The Golden Calf

by Helene Tursten

  Andersson turned on his heel and headed back to his office, happy he’d gotten in the last word. He had actually wanted to know what Irene had found out from Paris and if there were developments about Edward Fenton. Still, that could wait. Paris would need at least a weekend to come up with anything, like the caliber of the bullet that had killed Fenton.

  Chapter 21

  “SHE’S SLEEPING,” THE gray-haired nurse warned them, coming out of Sanna’s room just as Tommy was about to open the door. The nurse closed the door firmly behind her, adding, “She must not be disturbed.”

  The officers on watch in front of Sanna’s room had changed shifts. A young female officer now sat by the door. She informed them that Sanna’s sister and mother had been by to visit around eleven A.M., but otherwise the situation was the same.

  “Let’s go have something to eat,” Tommy suggested.

  They took the elevator down to the hospital cafeteria. It was crowded, but they managed to find a seat by the large glass windows facing the inner courtyard. They each ordered the same thing: ham quiche, salad, milk, and coffee. Not a culinary adventure, but it filled the stomach. As they sat and started to drink the lukewarm coffee, Irene worked up her courage and asked, “Will you and the children be with your parents all weekend?”

  “No. Martin wants to be home by Saturday night. His girlfriend is having a party. But Agneta should have her things out by then. She’s already packed everything up.”

  His last words sounded a bit peevish as he stared hard into his coffee cup. Irene couldn’t take it any longer.

  “Good Lord! You seem so restrained and … self-disciplined! No tears, no accusations—nothing at all!”

  He glared straight at Irene. “What the hell do you know?”

  Irene tried to calm herself, glancing around the cafeteria to see if anyone had noticed them.

  “I know nothing at all, of course, because you’ve told me nothing! I really don’t understand how you could hide all of this … keep up a strong front … and suddenly, I’m confronted with a done deal that you’re getting divorced!”

  Tommy took a deep breath. “It’s actually my fault.”

  He seemed to mean what he said, but Irene objected immediately. “You shouldn’t take all the blame! Agneta was the one who started the affair with that doctor and wanted a div—”

  Tommy interrupted her. “That’s not the whole story.”

  Irene was confused and didn’t know what to say, so she kept her mouth shut. Tommy looked through the windows to the courtyard, where the greenery had taken on the shades of autumn. As he spoke, he kept his face turned away from Irene. She had to lean closer over the table to hear what he was saying. “I had an affair with another woman a few years back. We were neighbors. She was extremely attractive and had a certain … reputation. We hit it off at an August crayfish party. Things between us just went on until her husband and Agneta both found out. A few months later, they moved, and Agneta and I went to marriage counseling.”

  He sighed heavily and drank the last dregs of coffee. Irene found herself staring at her oldest friend. Neither she nor Krister had ever imagined their friends had been through such troubles.

  “We managed to fix things for a while. But … it happened again. You remember when I went to that course in Stockholm two years ago. I met a colleague from Gävle. She was also married, and we just thought we’d have a little fun. Or so I thought, at least. As things turned out, she and her old man were in the process of divorcing, and she had set out to find someone new. She’d decided that was going to be me. When she realized that I wasn’t interested, she got angry and called Agneta. Things went ballistic, to say the least. Only the thought of the children made us decide to stay together and try again, but it wasn’t ever the same. Last summer we gave up. Agneta decided that she and her doctor friend were truly in love, and she wanted a divorce. They had trouble finding a place to live that would have enough room. But now they have, and she’s moving out. That’s all, folks!” He waved his hands in a gesture from the cartoon, which appeared carefree, but his eyes told another story.

  Irene finally was able to stammer out, “But you—why—why were you unfaithful in the first place?”

  Tommy looked at her defiantly. Irene could hardly believe what he’d told her, and at the same time, she felt an irrational yet very natural emotion: anger.

