Detective Inspector Huss: A Huss Investigation set in Sweden, Vol. 1

by Helen Tursten

  The investigators from Narcotics merely shrugged.

  After a bit more discussion they decided to adjourn.

  IRENE GOT a lift with one of the patrol officers and was dropped off at St. Sigfridsgatan. She brought along a sandwich and a light beer from the cafeteria for Tommy. He had moved the car, but she saw it, quickly walked over, opened the door, and climbed in.

  “Hi. I brought you some chow. Anything happening?” she asked.

  “Not a thing. I went off to take a leak an hour ago. I was gone ten minutes max. But nothing happened during that time. The Golf is still there, the blinds are closed. Man, stakeouts are sure boring!”

  He unwrapped the sandwich from the plastic and opened the beer. It was already dark, and it was starting to get cold in the car.

  Irene looked around. “Hey, maybe we should move. The old lady in the house across the street has peeked at us several times from behind her curtains. She probably thinks we’re up to no good. Let’s switch places, then you can keep eating.”

  She got out of the car and Tommy slid over to the passenger’s side.

  Suddenly a light showed behind the closed blinds on the top floor of Charlotte’s house. After a few minutes a lamp was turned on downstairs. It was probably the hall lamp, because behind the curtains in the bay window of the living room it was still dark. They waited tensely, but nothing else happened. It was time to move the car; the neighbor lady was getting suspicious.

  They drove off and parked on Förtroligheten. Irene stuck her arm under Tommy’s and they slowly strolled back up Långåsliden. They talked softly as they walked.

  Tommy asked, “Is Jenny going to the Karl the Twelfth demonstrations tonight? Or rather riots, in the worst case.”

  “No, she’s never been that interested in going. That was a real eye-opener you gave her last night. She never really understood before that joining up with a group like that also meant that she might have to do things she didn’t like or want to do.”

  “But what if her boyfriend demands that she come along?”

  Irene hesitated. “I don’t know. I honestly don’t. But Krister says that we need to trust her judgment. She’s a smart girl, but a little lost; she’s had a hard time finding a real best friend. She has Katarina, of course, but they fight all the time, except when Krister or I say something to one of them. Then they gang up on us and stick together.”

  They were nearing the yellow villa, completely unprepared, when the front door suddenly opened and a figure rushed out, stumbling down the uneven garden path. The door closed quickly. Evidently Charlotte wasn’t going out with him, which was lucky, considering she might have recognized them at once.

  With great self-control Irene forced herself to continue walking at Tommy’s side as if nothing had happened. They kept on talking as they discreetly observed the young man walk around the Golf. He was blond, of medium height, about twenty years old, and he was wearing the soft suede jacket and cowboy boots. The glow of the streetlight fell on him for a moment before he turned his back to them to unlock the car. He had a surprisingly young face with regular features, but he looked very grim. Was he angry? Had they had an argument? With an impatient gesture he pushed the hair out of his face. Irene caught herself thinking that he looked really sweet. Charlotte had gotten herself a boytoy. Although judging by his costume, he would probably prefer being called a cowboy. He got into the car and started fumbling in his jacket pockets. Apparently he was thinking of lighting a cigarette. Tommy and Irene passed the Golf and tried to increase their pace without being noticed. As fast as they dared, they hurried toward the Saab. When they opened the car doors, Irene looked back and saw the Golf swinging out onto the street. She let him drive by, hopped in the Saab, and then made one of her usual illegal U-turns.

  He drove down toward Skårs Allé and then turned south on St. Sigfridsgatan. Before long he turned up Kungsbackaleden. Tommy groaned, half in jest, but said with a serious undertone, “Oh no! Don’t tell me we’re going out to Billdal again!”

  But they weren’t. At Mölndal the red Golf turned off and headed down Bifrostgatan. He drove a short distance and then parked outside a low apartment house. Irene quickly turned down a side street. They jumped out of the car and saw the young man calmly walk up to the street door and go inside. They jogged up to the door and opened it as cautiously as they could in time to hear a door closing on the floor above. The list of occupants was posted in the foyer.

