Instead of meeting Irene’s gaze, Sophie turned her head slightly to look at the point in the room where the video camera had been set up, offering Irene only a view of her face in profile.
If there was a change in her facial expression, perhaps the video tape will show it, thought Irene.
When Sophie turned her head back, her face was as expressionless as a porcelain mask.
Irene decided to concentrate on what Angelika was saying. At least Angelika was talking. Perhaps Sophie would relax and react to Angelika’s words.
“I understand that your husband was a journalist. Which newspaper did he work for?”
“Different ones. He was a freelancer.”
“Where did he write?”
“At home for the most part.”
“So it’s not impossible that he was home when Sophie returned from school,” Irene stated.
“Well…there were times when he wasn’t home.”
Angelika gave Irene a quick glance. Her beautiful eyes betrayed something, but what? Before Irene could analyze it, the look was gone.
“Where would he be if he wasn’t at home?”
“Out. Working. Journalists have to investigate places and figure things out. Meet people. That kind of thing.”
They’d deviated from the line of questioning Irene had intended to follow before the meeting and she was now improvising. The whole idea had been to get Sophie to talk.
Still, Irene felt that there were many other questions in this investigation that still needed answers. With each response, a whole new bevy sprang up. Perhaps Irene would still get a few pieces of the puzzle from the mother.
“What kind of journalist was Magnus?” asked Irene.
“What kind?” Angelika repeated, confused.
“Well, did he write about sports or movies or food or news?” Irene clarified.
“He…he wrote about anything…anything going on. And then he’d sell the article to a paper or a magazine.”
“Which ones?”
“Different ones. GT and GP. Other magazines. Norra Hisingens Nyheter. And Björkils Bulletin.”
“Those two are locals, right?”
“Yeah, though the Bulletin is more like an advertising supplement.”
Irene was beginning to realize that Magnus Eriksson had not exactly been a shining star in the lofty skies of journalism. Perhaps she was mistaken, but Angelika’s nervous shifting position on her chair seemed to indicate that Irene was on the right track.
“How long had you been living in the Björkil cottage?”
“Three…almost four years.”
“Where did you live previously?”
“On Linnégatan.”
“That’s a nice, central location. Was it in one of the newer buildings?”
“No, an older one. It was a really comfortable apartment. High ceilings and large rooms. The kitchen was old, but it was really beautiful. And it had a gas stove and stuff.”
“Why did you decide to move?”
Angelika looked away and then back at Irene. “They scheduled it for renovation. They were showing us other apartments in the area, but they were too expensive.”
“So you bought the cottage.”
“No, we rented it from Magnus’s sister. It’s on her property. We were only going to live there for one year.”
“But you’ve been there for almost four years,” Irene observed.
“That’s how it turned out. Rents closer to town were just too high.”
Tears appeared in Angelika’s eyes and Irene could hear the desperation in her voice.
“Don’t freelance journalists earn good money?” asked Irene.
Angelika unconsciously curled her lips before she replied. “It depends. Sometimes things go well for a time and then it can take a while before another article is sold.”
“But you work as a dance instructor. Don’t you have a good salary?”
“Dancers are not paid well. We have terrible employment contracts. I also work as a freelancer and dance in various events and shows. In order to have a more steady income, I’ve started teaching at The House of Dance, and I have a few hours at the College of Dance, too. They’re in the same building complex.”
“Do you teach every day?”
“No. Mondays, Tuesdays and Sundays in the afternoons and evenings.”
“So that’s why Sophie had to get a ride from her friend’s mother and you drove the girls home.”
“That’s right. I have a long day on Mondays. I work from one in the afternoon until eight in the evening. Sophie and Tessan dance in the last session I teach. Classical ballet, level three. Level four is the highest level. Girls and boys have to be at least thirteen. Most of those kids then go on to study at the Dance Academy high school program. It’s extremely competitive there and tough to get a place.”
“And if you complete the Dance Academy program, you go on to the College of Dance, right?”
