had been on the prowl unusually early this spring. The kittens were still maybe a bit too small to be separated from their mother, but they were pretty much weaned. Since its new family was familiar with cats, this wouldn’t be a major problem.
“That’s where they live,” Eva said, pointing at a small farm. Irene turned into in at the driveway and sent a sympathetic thought to her shock absorbers. She parked on the gravel drive, and Eva jumped out without asking if she wanting to come inside.
Everything looked very neat at this little farm. The main house itself was white stucco, in contrast to the well-kept Falu-red wooden outbuildings and the barn. All the flowerbeds around the house were newly dug up and ready for planting.
After a while, Eva came running through the rain. She was carrying a box in her arms. Irene opened the door for her so that she could jump inside. When she had the shoe box in her lap, Irene saw that Ecco was written on the lid, in which air holes had been punched. Eva carefully lifted it a crack and whispered, “Isn’t she cute? Her name is Felicia. Remember to tell the new family that they absolutely can’t change her name.”
Irene glimpsed a small, light apricot-colored ball of fur wrapped in a piece of terry cloth.
“Felicia,” she said aloud so that she wouldn’t forget.
FELICIA SLEPT in her box the whole way home to the row-house area. The rain stopped just as Irene turned in on Fiskebacksvagen. The setting sun managed to peer out from under the banks of clouds and tinged their underbellies a glimmering golden red. It was a magnificent display of colors.
When Irene had parked the car, she walked directly to the Bernhogs’ door and rang the bell. Margit Bernhog opened the door a crack after the second ring. Irene tried to sound untroubled as she recited the litany she had practiced in the car.
“Hi, Margit. I was wondering if you would like to take care of little Felicia here. A friend of mine asked me to find her a new home with a cat lover. Otherwise they’ll have to put her to sleep, and that would be terribly sad.”
Margit Bernhog jerked at the last sentence and looked wide-eyed at Irene. Reluctantly, she lowered her eyes to the box. Irene lifted the lid and held the box out to her. At just that moment, Felicia woke up. She stretched her little fuzzy body and yawned so that her cute light-pink tongue stretched out. Margit carefully lifted up the sleepy kitten and gently burrowed her nose into her soft fur.
“So cute. . little Felicia. . thank you,” she stammered without looking at Irene.
She was totally absorbed in the apricot-colored furball. Then Felicia turned her head and met Irene’s eyes with her round violet-blue ones.
Chapter 11
”THAT’S A HELL OF a lot of drivel about Rebecka’s nerves!” Superintendent Andersson bellowed. He wasn’t at all pleased about the cancellation of Irene’s trip to London. “That Frog seems to be determined to delay her questioning,” he concluded angrily.
He marched around his office, upset, with strides as long as his short legs would allow. Irene sat in his visitor’s chair, waiting for the storm to blow over. Andersson stopped in front of his window and pretended to contemplate the view over Ernst Fontell’s Place through the thick layer of dirt. He took a few deep breaths and turned toward Irene again.
“I understand that she had a shock, and a serious one, when she got the news. That’s not surprising. But we need to speak with her in person. It’s a matter of her own safety! We don’t have the faintest idea about a motive. All we have are those damn Satanic stars.”
Irene was just about to correct him and start explaining what the pentagram stood for, but she came to her senses at the last moment. She would never be able to explain what had happened at Eva Moller’s. Truth be told, she still wasn’t sure herself.
The superintendent didn’t pay any particular attention to her silence. He continued, “Can she come to Sweden and the funeral without taking a risk, or do we need to protect her? We don’t know a damn thing! She must have some clue as to motive!”
Irene nodded and jumped in. “I agree with you. I’ll call Glen Thompson again and see what he has to say.”
“SHE SAYS she isn’t up to talking. I tried to speak with her, but she burst into tears.”
Inspector Glen Thompson had a deep voice. Irene tried to imagine what he looked like.
“I understand that you’re starting to feel pressured. As you said, you need a motive. . Is this tale of Satanic symbols true? There was something in our papers about it. . Your murders are spectacular, even by English standards.”
“Yes. Symbols were painted on two computer screens with the victims’ blood.”
“So what the newspapers wrote was true. The last time I met with Rebecka, I asked her if there had been any threats against the family from Satanists, but she just shook her head. Then she began crying. She’s very difficult to interview.”
“Naturally, the shock was tremendous-” Irene started, but he interrupted her.
“True, but she wasn’t well before, either. Psychologically speaking.”
“She wasn’t?”
“No. Dr. Fischer says that he has been treating her for depression since last September.”
Then Rebecka had had psychological problems before the murders. Her brother had been on sick leave during the fall for psychological problems after his divorce. That is to say, everyone
“I’ll have to make an attempt soon. We’re at a complete standstill in our investigation, since we have no motive. We still don’t know if Rebecka’s life is also in danger.”
“She denies that there were any threats, but that may not be true. I have a very strong feeling that she’s hiding something. It’s only a hunch, but it’s there.”
“Rebecka is like her father”; “Sten’s hidden depths”; Eva Moller’s words popped into Irene’s memory.
“I need a few days to prepare Rebecka and Dr. Fischer,” Thompson continued. “She needs to understand that she’ll be forced to speak with you. If worse comes to worst, we’ll question her in the hospital.”
“I’m very grateful for your cooperation,” Irene said, and meant it.
“No problem. Let’s see. . today is Tuesday. If you come on Thursday and stay one night, then we have two days to work in. That should be enough.”
She was stung by a feeling of disappointment. She would have loved to stay longer, but then this wasn’t a vacation.
“My sister runs a pleasant little hotel in Bayswater. I’ll make a reservation for you there for Thursday night. Call me when you’ve booked your flight, and I’ll pick you up. Don’t forget to look up which airport you’re flying into.”
“Thanks,” Irene said.
IRENE BOOKED a seat on the Thursday morning flight to London at seven ten, which, according to the friendly voice on the phone, would land at Heathrow. She decided to make her return flight as late as possible on Friday, a seven twenty departure. She might have a chance to see something of London if the meeting with Rebecka didn’t take too long.
With a sigh, her gaze fell on the pile of paper before her. It had a strange ability to grow from day to day even though she tried to work on it at every available moment. Could paper reproduce itself? Her depressing thoughts faded when Svante Malm’s freckled face appeared at her door.
“Howdy. I thought I’d give you the book we found at Jacob Schyttelius’s.”
He stepped into the room and lay Anton LaVey’s book on her desk.
