Chapter Seventeen
THEY WERE THE ONLY customers in the Chinese restaurant, but still picked a booth at the back. They selected “Four Small Dishes” and a large light beer each. Within a few minutes the food arrived. They didn’t start talking until they could see the bottom of their bowls.
Irene began, “Henrik and Charlotte are probably the ones we need to talk to right away, not Sylvia. But it will be difficult, since we only have hearsay to go on.”
Fredrik quickly broke in, “I think that guy Henrik is shady! I’d put money on it that he’s the bomber! He could have easily arranged to get the keys to the garage and the Porsche, and he owns a big, light-colored car with dark windows. He also keeps plastic gas cans in his garage.”
Tommy nodded and said, “I agree with you. There’s a lot pointing to Henrik as the bomber. But why? Why try to blow up your own father? Why would he lure Pirjo over to trip the bomb? And why blow Bobo Torsson sky-high?”
Irene eagerly waved her hands to emphasize her theory. “I think the easiest question to answer is why he lured Pirjo to Berzeliigatan. Everything was turning to shit for him. If he’s the bomber, that is.”
“To shit?”
“Yes. Remember that the bomb was made almost four days before Richard was murdered. If he hadn’t gotten a cold he would have gone down to his office on Monday. But he didn’t. And not on Tuesday either. On Tuesday evening he was murdered. We know that Henrik couldn’t have committed that murder, since he and Sylvia were down on the street when he fell. But Henrik knows that there’s a devil bomb down on Berzeliigatan. It will kill whoever opens the door first. Who is most likely to be that first person?”
He looked at his two colleagues. They were both pictures of total concentration. Tommy answered after a moment, “Sylvia von Knecht. It would obviously be Sylvia, who would go there to inspect her inheritance.”
“Exactly! And Sylvia von Knecht is probably the last person in the world that Henrik would want to kill. As I said before, it was too bad that there wasn’t a back entrance to the apartment. Then he could have gone in the back way and disarmed the bomb. Evidently he didn’t dare even open the door a crack to unhook the wire to the detonator. So instead he chose to sacrifice an unimportant louse. Pirjo.”
Fredrik got excited and leaned over the table, without noticing that he had put his elbow in a bowl with leftover sweet-and-sour sauce. Agitated, he said, “This fits with everything we found out today! Henrik von Knecht knows Pirjo’s hours and knows that she won’t be allowed in by the guys from the lab. So he shadows her and drives up when she’s standing there waiting for the streetcar. Hold on a minute . . .”
He paused to wipe the sauce off his elbow. Absentmindedly he rubbed at the spot on his sweater. Irene was about to tell him to go out to the toilet and rinse out the spot properly. But she managed to stop herself. With his gaze fixed on a far corner of the room Fredrik continued, “How could Henrik von Knecht know that Pirjo was at Molinsgatan? The whole city, except Pirjo, knew that the guy was dead! Wouldn’t it be more logical to assume that she knew he had fallen from the balcony? If so she would have stayed home.”
Both Irene and Tommy nodded. Irene said firmly, “We have to go downtown and talk to the superintendent. It’s probably Henrik we should be watching, not Shorty. Maybe we can get the Narcs to take over the stakeout.”
She didn’t pin great hope on her last remark, but it never hurt to ask. She continued, turning to Fredrik, “Have you guys made up a stakeout schedule for watching Shorty?”
“Yes. Birgitta is there now, until six. Hans Borg takes over and then I arrive at midnight. Jonny is taking Saturday morning. And so on.”
“There wouldn’t be anything wrong with us moving this stakeout to Marstrand, would there? According to Charlotte, Henrik isn’t coming home until around ten o’clock—tomorrow night, that is.”
Tommy sat sipping at his hot coffee. Pensively he said, “Do you think that staking out Henrik will produce anything? He comes home, tired and exhausted from his auction deals. He probably sits down and polishes some priceless trinket. And then he goes to bed. That’s what I think.”
Irene tried to persuade him. “But these are concrete leads in the investigation that we’re following now! We aren’t even sure that Shorty has a direct connection to the case. I propose that we take this up with the superintendent. What do you think about the neighbor’s story? Did Charlotte and Richard have a sexual relationship?”
All three thought about it.
“It seems likely.”
“There’s a lot to indicate it. Especially the times he stayed overnight.”
