The Golden Calf (25 page)

“No, it would be too dangerous. But somewhere there
is
a grain of truth in her story.”

“How so?”

“Ludwig was probably conceived in New York. Do you remember what he was wearing the day Kjell B:son Ceder was shot? We’d changed Ludwig and given him some food. He was wearing a light blue sweater had
MADE IN NEW YORK
printed on it.”

“Now that you mention it … I remember that sweater,” Tommy said with a nod.

“I wonder what she’s trying to hide with her lies?” Irene said.

“Or who she’s trying to protect.”

“She has no alibi for the Monday night that Philip and Joachim were murdered. Still, I don’t think she was the one who killed them. I believe she is still in love with Philip Bergman.”

“Maybe that’s why. Classic jealous love triangle,” Tommy suggested.

“No. Maybe jealous of Joachim, but not of Philip. She took his death the hardest. I don’t believe the other three meant that much to her.”

“That’s the truth. I don’t believe she cared for Kjell one bit. Why did she marry him? Why did he agree to marry her?”

“Maybe he did want an heir after all, like she said?”

“Hardly. He definitely did not want any children. A man who undergoes a vasectomy has it drummed into him what it means. He knows that restoring fertility is extraordinarily difficult. Kjell knew that he wasn’t going to be able to have children after this operation. I know from my own experience.”

Irene decided this might be a good time to ask about a delicate subject.

“I’m really very sorry that I butted in about your relationship with Kajsa. My only defense is that I was trying to protect your marriage. And our friendship. That is, the friendship between Krister and me and you and Agneta. Not in my wildest dreams could I imagine what was really going on. Not until Agneta told me on Sunday. All I can say is that I am truly sorry about what I said to Kajsa in Paris.”

Tommy sighed and gave Irene a weak smile. “You’ll have to talk to her about that. And it was partially my fault as well. I should have brought it up sooner, but I didn’t feel like talking about it then. I still don’t feel like talking about it now.”

“So … does it help to have Kajsa at this difficult time for you?” Irene asked gently.

“Well, there’s nothing going on. She’s a sweet girl who seems to have fallen for me a little bit. It’s flattering, and I
appreciate it. We’ve had lunch together. I gave her a peck and a hug afterward. That’s all. Satisfied?”

Irene heard the sarcasm in his voice. She felt her ears starting to burn. “I really wasn’t meaning to pry.…”

“You weren’t? That would be so unlike you,” he said caustically.

Irene was truly hurt. It was incredible how she had gotten the reputation of always putting her nose in other people’s business. Jonny’s words came to mind:
A good investigator always sticks his nose in where it doesn’t belong
. Again the words brought her comfort and reassurance. She was a good investigator. Her instincts had told her that something wasn’t right between Tommy and Agneta, but Irene had drawn the wrong conclusion due to lack of facts—just like the beginning of any investigation.

T
HE AFTERNOON RUSH
hour had just started as Irene drove toward Långedrag. Irene let her thoughts wander as she matched the speed of her car to the rhythm of the traffic. Marianne Bonetti had requested that Irene come out to her home again. Apparently, she was not able to leave her house easily. Irene was hoping that the husband would not be at home. She could not have said that when she set up the meeting, but if he knew, the lawyer would make sure he was sitting by his wife’s side the minute Irene entered.
As sure as saying Amen in church
, Irene thought.

A pang of guilt hit her. She’d not talked to her own mother, Gerd, in a while. There’d been so much to do in this investigation. The trip to Paris had taken an extra day. And her mother had been gone the previous week, too; she and her companion, Sture, had taken a trip to Lübeck.
When you’re happily retired, you’re always busy
, Irene reflected. Sture had convinced her mother to get a “green card” for frequent golfers last summer. There was even a little article about it in the Göteborg
newspaper:
GERD TAKES GREEN CARD AT 75
! It had been a slow news week. They’d even published a picture of her mother leaning on a borrowed golf bag and showing a jaunty smile. Irene had clipped the article from the paper and stuck it on the fridge. A few days later, they’d had to go to Säffle for her father-in-law’s funeral.

