The Golden Calf (2 page)

One of the force’s crime scene technicians, Åhlén, stuck his bald head through the doorway to the octagonal room. He motioned to the officers, and Irene and Tommy walked over. As was his habit, Åhlén pushed his thick bottle-bottom glasses up his stubby nose with his left forefinger before he spoke.

“I’ve already secured the wife’s prints and taken her jacket. No apparent spatter, but we’ll have to wait for analysis. This is the scene of the crime. We haven’t found the murder weapon yet.”

“Are you absolutely sure this is the crime scene?” asked Irene.

“No doubt about it. See for yourself,” replied Åhlén, gesturing toward where the body lay stretched out.

Kjell B:son Ceder was well-dressed in a dark suit. Two bullet holes marked his forehead, and his head lay in a pool of blood. A broken glass lay on the floor nearby, and the unmistakable scent of whiskey hovered.

“He’s been dead for hours. Rigor mortis has set in completely,” the technician continued.

“Looks like an execution. Two shots right into the brain,” Tommy stated.

Irene was surprised at how much older than his wife Kjell B:son Ceder was. Even in death he was a good-looking man. His hair, though thickly matted with blood, was steel gray and full. All of a sudden, Irene realized where she’d seen him before: for the past few years, he had been the restaurant king of Göteborg. Irene’s husband was a head chef at a competing restaurant, so she’d often heard Ceder’s name. Krister worked at Glady’s Corner, one of the finest restaurants in Göteborg,
with a star in the international restaurant guide. The other two starred restaurants in Göteborg were owned by Kjell B:son Ceder. One was located in the twenty-eight story Hotel Göteborg, one of Göteborg’s tallest buildings, which Ceder also owned. Whenever Irene was in her boss’s office, she would see the mighty silhouette of the hotel rising above the rest of the city from Superintendent Sven Andersson’s window. Slightly to the southwest, she could see the two Gothia Towers next to Svenska Mässan, the Swedish Conference Center. Gothia Towers also had a hotel and restaurant and was the main competitor of Hotel Göteborg.

“Stridner has promised to show up in all her imperial majesty,” Åhlén said. “If I’m not mistaken, here she is now.”

Irene and Tommy had also heard the energetic clack of high heels hitting the stone floor. No other person burst into a crime scene with quite the same tempo as Professor of Forensic Medicine Yvonne Stridner.

She swept through the entrance of the octagonal room, placed her bag on the floor, and took in the crime scene in one glance. Without greeting any of the officers, she got right to the point:

“Is this actually a murder?”

Irene, Tommy, and Åhlén all started in surprise. The professor rarely asked questions. Usually, she imparted certainties and issued commands.

“He’s been shot. Two shots,” said Åhlén dryly.

Without further commentary, the professor put on her protective gown, gloves, and plastic booties. Just like her not to bother with protective clothing before entering a crime scene, thought Irene.

Stridner tossed her cape over a chair with a black oxidized steel frame and white leather cushions. Perhaps it was more comfortable than it appeared. There were five more chairs like it in the room as well as a matching table and chandelier.

Stridner walked over to the body and began her
investigation. Tommy nudged Irene with his elbow. “Let’s go and try to talk to Sanna Kaegler-Ceder again.”

Irene nodded. They could do nothing here until the body was removed, not even go up the spiral staircase to check the second floor.

Sanna Kaegler-Ceder was in the same chair, but she’d swiveled it toward the rain-streaked glass and was staring into the rapidly gathering twilight. The baby was fast asleep in his baby bouncer, blissfully unaware that he’d just become fatherless.

“Please forgive us for disturbing you at this sad time. My name is Tommy Persson, and I’m a detective. Are you able to answer a few questions?”

The woman did not move, just kept staring out at the autumn weather. When they were about to give up hope of response, she ducked her head slightly. Tommy interpreted this as a slight nod and asked a question quickly before she changed her mind.

“What time did you arrive home and find your husband’s body?”

The woman swallowed a few times, then managed an answer. “I called … right away.”

“The alarm came at four twenty-three
P.M
.,” Magnus Larsson interjected.

“And the first patrol car arrived no more than fifteen minutes later?” asked Tommy.

“Correct,” said the other detective.

