Detective Inspector Huss: A Huss Investigation set in Sweden, Vol. 1

SUNDAY MORNING WAS ROUGH. Irene woke up with an unpleasant feeling of being hung over. Unjustly, since she hadn’t even had a light beer the night before. Krister was snoring loudly next to her in bed. He had come home around two in the morning. He had worked the extra shift he had traded with Sverker so he could take care of her after the beating out in Billdal. A wave of tenderness rose up inside her and she tiptoed out as quietly as she could so she wouldn’t wake him. It was just after eight o’clock. The twins would sleep at least two more hours. And no doubt their father would too. The important thing was to make the best of these few hours to herself.

She put on her long underwear and jogging suit. Sammie lay playing possum. He was the biggest sleepyhead of the whole family in the morning. He didn’t mind a brief walk to pee, but no running or jumping in the morning, please. She rattled his leash a little. Nature’s call made itself felt, and he meandered out into the hallway. He gave a big yawn and stretched out his body, heavy with sleep.

It was dark and cold, but the air felt clear and crisp. She ran down toward Fiskebäck marina without meeting a soul. The salt-saturated wind blew the scent of seaweed into her wide-open nostrils and swept away the heavy feeling in her head. The flint-gray sea slammed its swells against jetties and wharves. The mooring ropes slapped and the shrouds fluttered on the big sailboats still in the water. The creak of some wooden fenders made her instinctively slow her pace. It was clear that they were protesting being squashed between a huge boat hull and the wharf. Although she had already run almost two kilometers she wasn’t even short of breath. She turned around out by the rocks and ran back a bit, then turned off toward Flundregatorna and jogged the back streets up toward Skärvallsberget. She made it all the way out to the very edge of Hinsholmskilen before she turned back.

IRENE TOOK a long hot shower, followed by a short ice-cold one. A perfect conclusion to a jog of several kilometers. Gone was the earlier disgruntled feeling. She was bursting with energy. Breakfast for the family, including the dog, was fixed in a jiffy. It was harder trying to pry her weary family members out of their warm beds. Including the dog.

Irene had to explain one more time what had happened the day before. Krister apologized for not fully understanding the gravity of the situation. Irene shrugged it off and said that she was equally to blame. She had been too agitated to tell him what was actually going on. Her gracious spouse then tactfully told her what the restaurant owner had said. “Overstressed” and “perhaps a little too affected by her job” were hardly the comments his wife wanted to hear.

After breakfast her energy began to ebb. She began to notice her home. Piles of dirty laundry in the laundry room. Dust bunnies, dirt, and gravel that Sammie’s long hair had dragged in. She had a vague feeling that she was seeing the whole house through a soft-focus lens. The dusty fluff was erasing all contours.

With a lot of sighing and protesting, the twins helped vacuum and dust. Krister had to take Sammie outside, because he was afraid of the vacuum cleaner. During the three years the dog had lived with them, he had tried to make his beloved family aware that there truly was a little dog locked inside the terrible vacuum cleaner. He could hear it whining! It had made things worse when Krister, in a fit of misdirected humor, sucked Sammie’s whiskers into the nozzle. After that the dog was convinced. The vacuum cleaner was treacherous and lethal. It ate little dogs.

Irene set to work on the bathroom, the toilets, and the laundry room. All the beds had to be changed, all the towels replaced with fresh ones. This hadn’t been done for two weeks. After Krister returned with Sammie, he left to do the grocery shopping. By then the vacuuming was done, but for safety’s sake Sammie crept under Jenny’s bed. He didn’t quite trust things as long as there was activity in the house and the strong smell of household cleansers. All of a sudden somebody might decide to take out the vacuum again.

They went at it for almost two hours. Twice a month they went through the same process. All year round. There was never time for Christmas, fall, or spring cleaning. Irene’s mother occasionally changed the curtains. She loved to change curtains. If she hadn’t done it, the curtains would have never been changed. Well, maybe Krister would have taken care of it when he washed the windows twice a year. Irene herself wasn’t much interested in curtains. She didn’t know what the neighbor women thought about it, and it didn’t bother her either. Some of them changed the curtains several times a year.

KRISTER FIXED a wonderful Advent dinner. The menu included an old-fashioned beef roast with steamed vegetables, black currant jelly, boiled potatoes, and a heavenly gravy. Irene’s mamma was coming at four. Katarina had found the red ceramic Advent candelabra. Who had put it on top of the fuse box? Krister had remembered to buy four Advent candles of real paraffin. But they had to do without drip rings, because nobody could find them. Jenny set the table with the good porcelain and folded the napkins in intricate pleats and waves. It was the only napkin trick she knew, but it was amazingly sophisticated, excellent for impressing people. And Grandma was astonished at her talent, as always. She complimented Jenny without so much as a glance at her stubby scalp.

