The Golden Calf (30 page)

“I see her. She’s coming around the corner of the house now, heading to a point between me and the bike path. Perhaps she’s aiming for it. Oops, she just stumbled.”

“Doesn’t she have a flashlight?”

“I don’t see one.”

Irene could also see how Sanna wobbled. It must be difficult to walk across the damp field in the darkness of night.
I hope she’s wearing a good pair of boots!
Irene couldn’t help thinking, but she had her doubts. She had never seen Sanna in any footwear with spike heels less than ten centimeters high.

“I’m going to move along the edge of the grove,” Irene said. “I’ll try to follow her.”

“OK, I’ll go down to the bike path. Don’t turn off your cell phone.”

“Got it.”

It was difficult to step without sound through the thickets and undergrowth. Sanna was also having difficulty moving. She kept stumbling and catching herself. Irene suspected that her conjecture was right—Sanna was wearing heels that would sink into the mud. Irene realized she was catching up to her.

Tommy also seemed to be correct in his assumption that Sanna was heading to the bike path. She had just about crossed the field and was nearing the fringe of bushes lining the bike path, Irene barely more than fifty meters behind her. Then Irene caught a sudden movement in the bushes ahead. She stopped and put the night goggles to her eyes.

A figure in a stocking cap and wind jacket was crouching among the branches. Sanna was only about ten meters away when Irene saw him lift an arm and leap toward the unsuspecting Sanna. Without thinking, Irene ran forward, fumbling under her jacket to pull her gun from her holster while yelling as loud as she could:

“Police! Stop or I’ll shoot!”

At the same time, Tommy came running from the other side of the bike path. He was also yelling, “Police! Stop right there! We’re the police!”

Irene saw how Sanna stumbled and fell just as a flash came from a gun muzzle. There was no sound.
Silencer
, Irene thought.

Irene paused to locate the man again with her binoculars. All she saw was his back as he disappeared into the trees and bushes.

“I’ll take care of Sanna!” Tommy yelled.

“Keep your cell phone on!” Irene yelled back.

“Got it!”

Irene ran in the same direction as the gunman. Once on the bike path, she raised the goggles again to spot the man running toward Billdal. He was fast, and he had a good head start. Although she was a good runner, too, Irene realized she’d never be able to catch up to him. And, since he was armed, she realized it wouldn’t be a good idea to try to stop him on her own. Perhaps if she got close enough to wound him in the leg, it might be worth it, but, truth to tell, Irene was not the best shot. She always managed to pass the yearly test, but often by the skin of her teeth.

She still had her cell phone, but she had to redial Tommy since he’d had to break contact to call for an ambulance. As she ran, Irene told him to send patrol cars toward Hovås to intercept the gunman.

The wind had gotten stronger now, and hard drops of rain hit her in the face. It became even more difficult to run against the headwind. The distance between Irene and the gunman was increasing. Irene doubled her efforts to at least keep him in sight. The man ran easily, to Irene’s great irritation. He seemed young, tall, and athletic in his stocking cap and black jogging suit. She tried to remember every detail. Not much of a description, but better than nothing.

From the corner of her eye, Irene saw that they were passing
a small boat harbor. The gunman seemed to know exactly where to go. He went straight through the harbor parking lot and kept on, never seeming to tire in the least. Irene was sweating and panting. Her warm clothes were not meant for running. To make matters worse, her bad left knee was starting to ache again.

Finally she could no longer spot him through the goggles; the bike path was completely empty. Irene stopped and tried to listen. Between the pounding of her blood in her ears and the howling wind, it was impossible. Even if a steam locomotive were headed right at her, she wouldn’t have been able to hear it. She struggled her way up a steep grassy slope and surveyed as much as she could through the night goggles. She peered inland and finally caught sight of him at the edge of a golf course. His pace hadn’t faltered at all. Although the trees were sparsely planted, he hadn’t tried to veer off course or to hide. He probably did not realize that Irene could still see him with her night goggles.

Irene called Tommy again.

“He’s heading toward the club house parking lot on the golf course,” she panted into the phone.

“Do you still see him?”

“Yes, but the parking lot is surrounded by bushes.… Now he’s gone. Can one of our cars get him when he reaches the road?”

