The Fire Dance (31 page)

“Good news!” he exclaimed and gave her a meaningful wink.

In anticipation, she sat at the head of the table.

“We’ve made some breakthroughs in the Sophie murder investigation,” Svante said. “But I’m going to start with the box of nougat candy from Ingrid Hagberg’s apartment. We found no prints whatsoever on the box, which seems to have been wiped clean before it was given to her. On the other hand, we did find a great number of prints on the Pressbyrå plastic bag. They belong to Angelika Malmborg-Eriksson.”

Although Irene had somewhat expected it, she was still rather surprised. It was just plain stupid to clean the box but not to use gloves when handling the plastic bag.

“We’re going to look at the silver clasps found on Sophie’s body. The maker’s mark showed that they were made in Norway in nineteen fifty-nine. I’ve contacted some of our Norwegian colleagues, and they were able to fill me in. The clasps come from a Norwegian sweater. In the olden days, people used silver buttons and silver clasps to dress up their clothes. They were part of folk costume. The more wealthy people used more silver on their sweaters. Today, the use of real silver is rare. These days, they use tin. It’s our good luck that these were made of silver, because tin would have melted at this temperature.”

Svante held up the plastic bags with the beautiful silver clasps. Then he placed them back in the small red plastic box and reached for a new bag, which he also held up. It looked empty.

“Inside this bag we have two strands of hair. They were caught in the hinges from an old fold-up bed we found in the stable at Björkil, the farm owned by Ingrid Hagberg. The hair belongs to Sophie.”

There was silence in the room as his words sank in.
Svante was pleased with their reaction. He continued. “There are no fingerprints on the bed frame. It had been wiped down—actually, thoroughly cleaned. We found traces of cleaning fluid on it.”

“She must have been lying on top of the mattress,” said Birgitta. “So how the heck did her hair get on the underside of the bed?”

Irene cleared her throat and said, “I can answer that. When I was young and visited my grandparents, I used to sleep in a bed like that. Whenever I wanted to retrieve something that had fallen under the bed, I would get my hair caught on those hinges underneath. It hurt because it was hard to get my hair loose again.”

“Most likely that is how it happened. I also found Sophie’s hair in the bathroom right next to the office, where we now believe Sophie was kept prisoner. Both the bathroom and the office had been thoroughly cleaned. Quite a bit of cleaning fluid was used, too,” Svante said.

“How do we know that the hair belongs to Sophie?” protested Jonny. “The top half of her body was burned completely up!”

“We secured hair from her hairbrush. There’s more than enough hair in her bedroom at the Änggården mansion.”

Svante paused for dramatic effect. He looked out over the collection of police officers to make sure they were paying attention.

“The most valuable piece of concrete evidence is that we have found one of her palm prints on the wall above the toilet.”

Irene looked at her boss, Superintendent Andersson, and said, “We have proof that Sophie was kept prisoner in Björkil. Our suspicions are now directed toward a specific suspect: Frej. Her half brother. He had access to the farm during his aunt’s absence. Ingrid Hagberg was … oh my God! The Norwegian sweater!”

Her colleagues looked at her in surprise. Jonny Blom whispered theatrically to Hannu, “There she goes again.”

Irene ignored Jonny and eagerly began to explain. “Those silver clasps came from a Norwegian sweater, and I know where I’ve seen it before!”

She glared at Jonny, who was circling his finger against his temple while rolling his eyes. When he stopped, she continued: “I talked to Ingrid Hagberg fifteen years ago, when I investigated the fire at Björkil—the one where Magnus Eriksson died. It was a cold winter day in February, and Ingrid was wearing a beautiful sweater in various shades of blue. I’m absolutely certain that this was the same sweater Sophie was wearing when she died. She was probably freezing cold in that stable, even with a heater.”

“You spoke to Ingrid Hagberg back then?” Sven Andersson demanded, lifting an eyebrow.

“Just a short conversation,” Irene said, trying for nonchalance and avoiding Andersson’s gaze.

In order to direct her boss’s thoughts elsewhere, she said, “Last Friday I was having a pizza, and I realized that Sophie had already told us what happened fifteen years ago. She never lied. She could be silent, but she never lied.”

