Detective Inspector Huss: A Huss Investigation set in Sweden, Vol. 1 by Helen Tursten

possible basis for suicide . . .
    “Go as far back as you can,” she went on. “Though I’m sure that starting with the midfifties should be plenty. Maybe I could call you this afternoon and get a summary?” Irene suggested.
    “No, that won’t work. I’ve got to go out on a job. But let’s do this: Give me your fax number and I’ll put one of our interns on it. We’ll call it a research project. She’ll fax down what she finds to you, and then you can go through it. I’m sure it won’t be necessary to send it all, but she can certainly pick out what might be useful.”
    “You’re an angel, Sofie.”
    The next name on her list was the dachshund lady, Fru Eva Karlsson at Kapellgatan 3. Irene took a deep breath before she dialed. The phone rang ten times before the receiver was lifted on the other end. A thick mumble was heard, but Irene took a chance that she had reached the right person.
    “Is this Fru Eva Karlsson?”
    “Yes, who is this?”
    “Detective Inspector Irene Huss. We met yesterday evening after the terrible . . . accident.”
    “Oh, don’t talk about it! I was asleep when you called. I had to take a sleeping pill last night.”
    Fru Karlsson went on at length about her many years of insomnia and the various types of tablets she had tried over the years. Irene had a feeling that it was a good idea to listen. If nothing else, it would give the woman time to wake up.
    At last she interrupted, “And how’s your dog?”
    “Thanks for asking, Snoopy is lying right here and feeling so goody-woody, aren’t you, Snoopy-Woopy?”
    Resolutely Irene asked the next question before Fru Karlsson wandered off again into doggy world. “You’re the closest witness we have. Are you still sure that you didn’t hear any scream before—or during—his fall?”
    There was a long silence.
    “No, I’m sure I didn’t hear any scream. He just plopped right down in front of me. Oh, now I can see it all again!”
    “Fru Karlsson, could I come up and have a chat with you this afternoon?”
    “Dear girl, of course, that would be fine. But call first.”
    “I promise I will. Thanks again.”
    SHE HAD to grab a quick cup of coffee before eleven o’clock. She rounded the corner of the corridor at full speed. The ensuing collision between the superintendent and herself was forceful, but she hoped it wouldn’t leave any lingering marks. And the bright red color of his face would probably fade eventually.
    Testily he cried, “Watch where you’re going! Oh, it’s you. Good. Now we’ll get to the bottom of things!”
    She had seen him angry many times before, but never like this. With all the outer signs of an incipient stroke he fumed, “The telephone just rang. When I answered, it was a reporter from the Göteborg Times calling, that Kurt Höök guy. You know what that jerk said? ‘How can you be sure that von Knecht was murdered?’ At first I was completely thrown off guard, but then I said, ‘Who told you he was murdered?’ You know what he said then? ‘An informed source.’ What do you say to that? I’m going to make sure that source dries up, once and for all!”
    “Do you know who it is?”
    “I have my suspicions. Who said they knew someone at GP ? If someone has one contact in the newspaper world he could have more,” fumed Andersson.
    “Sven, come with me and have a cup of coffee. What if it isn’t Hannu? Just because he knows somebody at GP doesn’t mean he knows anyone at GT.”
    The superintendent protested vehemently but finally admitted that Irene might be right.
    Muttering and swearing to himself, he followed her reluctantly to the staff lounge. They greeted two other inspectors who weren’t involved in the von Knecht case. Otherwise they were alone. They sat down at a table some distance from their two colleagues. Irene had just bitten into her roll when the chief of General Investigations, Superintendent Birger Nilsson, came into the room. He caught sight of Irene and Sven, broke