“At the start of this investigation I would have dismissed such testimony as utterly improbable. But considering what we’ve learned of Richard’s and Charlotte’s personalities over the course of the investigation, I would say that it’s not at all inconceivable!” said Irene.
Fredrik again began showing signs of some excitement, so Irene leaned over and moved the bowl of sauce. Eagerness glinted in his eyes, and he leaned over the table to persuade them.
“That gives Henrik a motive. Jealousy! His own father is fucking his wife! That’s a damned strong motive!”
Something started to stir in the back of Irene’s mind and she managed to pry it loose. “I’m not sure that Henrik is capable of great jealousy. Or any emotions at all. He’s hardly passionate about anything but his relationship to his antiques. But there’s actually another very strong motive. The most ordinary of all—namely money.”
Tommy looked surprised and asked, “But isn’t it Sylvia who is her husband’s heir?”
“Yes. Except for an insurance policy. Sylvia told me about it herself. She and Henrik get half a million each over a period of ten years, in the event of Richard’s death.”
Fredrik gave a low whistle. After thinking a while he said, “From what I understand from you, Henrik and Richard von Knecht didn’t like each other much, right?”
“They weren’t exactly enemies. But according to Sylvia, Richard could never accept that Henrik’s personality changed after his meningitis.”
Irene looked at the clock. It was past four-thirty. Resolutely she said, “We have to call and see if Andersson is still at HQ. We’ll have to go there and present what we learned today. Then he has to decide the next plan of attack.”
They paid and got up to leave.
//
IRENE DROVE, with Fredrik sitting next to her and Tommy in the backseat. After they managed to escape the rush-hour traffic on Södra Vägen, Fredrik leaned forward and turned on the radio. The Sven-Ingvar hit about “The Only Blonde in Town” filled the car. Loud and off-key, they all joined in on the chorus. They giggled when the music faded out. A pleasant male voice rapidly announced, “And that’s all for Melody Cavalcade for today. This is Program Three. Time for Today’s Echo at a Quarter to Five.”
Out of sheer reflex Irene stomped on the brakes, and almost got a taxi in her rear bumper.
Her male colleagues yelled simultaneously, “What are you doing?” “Watch out for the cab!”
Demonstrating discipline, she put on the blinker and turned down Burgårdsgatan. The gods must have accepted some offering she had made, because she lucked out and found an empty parking space. She turned off the engine and turned up the volume of the radio, staring as if entranced by the tiny glowing red and green lights on the car radio that showed it was on. Fascinated she whispered, “Listen, you guys, listen!”
“. . . no serious incidents in yesterday’s demonstrations in conjunction with the anniversary of Karl the Twelfth’s death. The police . . .”
Fredrik looked angry, mostly because of shock. “What was that all about? You could have caused an accident! Then they can say on the Echo tomorrow, ‘Three cops in Göteborg were the cause of a serious accident in rush-hour traffic yesterday, due to an acute brain malfunction on the part of the driver!’”
Tommy started to laugh, but Irene just waved her hand and didn’t take her eyes off the radio. Dramatically she said, “Didn’t you hear the sound of something cracking?”
Fredrik and Tommy exchanged a glance, filled with male bonding. Fredrik’s circling index finger next to his temple was enough. Irene saw it and started laughing too.
“What just cracked was Charlotte’s alibi. There isn’t any five o’clock news on the radio! It’s called Today’s Echo at a Quarter to Five because it’s on at a quarter to five!”
The two colleagues realized what she was getting at. That would give Charlotte an extra fifteen minutes, which would be plenty of time to reach Molinsgatan from Mölndalsvägen.
Tommy was the one who recovered first. “Is there really no five o’clock news?”
“No, not on the big radio stations. And since Charlotte’s Golf was brand new when she left the Volkswagen dealership on Tuesday afternoon, I doubt she had managed to set the button for any small local station that broadcast news.”
Tommy leaned forward between the front seats and said, “I think you’re right, Irene. We have to start keeping an eye on Henrik and Charlotte. But it’s clear that they have already done what they intended. Now they just have to lie low. If only we could get hold of a single piece of evidence that would hold up! Somebody who saw Charlotte on Molinsgatan on the night of the murder. A witness who saw Henrik load his gasoline cans in and out of the Porsche. But no! They were God damned lucky! All we have are circumstantial evidence and guesses!”
Irene agreed and started the car again. She took great pains to be an exemplary driver. It wasn’t good to subject her colleagues’ nerves to any more stress than necessary.
