Night Rounds by Helene Tursten Page A

this really necessary?”
    Irene replied mildly, “And a good evening to you, too, sir. Yes, our errand is really necessary, since Marianne has been murdered.”
    Niklas jerked at her last word but said nothing else. He still wore the sour expression as he led them through the entry hall over a rug that was soft underfoot. He motioned them toward a large, cozy living room. The furniture and the artwork gave the room an upscale feeling. A man was sitting on the silver-gray sofa. He stood and offered his hand.
    “Hi. I’m Andreas Svärd.”
    “Hello. I’m Criminal Inspector Irene Huss.”
    “Tommy Persson here. I’m also a criminal inspector.”
    “Welcome. Please sit down.” Andreas Svärd was a pleasant contrast to Niklas. He treated them as welcome guests. As Irene sank into one of the plush leather armchairs, she observed the lawyer before them. Andreas Svärd was six feet tall and slender. He had thick blond hair and a fairly ordinary face. Irene knew he was thirty-three years old, but he appeared younger. He wore a light gray silk shirt, chinos in a darker gray, and a wine-colored lamb’s-wool sweater—casual but obviously expensive. To her surprise, Irene could tell that he’d been crying.
    “I understand why you’re here. This has been a real shock for me … what happened to Marianne, that is. In spite of how our relationship ended, we were actually still close.”
    Andreas Svärd turned his face away. Irene looked at Niklas, who glowered even more. Andreas appeared to be mourning, but Niklas just seemed angry.
    Irene cleared her throat. “When was the last time you saw Marianne?”
    Andreas cast a sidelong glance at Niklas before he answered. “We had lunch two weeks ago.”
    Niklas seemed even angrier, so Irene turned to him. “What about you?”
    “I haven’t seen her since last Christmas,” he growled.
    “How was that?”
    “She came to dinner here.”
    It was obvious that he wasn’t the one who’d invited her. Irene turned back to Andreas. “Did you get together often?”
    “Not that much.”
    “How often?”
    Andreas looked nervously at Niklas but seemed determined to tell the truth. “About once a month.”
    “Why did you meet?”
    The lawyer seemed truly surprised by her question. “We’ve known each other all our lives. We grew up together on the same street. Over the last year, we’d sometimes have lunch together.”
    “At which restaurant did you last have lunch?”
    “The fish restaurant Fiskekrogen.”
    Niklas could not contain himself any longer. Half suppressing a swear word, he swiveled on his heels and stalked from the room. Andreas looked after him thoughtfully but said nothing. It seemed he was willing to tell the truth even if it enraged Niklas. At any rate, now it would be easier to interview Andreas, one-on-one. “Would it be possible for you to come down to the police station tomorrow afternoon?”
    “Sure, but not till after four.”
    “That’ll work for me, too.”
    The police officers stood up and shook hands. Irene noticed Andreas’s hands were unusually small and well formed.
    In the apartment’s hallway they saw no sign of Niklas. Irene did not raise her voice as she said, “Niklas, I need to talk to you.”
    A door opened, and Niklas stuck his head out. “What do you want?”
    “We need to talk to you some more. I would like you to come down to the police station tomorrow. What time can I expect you?”
    “I work until four-thirty. I can’t get there until five, but five-thirty is more likely.”
    Tommy let his eyes wander to the artwork in the hallway. He pointed to a framed poster. “Is that you?”
    Irene turned to look at the poster. Drag Show Fever was written in Gothic letters. A slim, long-legged woman wearing fishnet stockings and impossibly high stilettos climbed a staircase, a black G-string cutting between her two firm buttocks. The back of her sequined top was low, and her long hair flowed over her shoulders. Her head was slightly