Katarina also seemed to have had a sudden change in attitude, because for dessert she had baked a magnificently gooey chocolate cake. Lightly whipped ice-cold cream was served with it, along with cups of freshly brewed coffee. They sat in the living room and ate the chocolate cake and drank coffee. The Advent candles glowed, everyone was full and content, and a warm holiday mood hovered over the room. The twins excitedly told Grandma about the thrilling events at McDonald’s the day before.

Irene’s mother gave her a sharp look. “I read about the arrest in the paper this morning. He’s a thoroughly evil motorcycle gangster! Was it really necessary to take the girls along on this manhunt?”

“Hi, Irene. It’s Birgitta. I’m calling from my cell phone. I’m following Shorty’s car right now. The white Mondeo. We’re on the way out E-Six to the north, and just passed Kärra. He stopped at Charlotte and Henrik’s house in Örgryte and was inside almost fifteen minutes. Something tells me we’re on our way up to Marstrand.”

Fredrik lived a few minutes from HQ. For him it was no big detour. But Irene decided not to waste any more time. The best thing for her would be to zip up the big freeways and not venture downtown. Two SIG Sauers should be enough.

She hung up. An idea occurred to her. She took a few steps over to the hat rack and started rooting around in the pockets of her leather jacket. In the inside pocket she found her little notebook. She turned to the last pages with the heading “R. v. K.” Richard von Knecht. The murder of that man had started this whole merry-go-round. Irene shook her head as she searched for the phone number of the caretaker, Lennart Svensson. She found it. The phone rang ten times with no answer.

Her mother and the twins also looked disappointed. Irene felt a pang of guilty conscience, as usual, but steeled herself. Somewhat more authoritatively she said, “We’re beginning to get close to solving the case. At least I think so. And Birgitta Moberg is in a bind. I have to help her out. She hasn’t had any luck contacting anyone else. See you later, and thanks for a wonderful dinner.”

THE SIGN HOLTA CHURCH flashed by and she slowed down. Now she had to make sure not to miss the exit. There it was! Tjuvkil. She turned onto the gravel road. There were no streetlights out here. The darkness was intense outside the field of her headlights. A little yellow arrow with black text said KÄRRINGNÄSET. She had to turn there. The road was narrow. The branches of the bushes and trees along the ditch scraped along the side of the car.

It was a good thing that Birgitta had the presence of mind to turn on her taillights, or Irene would have crashed into the rear of her car. True to form, she had been driving too fast. Birgitta had left the dark blue Volvo stakeout car in the middle of the road. There was no other place to park it. She turned off the taillights, hopped out of the car, and approached Irene.

Irene also put her blinkers on. The arriving car braked, and Fredrik jumped out even before the engine turned off. Eagerly he said, “It took a little extra time, but I slipped into Narcotics and borrowed a weapon. I was thinking of you and Jimmy. Too bad they couldn’t spare another officer. So it’s just the three of us. You didn’t have any luck getting hold of Jonny or Hans?”

Birgitta shook her head and stretched out her hand so she could take a look at the famous night-vision telescope in the flashlight beam. Irene answered for her, “Borg is probably taking an after-dinner nap. And there’s no hope of trying to get Tommy to come out here. He’s in Borås at Agneta’s parents’ house.”

They walked toward the two-meter-high gates of solid iron with inhospitable spikes on top. Fredrik shook the heavy iron bars to test them, but the gate was locked. The fence was just as high, and barbed wire ran along the top between tall iron posts.

“Yes. I followed him up to Holta Church. He turned down toward Tjuvkil and then continued straight ahead. So I turned around and headed down the same road. I saw his lights in front of me. Then I switched mine off. He turned off here toward Kärringnäset. I didn’t dare get too close. If he had stopped he might have heard my engine. So I parked for five minutes, right by the turnoff. When I got here there wasn’t a trace of the Mondeo. He must have had a key to the gate.”

“Yes. I was staked out at his place on Berzeliigatan. Right after five his car came zooming past. I got in my car, or rather the department’s car. Mine is too clunky for tailing anyone. It couldn’t keep up with a souped-up moped! He drove straight out to Långåsliden, jumped out of the car, and knocked on the door. Charlotte opened it. I saw her in the doorway. She let him in. He came out thirteen minutes later. I checked the time.”

Irene thought of a possible solution. She went back to her Saab and opened the trunk. After some clanking and thumping amid all the junk, she found what she was looking for. Triumphantly she turned back to her colleagues.