Ah yes, Säffle. Krister had gone to get the Volvo on his Monday off. It looked surprisingly good and was now at the mechanic’s to be checked. One of Krister’s friends owned the mechanic shop. After some routine service and a brake check, the car should be running like new, according to Krister’s buddy. Irene’s heart hurt as she thought about selling the old Saab. It had been a faithful servant. But even faithful servants can’t go on forever—

At the last second, Irene hit the brakes to avoid plowing into the trunk of the car in front of her. A small boy had come running across the street a few cars ahead. It was a miracle that nobody crashed into each other and that the boy made it across safely. They’d all barely escaped injury. Irene felt her pulse race, and she forced herself to pay attention to traffic. It was no good to let her thoughts wander while driving. The problem was that she seldom had any other time to think things through.

I
RENE WAS THRILLED
to find Marianne Bonetti alone at home. She was clearly still crying a great deal, since her eyes were red-rimmed. Irene realized that she was truly mourning her son even though she hadn’t heard from him for three years—for obvious reasons. It was just as she’d said during their last visit: their worst fears had been confirmed. At least now they could truly begin to process their grief, although the knowledge of how he died was probably not much help. So far, the parents did not know about the four missing fingers. Irene felt it was high time they were informed. Such a
macabre detail would certainly leak out to the press soon. The tipster would get some cash, and the newspaper would make some money from the sensational headline. Irene had no illusions that this piece of information would stay hidden. The parents were due some advance warning, but Irene really did not want to bring it up when the mother was alone. It would have to wait until she had a chance to talk to both of them together.

Marianne had changed her dark blue dress to one of nougat brown, but otherwise looked exactly the same.

Irene was escorted to the living room, just as before. On the coffee table, tea for two was set out. The cups were made of thin Chinese porcelain, while the teapot and the sugar bowl were silver. The dark chocolate cake on the crystal tray had been cut in thick slices and smelled as if it had just come out of the oven.

“I’ve forgotten the milk!” Marianne Bonetti exclaimed and clapped her hands, which caused her diamonds to glitter in all the room’s reflective surfaces.

“Don’t worry on my account,” Irene said.

“That’s good. I don’t drink milk myself, because I’m lactose intolerant.”

She placed slices of cake on plates and leaned forward, breathing heavily, to pour tea into Irene’s cup. They chatted for a few minutes about this and that, and Irene let herself enjoy her cake. Irene realized that Marianne needed to feel as if this were a normal conversation around a couple cups of tea. Irene had run into this before in her work as an investigator, often with older women. The police were treated as an invited guest. Marianne, lawyer’s wife with sorrowful eyes, was a very lonely person.

Once Irene had washed down the second slice of cake with her second cup of tea, she decided it was time to get to the matter at hand. Choosing her words carefully, she began, “As I
mentioned on the phone, there are still a few things we need to talk about.”

Marianne nodded seriously, and it was clear she understood.

“We are trying to confirm the timeline of events and make sure we know as much as possible about the last day of Thomas’s life. I’ve read through all the witness reports written three years ago. There are some things that are still not clear and others that aren’t in any of the reports. Try to think back to the day Thomas disappeared. He was going to Styrsö. Did you meet him yourself that day?”

“Yes. He came home around five thirty and picked up some food and a few bottles of wine. He also wanted to borrow my boots. Antonio’s were too small.”

“Did he tell you then that he was going to Styrsö?”

“Yes. I asked him why, and he said he needed to think about things in peace and quiet. I could understand that. Those awful people, Sanna Kaegler and Philip Bergman, were trying to put all the blame on Thomas. The truth is that he tried to warn them, over and over, that the company was going bankrupt. They didn’t want to listen. He’d already told Antonio and me about this the previous fall. He was truly worried about it.”

Irene spoke to keep the conversation moving in the right direction. “Did he say anything else that day as far as you can recall?”

Mrs. Bonetti began to shake her head, then stopped. “He said he was going to the state liquor store on Jaegerdorffsplatsen because he didn’t have any whiskey at home. I remember that clearly,” she said, eagerly, clearly just remembering.

