Soon they had left the streets and were passing a snow-covered park, heading away from the city. Lorimer bent his head to see the sun; it lingered briefly, a ghostly outline of misty gold against the pale grey skies, before vanishing once again as though afraid to be seen. Daylight was waning now and the white fields and gardens looked bruised beneath the gathering dusk.
The Magnusson house lay somewhere beyond the park, the driver had told him, though it was evident the man had not driven anyone there before today. So it came as a surprise when they turned into what appeared to be a farm road, banks of snow heaped on either side as though the snow ploughs made regular visits to keep this particular route clear. They passed frosted trees, their branches stark against the cold winter sky, then, as the Skoda slowed to take a corner, Lorimer could see the lights from a distant house. The driver muttered to himself as the car slipped and slithered on the icy road until at last they reached a set of large black gates. Beyond lay a solid-looking modern house, its lower windows shuttered against the night, though Lorimer could see light glimmering from the fanlight above the door.
‘Here, sir, this is the place you’re looking for,’ the driver said, turning his head and looking at Lorimer with a quizzical expression. ‘Expecting you, are they? Looks to me like these are locked.’ The taxi driver pointed to the security box fixed against one of the two stone pillars that flanked the metal gates.
Lorimer followed his gaze. Had Solly mentioned this? For a moment he simply couldn’t remember. No, he decided. The psychologist had not told him about this feature, but perhaps it was something he should have anticipated, arriving unannounced at the home of one of Sweden’s wealthiest men.
‘Want me to wait?’
‘Just for a bit,’ Lorimer said. ‘See if anyone’s at home.’
The cold hit him the moment he stepped from the taxi and the detective pulled his scarf closer to his chin as he stepped carefully over the frozen snow.
He pressed a call button and waited. For a long moment there was nothing, not even a crackle of static to show that the device was in working order. He half turned to the driver who shrugged his shoulders. It was all to the good if this fare was returning to the city, his gesture seemed to say.
Then a woman’s voice spoke in Swedish, her tone quizzical.
‘Hello, this is Detective Superintendent Lorimer from Strathclyde Police in Scotland. I’m here to see Henrik Magnusson. May I come in, please?’
There was a hesitation then the voice spoke again, this time in English. ‘Mr Magnusson is not back yet, but you may come in and wait for him.’ There was a loud click and the gates swung open a fraction.
Lorimer stepped back to the driver who was now leaning out of the opened window.
‘How much?’
The driver told him and he thrust the fare and a decent tip into his outstretched hand.
‘Maybe see you later,’ Lorimer advised him.
‘Maybe not.’ The driver grinned ominously then the window rolled up and the car lumbered backwards as he attempted to turn and head back the way they had come. Would any taxi driver come back for him tonight or was he fated to be stranded out here in the depths of the countryside?
Taking a deep breath of the frozen air, Lorimer pushed the gates open. They swung back, closing automatically with a dull clang that made him shiver. Behind him the skies had darkened now, the lights from several eye-level lanterns on either side of the driveway making everything beyond indistinguishable shapes disappearing into shadowy blackness.
Then the door opened and he saw the figure of a woman framed against the light.
‘Hello, I’m Detective Superintendent Lorimer,’ he said, holding out his warrant card for the woman to see. ‘I was hoping to see Henrik Magnusson. He isn’t expecting me, I’m afraid.’ Now that he was in the vestibule he could see that she was a tall woman, fair and slender, her hair caught up in an old-fashioned pleat across her head. Her scarlet sweater gave a certain glow to the woman’s creamy skin, making him look at her face, noting the high cheekbones and steady grey eyes. A swift appraisal let the detective see that she had donned a pair of stout leather boots below her calf-length black skirt: had the woman been getting ready to leave the house? And if so, was Magnusson going to return soon?
‘Marthe Lindgren,’ she told him, giving the warrant card only the most cursory of glances. ‘I’m Mr Magnusson’s housekeeper. Please come in, Superintendent. I can let him know of your arrival.’
