They shared the old familiar feeling of having reached a dead end. Finally, Irene said, “I’ll get in touch with Rebecka over the weekend. On Monday, I’m going to meet with Eva Moller again. Alone.”
She added the last word when she saw how Fredrik brightened up.
“Why?” the superintendent wanted to know.
“She’s some kind of New-Ager, but she’s actually the only one close to the Schyttelius family who believes in such hocus-pocus. And she owns at least two pentagrams. Maybe she knows more than she’s telling us.”
Irene avoided mentioning what Eva had whispered to her when she and Fredrik were about to leave. It was better to keep some information to herself for the time being.
“Okay. Talk to her. Hannu and Fredrik will follow up summarizing the door-to-door questioning. Possibly you’ll have to make another try,” said Andersson.
It was a boring job, but it had to be done. Fredrik nodded and shrugged in dejection. As usual, Hannu provided no clues as to what he was thinking. Hannu and Fredrik were experienced investigators and knew that it was ordinary routine chores like this that often resulted in the capture of a killer.
Chapter 9
“SAMMIE RECEIVED A DEATH threat from the stupid idiot
Jenny was standing with her legs shoulder-width apart in the hall, her arms crossed over her chest. The light from the ceiling lamp reflected from her temporarily platinum-blond hair with bright blue highlights. Since she was a singer in a pop band on its way to stardom, she had to do something extra to her appearance: hence the nine gold rings in her left ear and the miniature glass penis which hung from the right.
Irene stopped in the process of hanging up her jacket. She looked down at her happy dog. Sammie didn’t seem to have been adversely affected by the death threat.
“Why?” she asked, surprised.
“He killed Felix.”
An icy hand clutched Irene’s heart. The only Felix she knew was their neighbors’, the Bernhogs, fat red cat. Please don’t let it be that one!
“You know,
Unconsciously, Irene fumbled for support.
The relationship between the neighbors wasn’t good. Truth be told, it was really quite awful. Ever since she and Krister had moved to the row-house area fourteen years earlier, there had been little battles. Since the childless Bernhogs had lived in the area ever since it was built, they felt that everything should be on their terms. To them, two lively four-year-old twin girls had not exactly been the ideal next-door neighbors. The girls attracted the neighborhood children and played wild games and laughed and screamed. Mrs. Bernhog’s migraines became worse, and Mr. Bernhog had his well-tended flowerbeds destroyed by the trampling feet of children. He yelled at both children and parents. As a result, all the children suddenly
The Bernhogs had put up a high fence in front and back of their row house. They didn’t speak to their next- door neighbors when they saw them on the street. However, they left angry notes in their mailbox when something didn’t suit them. Usually the notes were about things like poor snow-shoveling and improper sanding of ice patches on the communal porch in front of the house. But after Sammie had joined the Huss family nine years ago, the battles had stepped up. Now they suddenly complained that there was dog crap everywhere, despite the fact that the Huss family always picked up after Sammie with doggie poop bags.
“Who picks up after all the stray cats?” Irene had ventured to ask Mr. Bernhog one time when she had gotten yet another a note of complaint. A dark red flush had suffused his quivering cheeks, and his small pursed mouth had opened and closed without managing to produce any audible sounds. Irene thought that he looked like a fat, worried goldfish.
Sammie was an Irish soft-coated wheaten terrier, a long and complicated breed name whose last word was the most important: he was a terrier. All terriers are bred for hunting and fighting. They are happy and devoted, while at the same time they have an intense temperament. Sammie loved to chase everything that moved. His absolute favorite prey was cats; he was a notorious cat-chaser. Irene had even spoken with a dog psychologist once. According to him, it wasn’t possible to get rid of an inbred hunting instinct; they just had to make sure the dog didn’t get loose. That was easier said than done. According to Krister, Sammie could well have been the master-of-escape Houdini’s dog: like master, like dog. .
The Bernhogs had always had cats. The first one had died of old age a few years ago, and they had immediately replaced him with Felix, who was spoiled, overweight, and infinitely loved.
And now Sammie had killed this cat.
“How. . how did it happen?” Irene asked weakly.
“We went out for a walk about an hour ago. Sammie was completely calm and well-behaved. Suddenly he yanked on his leash like you wouldn’t believe and threw himself into our evergreen hedge, and Felix was sitting inside. I didn’t have time to react. It happened in, like, two seconds. Can you believe it? Sammie just shook it a few times and the cat was dead. It didn’t even have time to make a sound. Sammie bit him right on the throat and he bled. . totally gross!”
As a vegan, Jenny was a huge fan of animals; now she looked at her dog accusingly. Sammie didn’t seem the slightest bit guilty, but he noticed that the charge in the air was negative and not to his advantage. He did what he usually did in this situation: He quickly headed up the stairs to the second floor and crawled under a bed. He usually stayed there until the storm had blown over.
“Did Baj. . Mr. Bernhog see Sammie kill Felix?”
“Yes. He was only a few meters away, sweeping outside the gate. When he understood what had happened, he started chasing me and Sammie with his broom, but I ran in here and locked the door. Then he yelled outside that he was going to kill Sammie.”
Irene started to get angry. “Did he also swing the broom at you?”
Jenny looked surprised. “Of course. I was holding on to the leash.”
Irene didn’t bother putting her jacket on when she went out again. She went through the Bernhogs’ gate and stepped up to the always freshly painted front door. It was thrown open before she had a chance to ring the doorbell.
“This is going to cost you-” Bernhog started.
Irene interrupted him in an authoritative police voice. “Be quiet! I understand that you’re upset that Felix is dead, and I apologize for that, but you are partly to blame. Your cat was running around loose outside, and that always presents a risk. It could have been run over or killed in a fight with other animals. The only way to avoid such risks is to have an indoor cat. My dog was on a leash. It wasn’t running and chasing your cat. That Felix wasn’t able to keep himself out of Sammie’s reach is something neither we nor Sammie can do anything about.
“What is, however, very serious is that you threatened my daughter and chased her with a broom. If this happens again, I’ll report you!”
Bernhog did his goldfish imitation again. He looked like he might be about to have a stroke, but at that moment Irene was so angry that she didn’t care. His health was supposed to be so bad, yet he was able to chase people and dogs with a broom! After having remained silent and clenching her fists in her pants pockets for so many years, it felt really good to blow off some steam. She stared at him one last time before she turned on her heel and walked back to her house.
SHE HAD overreacted. She had to admit it. At the time, it had felt good to vent many years’ worth of pent-up anger, but now the pale ghost of reflection appeared in the innermost corner of her conscience. The poor Bernhogs had, after all, lost their dearly beloved cat. And it was the Huss family’s fault. Or, anyway, that of certain members of the family. Irene sent an accusing look in Sammie’s direction, but it didn’t affect him. He lay under the glass table, snoring loudly and digesting his dinner. Irene had crawled onto the couch with a cup of coffee after dinner. The TV poured out these incessant game shows with the chance of winning millions or nothing at all, but the
