The Demon of Dakar - Kjell Eriksson [74]
“So you didn’t snuggle?”
“What do you mean?”
“Did Armas meet women?”
Slobodan stared at her for a few seconds before answering.
“It happened, but seldom.”
“You mentioned last time that there was a woman in his life.”
“That was more than ten years ago. She disappeared.”
“Could Armas have been interested in men?”
Slobodan burst into laughter. “My apologies, but this is too funny. You can count yourself lucky that Armas is not here to hear you.”
“We found some pornographic materials in his apartment that leads us to believe this,” Lindell said and met his gaze.
“Armas was not gay, whatever you have cooked up,” Slobodan asserted with a steadiness in his voice that surprised him. “I don’t want you to sully his memory, suggest a lot of nonsense that hasn’t got the least to do with his death.”
“Would it bother you if this were the case, if Armas was attracted to other men?”
“What do you mean, ‘other men’?”
“Would it?”
“That is the lowest! That is a pure insult. Should—”
“I have no homophobia,” Lindell interrupted calmly.
The exchange went on for several minutes. Slobodan thought longingly of another cognac. This ape, who insolently enough had kicked off her shoes and pulled her legs up under her, was egging him on like no one had done in decades. But he knew he couldn’t strike back.
“In reality, you have nothing,” he said abruptly, with a fitting blend of contempt and exasperation.
“On the contrary, we have a great deal,” Lindell said. “We know that Armas amassed a, perhaps not a fortune exactly, but at least a significant amount of money.”
“How much?” Slobodan let out.
Lindell smiled.
“Perhaps the two of you were not close enough that he cared to discuss it,” she said.
Slobodan did not answer. Instead he stood up, walked over to the wet bar, and poured out the cognac.
“We also know that Armas most likely knew his killer.”
“I see,” Slobodan said, relieved that he had his back to the detective. He wanted to know how they had arrived at this but hesitated to ask. Or should I display more curiosity?
“Or at the very least did not feel threatened by the killer.”
“How do you know this?”
Slobodan turned around and at the same time drank some of the cognac so he would not betray his agitation.
“I can’t tell you that,” Lindell said. “Another thing, you gave me a list of people that Armas knew. It was strikingly short. Have you thought of any other names?”
“No, his circle of acquaintances was small.”
“But large enough to include a killer.”
Whore, he thought, I should throw her out. He started to ponder how best he could punish her, convinced as he was that every person had a weak point.
“Perhaps you have this in common—an acquaintance or someone you at least know, who is prepared to hurt you or those close to you.”
Lindell did not reply. Serves you right, you damn bitch, he thought and downed the last of his cognac.
“One must feel somewhat vulnerable in your profession,” he added and set the glass down sharply, pleased with the turn their conversation had taken.
“It is your business to satisfy peoples’ appetites in pleasant surroundings,” Lindell said and let her gaze wander to his belly, “and that is an honorable occupation.” Now she stared him straight in the eye, “It is my business, however, to put them on a rather restricted diet in a more spartan environment.”
“From what I understand, the food served in our prisons is excellent.”
“The menu is limited,” Lindell said, “and most likely tiresome in the long run.”
Slobodan smiled tauntingly.
“And no cognac is served there,” she added.
He watched her march off across the parking lot. Their conversation had been brought to an end by her cell phone, and she quickly left, thanking him for their chat.
He hated her. No one could treat Slobodan Andersson in that way.
Thirty
Lindell was worried. She had allowed herself to engage in a ridiculous war of words with Slobodan Andersson. It was amateurish and stupid. It worried her because it revealed the extent of her desperation. Armas did not want to take shape. He slid behind