EQMM, May 2012 (3 page)

The two men stood and Rhindtwist thanked von Otter for his time. In turn, Von Otter offered to do anything he could to help.

Outside 22 Haagen-Dazs Rhindtwist checked his watch. He had an hour before meeting with Paulsson. He walked down the hill, crossed Garbogatan and wound his way along the side streets parallel to Woebegatan until he could turn up Anita Ekberg Gata to the Burger King, where he ordered a Double Whopper with fries and a Coke Light.

A little before one he parked his silver 2003 Volvo S60 sedan in front of a small thatched-roof cottage that overlooked the Ljusnan River. Henrik Paulsson, a tall, fifty-two-year-old man with a prominent potbelly, stood in the doorway of the cottage and waved at Rhindtwist to come in.

Inside the cottage's small living room Paulsson offered Rhindtwist a seat. Two espressos sat on a silver tray on the coffee table. Paulsson handed one to Rhindtwist and, as he sat, said, “You understand, Herr Rhindtwist, this will be a very unhappy, difficult conversation for me."

"I understand,” Rhindtwist said. “To start, if it's not too difficult, can you tell me about the morning you discovered Herr Gedda?"

"I am a very disciplined man,” Paulsson began. “Set in my ways, one might say. I arrive at the mansion house every morning except Sundays—my day off—at eight to prepare Herr Gedda's breakfast. You can set your watch by it, some have said. On the Friday of the tragedy I sensed something was wrong. It took me a moment before I realized that I hadn't been greeted by Herr Gedda's customary, ‘That you, Henrik?’ and began calling and looking for him. He was nowhere to be seen in the house so I checked the garden. . . ."

Rhindtwist told him to take his time.

"I found him by one of the rose beds.” Paulsson began to cry and drew a handkerchief from his pants pocket. “He loved his roses almost as much as he loved his rainbow trout. It was their colors that pleased him so.” He wiped his nose and refolded his handkerchief. “I'm sorry. I will get through this.” He cleared his throat. “Herr Gedda was lying facedown in a pool of blood."

"I know this isn't easy for you, Henrik,” Rhindtwist said, “but was Herr Gedda usually out of bed before you arrived?"

"Always. He was what some would call a morning person. It was the happiest time of the day for him. If he didn't go fishing, he read and drank the coffee that I'd set for him the night before, or worked in his garden."

"Who else knew of this routine?"

"Everyone close to him.” Paulsson smiled. “In his first meeting of the morning Herr Gedda would jokingly boast that while his guests had been sleeping he'd already caught a trout for breakfast or finished a book or clipped a beautiful bouquet of flowers."

"Hmm,” Rhindtwist said. “And who was close enough to him to know this?"

"Gotilda, Herr Hakanson, and Herr von Otter.” Paulsson paused and added, rather proudly, “And, of course, me."

"No one else?"

"I don't think so. Herr Gedda was a very private man. Those close to him were like his family."

Rhindtwist was silent for a moment. “Going back to that Friday morning, was there anything odd about how you found Herr Gedda? Did it look like there'd been a struggle?"

Paulsson shook his head. “I can't think of anything, but of course I was so shocked by what I'd found . . ."

Rhindtwist smiled a comforting smile. “I understand, but what about the bucket of worms?"

Paulsson shrugged and looked away.

"Did Herr Gedda often dig in his garden for worms? I thought he was a fly fisherman."

"I'm afraid I can't answer that question."

"But certainly you would have known,” Rhindtwist said, sensing that he'd touched upon a nerve.

"It was Gotilda's bucket, not Herr Gedda's,” Paulsson mumbled. “I can't add anything more."

"Did she have a routine like yours?"

He nodded. “But she rarely showed up until ten or a little after."

Rhindtwist smiled again to have Paulsson lower his guard. “Did you hear a shot that morning?"

"I may have, but, as you can see, my cottage is a thousand meters from the mansion house. The sounds I heard could have been a backfire."

"A backfire?"

"When she isn't riding her motorcycle, Gotilda drives to work in an old Volkswagen Beetle that backfires a lot. I thought perhaps she'd arrived early for some reason."

"Hmm,” Rhindtwist said. “And was she there when you found Herr Gedda?"

Paulsson sighed. “I can't say for sure."

"So I take it you can't tell the difference between a shot and a backfire?"

"I'm afraid not,” Paulsson said. “In this country, hunting is the province of the wealthy."

"I understand,” Rhindtwist said. “Tell me, what was Herr Gedda's relationship with Gotilda?"