“I don’t know. There’s no patrol in the vicinity. They said they’d send out what they could. I can—”

“A car is exiting the lot!” Irene exclaimed. She tried to see its make and license plate number, but it went out of sight too quickly. Its rear lights flickered between the trees, and then it was gone.

“Damn it all!” Irene said with feeling.

“The ambulance is coming,” Tommy said.

“How’s Sanna doing?”

“The bullet grazed her head. She’s conscious but in shock,” he said.

That was easy to understand. It’s very unpleasant to have someone shoot at you. Irene’s memory of the gunman in Paris was fresh—and that man was probably the same man who’d just shot at Sanna.

“Let’s hope the patrol car can intercept him,” she said in an attempt to cheer herself up.

But by then, Tommy had already hung up.

S
ANNA’S STILETTO HEELS
had saved her life. The second before the gunman fired, one of her heels had stuck in the mud and made her lurch sideways. The bullet had plowed a deep groove along her scalp and taken a surface layer of bone, but hadn’t shattered her skull and penetrated her brain. She would have a scar on the side of her head right above her right ear for the rest of her life: a permanent reminder that she’d almost been killed.

The doctors determined that Sanna didn’t have a serious skull fracture. On the other hand, she did have a serious concussion and was in shock. Instead of showing gratitude to the police for intervening to save her life, Sanna kept up her lies and wriggled out of answering any of their questions. She finally said, “I have to go home and take care of my baby boy.”

She turned her tear-filled eyes toward Tommy and let her lips tremble.
Great performance
, thought Irene, and snorted out loud. Sanna tried to ignore her, something not easy to do in the small, single-bed room.

The police had kept a watch on the Askim house all during the night. In the morning, Elsy Kaegler and baby Ludwig had been brought to Elsy’s apartment.

“Why do you have to go home now? What if the killer returns?” asked Tommy.

Sanna looked away and then turned her moist eyes back to Tommy.

“He wouldn’t dare now the house alarm is armed, and he knows that you’re keeping me under surveillance,” she said with a weak smile.

She’s not at all afraid of the man who shot her
, Irene marveled. Something is off about her reaction. Sanna ought to be petrified and howling for protection, begging to stay at the hospital for as long as possible.

“Who tried to kill you?” asked Tommy.

“No idea,” Sanna insisted.

Tommy leaned toward her bandaged head, which was almost the same color as the pillowcase on which it rested. He caught her eye and said in a low voice, “Sanna, listen to me now. This man has killed four people. We have proof. These people were all close to you: Thomas Bonetti, Joachim Rothstaahl, your husband Kjell, and Philip Bergman.”

He had saved Philip’s name for last on purpose, as she had the softest spot in her heart for Philip. Before she could mobilize new strength to retort, he continued in his hypnotizing voice, “Yesterday, he tried to kill you, too. If Irene and I had not distracted him with our yells, if you hadn’t stumbled, you’d be dead.”

Tommy leaned even closer to her pale face. He emphasized each word. “Why are you protecting this killer?”

She stared back defiantly, but finally she had to look away. “I’m not protecting anyone. I don’t know who he is,” she whined.

Irene and Tommy exchanged looks. Time for the bad cop to take over. Irene cleared her throat and prepared to play her part.

She asked, “Why did you sneak out the back door?”

Sanna wet her dry lips with her tongue. “My coat was hanging in the laundry room because it was wet. I’d used it earlier. So I’d hung it there—”

Irene interrupted her. “I’ll ask you again. Why did you sneak out the back door?”

Sanna looked at Irene angrily. It wouldn’t help things if Sanna could mobilize her tough attitude. Irene told herself:
scare her into telling the truth
.

“It was easier. My coat—”

“Why did you go out at all?”

“I needed some fresh air. An evening walk—”

“Through a muddy field. In high heels,” Irene said. She had no trace of sympathy in her voice, and she made sure Sanna understood that Irene knew she was lying.

“I usually just walk around the house,” Sanna said lamely.

“I watched you through binoculars. You headed straight for where that man was hiding. There is also no doubt that he intended to kill you. I saw him aim. If we hadn’t been there, you would now be dead. Killed by the same person who killed your four friends. For some reason, you feel you must protect him. You know who he is. Tell us.”

