The Golden Calf (33 page)

“But wasn’t he in London?”

Irene shook her head. “No, he’d flown back from the United States, leaving his family behind to continue their vacation. He was supposed to come to work on Monday the fifteenth and Tuesday the sixteenth, but he never showed up, according to his secretary. On Wednesday, he came to work as usual with no reason for his absence. I think we can assume he wouldn’t want to mention going to Paris and shooting at Swedish police officers—not to mention beating one up so she had to go to the hospital. According to his secretary, he had a wound on his face that he said came from falling on a stone path. The truth was, I gave that to him when I hit him and he fell to the floor.”

Andersson looked at Irene respectfully. He no longer looked like a pleasant priest; he was back to being the stubborn bulldog on the other side of the desk.

“So why was Fenton in Paris? Why did he beat up Kajsa and try to shoot you? He could have killed you!”

Irene was grateful that Andersson actually cared. “Well, he was willing to take that risk to find something very valuable to him.”

“What? Drugs? The fingers?”

“Maybe. But I’ve come to believe he was after Philip’s and Joachim’s computers and discs.”

“Why?”

“I think he needed to eliminate evidence.”

“What evidence?” Andersson could not hide his impatience.

“I don’t know. Evidence of some crime, perhaps.” Irene sighed. “But there’s one thing I can say with certainty. Take another look at Edward’s picture.”

Andersson stared hard at the photograph.

“He was blond. We know that he was in the apartment, since he shot at me there. I’d found blond hair, which our tech guys say in all probability came from Ludwig’s father.”

Andersson fixed the photo with his glare and started to nod to himself. “So you think.…” He tapped the photograph with his index finger.

“Oh, yes,” Irene said. “Edward Fenton is the father of Sanna Kaegler’s son.”

T
HE NEXT MORNING
, Irene called Sanna’s hospital unit. According to the nurse, they could not talk to Sanna that day, or for the rest of the weekend.

“She’s heavily sedated right now,” the nurse said. “But perhaps on Monday you could talk to her.”

The nurse had introduced herself on the phone as Nurse Ann-Britt. Irene suspected that the nurse was the same gray-haired one who’d chased them out of Sanna’s room yesterday. Irene wondered how the nurse would react to everything else she needed to say, but she decided to continue anyway.

“As you know, we are worried about her safety,” she said. “Sanna was the victim of an attempted murder. Even though we have a guard there twenty-four-seven, I hope that all the hospital employees will also be vigilant.”

“What should we look out for?” asked the nurse.

“Odd telephone calls. People trying to reach Sanna or trying to find out her room number. They might introduce themselves as journalists or the police—”

“I recognized your name and voice right away,” the nurse interrupted. “We met yesterday afternoon.”

“I remember you as well,” Irene replied.

“Otherwise I would not have whispered a word about her condition,” the nurse continued.

“I understand,” Irene said. “But getting back to things to watch for.… Be on your guard for someone showing up where
they have no reason to be, especially if the same person keeps appearing. In that case, raise the alarm.”

“But what if it’s a false alarm? Someone who’s just in the wrong place at the wrong time?” asked the nurse.

“That might happen. But better a false alarm than missing a real threat. Remember, Sanna’s life is in danger.”

“I understand. I’ll inform the staff.”

Irene gave the nurse her home telephone number as well as her cell phone number. Even with a police officer outside the door to Sanna’s room, Irene would not rest easy. This killer was audacious and ruthless—a dangerous combination. If the hospital employees also kept their eyes on the lookout, it made Sanna safer.

B
OTH
J
ENNY AND
Katarina were still sleeping. Krister had already left for the day shift at Glady’s. He was supposed to get off work at around five in the evening, and Irene looked forward to a pleasant evening in her husband’s company.

Tomorrow Tommy and his kids will be over for dinner
, she thought. She had mixed feelings about it. Of course she was happy that Tommy had decided to share the truth of the situation with them—they were best friends—but what would happen to her relationship with Agneta? They’d been good friends for quite a few years. Could that continue once the divorce was final?

