The Fire Witness Read online

  Anja’s plump face shows her amusement. “You should read See & Hear. You’d learn a thing or two.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “Elin and Jack are divorced, but she kept the apartment because, well, it’s all her money.”

  “So they’re celebrities?”

  “You know Albert Frank, don’t you?”

  “Sure.”

  “Elin inherited the entire mining operation when she was just eighteen years old. These days she’s often in the media for her charitable works. She and her former husband have given quite a bit of money to orphanages and foundations.”

  “There was a time when Vicky lived with them?”

  “It probably didn’t work out so well,” Anja replies.

  Joona heads to the door, holding the printout. He turns to look at Anja.

  “What can I do to thank you?”

  “I’ve registered us both in a class,” she said. “Promise you’ll go with me.”

  “What kind of class?”

  “Relaxation. Kama Sutra something.”

  49

  Strandvägen 47 is right across the street from Djurgård Bridge. It is a luxury five-story limestone apartment building with an elegant entrance and a dark, attractive stairwell. The name “Frank” is engraved on a shiny black plaque beside a door on the second floor, which opens almost as soon as Joona rings the bell. A man with gelled short hair and an even tan looks at him questioningly.

  “I’m looking for Elin Frank.”

  “I’m Robert Bianchi, Elin’s personal assistant,” the man says as he holds out his hand.

  “Joona Linna, the National Police.”

  A slight smile passes over the man’s lips. “Sounds exciting, but—”

  “I need to speak with her.”

  “May I ask what it concerns? She is not to be disturbed unnecessarily …” The man stops speaking as Joona’s gaze turns cold.

  “Please wait in the foyer while I ask her if she is able to receive visitors,” Bianchi says, and disappears behind a door.

  The foyer is white and empty. There is no furniture, no coats, no shoes. Just smooth white walls and a single enormous mirror in a white frame.

  Joona tries to imagine Vicky Bennet in this environment. A nervous, chaotic girl who did not appear in the Swedish register until she was six years old. A child who had lived only in garages or tunnels or stairwells, and probably a different one each night.

  Bianchi returns, smiling calmly, and asks Joona to follow him. They walk past a large lounge with several sofa arrangements and a tile stove, elegantly decorated. Thick rugs muffle the sound of their footsteps as they walk past the various rooms until they reach a closed door.

  “You can knock,” Robert says to Joona. His smile has become uncertain.

  Joona knocks and hears someone in high-heeled shoes walk across a wooden floor. A thin middle-aged woman opens the door. She has dark blond hair and large blue eyes. She’s wearing a close-fitting red dress and three strands of snow-white pearls. Her makeup is sparse. She looks beautiful.

  “Come in, Joona Linna,” she says. Her voice is low and well modulated.

  The light-filled room has a desk, a group of sofas in white leather, and built-in bookcases painted white.

  “I was just about to have some chai. Is it too early for you?” she asks.

  “No, that sounds fine,” Joona says.

  Robert leaves the room and Elin gestures toward the sofas.

  “Let’s sit down.”

  She sits across from him and crosses her legs.

  “Now, what do you want to ask me about?” she says.

  “A number of years ago, you and your former husband, Jack, were the foster parents of a young girl—”

  “We’ve helped many children over the years—”

  “Her name is Vicky Bennet,” Joona interrupts her quietly.

  For just an instant she frowns slightly, but her voice remains calm.

  “I remember Vicky very well,” she says with a brief smile.

  “What do you remember about her?” asks Joona.

  “She was a sweet little thing and she …” Elin Frank falls silent and stares into space. Her hands lie completely still in her lap.

  “We believe that she might be involved in the murder of two people at a youth home in Sundsvall,” Joona says.

  The woman turns her face quickly away from Joona, but not before he sees the frown return. She smoothes her skirt with her hands, which seem to be trembling slightly.

  “How does this concern me?” she asks.

  Robert knocks on the door and then pushes in a tea cart. Elin Frank thanks him and asks him to leave.

  “Vicky Bennet has been missing since Friday,” Joona says. “It is possible that she might come looking for you.”

  Elin bows her head slightly and swallows hard.

  “No, she won’t,” Elin finally says in a chilly voice.

  “Why not?” asks Joona.

  “She will never attempt to contact me,” Elin replies. She stands up. “It was a mistake to let you in my house without finding out your business first.”

  Joona stays seated and looks up at her.

  “Who will Vicky try to contact, then? Will she try to contact Jack?”

  “If you have any more questions, contact my lawyer,” Elin says and leaves the room.

  A moment later, Robert enters. “I will show you the door,” he says shortly.

  “Thank you very much,” Joona says. He reaches for the cart and pours tea into a cup. He picks it up, blows on it, takes a careful sip, and helps himself to a lemon cookie. He eats the cookie and sips his tea unhurriedly. Finally he lifts the napkin from his knee and wipes his mouth, folds the napkin carefully, and places it on the table. Then he stands up.

  Robert follows him as he walks past the enormous rooms and the lounge with the decorated tile stove. He walks through the white foyer and opens the door to the stairwell.