Sanna looked frightened for a few seconds, but then she put her hand to her head theatrically as she declared, “My head hurts!”

“Fine, then let’s get this interview over with quickly. Let me make this absolutely clear. As soon as you’re released from the hospital, we will escort you to the police station and hold you there until you tell us what you know. It is a serious crime to protect a murderer. If I were you, I’d be much more afraid for my life.”

What Irene said about holding Sanna at the station wasn’t exactly true, but Sanna wouldn’t know that. It looked like the words hit home, but Sanna still refused to speak. She pressed her lips tightly together, turned her face away from Irene, and shut her eyes.

“We’ll be back in a few hours,” Irene said.

The two police officers stood up and got ready to leave. Irene already had her hand on the door handle when she turned and said, “I hope this killer is as much of a friend as you
seem to believe. People have been killed in their hospital beds.”

They could see Sanna stiffen, but she did not turn to look at them as they walked out.

“That was harsh,” Tommy said as they headed to the elevator.

“It won’t hurt her to have a little more fear for her life,” Irene replied. Inwardly, she had to admit that she’d been enjoying her role of bad cop just a bit too much. There was a uniformed officer at Sanna’s door. Irene had instructed him to keep an eye on the door but not to bother looking through the glass window.

“T
HE HARD RAIN
last night washed out most traces, but we managed to secure a footprint under the bushes where the gunman hid. It’s a good print—really clear,” Svante Malm said.

Irene and Tommy had gone straight to his lab to get a firsthand report.

“Is it the same kind of footprint we have from the laundry room of the Ceder house?” asked Tommy.

“We’re still analyzing it. But at first glance, I’d say they’re pretty similar,” Malm said with satisfaction. “Won’t you stay for a cup of coffee to celebrate?” he asked excitedly.

Both Irene and Tommy accepted gratefully, but regretted it when they tasted the coffee in the plastic mugs he handed them. Irene understood why Svante had the uncanny ability to appear at the Violent Crime Division right around their coffee break. The fourth floor coffee was definitely better.

“T
HE PATROL CARS
couldn’t catch our man, but at least they stopped two drunk drivers and retrieved a stolen motorized lawn mower,” Jonny summarized that afternoon. “They were too late for ours.”

“Some guy was really driving a stolen lawn mower in the middle of an October storm?” asked Birgitta incredulously.

Jonny glared at her. “No, it was on a flatbed truck. The guys on patrol became suspicious when the driver was too nervous. When they checked things out, they found that the lawn mower was reported stolen two weeks ago. The thief had written a classified ad to sell it and was about to deliver it to the buyer. He probably thought the storm would prevent him from being caught.”

“Did the guy have a record?” asked Fredrik.

“No. Thirty-year-old immigrant with just small stuff in his background. Shoplifting as a juvie. They found two stolen TVs, two brand-new bicycles, and a computer in his garage. Obviously fronting for someone. Our colleagues think they’ve stumbled onto a ring of petty thieves. Not our problem, though.”

“Our problem is this stupid Kaegler woman!” growled Andersson. “Why does she believe she can’t talk to us?”

Tommy shrugged. “I have no idea. It seems odd to me.”

“So you two believe she knows who the murderer is,” Andersson said.

Tommy and Irene nodded in unison.

“What’s your theory?” Andersson leaned back in his chair, which began to creak ominously. Andersson had gained quite a few kilos during the summer.
Not good for his asthma or his blood pressure
, Irene thought with worry. She couldn’t do anything about it even if she wanted to. She knew Andersson wouldn’t listen.

Irene doubted her own intuition, even as she started to speak. “I’ve been thinking hard about this. One, she’s not afraid of the man who shot at her. Two, she refuses to believe that he actually tried to kill her yesterday. Why is she behaving so strangely? The only explanation I have is that she doesn’t believe us. She thinks we’re lying and trying to set a trap for an innocent man.”

“Who would that be?” asked Andersson.

“Ludwig’s father,” Irene said.

“The boy’s dad? Why would he want to kill her?” exclaimed Jonny.

“If I knew that, we’d know it all,” Irene said wryly. She reached over the table for the pot of coffee and poured herself a cup.
Much better than that cat piss down at the lab
, she thought with contentment. She sipped carefully in case it was hot. Fortified by her elixir of life, she continued to explain her theory.