Paulsson flinched. “She took care of his financial and computer tasks and they spent a lot of time fishing together."

"What I'm asking is, were they romantically involved?"

Paulsson stood and moved to the window and looked out over the river. “You'll have to ask her. I was Herr Gedda's butler, not his priest."

"Well put, Henrik,” Rhindtwist said. “Only a couple more questions. Did you know that you were in Herr Gedda's will?"

Paulsson returned to his chair and said he did.

"When did Herr Gedda tell you?"

"He didn't. Herr von Otter did.” A dark look crossed Paulsson's face. “He also said that Gotilda is in the will. Is that true?"

Rhindtwist nodded.

"For twenty billion kronor?"

Rhindtwist nodded again. “When did von Otter tell you this? Before or after Herr Gedda was murdered?"

Paulsson put his hand to his mouth and muttered, “Sometime in the spring."

"Do you have any idea why he told you?"

"I think he was, one might say, disappointed that Herr Gedda hadn't followed his advice and was disturbed by the amount Gotilda was to receive.” Paulsson leaned back in his chair. “Her membership in the Lunkersklubb bothered him as well. You must understand that Herr von Otter is a purist in every sense of the word. He disapproves of fishing with anything but a fly and suspects that, on occasion, the girl fishes with a worm."

"And how do you feel about all of this?"

"About fishing with a worm? I couldn't care less."

"I understand,” Rhindtwist said. “I'm asking about the twenty billion kronor."

Paulsson sighed. “How would you feel? Twenty-two years of loyal service versus her three and she receives quadruple the financial gratitude that I do? It simply isn't fair. There has to be more to it than meets the eye."

"It does raise some questions,” Rhindtwist said, and shook Paulsson's hand and said goodbye.

As Rhindtwist walked to his car, Paulsson called to him. “I watch Inspektor Wallander on TV and know that the motive's the thing. I'd think 20 billion kronor would lead almost anyone astray."

Rhindtwist wanted to tell Paulsson that five billion kronor, damn near 750 million U.S. dollars, wasn't exactly chump change, but he simply waved and climbed into his silver Volvo sedan. With friends like you, Henrik, he thought, Gotilda doesn't stand a chance.

Thursday, July 10

Rhindtwist thought it was an interesting turn of the worm that a man of Gunnar Hakanson's eminence would say he planned to be at the Friskis & Svettis gym and could walk over to Umlaut Magazine's office at about eight-thirty, if that wasn't too early. As a result, Rhindtwist and Uggla arrived at eight to make sure coffee was brewing.

At eight-thirty sharp, an athletically built man dressed in a shiny navy track suit and wearing a pair of red, white, and black Nike Michael Vick Trainers pushed open the door on Fiskgartan, not far from Kukiejargatan, and called, “Jerker, you here? It's Gunnar."

Not Gunnar Hakanson, just Gunnar. Not Jerker Rhindtwist, just Jerker. Rhindtwist was surprised and impressed.

Uggla smoothed her skirt over her broad hips, pulled her sweater down to emphasize her perky knockers, and fluffed her dyed blond hair as she hurried to greet their visitor. She introduced herself as the managing editor. Her face flushed when Hakanson raised an eyebrow and said, “That's a big job for someone as young as you."

Conveniently, she caught one of her high heels in a hole in the carpet and stumbled into his muscular arms. For a moment neither spoke and then Uggla slowly pushed away and showed him to Rhindtwist's office, where she brought them each a coffee, gave Hakanson a coquettish smile, and quietly shut the door behind her as she left.

Hakanson raised his cup as though he were making a toast. “That's one well-built editor you've got there, old sport. Dipping your pen in the old company inkwell, are you?"

Rhindtwist shook his head. “Let's get down to business."

"It's your krona,” Hakanson said.

"Let's start with how you learned of Herr Gedda's death."

"I got a call from von Otter."

"Go on."

"What does ‘go on’ mean?” Hakanson said.

Rhindtwist sighed. “When he called. Where you were. Things like that."

Hakanson sighed. “Manfred called me around noon. He reached me in Helsinki. I returned to Stockholm that afternoon.” He sipped his coffee and forced a smile. “That's all there is to it."

"How long were you in Helsinki?"

"One night,” Hakanson said. “A business quickie."

"Where did you stay?"

Hakanson seemed irritated. “Where I always stay."

"And that would be?"

"The Hotel Kamp,” Hakanson said. “You should try it sometime. It's very nice, but maybe a bit pricey for a journalist."