  Robert finally speaks. “I must tell you. It is important that Elin not be associated with any negative—”

  “I hear what you’re saying,” Joona interrupts. “But this is not about Elin Frank, but—”

  “For me it is about Elin Frank. For her it’s about Elin Frank,” Robert says.

  “I understand. However, the past is never concerned about anyone’s reputation. When the past catches up to you, it has no regard for anyone at all,” Joona says, and he heads down the stairs.

  50

  Elin usually runs eleven kilometers a day in the workout wing of her apartment. Some days she watches the television suspended from the ceiling; other days she listens to music. But today she just runs and looks out over the rooftaps, toward St. Olaf’s steeple. All she can hear is the thump of her shoes, the humming motor of the treadmill, and her own breathing. After an hour her running shorts and sports bra are soaked in sweat.

  She remembers when Vicky Bennet came to her house. Nine years ago. A little girl with messy blond hair.

  As a teenager, during a trip to France to learn the language, Elin had contracted chlamydia. She didn’t take it seriously, and by the time she saw a doctor, the bacteria had made her sterile. She didn’t worry about it much back then; she didn’t think she’d ever want to have children. And for years, she thought it was great that she never had to worry about birth control.

  But she and Jack had been married barely two years when he started to talk about adoption. Every time he brought up the subject, she said that she didn’t want kids. They were too much of a responsibility.

  Jack was in love with her in those days, and he pushed. So Elin said they’d volunteer to help children temporarily, children who were having difficulty at home and needed to get away for a while.

  Elin had called Stockholm’s social services in the Norrmalm district, and less than six weeks later, after two lengthy interviews, a social worker rang to say that she had a child who needed a great deal of security and peace for a while.

  “She’s only
six years old. I think it might work out. Well, you’ll have to try it out. As soon as she is settled with you, we can arrange psychotherapy for her,” the woman said.

  “What has happened to her?”

  “Her mother is homeless and mentally ill. The authorities stepped in when they found the girl asleep on a subway car.”

  “How is the girl? Is she well?”

  “She was dehydrated but otherwise fine. The doctor said she’s healthy. I’ve tried to talk to the girl myself, but she’s extremely withdrawn. She appears nice, though.”

  “What’s her name? Do you know?”

  “Yes, Vicky. Vicky Bennet.”

  Elin Frank quickens her pace. The treadmill hums, her breathing grows more labored.

  Afterward, she stretches at the ballet barre in front of the large mirror. She avoids looking at her own eyes. Her legs feel heavy. Finally she kicks off her shoes and heads for the shower. She lets the stream of warm water pummel her back until her muscles begin to relax, but then her anxiety returns. It’s as if hysteria has crept beneath her skin. She wants to scream or sob and never stop. Instead she turns the water to cold and forces herself to stand beneath the flow until her temples throb from the chill. Then she turns off the water.

  51

  Elin emerges from her walk-in closet wearing a mid-length velvet skirt and a nylon bodysuit studded with small glittering stones. The cloth is so delicate she has to use silk gloves to put it on.

  Robert is in the reading room, sitting in a lambskin armchair and shuffling through some papers, which he is sorting into various folders.

  “What was that all about? Why are the police interested in this girl?”

  “She’s not important,” Elin answers.

  “Do we have to worry about this?”

  “No, we don’t.”

  Robert Bianchi has been her assistant and adviser for the past six years. Robert’s gay. Jack thought it would be best if she had a homosexual assistant, since he wouldn’t get jealous.

  Elin settles into the chair opposite him, stretches out her legs, and shows off her new patent leather heels.

  “They’re magnificent,” he says, smiling. “You have to be at the reception at the Clarion Hotel in one hour.”

  She doesn’t move. Elin can feel Robert’s eyes on her, but she doesn’t meet them. She plays with the tiny diamond-studded cross she’s wearing. She swallows hard.

  “Once, Jack and I took care of a little girl by the name of Vicky. It was a long time ago.”

  “Took care of? You mean, like, adopted?”

  “No, her mother was alive. We fostered her, but I …”

  She falls silent and pulls at her cross.

  “When was this?”

  “A few years before you started here,” she says. “I wasn’t on the board then, and Jack had just started working for Zentropa.” She falls back into silence.

  Robert studies her closely. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want.”

  “I thought we were ready, as ready as anyone could be. We knew that it wasn’t going to be easy, but … Do you have any idea of how the system works? There were unbelievable hoops to jump through. We had to meet with social workers and counselors. Everything had to be examined, from our finances to our sex lives, but as soon as we were approved, it only took them three days to hand over a child to us. It was really strange. They didn’t tell us anything about her, and they gave us no help at all.

  “Sounds typical.”

  “We really wanted to do some good. Vicky lived with us for nine months, off and on. They kept trying to send her home to her mother, but Vicky would always end up being found alone in some old cardboard box in a garage.”

  “Sad.”

  “Finally Jack couldn’t take it anymore. All those times we were woken in the middle of the night to pick her up and take her to Emergency, or just put her in the bathtub or give her some food. One night Jack said I had to choose.” She offers Robert a wan smile. “I still don’t understand why.”