“How did Thomas act that last day?”

Mrs. Bonetti’s eyes welled up. She removed her glasses and dried them with her handkerchief. “He … he was stressed. He was always stressed. He always had business plans in the works. He was in demand. People were always calling him on his cell phone.”

“Did anyone call while he was packing to leave?”

“Yes … I believe so. People were always calling, as I said. Yes! Now I remember something. A man called our home telephone asking for Thomas.”

“While he was still packing?”

“No, after he left. About fifteen minutes to a half an hour later.”

“Do you remember who it was?”

“Not really. It was so long ago … but it was someone from a bank in England. I remember that!” Marianne was clearly glad her memory was still working after such a long time.

“Do you remember which bank?”

“No, just that it was English.”

“I realize it wouldn’t be easy to remember the name of a bank, especially if you had to concentrate on speaking English.”

“I didn’t have to speak English. He spoke Swedish.”

“I see. But then he must have had a Swedish name?”

“No, I don’t think he introduced himself. In fact, I’m sure he didn’t. He just said he was calling on behalf of the bank and he needed to talk to Thomas. He was wondering where he could find him.”

“What did you say to him?”

“I said that Thomas needed a few days’ vacation and that he’d gone to the summer cabin. I gave the bank man Thomas’s cell phone number.”

“Did you tell him where the cabin was?”

“Of course not. Thomas had told me not to tell anyone where he was.”

Irene felt a shiver run down the back of her neck. Her instincts told her that something was wrong here.

“Did you ever wonder how the bank man found your telephone number here?”

Marianne looked aghast. “I never thought of that. But Thomas must have given it to him.”

Why would he have given an important bank person his parents’ number but not the number of his cell phone? Something is definitely not adding up
.

Irene decided not to press Marianne Bonetti further. She was a friendly person who really was doing her best to help them solve the case, which was more than Irene could say for other people involved in this investigation.

Irene changed the subject.

“Why weren’t you and your husband more concerned when Thomas disappeared? It took you almost two months to file a missing person report.”

Marianne started sobbing. Irene handed her napkin since her handkerchief was soaked.

“We thought … we thought … he was still alive,” she managed to say between sobs. She blew her nose and took a few deep breaths to calm down. Her hands shook as she replaced her glasses on her nose. She looked directly at Irene through the thick lenses, which made her eyes look huge.

“A package … we received a package,” she said.

She stood up with difficulty and went out into the hallway. The floor creaked under her heavy footsteps as she moved from room to room. After a while, she returned to the living room with a small brown box. She handed it to Irene.

“Go ahead and open it,” she said.

Irene lifted the lid. There was a sheet of crumpled paper. Irene placed the box on the coffee table, carefully lifted the paper by one corner, and shook the box so the contents would come out. It was a simple piece of paper ripped from a notebook. In blue ink, a note had been written.

All is well. Will be in touch
.

Thomas

The note was in capital letters right on the center of the
sheet. At the bottom of the box was a pair of round glasses. Irene didn’t touch them.

“Are those Thomas’s glasses?” she asked.

Marianne Bonetti nodded. She seemed much calmer now that she’d shown the box to Irene.

“When did this come?”

“A week after he left. We were starting to become nervous that we hadn’t heard from him. Then these came.… Antonio speculated that Thomas needed to … disappear for a while. In order to put things right. He needed to find proof that he wasn’t guilty.”

As she said the last words, she glanced away. Irene realized that Marianne Bonetti had just lied to her for the first time, and intentionally. Of course Thomas’s parents feared he might be guilty and have good reason to lie low for a while. They knew it wasn’t the first time he’d been involved in financial crimes. In London, Thomas had known which way the wind was blowing for Poundfix, and he’d managed to get out in time. Perhaps they thought he’d managed to escape the ph.com fallout just as easily.

“Did this box come in the regular mail?” asked Irene.

“Yes. It was in a padded envelope.”

“Do you still have the envelope?”

“No, I’m sorry, I don’t.”