Silver Tears(18)

The blue Proenza Schouler pantsuit fit Faye perfectly. It had been an impulse buy at Nathalie Schuterman and had cost a small fortune, but she needed to feel fantastic today of all days. She smoothed out a couple of tiny wrinkles. She was ready to take on the day.



* * *



—



Faye put on her sunglasses as soon as she stepped into the lobby. From the corner of her eye, she saw a woman stand up from one of the sofas and approach her.

“Do you have a minute?”

Faye frowned—she vaguely recognized the woman. She assumed she was a journalist and thought it was just as well she got used to being followed again.

“Now’s not a great time,” she said, as kindly as she could.

The woman glanced over her shoulder and produced a police ID from her jeans pocket. Yvonne Ingvarsson. Faye realized it was the same police inspector who had led the investigation into Julienne’s murder. She shut her eyes for a second and assumed the role of grieving mother.

“Have you found her?” she whispered. “Have you found my Julienne?”

Yvonne Ingvarsson shook her head.

“Can we sit down somewhere we can talk in peace?”

She took Faye by the arm and led her through the revolving door, down the steps, and onto the quayside outside the hotel. They sat down on a bench.

“We haven’t found the bo— Your daughter. Yet,” the investigator said, following a ferry to Djurg?rden with her gaze.

Faye forced herself to maintain her composure and let Yvonne Ingvarsson take the first step. It was worrying that the woman had looked her up, but as yet it wasn’t a disaster.

“You maintain that you were in V?ster?s the night your ex-husband supposedly killed your daughter?”

Faye shivered. She was grateful she was wearing sunglasses.

“Yes, of course,” she said quietly.

“There’s an ATM at the corner of Karlav?gen and Sturegatan here in Stockholm,” Yvonne Ingvarsson said calmly, keeping her eyes on the water.



Faye gathered her thoughts. If the police really had something on her, they would hardly have been sitting here in the sunshine chatting.

“Oh?”

“The CCTV captured a person who bears a remarkable likeness to you. You were in V?ster?s though?”

Yvonne Ingvarsson finally turned her head and looked at Faye, whose face didn’t change one bit.

“What are you insinuating?” said Faye. “What is it you’re sitting here and implying?”

Yvonne Ingvarsson raised her eyebrows.

“I’m not implying anything. I asked a question—whether it was at all possible that you were near the presumed murder scene and not in a hotel room in V?ster?s.”

There was silence for a while. Faye pulled her handbag toward her and stood up.

“I don’t understand what you mean. Do your job instead of coming to me with ridiculous claims like this. Find my daughter’s body.”

She turned away and left with her heart pounding in her breast.





Faye arrived a quarter of an hour late at Taverna Brillo, with sweat sliding down her back. Irene Ahrnell stood up smiling behind a circular table situated in the beautiful restaurant’s inner dining room. Faye held her head high, ignoring the whispers and the looks being exchanged among the lunch guests. She embraced the other woman before both of them sat down.

“Irene, it’s been way too long. And sorry for being late.”

“No problem, and I agree—but I knew you had a lot on.”

“Yes, it’s been an intense year, what with preparing for the new stock issue, the American expansion, and—well, the challenge of incorporating Chris’s company, the Queen group, into Revenge. It’s taken a fair bit of time—it’s only now that it’s starting to feel like one company, not two.”

Irene nodded and reached for the menu. She produced a pair of reading glasses and perched them on the end of her nose.

“I know what you mean—different structure, different corporate cultures, a thousand things to be streamlined. And as far as I’m concerned, don’t feel you have to get in touch with me. I’ve got a lot on the go too, but I’m always here, no matter how long the gaps in our communication. I know it must be hard for you, trying to rebuild your life after losing your daughter…”

Faye nodded and took a sip of water, then, as if the topic was still too raw to discuss, immediately changed the subject: “Talking of having a lot on, I read something about a new man.”



Irene blushed and Faye contemplated her with amusement. She had never seen Irene blush—it made the sixty-year-old woman look like a schoolgirl.

“Well, we’ll have to see what comes of that. But so far it feels good. Mario is amazing. It’s almost too good to be true. I feel like I’m constantly waiting for the skeletons to come crawling out of the closet.”

“I’m just as skeptical as you are about the male sex. You know that. But there must still be a few good ones out there. You may have found one of them.”

“We live in hope,” said Irene, putting down the menu. “I’ve kissed enough frogs over the years.”

She shook her head gently and Faye leaned toward her.

“How about we have a small glass of bubbly as well?”