“How about this—my towrope! Fredrik, you and I will give Birgitta a boost to the top of the fence. We’ll toss up the rope so she can tie it to one of the iron bars, and we can hoist ourselves up. Then we just throw the rope over to the other side.”

Fredrik and Irene placed themselves next to each other so Birgitta could climb up via their knees and shoulders. They tossed up the tow-line and Birgitta tied a good knot, as if she were making fast a sailboat worth millions. The other two rapidly clambered up, climbed carefully over the barbed wire, threw the line over to the other side of the fence, and slid down.

Irene strapped on the night-vision telescope. She could see the caretaker’s house; a bit farther away a long, low stable was visible. She saw no activity in the house. There was a light in the stable windows.

They went as fast as they could. With some satisfaction Irene noticed that her two younger colleagues were panting a little when they passed the caretaker’s house. For safety’s sake they had turned off their flash-lights. They didn’t see a soul; only the outside light was on.

An icy cold north wind swept over the pastures, but their brisk pace kept them warm. The smell of salt and rotten seaweed was palpable, but there was also a distinct odor of horse manure. The distant roar of the sea and the whine of the wind were all they could hear. They stopped to catch their breath and plan a strategy. Before them loomed something that could have been a towering cliff. But Irene knew that it was the von Knechts’ summer residence, designed by a famous Finnish architect. It was Jonny who had provided that information. He had also told her the architect’s name, but she had forgotten it. Not important.

In a low voice she said, “About a hundred meters straight ahead is the von Knechts’ little summer compound. To get to Henrik’s cabin you have to follow the road to the left, around the big house. To the right the road ends at a small cliff. The sea goes into a little cove down below. So we’ll go to the left. Use your flashlights, since it’s pitch black here, but remember to point the beam down. Stay off the road; walk on the grass and use the bushes for cover. We don’t know if Shorty has gone inside the big house or where he might be. By the way, was he alone in the car?”

“Then we have to keep in mind that he may have had somebody with him in the car. It’s about a hundred meters to Henrik’s place. There are two identical houses right near each other, about thirty meters apart. I’m not sure which one is Henrik’s, but I think Jonny pointed to the one on the right. The one closer to the boat docks. I suggest we spread out and approach the house from three directions. I’m unarmed. Someone with a weapon should take the windows and doors in front. It’s important that we get inside fast.”

“Good. Birgitta, you take the side of the house facing the big house and the back. I’ll take the side toward the sea. But we’ll start by checking out the lay of the land. We’ll stop when we get past the big house. Then I’ll look through the telescope and see if there’s anything suspicious around Henrik’s house. Starting now we have to talk as quietly as we can. When we get close to Henrik’s house, we need absolute silence.”

She sensed rather than saw that her two colleagues nodded in the dark. The light from their flashlights was pointed at the ground. They started walking toward the dark house; one by one they moved off the road. Irene felt her shoes sinking into the wet lawn; it was slippery and hard to walk. The splashing and sloshing of their hasty steps was drowned out by the angry slap of the sea against the rocks. The wind was a lot stronger out here on the spit and the roar was deafening. It bit fiercely at their earlobes and made their eyes water.

Irene didn’t answer but just pointed. A few meters in front of them a large white car was parked. There was no doubt that it was Shorty’s Ford Mondeo. Irene darted behind the corner of the house and pulled Birgitta with her. She whispered in her ear, “There might be someone sitting in the car. Wait, I’ll see if I can make out anything with the telescope.”

But everything looked calm, with not a movement to be seen. Crouching down, they stole toward the rear of the car. Birgitta pulled open a back door and aimed her pistol inside the vehicle as Irene switched on her flashlight and shone it through the window on the opposite side. Empty. They each gave a sigh of relief.

Irene could just see Fredrik a short distance ahead. She put the telescope to her eye and saw him sneaking rapidly between the low bushes. He hadn’t gone up toward the big house, but instead circled around to approach Henrik’s cabin from the front. A good plan; this way he would have cover from trees and bushes all the way up to the house. It made it easier to use the flashlight. But he had missed the Mondeo. It wasn’t possible for one person to see everything.

She directed her telescope at Henrik’s cabin. There was a faint light in the windows. From that angle she could only see in through the window on the gable side. That was clearly the kitchen. No one was visible. She decided to try to reach her position by making a wider circle. It was extremely difficult to walk in the dark. There was a constant risk of tripping or falling. She swiftly followed in Fredrik’s tracks. He gave her a hasty wave when she passed his position. It was strategically correct, behind a big boulder about ten meters from the illuminated window to the left of the front door. She stopped and cast an eye at the window. It was too high; she still couldn’t see inside.

