The Golden Calf (9 page)

“Sounds like a romantic evening for two,” Jonny said. “Were they lovers?”

Svante shrugged.

“That Rothstaahl guy was about to move in with his
girlfriend, so he couldn’t have been … you know … that type,” Andersson barked.

“You don’t say!” Irene said so softly that only Tommy could hear her.

“Of course, we collected as much as we could as far as hair and fibers are concerned, but I’m pessimistic regarding those, since the house was really filthy. Right now, we can’t say we have anything that is of the slightest use. Not even anything like the reflective ribbon out in Askim. We’re working through the fingerprints now. The bullets are still in the bodies, so we don’t have to look for them. On the other hand, I have a theory regarding how the killer did his work. I am assuming the murderer is a single person.”

Svante turned off the projector and turned on the overhead. He placed a sketch of the house, which he’d drawn in red and black ink.

“When you enter the house, the kitchen is immediately to the right. If you go to the left, you come to the living room. Straight ahead in the hallway are two doors. One is to the bathroom, and the other is to the closet. I believe the killer was hiding in the closet. Alternatively, he could have entered through the house’s outer door after Rothstaahl and Bergman had arrived, if they left the door unlocked. Though if that were the case, I believe the guys would have seen the killer through the kitchen window, and one of them would have gone into the hallway to meet the visitor.”

Svante showed the next picture, which was taken from above and revealed the mess on the floor of the hall closet. In addition to the jumble of shoes, cushions for outdoor furniture, and exercise outfits, there was a dark blue terry-cloth belt that looked like it had been thrown on the floor, with half of it landing on the threshold.

“I noticed that the door was half open. It couldn’t be shut because the belt was there. This could be because someone
didn’t
want
the door shut. Like if someone were standing inside the closet looking out. From here, it’s only three steps to the kitchen where the victims were standing. The suspect probably surprised them. Rothstaahl probably didn’t even have time to realize what was happening. I believe that Bergman turned around and tried to escape into the bedroom. He had just enough time to realize what was going on.”

Svante’s scenario was believable but also unpleasant. The two men didn’t stand a chance. Although Andersson and Jonny joked about a “lady’s gun,” this killer knew exactly what he was doing.

The question was still
why
.

Svante Malm thanked them for their attention and left the room, saying he’d let them know if anything else turned up.

“I was talking to one of Rothstaahl’s uncles this morning. He lives at the beginning of the turnoff to the house. It appears that Grandfather Rothstaahl bought a great deal of property out in the countryside in the early fifties. Wish my grandpa had done that,” Jonny said, making a face.

“So what did Grandpa do? I mean his, not yours,” Tommy asked.

“They were in the clothing business. Joachim’s father and uncle took over the company, and they still sell clothing. Joachim didn’t want to go into the family business. Anyway, the uncle says he saw Philip Bergman’s car turn up the road at seven thirty, but then the car drove off a few minutes before eight, with Bergman at the wheel. He recognized the tan leather jacket.”

The superintendent appeared to be thinking. “Maybe Bergman drove off to buy something they’d forgotten, and then he drove back. They were shot after.…”

One look from Jonny made Andersson fall silent. Jonny shook his head. “No. The uncle and his wife were sitting beside a huge picture window from seven thirty until ten that night.

They had a fire going in the fireplace and were listening to music. Bergman didn’t return. They saw no other car between seven thirty and ten.”

“Are there any other houses along that road?” asked Irene.

“No, just the uncle’s at the head of the road and Joachim’s at the end.”

“So it’s a cul-de-sac?”

“Right.”

“What’s the distance between the two houses?”

“About one hundred meters.”

“Did they hear anything sounding like gunshots?”

“No.”

Irene paused. “Just a thought … if they were sitting in front of the fireplace, perhaps they weren’t able to see the entire road? And if they like to look at the ocean view, I doubt they were doing so last Monday night because it was raining.”

“I was in their house this morning. The fireplace and their armchairs are in a glass-enclosed addition of the living room, so there are windows on three sides. The fireplace is in one corner and their armchairs face the ocean. The road runs fifteen meters below the house. If nothing else, they can hear whenever a car is coming. Though the uncle and his wife are both in their sixties, neither are deaf,” Jonny said.