SUPERINTENDENT SVEN Andersson blew his nose on a piece of toilet paper. He had a headache, and his eyes and nose were running. He was considering going straight home to make himself a hot cognac toddy and crawl into bed, when the three inspectors called and reported red-hot new information in the von Knecht case. Quietly snuffling, he listened to their accounts of the day’s testimony and new leads.
He sat silent a long time and thought about what he had heard. Finally he said, “Well, I’ll be damned. Charlotte and Richard von Knecht! That’s a reasonable conclusion to draw after that neighbor’s testimony. But we have to have proof! It’s not such a good idea to watch Henrik or Charlotte. What they’re doing now isn’t as interesting as the deviltry they’ve already committed. We have to find more proof, and preferably the type that’s binding. Could they have planned to murder Richard von Knecht together?”
Tommy shook his head and said, “We discussed that, but we don’t think that’s how it happened. There’s plenty to indicate that the bombing was planned and carried out by one person and the actual murder by another. If Charlotte knew that Henrik had placed a bomb on Berzeliigatan, she wouldn’t have had to take any risks by murdering her father-in-law herself! All she had to do was wait for Richard to walk through the door of his office one last time.”
Andersson gave him a red-eyed look, wiped his copper-colored nose, and said thoughtfully, “You think that Charlotte is mixed up in the murder?”
Tommy nodded and motioned to Irene.
“We have no plausible motive for her, but Charlotte is the only one who doesn’t have a really good alibi. Not anymore, since Irene figured out the part about Today’s Echo at a Quarter to Five. So she left the Volkswagen dealership before five o’clock. It seems well planned, in view of the seduction of the little car salesman Skytter. She also had lots of opportunities to get hold of the keys,” he maintained.
The keys. Again Irene’s subconscious stirred. But nothing came to the surface. Annoyed, she had to try to concentrate on what the superintendent was telling them.
“Hannu talked to Pirjo’s children again today. And one of the little boys suddenly remembered that a man had called and asked for Pirjo on Wednesday morning. But Pirjo had just left to go clean the von Knechts’ apartment. The boy told this to the man on the phone. The daughter didn’t know anything about this call, because she was at school. It was a stroke of luck that Hannu thought of questioning the boys one more time.”
Fredrik did a double take on his chair and blurted out, “That’s exactly what I said! How could he know that Pirjo didn’t know the old man was dead, and that she would come to clean the place as usual that Wednesday morning? Now we know—he called to find out where she was!”
He paused, looked at his wristwatch, and continued quickly, “Excuse me, but I have to hurry to relieve Birgitta.”
The other three grinned broadly without saying a word. Everyone in the room knew that Birgitta finished her shift at six o’clock, which was now, and that Fredrik’s shift didn’t start until midnight. The color of his face began to match the superintendent’s nose as he nonchalantly said, “See you later. Have a great weekend, those of you who are off.”
Tommy’s response was swift, “Same to you, same to you. When you two are off.”
Fredrik pretended not to hear but hurried out the door.
Tommy laughed and said, “That guy could play the role of Lucia this year. Someone could walk behind him whispering, ‘Birgitta, Birgitta!’ Then his ears would light up, so we could skip the crown of lights!”
Irene jokingly shook her fist at him. “We shouldn’t tease them. I think they’re cute,” she admonished.
Andersson raised his eyebrows to his hairline. Not all the way, because then they would have wound up on the back of his neck. Vexed, he said, “Cute! We’re talking about two cops here! They’re not supposed to go around being cute on the job! That’s not right. Trouble with . . . aaah-choo!”
Good thing he sneezed. Irene didn’t have to listen to him say broads. But she could imagine it. In an unconsciously maternal tone of voice she said, “Now you should really go home and take care of that cold.”
He glowered at her. He detested that kind of talk! “Yes, Mamma.”
He meant it to sound sarcastic, but it fell a little flat. He was really tired. Maybe he had a fever. What else did he have to say? Suddenly he remembered.
“There was one more thing that Hannu found out today. After Richard von Knecht and Valle Reuter had lunch, Richard went to the bank and withdrew ten thousand kronor. It was around four o’clock.”
The two inspectors looked surprised.
“Why didn’t Valle say anything about this before?”
“Good question. Can you find out, Irene? He likes female cops. Hannu called in this information an hour ago. He was going to keep going around the square asking questions.”