Her heart was pumping faster now. There was no sign of life inside the house, but she knew that Shorty was there. Her nostrils widened, and all her senses were on alert. She could smell the scent. A slight metallic taste in her mouth confirmed what she already knew. The hunt was on.

Cautiously she crept out on the slick rocks and looked up at the deck. The columns supporting the deck facing the sea were almost three meters tall. But that was the way she had to go. There was no stairway down to the rocks; you had to go through the house to get out onto the large deck. It certainly must give one “a genuine feeling of a ship’s deck.” Irene grimaced in the darkness.

The columns were made of granite blocks, cemented together. The mortar joints weren’t wide enough to afford purchase for fingers or toes. Under the deck lay a little upside-down dinghy. Even though it was small, it weighed a lot. Irene groaned as she slowly shoved and dragged it into position. She paused. Had anyone in the house heard her? But there was only the sea and the roar of the wind, and she was grateful for the cover it gave her. It was time to test whether her idea would work. The boat was now standing vertically, its bottom against the column. The bow pointed up, and the stern was securely propped against heavy stones. It probably wouldn’t slip. She climbed up the stern and then farther up onto the little thwart. The last part was trickier. She put her right foot on the tip of the bow, grabbed hold of the bars of the deck railing, and was just about to kick off and lift herself up when a voice made her stop.

She froze. Was it just the wind whining in her ears? As always she obeyed the voice. Balancing on one foot she peered through the bars toward the big glass doors leading to the house from the deck. The whole wall consisted of sliding glass doors. She could see a faint light farther inside the house, but the room adjacent to the deck was dark. A faint movement could be seen in one of the side curtains. Were her hyperalert senses playing a trick on her? The cold wind whipped around her jeans-clad legs, and the foot she was resting her weight on started to go to sleep. A cold sweat broke out all over her body. With infinite care she began to maneuver the telescope up to her eye.

Her breathing stopped and the roar of the sea and the wind disappeared. He can’t see you! He can’t see you! You see him in the telescope, but he can’t see you! Good thing the telescope hung on its cord around her neck; otherwise she would have dropped it onto the rocks below. The curly hair over his shoulders. The shiny leather jacket with all the rivets; the enormous, compact body. And the satanic grin on his lips. Hoffa Strömberg stood gazing out into the darkness across the deck and the sea.

Only her face had been above the floor of the deck. She was peeking between the bars. He couldn’t have seen her. Yet she felt residual fear from Billdal well up from the black hole inside her. The hole she thought she had sealed up forever.

Shaking, she climbed back down and collapsed on the frigid rock. She couldn’t give in to the fear. She took a few deep breaths, closed her eyes, and tried to look inward and find the Point, when something began to claw urgently at her consciousness. At first she tried to shut it out, but suddenly she was totally present in the wintry wind. Her eyes opened and looked out into the darkness. The ice-cold wind whipped tears into her eyes. A desperate scream was faintly audible from inside the house.

It didn’t take her long to climb up the dinghy this time. She positioned herself on the bow with one foot and looked between the bars through the telescope. Hoffa had turned his back to the deck. He, too, was listening, facing into the house. His next maneuver was very odd. To Irene’s astonishment he slipped behind the curtain, still with his back to the deck. He stood quite motionless. Irene could see movement inside the house. Without thinking, she hoisted herself up and threw herself swiftly over the railing. She crouched, stock-still. After a few seconds she carefully pulled out the telescope and looked at the place where Hoffa had been standing. He hadn’t moved. She cautiously stood and looked straight into the house. The illumination came from the ceiling light in the hall. She could see Fredrik in profile standing in the middle of the hall, with his pistol held in a two-handed grip and his arms out straight. He was aiming at someone who stood in front of him, out of her line of sight.

With infinite care she began to move toward Hoffa. Not because she knew what he was going to do, but driven by an instinct not to let him out of her sight. She was completely unprepared and almost screamed when she stubbed her toe on something hard. It hurt like hell. But it made only a low thud. She had kicked the heavy foundation of a patio umbrella. For several long seconds she stood motionless, on alert. Now she was so close that she could see him behind the curtain. No more than two meters separated them. But he was totally concentrating on what was happening inside the house. She was conscious of more movement in the hall. Birgitta came through the door, also with her weapon drawn. While Fredrik maintained his position, Birgitta headed for the room adjacent to the deck. She stopped in the doorway, felt along the doorjamb, and found the light switch. Light flooded the room from an elegant crystal chandelier over a dining room table.