  “He only thinks about himself,” said Robert.

  “But we were supposed to be her parents until her mother could care for her properly. There was no way I could choose between him and a child who was only supposed to live with us for a few months. It was crazy. And he knew I was completely dependent on him at the time.”

  “Well …” Robert prompts.

  “Yes, I was, it’s true,” Elin says. “So when Vicky’s mother got a place to live, I agreed he should call social services. I mean, it looked like things were finally starting to go well for her mother this time.” Her voice breaks and she’s surprised to feel tears running down her face.

  “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

  Elin dries her tears. “It wasn’t a big deal. I don’t think about it all that much.” She doesn’t know why she’s lying.

  “You have to move on,” Robert says, excusing her.

  “That’s right,” she says, and then covers her face with her hands.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Robert,” she says with a sigh, and then looks at him. “I have nothing to do with this whatsoever, but the policeman who was just here told me that Vicky has killed two people.”

  “You mean those murders up in Västernorrland?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Do you have any contact with her now?”

  “None at all.”

  “You must not be dragged into this.”

  “I know. Of course, I would do whatever I could to help her, but—”

  “Keep out of it.”

  “Maybe I should give Jack a call.”

  “No, don’t do that.”

  “He should know.”

  “He doesn’t need to hear it from you, and it will only make you unhappy, you know that. Every time you talk to him …”

  She tries to smile in agreement and leans over to place her hand on Robert’s warm fingers.

  “Come here at eight tomorrow morning and let’s go through the week’s schedule.”

  “Good,” Robert says. He knows he’s being dismissed, and he gets up and leaves the room.

  Elin picks up the phone but waits until she hears Robert close the front door. Then she calls Jack. He sounds hoarse and sleepy.

  “Elin, do you know what time it is? You can’t keep calling me.”

  “Were you asleep?”

  “Yes.”

  “Alone?”

  “No.”

  “Are you being honest to hurt me?”

  “We are divorced, Elin,” he says.

  Elin walks into her bedroom and looks at her huge empty bed.

  “Tell me you miss me,” she says.

  “Good night, Elin,” he says.

  “I’ll give you the apartment on Broome Street if you want it.”

  “I don’t want it. You’re the one who loves New York.”

  “The police were here. They seem to think that Vicky has murdered two people.”

  “Our Vicky?”

  Elin’s mouth trembles and tears leap to her eyes.

  “Yes. They came here to ask about her.”

  “How sad,” he says in a low voice.

  “Can you just come here? I need you. Bring Norah if you want. I won’t be jealous.”

  “Elin, you know I’m not going to come to Stockholm.”

  “Sorry I disturbed you,” Elin says, and ends the call.

  52

  The Swedish Prosecution Authority for cases concerning police officers and the Internal Review Board of the National Police both have their offices at Kungsbro 21. Joona is sitting in a small room there with Mikael Båge, who is the head of internal investigations, and his secretary, Helene Fiorine.

  “At this time, the security police cracked down on an extremist left-wing group called the Brigade,” Båge is saying. “The report states that Detective Inspector Linna from the National Police was at the address at the same time or right before.”

  “It’s true,” says Joona.
He’s looking out of the window at the railroad tracks and the Bay of Barnhusvik.

  Helene Fiorine puts her pen and notebook down. “Joona, I must ask that you take this inquiry seriously,” she says.

  “I am,” he says, though his voice makes it clear his thoughts are elsewhere.

  Helene waits until Joona looks at her before she nods and picks up her pen.

  “Before we conclude,” Mikael Båge says, “there is the matter of the main charge against you.”

  “Perhaps it’s just a misunderstanding,” Helene says quickly. “Two investigations happened to cross paths at the same time.”

  “In the report, the charge against you is that the crackdown on the Brigade by Säpo failed because you’d warned the inner circle.”

  “Yes, I did,” Joona says.

  Helene gets up from her chair but does not know what to say. She stares at Joona with sad eyes.

  Båge smiles. “You warned the group about the crackdown?”

  “They were just kids,” Joona says. “They weren’t dangerous.”

  “Säpo thought otherwise,” Båge says.

  “I know,” Joona says quietly.

  “This is the end of the preliminary investigation,” Helene says, and collects her papers.

  53

  It’s already four thirty in the afternoon by the time Joona drives past Tumba. He once investigated a brutal triple homicide in a town house there. On the seat next to him is a list of all Vicky Bennet’s known residences through the years. The last one is Birgittagården and the first is Strandvägen 47.

  He’s sure Vicky must have talked to someone she stayed with. She must have confided in someone or have a friend somewhere. Elin Frank said that Vicky was sweet. That’s all she’d said.

  Sweet, Joona thinks.

  For the wealthy Franks, Vicky was a child in trouble, a girl who needed help, someone who had to be shown mercy. It was a question of charity. But for Vicky, Elin was the first sane mother she’d had.

  Life for her at Strandvägen must have been like a fairy tale. She was kept warm and ate regular meals. She slept in a bed and wore lovely clothes. She would have had toys to play with. The time she spent with Elin and Jack must shine bright in her memory.