Lorimer stamped the snow from his shoes before crossing the threshold then stepped into a hallway full of warmth and light.
‘Would you like some coffee?’ Marthe asked, beckoning Lorimer to follow her along a corridor that ended in a white-painted door. ‘The kitchen is warm,’ she explained with a hint of a smile on her thin lips.
‘Thank you, I would like that very much indeed,’ he replied.
‘Have you just arrived from Scotland?’ She threw the question over her shoulder, smiling politely.
Lorimer strode after her, through the white door and along a second corridor that led into a vast square kitchen where a wood-burning stove threw out a welcome blast of heat.
‘Just today,’ he replied.
‘Please, sit here,’ Marthe said, sweeping a dish towel from a comfortable old-fashioned-looking wooden chair next to the stove. ‘And do allow me to take your coat,’ she said, holding out her hands as he fumbled the buttons open.
‘Thank you.’
Marthe merely nodded as she turned away, placing the coat on another chair near the stove. ‘It will be warm for you when you leave,’ she said simply. ‘You are here about Eva, yes?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘It isn’t a surprise that you have to see him, but why come all the way to Stockholm?’ Marthe asked. Her back was to Lorimer as she busied herself with preparing a pot of coffee but he could see from the tilt of her head that the housekeeper was curious.
‘Please, do sit down and join me in a coffee, if you will,’ Lorimer asked gently. ‘Then I can explain.’
When Marthe Lindgren turned to look at him just then, he could see the tears in her eyes, tears that held a genuine sorrow for the dead girl.
‘Thank you.’ She moved her head again, concentrating on pouring coffee into two plain white porcelain beakers.
‘Now,’ Lorimer began as he took the coffee from her. ‘It was necessary to come here to see two people who are resident in Sweden. And I’ll explain why in a moment. But first I would like very much to talk to you about Eva. Would you mind that?’
The woman sighed, cupping the mug between her long thin hands. ‘Poor little Eva,’ she said, looking down at her lap. ‘If only she hadn’t had to leave…’
‘But surely it was her choice to study in Glasgow?’
Marthe’s cheeks flushed into twin spots of colour. ‘Oh!’ she exclaimed. ‘Perhaps I ought not to have said that!’
‘I’m here to help find out what I can about several things that may lie behind Eva’s murder,’ he told her gently.
‘But I don’t understand! Surely the man has been caught?’
‘There is a person in custody, yes,’ Lorimer agreed. ‘But there are some doubts about whether he is in fact the perpetrator.’
‘My God!’ Marthe’s hand flew to her face, some coffee spilling onto her skirt.
Lorimer took the cup from her and placed it on the counter beside him. ‘Marthe, does the name Anders Andersson mean anything to you?’
‘Anders?’ Her eyes widened in horror. ‘You don’t think he killed Eva? No, no, that can’t be!’
‘Can you tell me something about him?’
She sighed deeply, her face solemn. ‘Poor, poor Anders, it wasn’t fair, really, he was such a nice little boy…’
‘Yes?’
‘Superintendent, it was because of Anders that Eva had to leave home,’ Marthe explained. ‘When Henrik found them together…’ She broke off. ‘You don’t know anything about that, do you?’ she asked, looking at him gravely. ‘Well, let me tell you what happened. Anders came about the house for years with his father, old Anders, the Magnussons’ gardener. He and Eva played together as children. I suppose old Anders and I both felt a little sorry for the child. You see, Eva was home schooled and, well, children need other children to play with…’ She broke off again, stifling a sudden sob. ‘Forgive me, it is just that when I remember Eva as a little girl…’ She took out a handkerchief from her skirt pocket and wiped her nose. ‘Where was I? Yes, Anders.’ She nodded sadly, sniffing back more tears. ‘He was a beautiful little boy and he became a very good-looking young man. Oh, Superintendent, if you could have seen them together! But of course Henrik would never have allowed a relationship, even when Anders went to university and had such big plans for his future.’ She sighed again. ‘You have children, Superintendent?’