  She saw the name right away and started giggling. She said in a low voice, “R. Skytter. Robert Skytter. She’s screwing her car dealer. And he’s the one who gave her the alibi for the evening of the murder!”

  THEY WAITED five minutes before they went upstairs. Tommy rang the doorbell with the nameplate “R. SKYTTER.” They heard footsteps and the door opened. But it wasn’t the cowboy. The man who opened the door had red hair and was taller, but about the same age.

  “Hello, we’re from the police. Inspector Irene Huss and Inspector Tommy Persson. We’re looking for Robert Skytter.”

  The redhaired youth’s eyes narrowed and he said with feigned nonchalance, “Do you have any ID?”

  Both Irene and Tommy pulled out their laminated ID cards and held them up in front of him. He couldn’t hide his disappointment when he said, “These can’t be right. It’s supposed to be a big gold badge.”

  Irene sighed loudly. “That’s in the States. You’ve seen too many cop movies. Are you Robert, or is it the guy who came in five minutes ago?”

  The redhaired guy looked like he was thinking about answering, but he never got a chance. Behind him the blond young man appeared. He smoothly greeted them, “Hello! What’s this about?”

  This was Robert. She recognized his trumpeting voice.

  “Hi, Robert. Detective Inspector Irene Huss. We spoke on the telephone last week. May we come in?”

  The redhaired guy moved aside reluctantly. Tommy turned to him and said, “And who are you?”

  “Daniel Skytter,” he replied sullenly.

  Now Irene could see the likeness. They were brothers. In a friendly voice she asked, “Do you live here too?”

  “Yes. Temporarily.”

  “Temporarily?”

  Daniel Skytter showed signs of uneasiness, rocking back and forth on his feet. “I had to move here last week, when my girlfriend threw me out. It was her apartment,” he said morosely.

  “So now you live here. What kind of work do you do?”

  “Collect unemployment. Out-of-work painter.”

  “Well, Daniel, we need to speak to Robert in private. Do you have any objection to taking a little walk?”

  Daniel gave a start and then straightened up. His eyes narrowed as he snarled, “I sure do! No witnesses, huh? So you can work him over and make him confess to anything!”

  Irene and Tommy sighed at the same time. In an exaggerated pedagogical tone Tommy said, “My dear Daniel, you really ought to stop watching those American movies. We just want to talk to your brother. He’s an important witness in a very serious case that we’re investigating.”

  A gleam of curiosity appeared in Daniel’s suspicious gray eyes. Obviously he had no idea what it was all about.

  Tommy continued, “Another option is that we take him downtown and question him there.”

  “You can’t do that!”

  “Yes, we can.”

  Uncertainly the brothers looked at each other. Robert nodded and motioned with his head toward the door. Daniel gave up. He took his jacket from the coat hook, put on a cap, stuffed his feet in a pair of heavy jogging shoes, and went out. The look he sent over his shoulders was brimming with distrust.

  Irene turned to Robert Skytter.

  “How old is your brother?”

  “Eighteen.”

  “Eighteen years old, and already living with a girl?”

  “It didn’t even last two months.”

  “Why doesn’t he move back home to Mamma, then?”

  “He doesn’t get along with Ma
mma’s new man. So that’s why he moved in with me last week. But I’m trying to find him a small apartment somewhere. Although he probably can’t afford it.”

  “So it was because of him that you and Charlotte chose to meet at her house?”

  Robert’s gaze wandered, and then he turned abruptly to lead the way down the narrow corridor and into a small living room, furnished with “Balder” the sofa, “Runar” the coffee table, and “Diplomat” the bookshelf. Irene recognized them from her studies in home decorating: the ’96 IKEA catalog.

  Robert motioned them to the sofa. He chose “Tobbe,” the armchair, for himself. But he got up just as quickly and asked nervously, “Would you like something to drink? Ramlösa? Light beer? Strong beer?”

  “Ramlösa, thanks.”

  “A light beer, thanks.”