  “We’ve known each other for twenty years,” she continued. “I have always said that you are an honest and sensible person. Now you’ve acted just like all the other men! Brains go out the window whenever things stir in the pants!”

  “I am a man, after all,” Tommy said. “And if you’re saying that all men are alike, may I remind you that your Krister is one, too?”

  Tommy was angry enough for a fight.

  Irene felt all her anger dissipate as quickly as it had come on. She gestured dismissively. “Let’s stop all this. Here we are, almost fighting, but we have nothing to argue about. I have no right to judge you or your behavior. You are right that this is between you and Agneta. However, I still have to say that what’s happening to you affects other people who are fond of you—of both of you.”

  The air went out of him, and his shoulders slumped. He stared at his empty coffee cup, then straightened and stood up. “I need another cup, and I know I don’t have to ask you twice.”

  He smiled at her, but his smile looked more like a grimace. Irene tried to smile back encouragingly, but felt her smile was just as false as his. With a spark of tenderness in her heart, she watched his back as he headed over to the coffee pots on the hot plates.

  So many strong emotions had left her feeling drained. On the other hand, she felt grateful that Tommy had finally told her what was really going on.

  But why had Tommy risked his family just to have a bit of fun on the side? Excitement? To scratch the itch for validation? Check if he still was attractive to other women? Or is it really true that when lust comes in, all rational thought goes out the window?

  Tommy returned to put the cups of coffee on the table. He’d also bought some truffles filled with arrack.

  “Thought we’d need something strong with our coffee,” he said.

  SANNA WAS AWAKE when they finally got back to her room. When she saw who had come in, she ostentatiously turned her head away and looked out the window. Irene didn’t let Sanna ruffle her feathers. She picked up a chair and set it between the bed and the window. With a police officer on each side of the bed, Sanna was forced to look at the ceiling to escape their eyes. She still couldn’t escape their questions.

  Tommy began. “Hope that you’ve had a good sleep and can now answer our questions.”

  Sanna, staring at the ceiling lamp of opal glass, only snorted in reply.

  “While you were asleep, several things happened in the outside world,” Tommy said, then fell silent to observe Sanna for a long time. Sanna closed her eyes to keep the police and their uncomfortable questions away. She tried to pretend she was falling asleep. Tommy’s next question made her open her eyes again.

  “You told us that you were on the phone with Edward Fenton two days ago. Is this true?”

  She nodded weakly. A trace of worry flickered through her eyes.

  “What did he say exactly?”

  She croaked out, “I don’t really remember.”

  “Try,” Tommy said shortly.

  She shut her eyes again, but Irene saw that they were moving frantically under her eyelids, which were so white that the blue veins were clearly visible.

  Unexpectedly, they popped back open. “Someone demanded the fingers back. But he’d gotten rid of his, just like I had. The person told Edward to pass the same demand on to me. I was told to find Kjell’s as well. Edward said that the same person threatened Ludde if I didn’t obey.”

  A tortured grimace settled on her face. Of course, getting a letter with a cut-off finger would be bad enough, but she seemed mostly worried about the threat to her son.

  “Did
he say anything else?”

  “No.”

  “Did you already know that Kjell had gotten a finger before this talk with Edward the day before yesterday?”

  “No.”

  Irene leaned forward and said calmly, “Do you remember what was written in the blackmail letter that came with the finger?”

  Sanna stiffened and began to breathe swiftly. “Do I remember what was in the letter? No, I don’t! It’s too long ago.…” was her best attempt.

  “What had you done that you needed to hide? What leverage did the extortionist have?”

  Sanna pressed her lips together as if to keep any more words inside. Irene and Tommy exchanged glances across the light yellow terry-cloth bedcover, and Tommy nodded for Irene to continue.

  Irene debated her next question for a moment. Finally, she decided to go right to the heart of the matter.

  “What was … is … your actual relationship to Edward Fenton?”

  Irene hoped that Sanna hadn’t noticed her slip on the tense of the verb.

