no use my denying it, because he never made any effort to hide anything. I just had to take it!” Finally, it was out. The bitterness.
Irene said benignly, “And what about you? I didn’t see any similar photos of you.”
Sylvia gave a harsh, scornful laugh before she replied. “We gave each other great freedom. Freedom for him, I should say.”
She made a show of closing her eyes again, pressing her lips into a thin line. With a sigh Irene realized that it was time to change the subject and her tactics. She sat down on the edge of the bed. Her knees almost hit her in the chin when she sank down into the downy softness. “Sylvia,” she entreated, “we’re trying to investigate your husband’s murder. We have no clue as to a motive or a suspect. You have to help us. We have to ask unpleasant questions so we can try to get at the truth.”
Sylvia’s blue-glazed eyelids twitched. But when she opened her eyes they were completely expressionless. She gazed vacantly at Irene.
“Who would be served by the truth?”
Irene was at a loss for words. But she had one question left that she had to ask. She took a deep breath and steeled herself for whatever might come.
“We’ve studied Richard’s personal records, which means everything contained in his files. It’s the sort of thing that parish ledgers used to protect in the past. Now the tax authorities use this sort of information and for that reason it’s now in the public record.”
Irene stopped, because she wasn’t sure that that was completely accurate. But Sylvia’s expression didn’t change. She didn’t want Sylvia to have time to think about it, so she continued quickly, “Did you know that Richard had admitted paternity of a son before you were married?”
Sylvia shut her eyes instantly. Her nostrils flared and she exhaled audibly before she replied tonelessly, “I’m not entirely surprised. There were some mysterious phone calls in the early days of our marriage. A woman who called and argued with Richard. I managed to overhear some of it. I gathered that it had to do with . . . a child.”
There were decades of sorrow in those final sentences. Irene felt a tug of sympathy, but she decided to press a bit harder.
“He never told you anything about the child?”
“No.”
“Does Henrik know anything?”
“Don’t tell Henrik!”
“Unfortunately, he’s going to find out anyway. If not before, then when it’s time to read the will.”
It happened like lightning. Sylvia was suddenly sitting, her slender legs hanging over the edge of the bed. Red patches of indignation burned on her cheeks, her eyes flashed with wrath, and the cool elfin features were transformed into those of a shrew.
“That despicable bastard inherit? Never! Over my dead body! I won’t permit it! I’m going to call Tore right now . . . Never!”
She fell silent. Irene understood that she was referring to Tore Eiderstam. Unless she was a spiritualist, it would be impossible to contact the attorney. But someone must have taken over the firm, she supposed. She said as much to Sylvia, who looked bewildered.
“There are several attorneys in Tore’s law office. I presume I’m permitted to call them? Damn it all! It was always Richard who kept track of our financial and legal affairs,” she said helplessly.
She was interrupted by the doorbell. Irene went down and opened the front door. Henrik looked haggard but resolute. He gave her a curt nod and took the stairs two at a time to the top floor. Irene followed him, lost in thought. Sylvia’s reactions were very odd. What should have evoked happy exclamations and chatter about the anticipated joys of being a grandmother had unleashed instead an absolute explosion of rage. She had responded readily, if bitterly, to the embarrassing topic of the other women in her husband’s life. The other son was not entirely unexpected and provoked no reaction until she realized that he might have a right of inheritance. Maybe it would be a good idea to contact von Knecht’s lawyers, even though they couldn’t say anything before the will was read to the family.
In the bedroom, mother and son were sitting side by side on the edge of the bed. Sylvia flung her blond hair back with a spiteful snap of her head and said, “Henrik just told me the same thing you did. I must really be off balance, reacting the way I did.”
It took a moment before Irene realized that this was not only