of the white foam.
‘There you are. Now we’re ready to have a proper conversation,’ said Marianne with satisfaction. ‘So what’s this all about?’
Eva sipped her coffee, seemingly reluctant to broach the reason for her visit. But when the silence began to feel oppressive, she said:
‘We’ve discovered a rather odd coincidence.’
Marianne leaned forward with interest.
‘An odd coincidence? That sounds exciting.’
Eva gave her a stern look.
‘There have been a number of strange deaths lately. At first there didn’t seem to be any connection between them, because they occurred both in our own police district and in other areas. But when we noticed the coincidence …’
She took another sip of coffee, refusing to look Marianne in the eye.
Marianne didn’t say a word. Instead, she leaned back, calmly regarding the woman sitting across from her. After a lengthy silence, the inspector went on:
‘In the past three years, four men have died mysteriously. The youngest was twenty-five, the oldest fifty-three. Without warning, they simply collapsed, and for lack of any other explanation, the pathologist has blamed their deaths on heart problems.’
‘I see. But then what’s the problem? It’s not uncommon for men to die from a heart attack, and four men in three years …’ Marianne left her sentence hanging as she threw out her hands.
The detective inspector meditatively stirred her coffee with a spoon as she focused all her attention on the foam in the glass. That gave Marianne the opportunity to study the woman in more detail. She had a tired look about her. She seemed to be about forty, but in the bright sunlight coming in through the big shop windows, she looked older. Her dark hair was cut in a page-boy style that was practical but not particularly attractive. And a few strands of grey were visible here and there. Apparently she wasn’t sufficiently vain to colour her hair.
Eva Wärn raised her eyes from her glass to look Marianne straight in the eye.
‘You’re right.’ She paused and then went on. ‘It’s not unusual for men to die from a heart attack. But what’s odd is that all of them seem to have called in here for a coffee before they died. Since the cause of death was rather uncertain in each case, the wives were interviewed and asked to describe what they had done the day before their husbands passed away. I’ve read the reports from those interviews, and in every case, the Widows’ Café was mentioned. That’s rather odd. Don’t you agree?’
Her expression was cold and hard, but Marianne merely smiled.
‘Strange coincidences happen all the time.’ Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she added: ‘Maybe it was my delicious buns that made their arteries clog up.’
‘I can assure you that I don’t find this the least bit funny.’
‘No. Of course not,’ said Marianne, in a serious tone of voice. But the sparkle in her eyes was still there.
‘I don’t know what you want me to say,’ she went on, again throwing out her hands. ‘The men came here to have coffee with their wives, and then had the misfortune to die of a heart attack. There’s not much I can do about that.’
‘That’s not the only thing these men had in common.’ Not for a second did Eva Wärn take her eyes off Marianne. ‘They were all known to beat their wives.’
‘Oh, that’s awful. There are some very unpleasant men out there.’
Marianne reached for a bun from the platter on the counter and, with a look of contentment, she took a big bite.
‘Are you sure you won’t have one? It’s on the house.’
‘No, thanks,’ said the inspector curtly, looking as if the mere idea was repulsive. Then she abruptly stood up. ‘It appears we’re not going to get anywhere with this.’
‘Feel free to come back,’ said Marianne cheerfully as she too stood up, brushing the sugar from her fingertips.
Eva Wärn didn’t reply. The shop bell rang as she slammed the door behind her.
‘Where have
‘There you are. Now we’re ready to have a proper conversation,’ said Marianne with satisfaction. ‘So what’s this all about?’
Eva sipped her coffee, seemingly reluctant to broach the reason for her visit. But when the silence began to feel oppressive, she said:
‘We’ve discovered a rather odd coincidence.’
Marianne leaned forward with interest.
‘An odd coincidence? That sounds exciting.’
Eva gave her a stern look.
‘There have been a number of strange deaths lately. At first there didn’t seem to be any connection between them, because they occurred both in our own police district and in other areas. But when we noticed the coincidence …’
She took another sip of coffee, refusing to look Marianne in the eye.
Marianne didn’t say a word. Instead, she leaned back, calmly regarding the woman sitting across from her. After a lengthy silence, the inspector went on:
‘In the past three years, four men have died mysteriously. The youngest was twenty-five, the oldest fifty-three. Without warning, they simply collapsed, and for lack of any other explanation, the pathologist has blamed their deaths on heart problems.’
‘I see. But then what’s the problem? It’s not uncommon for men to die from a heart attack, and four men in three years …’ Marianne left her sentence hanging as she threw out her hands.
The detective inspector meditatively stirred her coffee with a spoon as she focused all her attention on the foam in the glass. That gave Marianne the opportunity to study the woman in more detail. She had a tired look about her. She seemed to be about forty, but in the bright sunlight coming in through the big shop windows, she looked older. Her dark hair was cut in a page-boy style that was practical but not particularly attractive. And a few strands of grey were visible here and there. Apparently she wasn’t sufficiently vain to colour her hair.
Eva Wärn raised her eyes from her glass to look Marianne straight in the eye.
‘You’re right.’ She paused and then went on. ‘It’s not unusual for men to die from a heart attack. But what’s odd is that all of them seem to have called in here for a coffee before they died. Since the cause of death was rather uncertain in each case, the wives were interviewed and asked to describe what they had done the day before their husbands passed away. I’ve read the reports from those interviews, and in every case, the Widows’ Café was mentioned. That’s rather odd. Don’t you agree?’
Her expression was cold and hard, but Marianne merely smiled.
‘Strange coincidences happen all the time.’ Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she added: ‘Maybe it was my delicious buns that made their arteries clog up.’
‘I can assure you that I don’t find this the least bit funny.’
‘No. Of course not,’ said Marianne, in a serious tone of voice. But the sparkle in her eyes was still there.
‘I don’t know what you want me to say,’ she went on, again throwing out her hands. ‘The men came here to have coffee with their wives, and then had the misfortune to die of a heart attack. There’s not much I can do about that.’
‘That’s not the only thing these men had in common.’ Not for a second did Eva Wärn take her eyes off Marianne. ‘They were all known to beat their wives.’
‘Oh, that’s awful. There are some very unpleasant men out there.’
Marianne reached for a bun from the platter on the counter and, with a look of contentment, she took a big bite.
‘Are you sure you won’t have one? It’s on the house.’
‘No, thanks,’ said the inspector curtly, looking as if the mere idea was repulsive. Then she abruptly stood up. ‘It appears we’re not going to get anywhere with this.’
‘Feel free to come back,’ said Marianne cheerfully as she too stood up, brushing the sugar from her fingertips.
Eva Wärn didn’t reply. The shop bell rang as she slammed the door behind her.
‘Where have
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