“What bank was it?”
“The SE-Bank on Kapellplatsen. The question is, what did von Knecht do with the money?”
He was interrupted by the phone ringing. He answered brusquely, “Andersson. Yes . . . I’ll be damned! Meet Irene and Tommy outside the front door on Molinsgatan. They’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
Energetically he hung up the receiver and clapped his hands together.
“That was Hannu. He was in the bakery by the square talking to them just before they closed. Richard von Knecht came in and bought two open-faced sandwiches on Tuesday afternoon. Around four o’clock. Barely an hour and a half before he was murdered!”
THEY WERE lucky. Valle Reuter was home. Irene was about to hang up when he answered after a great many rings. Over the phone she introduced herself as Detective Inspector Huss. Would it be all right to come over and check some new information that had just turned up in the investigation? Yes, of course, she was quite welcome to come by for a visit. Had she tried Neil Ellis yet? Irene was rather disconcerted, but muttered something that could be interpreted as both yes and no. Ho ho, how tactful she was! But he just happened to take out a few bottles. This could be quite a pleasant evening!
Somewhat baffled, Irene hung up. But she had an idea what was going on.
“He thinks I’m the charming Birgitta. I—or rather Birgitta—have been invited to a wine tasting this evening,” she said chuckling.
Tommy gave a hearty laugh. “It would be a shame to disturb your little party. What do you say I go a round with Sylvia von Knecht? If I’m lucky she’ll still be at Marstrand. And little Arja might be in need of some entertainment. She certainly wasn’t hard to talk to.”
“Not bad looking either.”
“No. I prefer her mug to Valle’s.”
TOMMY CALLED Sylvia von Knecht from his cell phone. From his disappointed expression Irene understood that it was Sylvia herself who answered. She reluctantly agreed to a little “chat.”
“But not too long! I have my elderly mother here!”
Irene could hear her hoarse voice, even though Tommy had the phone pressed to his ear. She snorted when he hung up. “The elderly mother who’s well enough to bake cookies for the funeral! Even though there’s an excellent bakery right in the neighborhood. I know. I’ve tried everything they make.” With a shudder she remembered the coffee klatsch with the little dachshund owner.
Tommy asked, “Is that the same bakery where Richard von Knecht bought his sandwiches?”
“Yes, it is.”
She slowed down and put on her blinker. A free spot just fifty meters from the building they were going to. No chance of hoping for anything closer. They parked and headed toward the beautiful front door. Irene had an idea.
“Don’t forget to ask Sylvia about those sandwiches. According to her there weren’t any sandwiches in the fridge when she came home on Wednesday. Richard promised in their last phone call that he would pick some up.”
Tommy started to chuckle. “Imagine if the techs devoured them. So they wouldn’t be wasted. Sylvia wasn’t going to come home for a while, since she was in the psych ward,” he said, giggling.
Irene stopped short. “Good Lord, it’s not completely unlikely! We’ll have to ask them. Remind me about it.”
They had reached the front door. Hannu materialized silently at their side.
“Hi.”
“Heavens, you scared me! Hi.”
“Hello,” said Tommy. “It might be best if you accompany me up to see the ladies. And you understand Finnish if it’s needed.”
Sylvia had exceedingly reluctantly given them the code to the front door, and now they punched it in. With a soft humming the door indicated it was unlocked. They pushed it open and turned on the stairwell light.
Even though Irene knew that the paintings would be there, she was still amazed by them. Springtime floated toward her in his flowered cart, and on the other wall the fiddler played so hard the sweat was flying. She hurried up the steps to spend a moment with the graceful black marble swan on the floor of the foyer. She glanced at Hannu but couldn’t see the slightest glimmer of response. He stepped purposefully up to the elevator and opened the door. Irene thought it was silly to take the elevator up one floor, but she did anyway.
VALLE REUTER opened the door with a broad, welcoming smile on his face. It was extinguished at once when he caught sight of Irene. Disappointed, he said, “Who are you? And where is that sweet little police sister?”
“I’m Detective Inspector Irene Huss. Just as I told you on the phone. Apparently you’re confusing me with Detective Inspector Birgitta Moberg. She was the one you talked to at headquarters last week. Right now she’s busy with a major investigation concerning one of Sweden’s worst narcotics criminals.”
She couldn’t help herself. It slipped out of her before she could think. It was in reaction to that “police sister” line.