Rhindtwist smiled a pained smile. “Apparently you're quite a sportsman. Do you hunt and fish?"

"Olaf tried to get me interested in fishing, but I'm afraid I don't have the patience for it. I like to go after things, not wait for them to come to me."

"So you hunt?"

"It's a passion of mine,” Hakanson said. “Capercaillie and black grouse, as well as elk."

"And you own a gun?"

"Of course."

"Pistols as well as rifles and shotguns?"

Hakanson gave Rhindtwist a disapproving look. “Listen, sport, if you're thinking I was involved in Olaf's murder you're barking up the wrong tree."

"Hmm,” Rhindtwist said. “Then what would the right tree be? You stood to gain as much as anyone from Herr Gedda's death."

Hakanson surprised Rhindtwist by saying, “If not more. But as big a pain in the butt as Olaf was at times, he'd been my business partner for over thirty years and, what's more, he was my closest friend. If I've put up with our arrangement for this long, why would I suddenly do something so rash?"

"Greed?"

"Sounds good if you're Shakespeare, who you're not,” Hakanson said, “but in real life it's nonsensical because eventually the business will become my family's, no matter what.” He stood. “I think we've played this little game long enough. I'd suggest you spend more time with your editor, who's as obvious as a mare in heat, and leave the police work up to the professionals, because right now it's clear you're in over your head."

"What I do with Annika is none of your business,” Rhindtwist said. “Now, get out of here.” He watched Hakanson saunter through the office with Uggla following him. He thought their goodbyes were inappropriately intimate and drew a coffee from the espresso machine and settled at his desk and buzzed for her. Before he knew it Uggla was standing in the doorway to his office. “What did Gunnar have to say?” she asked.

"Oh, it's Gunnar, is it? Not Herr Hakanson?"

She nodded.

He sighed.

She shrugged.

He lit a Chesterfield.

Finally she asked, “What did you find out?"

Rhindtwist took a drag on his cigarette. “Gotilda, Paulsson, and your friend Gunnar all had a lot to gain from Gedda's death. On the one hand, both Gotilda and Paulsson got a lot of cash. On the other hand, Hakanson stood to benefit the most because he inherited the business, but he has the best alibi: He was in Helsinki when Gedda was murdered. Paulsson doesn't have an alibi and I don't know about Gotilda. Hopefully, she'll have a good story. If not, things will get even more difficult for her."

Uggla walked from the doorway and straddled Rhindtwist in his chair. “I think my jealous little boy has forgotten to ask where Hakanson stayed while he was in Helsinki."

Rhindtwist smiled a satisfied smile. “The Hotel Kamp."

Uggla reached for his phone and punched in 00-358-9-42419393. In quick order she was connected with the Hotel Kamp through Helsinki information. “Good morning,” she said. “This is Herr Gunnar Hakanson's secretary calling from Stockholm. I'm trying to reconcile his monthly expense report but I'm afraid I've misplaced some of Herr Hakanson's receipts. Could you please give me his charges for . . .” She gave Rhindtwist a questioning look.

He whispered, “Thursday, July the third."

"For July third and fourth?"

There was a long pause.

"Are you sure?” Uggla said.

Another pause.

"Thank you very much for your trouble.” Uggla wiggled to face Rhindtwist again. “Well, Hakanson's lying about his whereabouts. The hotel has no record of him staying there this month."

"Hmm,” Rhindtwist said. “Now, what else have I forgotten?"

"Two things,” Uggla said. “First, none of our staff are coming in today and, second, I've locked the door and pulled the shades."

"Hmm,” Rhindtwist said again, amused that Hakanson thought he was in over his head, because now Hakanson was the prime suspect in the murder of Olaf Gedda.

"Umm-hmm,” Uggla said as she began to prove, once again, that she was a most excellent choice for managing editor.

PART 2

Lumbricus Terrestris

Because they help aerate and enrich the soil, Charles Darwin wrote of earthworms, “It may be doubted whether there are any other animals which have played so important a part in the history of the world, as have these lowly creatures.” For this very reason Aristotle called earthworms “the intestines of the soil.” They are also frequently called night crawlers because they crawl around at night, and angleworms because they make good bait for fishing. They are indigenous to Europe and are hermaphrodites, but cannot see or hear. Some have been known to have survived in captivity for ten years. Neither Darwin nor Aristotle commented on the fact that most fishermen are born honest but get over it pretty quickly, whether they fish with a worm, a jerkbait, or a fly.