Irene decided that was something only the future would reveal. If she had to choose, she’d choose Tommy, of course. They went back a long way. Both of them were aware it was unusual for a man and a woman to be friends while having a spouse and a family. It was a unique friendship and well worth protecting. They’d gotten along well ever since the police academy. They’d worked in the same patrol district of Göteborg and often in the same patrol car. They’d moved to the violent crime unit at about the same time, Tommy one year
before Irene. His tales of investigation had made Irene think of joining the same unit, and she’d undergone the required detective education. Even though it was hard work that yielded little reward in and of itself, she never wanted to go anywhere else.
I must have been born to be a cop
, she thought.
My dad was in the customs office—maybe I have a love of uniforms?
She grimaced at herself. It had been fifteen years since she’d left behind routine police work and the uniform.

Since only one living creature demanded her attention that morning, Irene went out into the hallway, put on her coat, and took the leash from its hook on the hat rack.

“Come on, Sammie! Time to go for a walk!”

The scraping of claws against the hardwood floors announced Sammie’s arrival from his spot on the rug beneath the kitchen table. He charged into the hallway at full speed, which made the hallway rug crumble like an accordion and slide halfway across the floor until it landed in the living room.

This was the normal routine in the Huss household when it was time to take the dog for his walk.

T
HE SUN WAS
hidden behind the clouds, but it didn’t look like rain. Wind was blowing off the ocean, but Irene headed toward the beach anyway. She needed to smell the salt water and seaweed and listen to the waves hitting the rocks. Nothing else ever gave her the same sense of peace and the calm for thought.

Sammie strained at his leash beside her. He was sniffing up important information in other dogs’ markings. They neared Fiskebäck’s small boat harbor. There weren’t many people there. The season for sailing was over, although she could see one or two sails out on the blue-gray surface of the water. A few motorboats also plowed the waves. Did any of those boats resemble Thomas Bonetti’s? Irene had no idea what a Storebro Royal Cruiser 400-whatever-it-was looked like, but she thought it wouldn’t be one of these small crafts. Certainly it would be
something with a built-in shower and more than one level, not to mention flushing toilets.

It happened in a flash. She had no idea where it had come from, as she’d been lost in her own thoughts, but a growling German shepherd attacked Sammie, who seemed as surprised as his master. He’d been minding his business, and all of a sudden there was this huge dog attacking him! Sammie never said no to a fight. Luckily, his leash was a roll-up, and Sammie had room to maneuver around for several meters. The German shepherd was twice his size, but Sammie still thought he had the advantage. Irene saw that the German shepherd’s ruff was up and his teeth were bared. She tried to break off the attack by waving her arms and yelling at the top of her voice, often a successful strategy. As Irene did her scarecrow performance, the German shepherd hesitated for half a second, and that was all Sammie needed.

He leaped diagonally over the German shepherd’s back and dug his teeth into its rump. The German shepherd was startled when his teeth snapped shut into empty air where he had expected terrier fur. Then he undoubtedly felt the sharp pain in his backside. He whined, and all fight left him. Even though his enemy was demoralized, Sammie was having much too much fun to stop. Just to be on the safe side, he dug his teeth deeper into the flesh of the bigger dog so he couldn’t be shaken off. The German shepherd howled from pain. Irene was beginning to feel sorry for him. She looked around for help, but she couldn’t see anyone, especially not anyone who looked like the German shepherd’s owner.

“Sammie, please! Let go!” she pleaded.

Sammie heard her and gave her a look from under his shaggy bangs. Let go? Just when things were getting fun? He had the best grip. His master must have lost her mind.

“Come on, Sammie, please! Let go!” she said. Tears were in her throat.

To her surprise and relief, Sammie obeyed and let go of the bigger dog. The German shepherd slunk away with his tail between his legs toward a parked Passat Combi and scrambled in through the open passenger seat door.

“So that’s where you came from!”

Sammie was still looking at her in confusion. Ending a fight in the middle when he had the upper paw? His master was definitely crazy.

“Good boy, Sammie. Good boy! What a good dog!” she cooed. “You’re not hurt, are you?” she babbled nervously as she kept the Passat in sight from the corner of her eye.