Irene took another twenty minutes to explain her train of thought to her colleagues. An additional five minutes went by while she tried to convince her boss that she was on the right track. Grudgingly, he agreed to let Irene and Tommy finish up Sophie’s murder investigation. One justification for his decision was that their workload lightened when the narcotics division had been brought into the gang killings. If all went well, they’d soon be bringing in the entire bunch.

N
URSE
U
LLA OPENED
the door for them and smiled warmly at Tommy, so much so that Irene took note of it. The nurse had never given
her
a smile so filled with sunshine.

“I’ll go with you,” she twittered, with a new smile toward Tommy. “Ingrid is still weak from her latest episode.”

Irene thought it was odd how many women thought Tommy was attractive. In her eyes, he was just average looking. His brown hair was always cut short. His brown eyes matched his hair. He was just a few inches taller than she was, and he wasn’t in good shape since he didn’t exercise. A slight beer belly was beginning to form, too, and Irene had teased him about it. He didn’t let her get to him.

“Women like love handles. Can’t lose!” Tommy would reply and smile mischievously.

Nurse Ulla seemed to conform to his assertion. She swung her hips as she walked in front of them toward the elevator. As they rode up, she said, “The truth is, Ingrid is a bit confused right now. More mixed-up than before. And she’s often sad. The doctors are going to come take a look at her tomorrow.”

The mechanical voice informed them they’d reached the fourth floor. The elevator came to a smooth stop. The nurse went to Ingrid’s apartment door and unlocked it.

“Hello, Ingrid! It’s me, Ulla. I have two people who want to talk to you,” she called out into the apartment.

They could hear soft whimpering in the bedroom. Nurse Ulla led the way. The room had only room for the bed, a small nightstand and a small dresser. With three grown people, the room felt like a streetcar during rush hour. They stood rigidly upright, close to each other.

“I’ll head back out,” Tommy said, and walked out to the living room.

Ingrid looked ashen-faced and still very ill. It was clear she’d gone through an extreme medical crisis. The scars on her forehead shone bright red against her pale hairline.

“Ingrid, this is Irene Huss. Do you remember her?” asked the nurse.

Ingrid’s thin eyelids fluttered. She opened them halfway and began to look around. When her gaze fastened on Irene, she said, “The policewoman.” Her voice was thin and shaking, but her sour tone could not be mistaken. She closed her eyes again to shut out the unwelcome guest.

Irene cleared her throat and said, “I hope you will be able to answer a few questions for me.”

“I know nothing about the girl. I never saw her after … after …” Ingrid began angrily, but she didn’t have the energy to complete her sentence.

“I know. You never saw her again after the fire fifteen years ago. But that is the fire I want to talk to you about.”

“Too long ago … I don’t want to …” Ingrid grumbled.

She seems clear in her head right now at any rate
, Irene thought. How confused was she really? She had to determine if the old lady was counterfeiting confusion so she wouldn’t have to answer. Considering the secret she’d been carrying all those years, she must be a great actress.

“Before Sophie died, she wrote down exactly what happened the night the cottage at Björkil burned down. It took us a while to figure it out, because she wrote it in … ballet language. Now, however, we understand her description of the course of events.”

Irene paused so that what she’d told the old woman had a chance to sink in. At the same time, Irene thought again about the ballet performance she’d seen.
The Fire Dance
contained the truth.

The party guests began to yawn, lie down, and fall asleep. The light diminished and the scene had a twilight feel. Only the Prince was still awake. He’d found a bottle and drunk what was left in it. On unsteady legs, he got up and began to stagger to the tower. Since the Guardian was not at her post, he had no trouble opening the door to the tower
.

“You told me yourself that you picked up Frej at the bus
that afternoon. Your brother had told you he was going downtown and asked you to take care of the boy. Then you and Frej had dinner. Then he fell asleep and slept until eight thirty that night. Is this true?”