  He vanished down the hallway and into the kitchen. They could hear him clinking bottles and glasses. Through a half-open door Irene glimpsed an unmade bed. Two rooms and a kitchen. And his little brother. That was Robert Skytter’s living situation for the present. Not great for inviting over his married lover from Örgryte. Again the familiar “why” popped up in her mind. Why did Charlotte need this sweet little boytoy? The object in question appeared with bottles and glasses in a precarious grip. Robert set his burden down on the table before he began to speak uncertainly and tentatively.

  “So you were the ones at Charlotte’s house this morning?”

  Irene nodded. “It was after ten o’clock. Yes, it was us.”

  “It’s like you said. There’s not enough room here, and with Daniel ... you know.”

  “Was it Charlotte who wanted you to come to her house?”

  He looked down at the table and then nodded.

  “How long have you and Charlotte been together?”

  He looked up and seemed genuinely surprised. “We’re not together! Well, okay. Last night.”

  “You’ve never slept with each other before?”

  Now his hands were shaking and he picked sulkily at the label on his beer. Tommy repeated the question. Finally he said, extremely reluctantly, “I’ve already told you what happened last week when she picked up the car. What is she accused of, anyway?”

  “She’s not accused of anything. Possibly suspected of giving incorrect information regarding the murder of Richard von Knecht. We don’t know for sure yet. That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Tommy said in his best police tone of voice.

  Irene decided to bring up what had been nagging at her subconscious. Jonny’s flat tire had brought it to the surface. Sternly she said, “Robert, nobody ever cares about checking the spare tire. Nobody! Least of all Charlotte. What actually happened?”

  Tommy looked very serious and stared right into Robert’s eyes before he added, “Robert, if you lied about what happened that Tuesday afternoon, then you can be indicted for abetting a criminal. That can result in several years in prison. Is she worth it?”

  Robert kept picking at the beer label and seemed completely absorbed by its artistic design. He swallowed several times before he replied. “She’s so luscious. But she takes pills that she mixes with wine. She asked several times if I wanted some . . . but I don’t use that shit. I’ve tried smoking grass a few times, of course. But this was big-time stuff. Finally, I didn’t dare drink anything! In case she put some fucking shit in my wine.”

  “You didn’t know that she uses narcotics?”

  He shook his head vigorously. Suddenly he exclaimed, “I hardly know her! It was like a God damned sex fantasy! She was naked underneath! And I . . . it was impossible to resist her.”

  Heavily he rested his head in his hands. Since he didn’t seem to want to go on, Irene decided to try to get him to relax and keep talking. In a mischievous tone of voice she said, “But Robbie, aren’t you old enough to know that all women are naked under their clothes?”

  He laughed and gave her a desperate look. “But not right under their coats!”

  Irene motioned to Tommy. This looked like it was going to be man-to-man talk. He understood and turned with an expression of the greatest sympathy toward the young man. Tactfully he asked, “Robert, are you talking about the Tuesday evening last week, when Charlotte came to pick up her new car?”

  “Yes.”

  “When did you and Charlotte first meet?”

  “Three or four weeks before. There’s a little waiting time for cars with special paint jobs.”

  “Does Charlotte’s car have special paint?”

  “Yes. Light yellow. A pale lemon yellow. A luscious color.”

  “What happened when you were supposed to deliver the car to her?”

  “I called all day Friday and Saturday, because we got word that it wouldn’t arrive until after the weekend, on Monday morning. She finally answered just before we closed. So then we agreed that she would come over on Monday afternoon. But she never showed up. On Tuesday I called her house in the morning, but she wasn’t in. Then she called at three in the afternoon and said that she could come down in an hour to pick up the car. She said that she specifically wanted me to help her, nobody else. And I . . . was happy to oblige.”

  He stopped and looked down at his fingers picking at the label. He had scraped almost the whole thing off the bottle. Tommy leaned forward and said, “When did she arrive?”