“Correct. I only teach there at specific times—when they’re doing a series of classical ballet and show dance. Those are my specialties.”
“Are those your specialties as well?” Irene asked, turning to Sophie.
She was hoping that the direct question would surprise the girl and elicit an answer before she had time to think. Irene’s trick didn’t work. Sophie lifted her gaze from her hands directly to Irene. Her face was completely blank.
Irene was beginning to feel resigned to failure. She wasn’t able to handle the girl’s silence, and it was looking like she wouldn’t find out the truth about the fire in Björkil. On the other hand, Superintendent Andersson and Hans Borg, who were old, experienced investigators, also had to throw in the towel when it came to Sophie Malmborg. Strengthened by the thought, Irene decided to continue to talk to Angelika.
Irene had an idea. She got up and looked at Sophie.
“Sophie, you can stay here by yourself for a minute. I would like to chat with your mother alone. I promise that we won’t be gone long,” Irene said calmly. Before Angelika could react and start to protest, Irene turned to her and said, “Come with me.”
She placed her hand on Angelika’s shoulder and smiled at her encouragingly. Angelika unwillingly stood up and went with her into the hallway. Irene stuck her head into the adjoining room and asked the psychologist from the Child and Youth Social Services Department to keep an eye on Sophie for a moment, then led Angelika to her office.
“Please come in,” she said.
As she’d hoped, Tommy was in. He was reading a stack of papers. When Irene opened the door, he looked up and smiled in his happy way at Angelika. Angelika smiled back at Tommy. The change was instantaneous. The elegant woman seemed to stretch and then glide across the floor. Her thin fingers fluttered over her shiny hair as she coquettishly tucked a strand behind her ear. With a bit of sway in her hips, she walked over to Tommy.
Tommy had gotten to his feet and was holding out his hand. Angelika graciously put her tiny hand in his and her voice dropped an octave as she introduced herself.
“Hello. My name is Angelika Malmborg.”
“Tommy Persson.”
The sultry look she gave him could have aroused a eunuch. Irene had seldom seen a more open sexual invitation. Of course, Tommy was good-looking, but women usually didn’t fall head over heels over him the first moment they saw him. At least, not that Irene was aware of. Tommy was looking with obvious delight at the beautiful woman who had unexpectedly entered his office and disturbed his routine. Irene decided to start speaking to disrupt the rise of so many pheromones.
“Tommy, I’ve asked Angelika to come to our office for a moment. There are some questions I’d like to ask which are not suitable for Sophie’s ears. Personal questions…some about Sophie herself and others…well, you know, the ones we were discussing earlier when we were looking over the reports.” Irene turned to Angelika and asked, while trying to smile in a natural way, “Would you like a cup of coffee?”
“Yes, please,” Angelika repli
ed. She did not take her eyes from Tommy.
“I’ll go and get one,” Irene said.
Neither Tommy nor Angelika seemed to notice that Irene left the room. Irene felt a slight unease. Perhaps it wasn’t a good idea to leave Angelika alone with Tommy. He usually had a good effect on women, but Angelika’s reaction was a bit extreme. Would he be able to handle that fox? What if—she stopped and then said to herself, out loud, “Get a grip! This is your old buddy! If anyone can handle Angelika in the right way, it has to be Tommy!”
She intentionally stayed away for a while to give Tommy time for his questions. Irene had no idea what they would be, but she was hoping that he’d intuit what she intended: ask about Magnus’s alcoholism and anything he could about Sophie. She’d acted impulsively asking Tommy to take over, but Irene was hoping her trick would work. She felt drained of energy and initiative.
Sophie was like the smooth surface of glass: hard, cold, flat. Still, you could see how brittle the glass really was. She would have to proceed carefully so that the girl wouldn’t break. Or was Sophie unbreakable? It was hard to tell, but Irene did not want to be the one to shatter that protective shell because then they might never find out the truth about that Monday afternoon in November.