“But Philip Bergman couldn’t have driven the car away, since it obviously didn’t return. Philip was definitely murdered in his cabin, and the car is still gone,” Tommy said.

“Philip wasn’t the one driving the car away since it’s gone,” Irene said. “It must have been the suspect who leisurely drove away from the scene of the crime. He didn’t just take the car. He got Philip’s jacket, too. In the rain and darkness, Rothstaahl’s uncle must have assumed that the person behind the wheel wearing the tan jacket was Philip.”

“Highly probable,” said Tommy.

“At any rate, we’re closer to pinpointing the time of the
murder: sometime between seven thirty and eight
P.M
.” Irene’s colleagues were nodding.

Jonny’s forehead furrowed. “But then why didn’t the uncle and his wife hear the shots? There were four. Could they have been playing music so loudly that they wouldn’t have heard them?”

“The suspect used a silencer,” Tommy said.

“Why do you think so?” asked Andersson.

“No one heard the shots in Askim either. Why risk someone hearing shots? A silencer on a fine-caliber pistol using unjacketed bullets, which were seriously deformed. Accurate shots for fatal results. We’ve got a guy who’s a professional,” Tommy said.

Irene was inclined to agree with him. “A high-caliber weapon is heavy and needs a holster to keep hidden. People often still notice it because of unusual bulges in clothing. A fine-caliber weapon is easier to conceal beneath clothing.”

“So what did Philip Bergman have in his briefcase that the suspect wanted?” asked Kajsa.

This was an important question that they all had lost track of. Jonny glared at Kajsa, mostly because he didn’t have a good answer. “No idea,” he finally said.

“And Irene brought up a good question,” Kajsa went on. “Why did they have to meet in Göteborg when both of them were living in Paris?”

“We should figure that out,” Tommy said.

“How has your research on that dot-com company been going?” Andersson asked Kajsa encouragingly.

“It’s moving right along, thanks,” she said. “I’m meeting a journalist tomorrow who is writing a book about the dot-com crash. He’s written a chapter on ph.com, and I’m hoping he can give me some good information.”

I
RENE SAW HER
opportunity to jump in and share the results of her investigative efforts with Tommy. “Bonetti and
Rothstaahl ran shady business deals together in London,” she began. “There’s another dark horse, namely the Norwegian Erik Dahl. We’ll have to follow up. Philip Bergman, Sanna Kaegler, and Thomas Bonetti founded ph.com, and ran it until it went bankrupt. The Fenton brothers and their old pal Kjell B:son Ceder were all on the sailboat when Ceder’s first wife died. One year ago, Ceder married Sanna Kaegler in a surprise wedding. And now it appears that Philip Bergman and Joachim Rothstaahl were planning a new scheme. Where in this spider web of relationships do these three murders fit?” Irene asked her colleagues.

“Perhaps four murders,” Tommy said.

“What? Four?” the superintendent exclaimed.

“Don’t forget Bonetti. There hasn’t been a sign of life from him for three years. Perhaps he’s been killed.”

Birgitta, usually silent, now asked for the floor. “Maybe we ought to investigate Bergman and Rothstaahl’s apartment. The one in Paris.”

“Paris! That’s out of the question,” Andersson said.

“How else will we find out what they’ve been up to?” asked Birgitta.

“We should send a request to the authorities.…” Andersson said half-heartedly.

“Perhaps, but it would be a long time before we’d get an answer. From what we’ve heard about these gentlemen already, I hardly believe the authorities have any idea what they’re up against. If our friends had just begun to plan their project, there should be information on their computers. Have you already looked at them?” Birgitta aimed her question at Jonny, but Fredrik Stridh replied.

“No—since there weren’t any computers in the house. There was a printer with a bunch of cables on the desk in the bedroom, but there wasn’t a single computer.”

“These aren’t the kind of guys to have desktop computers.

They’d have laptops, so they could work from hotel rooms and airplanes,” Birgitta said.

“I believe we have the answer as to what was in the briefcase that the killer took with him,” Irene said. “Bergman and Rothstaahl’s laptops.”

“Perhaps there’s something backed up in their Paris apartment,” Birgitta said.