Valle Reuter looked very impressed. He raised his eyebrows to his hairline and said, “Are you really going to send little Birgitta on such dangerous missions?”
He moved his shapeless body and made an inviting gesture toward the hall. It wasn’t as big as von Knecht’s. But the lovely carved closet doors were there, along with a magnificent mirror. Irene stepped in and hung her leather jacket on an ornate brass hat rack. At first she didn’t notice it, but then she had an unpleasant déjà vu experience. A distinct smell of Ajax and cigars hung in the air. Involuntarily she shuddered. The last time she had been in this building surrounded by this mixture of smells it was due to an evil, sudden death.
Aloud she said, “There’s a nice smell of Ajax. Have you already done the Christmas cleaning?”
He laughed and peered at her. “You could say that. As a matter of fact I’ve hired a cleaning firm. Three people were here all day yesterday. Fantastically talented people. They cleaned the whole apartment and put up new curtains everywhere. I want the place to look good when my fiancée comes here for the first time,” said Valle.
He smiled happily and glided before her into the large living room. It was somewhat smaller than the room upstairs at the von Knechts, but still about a hundred square meters. With a proud gesture he motioned for her to take a seat in a pompous-looking leather easy chair. The smell of new leather stung her nose. The leather furniture was heavy, shiny, and obviously brand new. Two sofas and four easy chairs. The glass table was the biggest one Irene had ever seen; it reminded her of an octagonal pool. In the large open fireplace of iridescent green marble and black slate a wood fire crackled. High cupboards with shiny glass doors towered on either side of the fireplace. Silver pieces glimmered behind the glass. Large paintings with heavy gold frames were reminiscent of the art in the von Knechts’ apartment. Reuter also owned a paint-laden monster, like the one von Knecht had on the wall of his library—although von Knecht’s was green and this one was blue.
At the other end of the room a large dining table with twelve chairs was enthroned. Above it hung a heavy crystal chandelier. Glittering light from thousands of prisms radiated over the room.
Valle Reuter stepped over to the wall and began twisting a small control dial. Softly the illumination was toned down; then with a quick twist in the other direction he bathed the room in light.
“They came to install this today. A dimmer, it’s called.”
With a thoroughly contented expression, he turned the light back down to a comfortable level.
“Your fiancée will like this apartment, I’m convinced of that.” Irene said this with genuine honesty, because it was actually very pleasant.
“I think so too. Everything is new! It all came today.”
“Everything?”
“Well, not the art and the carpets. Those are things that Henrik bought for me. Investments. The crystal chandelier is old too, very old, but superbly renovated. The furniture is new. You’re the first one to sit in that chair.”
“And all this you bought because your fiancée will be coming here for the first time?”
He gave her a long look and nodded solemnly a few times before he said, “She accepted my proposal last Tuesday. I was overjoyed! My life has been as black as night. Dreary years . . . alone . . . and then this thing with Richard. When Gunnel said yes, I thought a light was being lit for me too. I almost don’t dare believe it! I decided to start a new life. Got rid of all the ugly old furniture that Leila picked out once upon a time! I’m not very good at cleaning . . . the place was a little dirty. But the cleaning company took care of that. Although I had to pay double because they had to come at such short notice. But it was worth it! The day before yesterday I went into that furniture gallery on Östra Hamngatan. I pointed out exactly what I wanted. Some of it wasn’t in stock, so I took the display items. The dining room table and one of the sofas. ‘I need it delivered Friday evening at the latest,’ I said. It cost quite a bit, the whole thing. But it’s worth every öre! I donated the old furniture to the City Mission. They came and got it yesterday. May I offer you a glass of something? No, I suppose not.”
He looked disappointed, not unlike a pug dog that has his heart set on a treat but doesn’t get it.
“We’re not allowed to drink on duty,” said Irene.
“But it’s seven o’clock on a Friday night!”
“And I’m on duty.”
“Oh.”
“Naturally, that’s why I’m here. But I would like to congratulate you on the new furniture. And wish you all the best in your new life together with Gunnel.”
Valle lit up again. “A thousand thanks! You’re the first to know. No one else knows yet. Sylvia was here and asked whether I was moving, but I evaded the question. She’ll really love hearing my news! And my son doesn’t care. Gunnel and I are getting engaged here secretly tomorrow night. It feels best that way, thinking of Richard. And we’re getting married at Easter!”
