Hemlock Bay

and Elcott Frasier were also taken? Or maybe they went willingly because the jig was almost up for them here. Tennyson is still in Hemlock Bay. There’s not a shred of evidence yet to connect him to the attempts on Lily’s life or Mr. Monk’s murder, or any of the rest of it. Seems to me that Lily’s husband is his parents’ dupe.”
    “Maybe so,” Sherlock said. “It doesn’t matter. Lily’s divorcing him. Oh yes, Dillon has already called two cop friends he has in Stockholm and Uppsala. We know that Jorgenson has a huge estate in Gothenburg called Slottsskogen, or Castle Wood. It’s about halfway up the coast of Sweden on the western side. Dillon said that one of his friends, Petter Tuomo, has two brothers in the Gothenburg police. They’re on it. We haven’t heard anything back yet.”
    Jimmy said, “Good, things are moving. Does Savich have friends all over the world?”
    “Just about, thank God.” She sighed, kissed Sean, who was wriggling to get down, and shook her head. “Everywhere we look, there’s something horrible ready to fall on our heads. We’re terrified about Lily and Simon. We’re praying that Olaf Jorgenson hasn’t killed them.”
    “I can’t see why he’d bother to kidnap them if he wanted them dead, Sherlock. There’s got to be more going on here than we know.”

    Gothenburg, Sweden

    An hour later, bathed, warm, and in fresh clothes, Lily and Simon preceded Alpo and Nikki down a massive oak staircase that could accommodate six well-fed people at a time. They were led to the other side of an entrance hall that was a huge chessboard, black-and-white square slabs of marble, with three-foot-tall classic carved black-and-white marble chess pieces lined up along the walls.
    They walked down a long hall, through big mahogany double doors into a room that was two stories high, every wall covered from floor to ceiling with books. There were a good half dozen library ladders. A fire burned in an exquisite white marble fireplace with an ornately carved mantel that was at least two feet wide and covered with exquisite Chinese figures. There was a large desk set at an angle in the corner. Behind the desk was a man not much older than fifty, tall, blond and blue-eyed, fit as his Viking ancestors. He was tanned, probably from days spent on the ski slopes. The man rose as Simon and Lily were brought in. He looked at them, his expression gentle and sympathetic. She drew herself up. That was nonsense, and she wouldn’t underestimate him. The man nodded, and both Alpo and Nikki remained by the door.
    “Welcome to Slottsskogen, Mr. Russo, Mrs. Frasier. Ah, that means Castle Wood. Our city’s largest park was named after this estate many years ago. Won’t you sit down?”
    “What is the city?”
    “Sit down. Good. I’m Ian Jorgenson. My father asked me to greet you. You both look better than you did when you arrived.”
    “I’m sure that’s true,” Lily said.
    “Your English is fluent,” Simon said.
    “I attended Princeton University. My degree, as you might imagine, is in art history. And, of course, business.”
    Lily said, “Why are we here?”
    “Ah, here is my father. Nikki, bring him very close so he can see Mrs. Frasier.”
    Lily tensed in her chair as Nikki pushed a wheelchair toward them. In the chair sat an impossibly old man, with just a few tufts of white hair sticking straight up. He looked frail, but when he raised his head, she saw brilliant blue eyes, and they were cold and sharp with intelligence. The brain in that head was not frail or fading.
    “Closer,” the old man said.
    Nikki brought him to within inches of Lily. The old man reached out his hand and touched his fingertips to her face. Lily started to draw back, then stilled.
    “I am Olaf Jorgenson, and you are Lily. I speak beautiful English because, like my son, I also attended Princeton University. Ah, you are wearing the white gown, just as I instructed. It is lovely, just as I hoped it would be. Perfect.” He ran his fingers down her arm, over the soft white silk, to her wrist. “I want you to be painted in this white dress. I am pleased that those American buffoons failed to execute you and Mr. Russo.”
    “So are we,” Lily said. “Why did they want to kill us so badly, Mr. Jorgenson?”
    “Well, you see, it was my intention to let the Frasiers deal with you. I understand they bungled the job several times, for which I am now grateful. I hadn’t realized what you looked like, Lily. When