Not a single muscle twitched in Ingrid’s haggard face, but Irene felt that she was listening intensely. Calmly, Irene continued: “Sophie’s story is different. According to her version, she came home at the usual time in order to get ready and pick up her ballet things. Frej was already in the house. He was tipsy. He had found one of his father’s bottles, and he’d drunk quite a bit. It doesn’t take much to make an eight-year-old drunk. It wasn’t Frej who’d fallen asleep after dinner. It was you. Sophie probably called you because she didn’t know what to do. She didn’t want to miss her ride, because then she would also miss ballet class, the most important thing in Sophie’s life. So, she called you before she biked away to the convenience store. There was a time gap between when she left and when you arrived. Let’s say, ten to fifteen minutes. During that time, Frej began to play with fire. When you arrived …”

“Go away!” Ingrid began to scream. “Go away! Get out of here!”

Her shriek was the most heartrending thing Irene had heard. Nurse Ulla came rushing through the bedroom door. Irene had not even noticed she’d left—presumably to spend more time with Tommy in the living room.

“What are you trying to do? Are you trying to be the death of poor Ingrid?”

Irene stretched to her full height and held up a warning finger toward the red, indignant face of the nurse.

“If ‘poor Ingrid’ had told the truth fifteen years ago, an innocent young girl would not have had to suffer so terribly. Perhaps she might not have been murdered!” Irene snapped at the nurse.

Right away, Irene regretted saying it, but it shut the nurse up.

Ingrid had also fallen silent and lay there with her eyes closed and her lips firmly pressed together. Irene would get nothing more from her.

Sophie had told the truth. The Guardian had existed in real life.

A
NGELIKA HAD JUST
finished her last class for the day when they reached her by phone at the House of Dance. Very unwillingly, she agreed to go directly to the police station to meet Tommy and Irene.

The first thing she did when she arrived was apologize for not having taken a shower and changed. She’d have to wait until she got home, she’d said while giving Tommy a coquettish look. She still wore her leotard underneath her coat. From her body came the scent of perfume, which was not at all unpleasant. The aroma gave her a strong, sensual attraction. She again ignored Irene completely. Apparently, Angelika never noticed any woman if there was a man in the room. She found her affirmation solely from men. Tommy appeared to give her all the attention she needed. In reciprocation, Angelika flirted with giggles and suggestive glances. Tommy’s head was being turned.

Irene felt like a piece of furniture. An ugly, clunky piece badly placed. Certainly not something deserving attention.

Irene was tired of playing the role of third wheel. She decided to begin her questioning, with no help coming from Tommy.

“Perhaps you’re wanting to know why we asked you here,” Irene began.

Her statement seemed unnecessarily brusque, but it forced Angelika to look at her.

“Go ahead and sit down,” Irene said.

Tommy pulled out a chair for Angelika to sit on. He looked at Irene quizzically and pointed to the other chair, but Irene shook her head. Tommy quickly took it instead.

Irene cleared her throat before the first question. “This morning we talked to your former sister-in-law, Ingrid Hagberg. As you know, she has just recovered from another diabetic coma. Someone gave her a box of the sweetest nougat imaginable.”

Angelika crossed one leg over the other and began to jiggle her foot in its stylish boot. It was the only indication that she was actually listening.

“We have found your fingerprints on the bag the candy came in. How would you like to explain this?”

The tiny figure stiffened, and her foot stopped jiggling. She swallowed a few times. Finally, she was able to say, “That’s impossible … I didn’t …”

“They
are
your fingerprints,” Irene insisted, without taking her gaze from the woman.

Angelika could not endure Irene’s look, and she looked over to Tommy. Tommy was not able to offer support. He still had a smile, but his eyes held the same question that Irene had just asked. A question that needed a good answer.

“Maybe I left a bag there,” she muttered.

“When would this have been?” Irene asked.

“Don’t remember …”

“When I met you a week ago, you told me that Ingrid did not let you in. I watched you enter the building and then come out, so your statement seemed most likely true. You also told me that you and Ingrid hadn’t been in touch for over fifteen years.”

Irene let her words drop off and kept her eyes on Angelika, who kept her gaze fixed on a spot close to Irene’s shoe.

“So when were you in her apartment?”

Silence.

Irene continued, “The truth is, you weren’t in her apartment at all. You came through the front door and then stuffed the bag holding the box of candy through the mail slot. You knew that she wouldn’t be able to resist it.”