deep breaths. Her own townhouse was just two kilometers from the ocean, but the distinct aroma of sea air never made it all the way past the other neighborhoods between her place and the water.

  The house was large and built in a bungalow style using dark-brown wood and white Mexican tiles. As Irene pressed the doorbell, she could hear children screaming happily inside the house. After Irene rang the doorbell a second time, a woman opened the door. For a confused moment, Irene thought she was looking at Sanna, but this woman had more crow’s feet around her eyes, revealing her as the older sister.

  “Hello. I’m Detective Irene Huss. May my colleague, Tommy Persson, and I come inside for a moment?” Irene held out her hand to greet the woman.

  “Just tell me what happened! My mother called.…” Tove Fenton’s voice was shaking, and it was obvious she’d been crying, but she didn’t step aside to let them in.

  “We’re here to tell you, but we’d prefer to come inside first,” Irene said calmly.

  The woman reluctantly stepped out of the doorway. They could see a little girl with golden curls, about three-or-four years-old, scampering naked through the hallway. She squealed happily, pulling a heart-shaped Winnie the Pooh balloon by a string. When the girl saw Tommy and Irene, she stopped and stared.

  “Hello,” Tommy and Irene said in unison. They smiled and waved.

  “Felicia! You’re supposed to be taking a bath! Get right back in the tub this minute!” Tove shrieked at the little girl, who looked at her mother in fright. “Are you listening?”

  The mother stopped her frantic yelling abruptly when she saw a pool of urine forming at the girl’s feet. Tile floors are certainly practical, Irene thought. No one spoke and everyone heard the trickling sound get interrupted by the click of a key going into the front door lock. The door opened to reveal a man Irene assumed to be Dr. Fenton coming home.

  He was a large man of about fifty, balding and somewhat portly. As soon as he saw the police officers, he held out his hand to greet them, something his wife had not yet done. His smile was wide and friendly, and his tan face looked pleasant and good-natured.

  “Morgan Fenton,” he said with a British accent.

  Irene and Tommy introduced themselves. From the corner of her eye, Irene could see Mrs. Fenton carrying away the crying child.

  “My wife called me at the office, and I came as soon as I could. What happened to Kjell?”

  The doctor had trouble pronouncing the name Kjell, but otherwise his Swedish was very good.

  “I’d like to speak with you together once your wife is able to join us,” Irene said.

  “Sure, sure. Go ahead and hang up your coats,” he said as he pointed to the hangers in the hallway.

  He escorted them into a large living room. Here, too, an enormous glass window highlighted the magnificent ocean view, and Irene could just make out a generous terrace outside in the darkness. The room had Chesterfield sofas and a table and cupboards in dark, polished wood, and its focal point was a large, open fireplace. Combined with the paintings and textiles, the furnishings gave a distinctive English feel. The contrast between the two sisters’ living rooms was striking. Dr. Fenton must have actively taken part in the interior decoration. It was classically English and a bit old-fashioned.

  Irene and Tommy sat down in leather armchairs as Tove came into the living room, a red flush spreading from her neckup to her cheeks.

  “Tell me right now what’s going on!” she demanded.

  “We must ask you a few questions before we can go into detail,” Irene said mildly.

  Tove Fenton struggled with her impatience as she looked at Irene expectantly.

  “Could you tell me what time your sister arrived here yesterday?” Irene began.

  “Right after four in the afternoon,” Tove replied promptly.

  “What was she wearing?”

  “Wearing? Her brown mocha outfit.”

  “What does it look like?”

  “Pants and a short jacket in light-brown mocha. Why do you need to know?”

  “Routine. How did she seem?”

  “What do you mean?” Tove was tense, and her face revealed her irritation. In the background, children were screaming with increasing volume, which seemed to unsettle her even more.

  Dr. Fenton stood up. “My dear, let me take care of them.”

  Tove sat down in the space her husband had vacated. She crossed her arms tightly across her chest as if she were trying to hold on to the last bit of warmth her body had.

  “Was she upset? Worried? What was her mood?”