Sammie shook himself and looked quite all right. Irene decided to continue home with him. She kept an uneasy watch on the Passat, as long as it was in her view, in case the German shepherd came bounding back out, but it seemed the dog had had enough. He did not reappear.

Sammie kept looking up at Irene in disbelief, but she was his master, after all. He would have to be patient with her odd ideas.

Shortly before they got to the townhouse, Irene noticed that Sammie was limping. She hardly noticed at first, but it became more and more pronounced the closer they got to home. When they reached the garage, Sammie stopped entirely and held up his front paw. When Irene felt his leg, he growled. Irene couldn’t see a bite mark, but something was wrong.

“Old men like you shouldn’t get into fights,” Irene scolded. “Now we have to call the vet.”

Sammie didn’t care. He was not going one step farther, so, sighing, Irene had to hoist up her forty-five pound dog and carry him in.

“I
HAD TO
call the vet,” Irene said. “The vet said it sounded like Sammie’s leg had been punctured. He’s got a prescription
for pain and swelling. If he isn’t better in two days, we’ll have to bring him in.”

The entire Huss family was sitting around the dinner table. Krister had made pasta with two different sauces: a tomato sauce for Jenny and gorgonzola sauce for the rest of them. They had just finished dessert: fresh pineapple with vanilla ice cream.

“Sammie’s ten-years-old,” Krister said. “Not bad to get the better of a German shepherd.” There was an unmistakable trace of pride in Krister’s voice.

And we wonder why dog fighting is popular in other countries
, thought Irene.

“He fights badgers in Värmland,” Katarina said. “He used to do that a lot.”

“Yes, but not in the past few years. He’s actually getting too old for this. We should be grateful that he got out of it with just a punctured leg.”

Sammie was snoring under the table. The medicine had made him sleepy. It hadn’t been hard to give him the pills. Jenny had hidden them in fish balls, on top of his dry food. As usual, Sammie gobbled up the treats first and was happily unaware that his food had been drugged.

“So, when Sammie dies, are you two going to get a new dog?” asked Jenny unexpectedly.

Irene swallowed hard. She had barely managed to suppress that very thought. Of course she knew that Sammie had passed the average age for a dog of his breed, but she didn’t want to admit he was that old.

Krister replied before Irene could get her thoughts together. “I don’t think so,” he said. “You girls are moving away from home, and we’re getting to that time of life where we want to travel and not be tied down any more. We’re thinking of selling the house and buying a condo in town. That won’t be a good place to have a dog. It would be too hard to find someone
to take care of him when we’re away. Your grandmother is not getting any younger.”

“Even Majlis is getting older,” Irene added.

Majlis was Sammie’s dog walker. She was over seventy and walked four dogs every afternoon when their owners were at work. Payment under the table, of course. It helped her stretch her pension. Irene and Krister had no other way to solve the dog problem; they couldn’t leave Sammie alone at home for eight to ten hours.

“Well, then, I’ll get my own dog,” said Jenny firmly.

“Wouldn’t it be hard to take a dog when you’re on the road with your band Polo? Especially when you start your world tours?” Krister joked.

Jenny pursed her lips and said defiantly, “So what if it is?”

O
N
S
UNDAY MORNING
, Irene was woken by her cell phone. She was tired and far from being refreshed. The display on the clock radio said 6:57. A call on Sunday morning! Still half asleep, she fumbled for the phone, held it to her ear, and said her name.

“Sorry to wake you. It’s Nurse Ann-Britt here. You said we should keep our eyes open for odd behavior. I’ve seen something … not quite right. And you did tell me to call if there was anything suspicious.…” The voice was apologetic.

Irene started to wake up. “Go ahead. I’m listening.”

“Yesterday, I saw a man outside of our unit by the elevators. He had dark hair. We have glass doors, so I got a good look at him. It was not visiting hours. He went up to the doors and read the posted hours for that. At three in the afternoon, he came back at the same time other visitors were coming in. I kept him in sight at all times, because I remembered what you said. When he saw a police officer in front of Sanna Kaegler’s room, he turned on his heel and left. It looked very strange. Then he turned up again this morning.”