Tommy turned back to Sanna and continued in a gentle voice, “Did you go to your husband before the police arrived?”

She shook her head slowly. “I saw that he was dead. All the blood.…”

“Where were you standing when you saw him?”

“At the entrance.…” Her voice failed her, and she swallowed hard.

“So you were standing at the entrance to this room?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

It didn’t seem possible, but the woman became even paler. Her lips turned blue-gray, and Irene saw that she was about to faint.

“Come, let’s have you lie down on the rug,” Irene said as she helped Sanna to the floor. She lifted Sanna’s lower legs a few centimeters, and the color slowly began to return to the woman’s face. After a few minutes, Sanna said, “I’d like to sit up again.” Irene helped her back into the chair. The young woman was still so pale that her face appeared to blend into the white leather. There was no question that she’d received a shock, though there was always the possibility she was reacting to committing a murder.

“When did you leave the house today?” asked Tommy.

“I didn’t leave it today. The last time was yesterday afternoon.”

“At what time?”

“Around four. We went to my sister’s place to spend the night.”

“Did you take your son with you?”

“Yes.”

“So you spent the night with your sister?”

“Her husband was on call. We were both going to be alone that night anyway.”

“Do you know who your husband planned to meet yesterday evening?”

“No idea.” Her voice seemed tired and uninterested.

“When was the last time you spoke to your husband?”

“Yesterday at nine in the morning.”

“Did he say that he had to meet someone that evening?”

“Not that I remember.”

“Had you already made arrangements to spend the night at your sister’s, or did you just decide to yesterday?”

“I called her yesterday around lunch. We’d been talking
about doing this—having a nice evening with some good food and wine. She’s also on maternity leave.”

“Did you call up your husband and let him know that you were going to your sister’s?”

“No.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I’d told him that I might go when I talked to him on the phone that morning.”

“So you didn’t try to call him today?”

“No. He knew that Ludwig and I were at Tove’s and not at home.”

“Tove is your sister’s name?”

“Yes. Tove Fenton. Her husband is a doctor. He was on call.…” Her voice sank to a whisper, and she didn’t finish her sentence. Before any of the other police officers could ask another question, a young policewoman came in. Up until then, she hadn’t moved from her post at the door. Irene remembered her first name was Stina, but she’d already forgotten her last name.

“The mother is here. That is, her mother.” Stina motioned toward Sanna. They could hear an agitated female voice at the outer door.

“I have to know what’s going on … my daughter! And Ludwig.…”

There was jostling at the doorway to the living room. Sanna’s mother was trying to push inside, but two officers were holding her back. She was not as tall as her daughter, but she had the same pale coloring. Sanna shakily got up and walked toward her mother on unsteady feet.

“My dearest Sanna! What has been going on? The police called.…” Sanna’s mother stopped talking the moment she saw the expression on her daughter’s face. She stopped trying to force her way past the police. “Is it … Ludwig?” she asked in despair.

“Why are you wearing that ugly jacket?” asked Sanna—then she fainted.

“H
E WAS SHOT
at point-blank range,” Professor Stridner said. “The shots entered through the forehead, and I can’t see any exit wounds, so presumably the bullets are still inside the skull. This suggests a small-caliber weapon.”

“When did he die?” asked Tommy.

“Rigor mortis has started to subside. He has been lying on a warm floor equipped with heating coils … let’s say eighteen to twenty-four hours. I can’t be more precise than that.” Stridner was a consummate professional, and she continued in her matter-of-fact manner. “I knew Kjell when we were children. He was one year younger than I was, but we lived nearby growing up. We played together a lot.”

Irene was surprised by Stridner’s revelation. The victim was a childhood friend of the professor’s! They’d played together? Had Stridner ever played like other children? Not just dissected dead frogs and small birds?

They stood now in the middle of the living room floor. Kjell B:son Ceder’s body had been removed to the pathology department’s morgue. Sanna, Ludwig, and Ludwig’s grandmother had gone to the Ceder family’s apartment in Vasastan. Apparently, they had kept the apartment even though they’d lived in this house for a while.

“Do you still see each other socially?” Tommy asked when he had recovered from his surprise.