  “No, she was just like normal.”

  “Did she surprise you, or were you already planning for her and the baby to come over?”

  “We’d talked about having a nice evening together on one of Morgan’s on-call nights. Yesterday, Sanna called me up, and we decided it was a good night.”

  “According to your sister, you enjoyed some good food and wine.”

  “That’s right.”

  “So it was just the two of you?”

  “And the children, of course.”

  “The children are still quite young.”

  “Well, Ludwig, Felicia, and Robin are still small, but Stoffe … Christopher … was also here.”

  “Who is Christopher?”

  “Morgan’s son. He’s fifteen.”

  “Does he also live in this house?”

  “Every other week. This week he’s here.”

  Irene made a mental note that she’d also have to question Christopher to check on timing. “Is he home right now?”

  “No, but he’ll be here any time. He has hockey practice.”

  “Did Sanna call her husband on the phone at any time while she was here?”

  Tove appeared to think this through carefully, but finally she just shook her head.

  Dr. Fenton returned to the living room with a wide-awake baby in his arms. The baby was a few months older than Ludwig, and Irene realized this must be Robin. He looked tired as he leaned his fuzzy head against his father’s chest and sucked hard at his bottle. The smacking sound rang through the room.

  Irene explained what had happened to Kjell. Tove threw her hands up over her face and began to wail. Her husband turned white.

  “Good Lord! Murdered!” he exclaimed.

  Tommy asked, “Have either of you heard anything about Ceder being threatened?”

  “No, never, although there are some tough characters in the restaurant business,” Dr. Fenton replied.

  Tove let her hands fall away from her face. She glared accusingly at Tommy.

  “That’s why you were asking about Sanna! You believe she did it!” Her voice rose hysterically. “She most definitely did not! She couldn’t have—she was with me!”

  Her husband laid a protective arm around her shoulders while simultaneously trying to calm his tiny son, who had responded to his mother’s cries with his own.

  From the corner of her eye, Irene caught the flash of a disappearing face near the entrance to the living room. She rose
quickly and followed the shadow. On the other side of the kitchen, a door was being carefully and quietly shut. She strode to the door and knocked. Then, without waiting for an answer, she walked in.

  Christopher Fenton was almost as tall as she was and bulky despite his age. He was going to be a good-looking man once his acne cleared up. Irene hoped he’d change his style in clothing from baggy pants and Fubu T-shirts to something more fitting by then.

  “Hello. My name is Irene Huss, and I’m a police detective. My colleague and I are investigating a serious crime.”

  The boy didn’t move, just glared at her. Since Irene was used to teenagers, both her own and others’, she wasn’t thrown off. “We’ve just begun our investigation, and we need to find a few witnesses to fine-tune the timeline. We have to check some alibis and that kind of thing. Totally routine. You’d be a real help to us if you let us ask you a few questions.”

  Irene saw his attitude soften out of pure curiosity. She was always amazed that a few words of police jargon had the power to provoke curiosity in all kinds of people, no matter their age.

  Irene took a quick look around the messy room. The bed hadn’t been made, and on the overloaded desk, there was a computer surrounded by a scattered heap of empty potato chip bags. It was hard to walk without stepping on clothing, comic books, CDs, or just plain garbage. There were a number of posters on the walls: hockey stars and hip-hop groups as well as a few of Britney Spears in various stages of undress. The room smelled of a teenager at the peak of puberty.

  Mostly for effect, Irene took out her little notebook and a pencil with a broken point. That didn’t matter, since she didn’t expect to write anything down. In her most official tone, she asked, “When did you arrive home last night?”

  The teenager shrugged. “Don’t know.”

  “Your best guess?”

  “Maybe, like, four thirty?”

  “Was Sanna Kaegler-Ceder here when you arrived?”

  “Yeah. Her car is sick!” For a second, he forgot to be cool.

  “It’s an unusual automobile.” Irene was non-committal.

  “You can’t buy CLK-class in Sweden! You got to, like, import it from the US,” Christopher said.