  “Right after four. She had one of those cloth raincoats on, with a belt drawn tight around her waist and high-heeled shoes. When we went over to her old car, which she was trading in, her coat slipped open and she was wearing some of those nylon stockings that stay up by themselves. And nothing else. When she leaned over the seat . . . then I saw . . . Naked. She was naked. Except for the stockings.”

  He stopped and his cheeks were red. He stole a glance at Irene. She responded with feigned indifference. But inside she was seething with emotion! This was a premeditated seduction.

  Tommy ignored her presence and continued as though there were just two men in the room. “She made you hot?”

  “What do you think? I’m a guy, after all!”

  “So the two of you decided to screw?”

  Robert was bright red in the face, but his expression became almost satyrlike when he replied. “You bet! We got into her new car and drove around to the back of the building where an old Ford Transit is parked; we have to fix it up a little before spring. They sell like hotcakes. People buy them as vacation cars. We hopped in the Transit. She brought a blanket and a bag from her old car. So we lay down on the blanket.”

  “You were hot, I know that. So it didn’t take long before you were finished?”

  To Irene’s satisfaction, some of Robert’s satyr smile was wiped away. “Well, yeah. But we couldn’t take too long because they’d start to miss me in the showroom, you know. But then she said that we’d meet again soon. If I wanted to.”

  “And you did, I suppose.”

  “Did I ever! It’s what every guy dreams about happening sometime in his life!”

  “When did you hear from her again?”

  “On Wednesday night. The next day. She said that we’d have to wait a while to meet. Her father-in-law had been murdered, you know. She also said that the police would probably want to get in touch with me. And that she had told them the truth. That she picked up the car. But not the rest. We agreed to say that we’d gone over the new car extra carefully. There are actually quite a few new details on this model. Take for example the new—”

  “But that wasn’t what you were doing. Going over new details. How does this fit in with the timetable you gave us? You said that you heard the news on the radio and that she said something like, ‘Oh, it’s the five o’clock news already! I have to hurry!’ And she got her papers for the new car and drove off.”

  His whole young face radiated honesty.

  “But the last part is true! When we were . . . finished . . . she put on the clothes she had in her bag. Then when she got into the car she turned on the radio. That’s when we heard the news program. And
then she said that part about the five o’clock news.”

  Both the detectives could hear that he was telling the truth. They got up, thanked him for the refreshments, and Tommy patted Robert lightly on the shoulder and said, “You probably know that she was using you. Tell me seriously—wasn’t it really too good to be true?”

  Robert hung his head, but nodded in agreement.

  “If it hadn’t been for the drugs . . . but she had to keep taking that shit all the time. Before I left this afternoon, I told her. That it’s dangerous, I mean. I don’t like stuff like that. She was mad and told me I could go to hell. I felt mostly relieved. Really!”

  Thank God he was someone who hesitated about contact with narcotics. Charlotte had misjudged him, while Irene had been right. She had liked him after their first conversation on the phone. He had lifted her spirits on that rotten Friday. The Friday she had spent in Stockholm. Impulsively she decided to call Mona Söder as soon as possible.

  THEY DROVE by Örgryte, but the house was empty. The garage door was unlocked and when they looked inside, the garage was empty. There was no yellow Golf. In a corner inside the door they found two empty plastic jugs marked “DISTILLED WATER.”

  At the department there was still feverish activity even though it was past six. Andersson wasn’t in his office. Birgitta Moberg was deeply engrossed in her computer. On the desk lay stacks of papers and folders. They decided to go down to the pizzeria a few blocks away.

  Before they left, Irene called home. Her mother answered. Yes, both the twins were home. They had rented a video, which they were watching. The girls had eaten dinner, and she was going to watch the rest of the movie with them. Before she hung up she said, “Be careful if you go out. It said on the TV news that there are young people rioting downtown. Good thing you’re not involved with such dangerous things. When are you coming home?”

  THE UPROAR in the center of town could be heard clearly. They went in the opposite direction and slipped into the pizzeria, whose owner was getting rich from the Göteborg police force. Besides pizza it served excellent dinners. They each ordered goulash and a large regular beer and had bread and salad while they waited for the main course.