“Now and then. My husband and I were invited to the hotel
opening. Very elegant, I have to say. We also attended his wedding when he married Sanna. My husband and Kjell also know … knew … each other via Rotary. Small world.”

“Do you know if Ceder had been married before?” asked Irene.

“He had.”

“Did he have any children in that marriage?”

Stridner shook her head, and her red curls bobbed. “No. She died tragically in a sailing accident. They’d been married only two or three years.”

“Was that a long time ago?”

The Professor looked at Irene with irritation. “At least fifteen years ago. And why would this be important?”

“This means that Sanna and her son will inherit everything.”

Stridner gave Irene a long, thoughtful look. “Kjell is … was … always a lady’s man. He had many love affairs over the years. We never thought he’d ever marry again. He surprised everyone who knew him when he suddenly married Sanna Kaegler. His first wife was extremely wealthy, and he’d been living the playboy life for years. He didn’t just have the money she left him. He was quite successful in the hospitality business.”

“When did he and Sanna marry?”

“One year ago exactly. The end of September. There was a big party at the restaurant Le Ciel at Hotel Göteborg.”

“One year ago. Ludwig is six months old. Sanna must have been pregnant when they got married.”

“Yes, although it didn’t show. She was stunningly beautiful. But Kjell’s friends were more than wary about the whole thing. There were rumors about her questionable business affairs.”

“According to the media, she used to have enormous amounts of money,” said Tommy. “Do you know if she still has any left?”

“I have no idea. If she’d gone through it all, I imagine that would be a good reason to marry Kjell,” Stridner said. She glanced at her wristwatch. “I’ll try to take a look at him this evening, and tomorrow I’ll perform the autopsy. You’ll hear from me.” She tossed her last sentence over her shoulder on her way out. The sound of her voice died away in the hall, accompanied by the staccato of her heels.

Irene and Tommy climbed up the spiral staircase to the second floor above the octagonal room. Even up here, glass panels enclosed the entire space, which rose above the roof of the rest of the house. The architect had succeeded in evoking the airy feeling of being in a lighthouse.

“What a view! Imagine sitting here in the evening and watching the sun set into the sea,” Irene said as she looked out into the darkening evening.

“I’m glad I don’t have that view.”

“Why not?”

“Too expensive. And look at all the booze you’d need.” Tommy grimaced.

He was probably right. The first thing they’d seen when they reached the top of the stairs was a well-stocked bar cart. A generously sized wicker sofa with puffy red cushions dominated the room. Two wicker chairs, in the shape of half-shells, hung from the ceiling. Irene was reminded of birds’ nests as she watched them sway in the breeze from the open door. Tommy went outside to take in the view from the small balcony that ran around the outer walls. He returned and closed the door behind him. The breeze died quickly.

“So, do you think Sanna did it?” Irene asked him.

“Statistically speaking, yep.”

“Åhlén didn’t see any spots on her jacket sleeves.”

“No, but maybe there were spots yesterday afternoon, if that’s when she shot him. If she shot him.”

Irene thought this over. “So, you think she shot Ceder, went
over to her sister’s, spent the night there, and then returned the next day to ‘discover’ him.”

“Something like that.”

“We’ll have to talk to the sister and find out which clothes Sanna wore yesterday when she came over. And we have to check if anyone was in contact with Kjell after four o’clock yesterday afternoon.”

Tommy nodded. “Might as well get started,” he said.

“I’ll call Sven. He can ask Birgitta or someone else to get in touch with Ceder’s office and question his employees. You and I can certainly find that sister of hers. I’m sure there aren’t too many doctors by the name of Fenton.”

S
ANNA
K
AEGLER
-C
EDER’S SISTER
lived only a few kilometers south, just across the city limits into Hovås proper. Irene and Tommy turned into the small cul-de-sac ringed by single-family houses with big yards. The houses were a bit older, built in the fifties or sixties. The Fenton’s house was at the bottom of the street, and Irene guessed that it, too, had a view of the sea. Not that they saw anything of the water in the darkness and rain, but they could hear how the wind drove the waves and flung them crashing onto the shore. A clear scent of salt and seaweed hit Irene’s nostrils, and she took a few deep breaths. Her own townhouse was just two kilometers from the ocean, but the distinct aroma of sea air never made it all the way past the other neighborhoods between her place and the water.