  Sanna replied evenly, “Edward? He’s the brother of my brother-in-law. We don’t see each other very often. Hardly at all the past few years. He was the head of the bank that provided financial advice at ph.com. We had a few business dealings then, but that was all.”

  “Why do you think Edward received a cut-off finger?”

  Sanna didn’t pause as she replied, “I really don’t know. Of course, it was a threat to make us pay up.”

  “What did they have on him?”

  “I’ve already told you. He works for an investment bank and specializes in risky capital. Somebody was upset with how he’d invested their money. But everybody lost money when the stock market crashed. That’s just the way it was!”

  Irene wondered if Sanna realized how she sounded—childish and whiny. It’s nobody’s fault the money is gone—least of all little Sanna’s.

  “So the person who threatened Edward demanded his money back, is that right?”

  “Yes, I believe that’s right.” Sanna sighed.

  “When did Edward tell you this?”

  There was a noticeable pause as Sanna decided how to reply. “When we talked two days ago,” she finally said.

  “You didn’t know before that he also was being blackmailed?”

  “No.”

  “When did you find out that both Kjell and Edward had received fingers?”

  “I told you! The day before yesterday.”

  Irene returned to the softer approach. “How did Edward sound two days ago?”

  “Sound …? Like usual.”

  Good Lord, guess the woman can add psychic abilities to her long resume! Irene did not say this out loud, but continued, “Can you remember anything else that Edward said to you during that conversation?”

  Sanna looked at Irene with irritation. “I’ve told you everything! Why do you guys keep harping on and on about Edward?”

  Now Tommy laid a hand on Sanna’s arm. “I’m afraid there’s some bad news we have to share with you.”

  She turned her head to look at him. Her irritation began to give way to vague worry. “Bad news? How so?”

  “Edward Fenton has been found … dead. He—”

  Sanna screamed so terribly that both Tommy and Irene felt paralyzed. The fearful screaming seemed endless. Neither one of them had expected such an extreme reaction. According to Sanna herself, she and Edward didn’t know each other well. He was just a relative of a relative. Edward Fenton was not supposed to be as close to her as the other four victims—with the possible exception of Joachim Rothstaahl.

  So they had believed—but her reaction proved them wrong. Helplessly, they stood there and watched her scream and thrash around until the gray-haired nurse rushed in and yelled, “What have you been doing to her? Get out! Out!”

  The nurse grabbed their arms and forced them out of the room. Before Irene and Tommy could catch their breath, they found themselves on the other side of the door. The nurse had set off an alarm, and the red light by the door started blinking and beeping. It made for an uncanny cacophony mixed with Sanna’s screaming.

  “What just happened?” asked Irene.

  Tommy lifted an eyebrow and replied, “I think we just hit the bull’s-eye.”

  • • •

  IRENE AND TOMMY drove back to the police station to confer with Andersson, but he was in a meeting that wouldn’t get out until five P.M.

  “I’ll wait here,” Irene said. “You go on home and get your kids ready to go to your parent’s place.”

  Tommy made a half-hearted protest, but Irene could tell he was grateful for her offer.

  Irene continued, “Why don’t you come over on Sunday with the kids? You don’t have to worry about the food. Krister will be home. It’s his day off.”

  “In that case, I’ll certainly come,” Tommy said with a mischievous grin.

  Cooking was not Irene’s strong suit, but why should it be, when she’d married a professional chef?

  “And say hi to Sonya and Ragnar from me!” she called after him as he strode down the hallway. After so many years of friendship, Irene knew his parents well.

  It would be at least another hour before the superintendent was out of his meeting. Irene decided to turn on her computer to check what email had arrived during the afternoon. She was glad to see a message from Glen Thompson. It was short but to the point:

  Irene,

  My colleague has checked with the FBI. E. Fenton’s murder seems to be of interest to the United States, so this is an even bigger deal than you’ve realized. The FBI is sending a special agent, Lee Hazel, to Paris tomorrow. On Monday, Lee will be here in London, and then in Göteborg either on Tuesday or Wednesday.

