The Fire Dance (14 page)

“Here. Read this. Max Franke just sent it to me. There’s quite a bit about Angelika in there, too.”

Tommy took the stack of paper and began to read.

It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Tommy; it was Angelika she didn’t trust. No man should be allowed to be alone with her for any length of time. Irene knew she was being absolutely ridiculous, but she still remembered the pheromone-filled atmosphere of the office the last time Angelika laid eyes on Tommy. Of course, that was fifteen years ago, but Irene had no illusions about Tommy’s vulnerability—he was recently divorced and so far he had no steady partner. Irene had no idea about any of Angelika’s current romances besides the rumor she was involved with a high-level executive from Volvo. Irene knew, however, that that woman was always on the prowl.

Irene stood and decided to go to forensics to see if they had any new information about the fire.

Svante Malm’s freckled face lit up when he saw Irene. “Hey there! You must be psychic. I was just going to give you a call. Now I won’t have to,” he said happily.

“Anything new?” asked Irene.

“Yes. As far as Sophie’s clothing is concerned, we now know that she was wearing a studded leather jacket when she disappeared. We can say with absolute certainty that she was not wearing it when she died. We found these instead.”

He pulled out the obligatory plastic bags from his desk drawer and laid them on the surface of his desk. Irene could see some long, small items, flat and irregular in form.

“What are those?” she asked.

“Don’t know for sure, but they’re not studs. They were found on the body and we believe they were decorations on a piece of clothing she was wearing. We are going to clean them so it will be easier to guess what kind of clothing they came from.”

Irene tried to think. Clothing decorations? Jewelry? Something stirred in the back of her mind, but she wasn’t able to catch it. She pushed that aside for the moment and instead said, “Perhaps it was a theatrical or dance costume. Her mother is coming this afternoon and she might know what kind of clothing Sophie was wearing.”

“Yes, ask. The analysis of the rest of the scene is clear. Sophie was lying on a polyurethane mattress. The killer had piled a heap of paper and textiles over her. Probably he poured out some gasoline and set her on fire. The course of the fire was quick and explosive. He’d put a thick woolen fabric over the lower half of the body, which, thankfully, saved it from complete cremation. This fabric was badly burned, but parts of it that were beneath the body were not damaged. An authentic Persian-style carpet, actually, according to our carpet expert, Ahmed, extremely valuable. Let’s see …”

Svante flipped through a notebook and his face lit up when he found the information he was looking for.

“Here it is! Probably an antique Karabagh. Worth
between twenty and thirty thousand kronor, depending on size.”

“So our suspect set it on fire. But of course you use what you have. What other flammable material did you find?”

“Some woolen blankets. They are more difficult to burn than synthetics or cotton. Newspaper and the remains of patterned cotton. Curtains or sheets—most likely sheets.”

“So, we have a quality carpet and expensive blankets. Simple, thin mattress. Cotton fragments that we don’t know much about,” Irene summarized.

“Exactly.”

“Did the tire tracks give any leads?”

“No, unfortunately. We didn’t discover the body until Monday afternoon. The weekend had been a busy one, so a case of arson in an old shed that was scheduled to be torn down anyway was not high on our priorities. The rain was pouring down on Sunday and Monday, so all possible tracks had disappeared in the mud.”

“Too bad. I still need to find out where Sophie had been kept for almost three weeks. Even if she’d been drugged, where could a person be hidden for that long without the neighbors noticing?”

“Look for a place that’s out of the way or abandoned. Preferably both.”

The farm. It hadn’t been searched because it was assumed Ingrid Hagberg was still living there. Not until Irene had talked to Frej had she learned that the place had been empty for three months. There was nothing but fields and forests around the house. Even if people were moving about in the village of Björkil, the house was set off from the road and difficult for the neighbors to see. Once it got dark, the killer could have easily driven to Högsbo Industrial Area with a drugged Sophie, carried her into the building and then set her on fire. And in the wee hours, no witnesses had seen
anything suspicious in the area or even noticed the fire. The remains of the fire were discovered the next day.

“You could be right. We should take a look at the farm. The old woman who owned it has been hospitalized for three months. Someone else could have been using her house to keep Sophie prisoner,” Irene said.

Frej. He’d said himself that he watched the place for his aunt. He had a car. What kind of motive would he have? Why would he keep his sister—half-sister—prisoner for three weeks? Why would he drug her and then kill her? At the time of the fire that killed his father, he and Sophie seemed to have a normal relationship. She’d even let him move into her mansion.

Sophie’s murder had been terrible and full of hate. She’d been abused and drugged. Why would Frej do something like that? Money? No, he would not inherit her wealth. Angelika would.

Many people involved with the investigation had stated that Angelika was always on the lookout for money. Could Angelika be behind the murder of her own daughter? She had a car. She had a motive. Would she have been able to carry it out? Not likely unless Frej assisted her. Would he let her use his aunt’s house to keep Sophie prisoner and eventually kill her? It seemed too bizarre, even for Irene, who had investigated a number of horrible cases over the years.

“Hello! Earth to Irene!” Svante said.

Irene started. “Sorry, I was thinking about what you said. I got lost in various theories,” Irene excused herself.

“I’d be glad if I set you on the right course to solve this case. I hope we get this guy.”

“We will. Absolutely.”

Irene tried to sound more confident than she felt.

• • •

D
URING LUNCH
, I
RENE
and Tommy discussed what Svante Malm had found out. Absentmindedly, Tommy stirred his spoon in the cup of watery stuff the cafeteria served under the label “minestrone.” His only comfort was the apple cake with vanilla sauce for dessert.

“An empty house available to several of the people involved. We definitely ought to investigate the farm. Do we need a search warrant?”