When Irene returned to her office with the steaming mugs of coffee, she heard Angelika talking.
“The problem was that Magnus had no insurance. He wasn’t in the union. And he didn’t have any kind of private insurance, either. We have no home insurance at all. We’re not going to get a single öre. We lost everything we had in the fire.”
“I’m sure you’ll get some compensation from the state…child support and the like.”
“Sure, but it won’t be enough. I don’t want to live in a housing project for the rest of my life! I want to move back to the city!”
Irene interrupted them by placing the mugs of coffee on the table. “Perhaps Sophie will get worried if we’re away for too long. We can take our cups with us. I’ll just quickly ask you the questions I have. By the way, do you think Sophie would like some coffee? Or a cup of tea?”
“No. A cup of water is fine for her.”
Angelika looked unhappy at Irene’s return, probably because Angelikaher cozy chat with Tommy had been interrupted.
“How is Sophie doing in school?” Irene asked abruptly.
Angelika looked surprised. “Well, she’s not the brightest bulb in the package. Her teachers complain that she never says anything in class and that she’s slow. But she manages to pass her tests.”
Irene noticed the lack of concern in Angelika’s voice. Apparently, Angelika didn’t care one way or another how Sophie did in school.
“Does she have many friends? Or a best friend?”
“She doesn’t have a lot of free time. She dances on Mondays, Tuesdays and Sundays.”
Now Irene heard the obvious irritation in Angelika’s voice.
“She doesn’t hang out with any friends during the little free time she has?” Irene continued stubbornly.
“No, she doesn’t. Well…Tessan Olsén, of course. They’re in the same class at school and take the same ballet class.”
“Do they get together when they’re not dancing?”
“Not really.” Angelika took some time to reply. Irene scanned Angelika’s attractive face which now looked cross and sulky. She did not want to talk about her daughter.
Why?
“Do you have any idea why Sophie doesn’t have any friends?”
“How should I know? She’s so damn strange! She’s always been an oddball.”
Angelika’s outburst was unexpectedly heated—even to Angelika herself. She stopped mid-rant and looked helplessly at Tommy. He hadn’t changed his friendly expression.
“I mean…she’s always been hard to understand. All this not talking business, that’s nothing new. She’s just like her crazy father. She can keep quiet for days on end. Days! And if something doesn’t suit her fancy, she gets just as stubborn as he does. She’ll never end up being a dancer if she keeps going like this.”
She glanced at Irene, as if to say, and then she might end up looking like you. Though she was in pretty good shape, Irene suddenly felt clumsy and huge. She knew her feelings were irrelevant, but she couldn’t shake them.
“Is she still living with him now?” asked Tommy.
“Yes, and it’s just as well. Frej is not doing so well after the death of his father. And, quite frankly, neither am I.”
“Do you know if she’s talked to her father about the fire?”
Angelika shook her head. “No idea. Ernst and I never talk to each other unless absolutely necessary.”
“Do you share custody?” Irene asked.
“Yes, but she can’t live with him during the week. It’s too far from school. Now she wants to change schools, so she can live with him all the time.”
“Where does he live?”
“The Änggården District.” Angelika pouted. Her glossy red lips revealed that she didn’t like this conversation one bit.
Irene realized that they were running out of time. She tried to think of a follow-up question, but nothing came, so she just said, “Let’s get back to Sophie.”
They walked back along the hallway in silence, Irene hyper-aware of every inch she measured in stocking feet. She was annoyed with herself for letting Angelika’s chatter get to her.
It appeared as if Sophie had not moved at all. The woman from Social Services was sitting in a chair next to her, but got up when Irene and Angelika entered the room. When she walked past Irene, she whispered, “Can we talk for a second afterward?”
“Sure,” Irene replied.
The next few minutes were just as unproductive as before. Sophie would not speak. Irene concluded it was useless to keep trying, so she decided to end the interview. Angelika appeared relieved. Sophie didn’t change her expression as she got up and followed in her mother’s wake out of the room.