  Have a great weekend and say hi to Krister and the girls!

  Glen

  Ties to the United States? Perhaps not so unexpected, since Edward Fenton worked for an American bank and was married to an American woman whose father was a well-known businessman. Tommy had found that all out. Still, it felt odd to be part of an investigation involving the FBI. Was Rikskrim, Sweden’s National Bureau of Investigation, going to be called in, too? It was high time to talk to her boss.

  Absent-mindedly, she clicked on the attachments Glen had added. It was a good thing that she was already sitting down when the photos began to appear on the screen. Her fingers were trembling when she clicked print.

  “I DON’T WANT those idiots running around and ruining my investigation!” yelled Andersson. “Things are already too complicated as it is!”

  Rikskrim always made him see red. He would usually snort “bunch of bureaucrats” whenever they were mentioned. Irene had long ago given up on trying to correct his view. He would only get angry.

  “So you don’t believe we should inform Bodil Göransson?” Irene asked carefully.

  Andersson muttered a few more opinions. Bodil Göransson had just been appointed as the head of the provincial police department, and she always wanted to be kept up-to-date on each development. This case had been truly spectacular, and the media was feverishly trying to sniff out new details. These victims were unusual, too, and Göransson kept repeating, “Hard to believe that Antonio Bonetti is involved in this.”

  Andersson weighed his options. Finally, he said, “Yes, we should inform her, but let’s wait until Monday.” He leaned back in his chair and looked at Irene. “I just got a call from some head doctor with a Polish name that sounds like a sneeze,” he said. “He complained about you two. He started talking about Gestapo methods and other foolishness. I told him that you were following my orders. ‘We believe Sanna is protecting a murderer,’ I told him. ‘During the time she’s kept silent, another man has been killed. If she doesn’t talk soon, other people may be killed, which is why I told my detectives to use the thumbscrews,’ I said. Doctor Sneeze finally shut up.”

  A smile spread across his plump face as he remembered how he’d put the doctor in his place. The superintendent entwined his fingers over
his fat stomach, looking deceptively like an old pious priest—the exact opposite of his true self. But, nonetheless, he was undoubtedly as round as a wheel of cheese.

  “So, what do you think of our little miss Ceder’s breakdown after you told her Fenton was dead?” Andersson asked.

  “Her reaction was unbelievable,” Irene said. “Perhaps even an overreaction—if her relationship was as superficial as she made it out to be. So I believe they had to be much closer than she’d said, not superficial at all.”

  Irene handed her boss a plastic folder with the printouts of the photographs Glen Thompson had sent. Andersson spread them out on his desk.

  Written below the first photograph was: Edward Fenton with wife Janice and sons Victor (nine) and Albert (seven). Edward was standing with his arm around his wife, a woman much shorter than he. He was smiling directly at the camera. The two boys were standing in front of the couple. Both had black hair, like their mother. The family was on a deck or a balcony of some kind, with the ocean and palm trees in the background. Janice Fenton was a Mediterranean beauty, and she had black hair to her waist. Her face was beautiful, with strong, shapely eyebrows and full lips. Although she was short and thin, she had curves right where curves belonged. Her diamond necklace and glittering diamond earrings made her look very American.

  Andersson couldn’t help whistling. “That’s what a woman should look like!” he exclaimed. “A full-blooded—”

  He stopped himself and looked over his reading glasses at Irene. Irene had no idea how he’d wanted to finish his comment, but from the red flush on his cheeks she assumed that the comment was not intended for female ears. She pretended she’d noticed nothing and simply met her boss’s look patiently. He looked down quickly and turned his attention to the next photograph.

  “And here’s another of Fenton,” he said in a suspiciously happy tone.

  He glanced at the third sheet of paper in his right hand. “And here we have Fenton as a corpse. Shot in the head, just like everybody else.” He quickly put that photograph aside.