Happiness shimmered from his round figure. Irene decided that it was time to get to the reason for her visit. She cleared her throat and said, “I would like to ask a few questions concerning last Tuesday. We received information that when the two of you took a taxi home from lunch at Johanneshus, you didn’t take the direct route. Richard von Knecht stopped at the SE-Bank on Kapellplatsen around four o’clock and withdrew a large amount of cash.”
Valle raised his eyebrows. “Indeed?” He gave her a friendly squint and seemed to be waiting for her to continue.
“Do you recall that he went into the bank?”
“Recall? I always sleep in the cab on the way home! Always! Richard wakes me when we stop here at the front door. Or used to wake me . . .” His cheerful voice became subdued and sorrow was clearly evident in those last words.
To clarify, Irene went on, “So on the Tuesday afternoon in question you were asleep the whole time in the cab until it was time to get out?”
“Yes. I must have gone to sleep almost instantly. I was asleep until Richard woke me. As usual.”
“Do you recall if he was carrying anything in his hand?”
Valle really made an effort. Irene was struck by his resemblance to a worried seal. He squinted his eyes and concentrated.
“I think he was . . . as a matter of fact. A small white object in one hand. A bag. Did he take out the money in a paper bag?”
“No. He went into the bakery next to the bank and bought two sandwiches.”
“That could be right. He and Sylvia often did that on Tuesdays. Just had a sandwich for dinner. We always ate a substantial lunch, and then Richard had to deal with Sylvia’s starvation diets again. She wanted to be as slim as a ballerina. Poor Richard almost starved to death!”
From what Irene could remember, there hadn’t been anything in the autopsy report about severe undernourishment, but she decided to change the subject.
“Did he say anything to you about the money? It was quite a large sum, ten thousand kronor.”
“He probably wanted to buy something. Clothing, perhaps.”
Valle sounded uninterested. Evidently he didn’t think it was a large sum. Irene suspected that the easy chair he was sitting in cost more than that.
“Did he usually take out cash when he was going to make a purchase?”
Valle thought about it with renewed interest.
“No, he always used a credit card. He didn’t like carrying cash. He said you shouldn’t have any, in case you’re robbed. You never know these days, with all the skinheads and drug addicts.”
For a second her daughter’s bald pate swam before Irene’s eyes, but she pushed away the image. She motioned toward the monster painting and asked, “Did Henrik help you acquire all these fine paintings?”
“Yes. A fine boy. Talented and competent. He also purchased the rugs. And the crystal chandelier.”
He pointed at the painting with the blue-headed monster and went on, “He arranged the contact with Bengt Lindström, a noted Swedish painter in Paris. This is his portrait of me. I had him do Richard too—from a photograph—for his sixtieth birthday. Richard was overjoyed! Said it was the gift he valued most. But of course Sylvia didn’t like it! She said that they had enough Bengt Lindström. She was mad because he liked the painting.”
To her own astonishment Irene suddenly saw that it really was Valle Reuter in the painting. His expression of a jovial seal was right on the mark. The blue seal had a crimson-red glint in his left eye that clearly said, Be careful you don’t underestimate me!
Since they so opportunely had begun to talk about Henrik, Irene decided to pursue the subject and pump Valle. In a tone of friendly interest she asked, “What did Richard think about his son’s choice of profession?”
“Well, he was extremely disappointed after Henrik’s illness. Probably thought he would continue in the financial world. Just as I thought about my son. Or more correctly, Leila’s son.”
His face clouded over and Irene sensed a trauma that she ought to avoid getting into. She swiftly said, “But Henrik went his own way, as we know. From what I understand, he stays up at his house in Marstrand most of the time, doesn’t he?”
“Yes, that was the house that brought him back to life. He was apathetic and depressed after his illness. Had to fight to become reasonably healthy again. He was unhappy. But then Richard decided to build a guest cabin down by the water at their country place, and Henrik asked if he could have his own cabin. I assume he probably wanted to be left in peace. The two houses were built at the same time. Henrik was full of energy. He was with the workmen from the first dynamite blast to the last roofing tile! It did him good, both physically and mentally. Doing manual labor.”
“Dynamite blast?”
“Yes, quite a bit had to be blasted out there on the rocks by the sea. For the building site. Henrik thought it was fun. He used to be a commando, you know. They learn a lot about explosives. Good grief, my throat is getting so dry with all this talk! Shall we have a little glass after all?”