Hoffa was suddenly visible in sharp relief against the white curtain. But the fabric of the curtain was heavy, so as to keep out the bright western sun in the summertime. Birgitta looked around without noticing the man behind the curtain. But Irene saw him. She watched him very slowly draw a knife from a sheath that was strapped to his thigh. A strip of light shone on the long, wide blade. A hunting knife for big game.

Afterward she didn’t know where her strength had come from. Without wasting time to think, she bent down and took a firm grip on the base of the umbrella. She heaved it up to her chest, took a few steps forward, and threw it with all her might against the glass wall behind Hoffa. With an earsplitting crash the door exploded.

“Fredrik! Are you okay? Is everything under control?” Irene yelled toward the hall without taking her eyes off the man in the pool of blood. Her demon was about to die. Revenge was being exacted. Why did she feel no triumph?

Hoffa did too. Mechanically she yanked the curtain down from the other side of the glass door and went over to him. He yammered weakly when she carefully raised his head. She shoved the curtain under his neck and tied it. It was a clumsy and loose-fitting bandage, but it was all she could do for him at the moment. Fredrik was still positioned to shoot as she went to him. She stood next to him, turned her head, and saw the same scene he did.

In the middle of the room stood Shorty with his hands in the air and his palms turned toward the viewers. Blood was running down them. His face was expressionless, and the look he gave Irene was utterly uninterested. Only his lower jaw churned, as if he were chewing gum slowly. Across the double bed lay Henrik von Knecht. Or more precisely, she assumed it must be Henrik. The bedspread had once been white, but now it was so soaked in blood that it could have passed for a red batik. Henrik’s face was swollen. With each breath he took, bright red bubbles came out of his mouth, and his naked body was covered with crimson swellings from blows and kicks.

Irene had seen plenty during her years of service, but this had to be the worst. A crazed beating, verging on slaughter. With a shudder she remembered how the murdered fourteen-year-old John had looked after the skinheads’ senseless shower of kicks and blows. In the world of movies and videos, after murderous attacks, the heroes just shake it off, get up, and keep fighting. In reality the victims never get up again. They die. Anyone could see that Henrik von Knecht was dying.

Irene and Fredrik approached Shorty. Without revealing how she felt, Irene said, “Turn around! Head against the wall, spread your legs, and hands behind your back. If you don’t obey, it’d be our pleasure to shoot your balls off!”

Still expressionless, he turned around and obeyed the command. This wasn’t his first arrest; he knew when it was time to give up. These cops wouldn’t hesitate, so it would be stupid to give them a reason. He preferred to keep his balls for a while longer.

Irene put the cuffs on him and ordered him to stay where he was. She barked out commands. “Birgitta. Call and get the chopper out here. Ambulances take too long. And we’ve blocked the road with our cars. It has to be a helicopter. They can land on the lawn in front of the big house.”

Birgitta pulled the phone out of her pocket and did as she was told. There was a minor argument before Dispatch realized the extent of what had happened and who was involved. The constellation of Shorty Johannesson, Hoffa Strömberg, and Henrik von Knecht prompted some question about whether the whole thing was a joke. Not until Irene grabbed the phone and began bellowing and shouting just like the superintendent did the officer understand that it was urgent. It would take fifteen minutes at most before the helicopter arrived. With a glum expression Irene hung up. It was doubtful whether either of the two injured men would survive that long.

She looked around the room. There was blood everywhere. On the floor were smashed glass and ceramic shards that crunched underfoot when she walked over to the bed. Henrik von Knecht was almost unrecognizable. His face had been pounded to hamburger. His breathing was now shallow and fast. The blood bubbles came in gusts when he breathed. She leaned over toward him and said reassuringly, “Henrik. It’s Inspector Huss. It’s over now. He can’t hurt you anymore. It’s all over now.”

The horse? Irene vaguely recalled that Tommy had mentioned Sylvia’s sick horse. Was Henrik worried about it? Apparently. With all the assurance she could muster, she said very softly and slowly, “Don’t worry. The vet has been here and gave it a penicillin shot. It’ll be well soon.”

Again he began struggling to open his eyes, without success. A coughing fit threatened to choke him on his own blood. Fighting for breath, he gasped, “Idiot! The shattered . . . T . . . Tang horse!”

He lapsed back into unconsciousness. The shattered Tang horse? Suddenly she realized that she was standing in a pile of shards. She looked down at the floor and discovered a terra-cotta horse’s head. Carefully she picked it up. One ear was broken off, but otherwise it had survived. It was a nobly formed horse’s head that fit perfectly in her palm. Its nostrils were wide and its mouth open for a challenging whinny. The tensed muscles in its neck vibrated with vitality, power, and strength. But the body was gone. It was shattered and lay in bits on the floor.