Irene thought about it. “That’ll take some time. I have a better idea. But first, let’s go get some baguettes. This stuff is not going to get us through the day.”

I
RENE WENT ONLINE
and began to search through the names of real estate agents active in the Björkil area. The third agent hit a bull’s-eye. Ingrid Hagberg’s property was for sale and listed at the Berzén Agency. The advertisement included several color photographs and a description:

Ingrid Hagberg would be wealthy once her property was sold. In her present condition, however, she couldn’t take
much joy in the money. Frej would probably inherit it before long.

Irene called the real estate agency. A young man with an energetic voice picked up quickly. He introduced himself as Erik Johansson. His voice lost a great deal of its energy when he realized that Irene was not a potential customer. After a bit of negotiation and a little police jargon on Irene’s side, he promised to show her the property. He would not be able to meet her until the next day at the earliest. They agreed on 9
A
.
M
. at the house. “A real customer is going to be there at eleven.”

A
T FIRST GLANCE
, Angelika did not appear to have aged a bit. She hadn’t gained any weight and she moved as easily and gracefully as she had all those years ago. Perhaps her hair was just a shade darker—a shimmering mahogany—but that didn’t necessarily mean she was dyeing grey strands. The color fit her perfectly and even matched her short brown leather jacket. All her other clothes were black. Her V-neck angora sweater revealed an elegant gold cross in the gap between her collarbones. She walked across the floor in boots with sky-high heels, keeping her eyes on Tommy the whole time. For Irene, she barely condescended to give a glance from the corner of her eye.

Tommy got up and smiled widely as he held out his hand. “Hello! Please, sit down.”

Angelika smiled as well, but her smile no longer gave off the same sparks as fifteen years ago. There was exhaustion in her eyes that had not been there before.

“It’s been many years since I last saw you, but you haven’t changed a bit,” Tommy reassured her.

“Kind of you to say so,” Angelika said with the shadow of a smile.

As she sat down, she slipped out of her leather jacket to
set it across her knees. As she looked at Tommy, tears shone in her dark eyes. In an unsteady voice, she asked, “When will I be able to take her?”

Tommy floundered for half a second before he realized what she was asking. “Sophie’s body?”

“Please.”

“It could still take a week or two before all the tests are finished. Sometimes … a test has to be redone … Would you like me to find out when she will be released to you?”

“Yes, please. I’ve already contacted the funeral home.”

Angelika fumbled in her purse and finally pulled out a package of paper tissues. She wiped her tears and discreetly blew her nose. Irene could see that Tommy was off-balance—this questioning had taken a turn he hadn’t expected. As if Tommy were reading her mind, he cleared his throat and subconsciously straightened his back as he tried to take back control of the conversation.

“We talked on the phone the day after the body had been identified. You were naturally very upset and emotional, and I decided to wait to talk to you. Now we’ve made some progress in the investigation and we would like to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course not. It’s just … it’s incomprehensible that anyone would … murder her.”

Tears began to stream down her face, and she pulled a handful of tissues from the package. She pressed one of them to her eyes, and her voice was barely audible. “Sorry … I’m just so upset … and the funeral home today … can’t understand … that she’s dead.”

Irene could tell that Angelika’s grief was deep and authentic. It was not difficult to understand her despair over the murder of her daughter. But at the same time, Irene remembered she hadn’t shown nearly this level of grief when her former husband, Magnus Eriksson, had died. Then she
had been more concerned about practical problems, such as the lack of insurance money.

Before Tommy began his questions, Irene slipped in one of her own, the one bothering her all these years. “Now that Sophie is deceased, can you give me an honest answer? Do you believe she set fire to the house all those years ago?”

Angelika swiftly wiped up all her tears. “Never. She was not the one who burned our house. That was Magnus! I am absolutely convinced. He was drunk and smoking … he’d done it before.” Angelika began to gesture to underscore her point. Her eyes were now dry and she almost bobbed up off the chair she was sitting on. She said, “Sophie told me that she didn’t even know Magnus was in the house! It was dark and quiet when she came home from school. She ate a sandwich and used the bathroom. She must have had some stomach trouble—she was in the bathroom for a long time. So then she had to bike as fast as she could to get to her ride on time. Tessan’s mother always gave the girls a ride to the dance school, and she’d pick Sophie up at the convenience store.”

Her story lined up with what Frej had said, as well as with the letter Max Franke had written saying Sophie had explained her innocence to her father. Obviously she’d been able to talk to her nearest and dearest about what she’d done that half hour she was home. She had just refused to talk to the child psychologist and the police. Why?

Without revealing her line of reasoning, Irene asked a follow-up question. “If Sophie had nothing to do with the fire at Björkil, why do you think she was burned to death fifteen years later?”

The tears returned as Angelika barely whispered, “I have no idea.”

“You don’t even have a theory?” Irene said, feeling a sting of conscience as she pressed Angelika.

“No, none.”

Angelika shook her head, lowering face so it was hidden behind the curtain of her bangs. Angelika wanted to put up a shield. Or perhaps Irene was being unduly suspicious. Perhaps Angelika really had no idea what had happened to her daughter. Irene would have been able to accept that if the warning light of police instinct hadn’t been blinking in her brain. Sophie’s death and the death of her stepfather were much too similar to be coincidence.

Tommy ran through questions concerning Sophie’s friends and acquaintances, as well as potential enemies, without stumbling upon anything they didn’t already know. Still, it warmed Irene’s heart to hear Angelika say, “I am very happy that Sophie and I had a much better relationship the past few years.”

“Why did you have a bad relationship when she was younger?” asked Tommy.

“Well, I wouldn’t exactly call it bad … she was a difficult child. I probably didn’t understand her properly. Honestly, I was much too young when I got pregnant with her, and I conceived her with the wrong man. Ernst was even crazier than Sophie was!”