With an audible sigh, Irene let her forehead fall into her hands once the door shut behind them. The woman from Social Services opened the door again almost immediately.
She was about thirty years old and wore an enormous knitted purple poncho over a wide, black wool maxi skirt. She’d wrapped her frizzy blonde hair at the top of her head with a leather strap and stuck a chopstick through it. She sat down on the chair across from Irene and observed her through her thick, round glasses. She got right to the point.
“There’s no use questioning her. Sophie needs peace and quiet. You police have no idea how to deal with children in this situation.”
“No, perhaps not, but we do need to find out the truth about a suspected crime.”
“What basis do you have for suspicion? That Eriksson fellow had previously set fire to his room by smoking in bed. You’re torturing Sophie. She can sense your suspicion. Silence is her only defense against you and your questions.”
“Why can’t she at least just give us a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’?” Irene exclaimed helplessly.
“I believe she really can’t answer you. She doesn’t remember. She received a great shock when the house she lived in burned down and the man who had been her father figure for the past nine years died in it. Children often react to trauma with silence. They repress the event.”
Irene studied the psychologist. She seemed like a leftover from the seventies. Still, Irene knew she was right. Nevertheless, if Sophie could not remember what happened, it was now the responsibility of the police.
They had barely left when the door was jerked open again by Superintendent Andersson.
“So things went straight to hell in a hand-basket for you too,” he stated drily.
He sat down heavily in the chair the psychologist had just vacated. He was not yet fifty, but Irene thought it was high time for him to start a diet. She could see his stomach hanging over his belt. She looked back up at his face and replied, “Yes, unfortunately, it did. But I believe that—”
“We will stop all interrogat
ion on this matter. It’s a waste of time. We have tons of other cases on our plates. Keep in touch with that scarecrow of a woman from Social Services. If the girl ever opens her mouth, maybe we can try again.”
Irene knew he was right, but she still did not want to give up. She took a deep breath and said, “I think we should talk with all the adults close to her. Maybe they can give us some hints we can use if we need to question Sophie again.”
Andersson’s forehead wrinkled. “Where are you going with this?”
“If we do a thorough investigation,” she began eagerly, “perhaps we can reconstruct a course of events and…” She stopped when she saw the darkening expression on her boss’s face.
“So you believe that a thorough investigation has not been done?”
Since Hans Borg and the Superintendent himself were the ones responsible for the initial investigation, there was only one way to answer that question.
“Of course it was thorough. But I mean that—”
“Well, then. We’re not going to use up any more time on this. We’ll wait for Social Services to contact us. For now, go help out Tommy with those rape cases from Guldheden.”
Without waiting for Irene to reply, the Superintendent got up and walked out the door, slamming it behind him.
Irene had a scheduled training session every Saturday afternoon. Two years before she’d had the twins, she had won the European Competition for women’s jiujitsu. Back then, she’d trained practically every day, but once the girls were born, she’d been forced to cut back to only a few hours every week. She still belonged to the highest level in Sweden: black belt, third dan. Since there still were so few women at the elite level of the sport, her classmates were usually men. The Göteborg police force had its own jiujitsu group, so Irene could train during work hours. Still, her Saturday hours were the most important because she worked out with the highest-level people from her former club. The dojo was in the district of Majorna, but since the building was scheduled to be torn down, it was soon going to move. Irene felt melancholy about the move. She’d worked out in the old building for almost thirteen years; it was like her second home.
Krister was supposed to work all of Saturday and Irene’s parents were going to take care of the twins. Jenny and Katarina had been ecstatic when Grandpa Rune promised to take them sledding for the day. Irene worried that he might be overdoing things. He’d recovered from the operation he’d had that summer, but Irene worried that he had seemed more tired lately. Of course, he was seventy-two years old, but he’d always been healthy and energetic prior to his illness the year before.
The Fire Dance Page 3