“Can you stop going on and on about Paris already?” Andersson growled. “Keep talking to Bergman’s parents. Perhaps they know what our guys were up to. Find out how much money they stashed in various places. That goes for everyone involved—check finances. Irene and Tommy, I want you to go have another chat with Sanna Kaegler-Ceder. See how she reacts to the deaths of Bergman and Rothstaahl. Jonny and Fredrik, keep following up with Rothstaahl’s parents, neighbors, other relatives.…” Andersson fell silent for a moment and then exclaimed, “I knew I was forgetting someone! Kajsa, keep finding out whatever you can on that computer company where all that money disappeared.”

“Internet company. It’s called ph.com.” Kajsa sighed.

Andersson pretended he hadn’t heard her correction.

S
ANNA
K
AEGLER
-C
EDER HAD
put on discreet makeup and appeared much more energetic than the day before. Her freshly washed blonde hair flowed over her shoulders and shone in the light of the art nouveau ceiling lamp. She let in the detectives and led them into the library. The scent of citrus and jasmine followed in her wake. Irene noticed Sanna’s black leather suit with its mid-length jacket cut, and her diamond cross necklace hanging in its familiar place.

The evening sun filtered through the dirty windows and lit up the dancing dust particles floating in the air. It made Irene think of a generous fairy shaking magic dust from the tip of her wand and watching it drift down to settle on the polished side
table. She didn’t know if it was an old memory of the
Sleeping Beauty
film or the heavy odor of old books that reminded her of fairy tales.

Sanna would definitely be the princess in a modern success story. She was young, beautiful, and rich. Her prince, however, didn’t fit the part. Kjell B:son Ceder was rich enough, but he certainly wasn’t young, and he certainly was not the father of crown prince Ludwig.

Following Sanna’s invitation, the detectives sat down on the sofa while she sat in one of the armchairs. Her hair, backlit by the window, glimmered like a halo, but her face was in shadows, hiding her expressions and giving her the upper hand. Irene suspected that was why she offered the sofa to them. Sanna sat quietly, waiting for their questions.

“When will you be moving back to the house in Askim?” Tommy began.

“On Saturday. The house will be cleaned tomorrow, and the alarm system should be functional by then.”

“Our technicians mentioned that the alarm system was not on the evening your husband was murdered.”

“No, Mike—that is, Michael Fuller, the head of security at Hotel Göteborg—is going to help me with the alarm system. That’s his specialty.”

Tommy nodded and continued in his same relaxed tone. “I would like to know if you’ve heard from your former partner Thomas Bonetti since his disappearance.”

Sanna stiffened. She hadn’t been expecting that question. Her voice was tense after she took a moment before answering.

“No. He just … disappeared. Why do you want to know?”

“Do you have any idea why he disappeared?”

This answer came more quickly. “No idea. We haven’t been in contact at all since ph.com went bankrupt in April 2000.”

“Why not?”

“We … didn’t part friends. Philip and I were trying to talk
to him. He didn’t agree with our goal of finishing the website and arranging all local offices to work for the company’s IPO. We were working like slaves twenty-four-seven! Thomas was in charge of our finances, but he never understood you have to risk it all to win it all. We were aiming to be a global company. His goal was to get ph.com listed on the stock market and grab as much money as possible before getting out.”

Her voice was filled with hate by the time she finished. It was obvious she didn’t think highly of her former partner.

“So he took out a lot of money before the bankruptcy?”

“That’s right.”

“How much?”

Sanna shrugged her shoulders. “I really don’t know for sure. We bought him out for five million, but we also know that he moved money from ph.com to a bank account he’d set up somewhere. We reported it to the police later. I really don’t know exactly how much money it was.”

“Do you have any kind of estimate?”

“Perhaps five or six million.”

This meant that Bonetti had had at least 10 million kroner at his disposal when he disappeared, not 5 million as the police had estimated. Was Sanna correct? That was a lot more money.

“Is it possible that he may have taken even more?” asked Irene.

“Yes, we suspected he took more. Maybe as much as 2 million American dollars.”

“Did you and Philip Bergman get together after the company went bankrupt?”

“Yes, but not so often. He was still living in London, and now he’s moved to Paris.”