She declined, friendly yet firm, as her brain worked in high gear. Henrik had both access to explosives and the knowledge to handle them. They had to go up to Marstrand and search for plastique explosive and detonators. And the det cord. Proof! That would be tangible evidence. Although there might not be any left. Maybe he used all of it for the devil bomb and Bobo’s briefcase. She suddenly realized that Valle had started talking again.
“. . . extremely lovely up there. But Charlotte doesn’t like it. She thinks it’s too isolated. At first she went up there often. But not so much lately.”
“How was Richard’s relationship with Charlotte?”
“Good. He didn’t talk about her very often. Although he thought it was a shame that they couldn’t have children.”
Crash! The whole roof fell in on Irene’s head. Mentally, at least. Without betraying her inner excitement she asked in a neutral voice, “Can’t she have children?”
“It’s Henrik who can’t have children after his illness. He was tested several times, but he had no viable sperm. Richard told me the boy is totally sterile.”
“Did Charlotte know about this when they got married?”
“Yes. But she didn’t think it mattered. She didn’t want to have children, probably didn’t want to ruin her figure. If you’re a photo model, you have to think about your appearance. Really a very beautiful girl.”
“Did Richard also think she was beautiful? I mean, did he ever mention it?”
Valle gave her a surprised look. “Yes, I suppose any man can see that. Most normally constituted men probably consider Charlotte to be tremendously beautiful,” he said with emphasis.
“He never talked to you about his relationship with his daughter-in-law?”
Now Valle looked annoyed. “Since he seldom talked about her, it must have been fine! What does Charlotte have to do with Richard’s murder?”
Valle and Richard had been very close, had known each other for years. But clearly Richard had never mentioned to Valle any intimate relationship between him and Charlotte. Irene decided to drop the subject.
“You don’t happen to know what taxi company you took home from Johanneshus, do you?”
“But of course! We always use the same company, Richard and I. The only company in the downtown area with nothing but Mercedes cabs. A small firm, but they operate twenty-four hours a day. Wait, I’ll get you the number.”
He toddled off toward a door that led into a den. A window lamp with a flower-shaped glass shade shone faintly over a large, bare desk of dark, polished wood. The light reflected in glass doors and shiny leather. The reading chairs resembled those in von Knecht’s library. For a second Irene felt a longing to take a book from the shelves and sink down into one of the chairs. Just let herself be surrounded by its substantial leather embrace.
“Here it is!” Valle waved a slip of paper. He copied the number onto another piece of paper and came back into the living room.
“I always keep their card in my wallet too. It’s good to have it along. This company has excellent drivers. Helpful and friendly.”
Irene suspected that Valle was generous with his tips when he was in his cups, which would certainly be a contributing factor to the driver’s helpfulness. But she kept this thought to herself. She stood up and thanked Valle for his kindness.
“Oh, think nothing of it! If I can assist in catching the person who murdered my friend, I am at your service,” he said solemnly.
A little more of this attitude among those involved in this case and it would have been solved. Which made her wonder how the conversation at Sylvia’s was going.
“SHE WENT nuts when I asked about the sandwiches. She screamed at us to stop badgering her. She certainly shut up when Hannu said something to her in Finnish just as we were leaving. What did you say?”
There was a little tug at one corner of Hannu’s mouth as he hissed in a muffled voice, “This is about a murder investigation!”
Tommy laughed and turned to Irene, who was driving. “The conversation with Sylvia that preceded this didn’t produce much. She wouldn’t let us talk to her sister or mother. She told us that she had been up at Marstrand today. A horse had come down with bronchitis and a cough. But the vet had given it penicillin, so it would probably be fine. That was all the information we got. Otherwise she just grumbled. But she said something in Finnish to Arja just as we came in the door. Did you hear what she said, Hannu?”
“Yes. ‘Not a word about the party.’”
“‘Not a word about the party.’ Are you sure about that?”
“Yes, I am.”
“What party? She couldn’t have meant the funeral, could she?”
Irene had an idea just as she turned into the parking lot at headquarters. She said, “Could it have been the celebration of their anniversary? Or the ‘Thirty Years’ War,’ as someone referred to it during the course of the investigation.”
Tommy pondered out loud as she was parking. “None of them who were there said that anything special happened. They agree that it was an enjoyable party. Only Charlotte and Henrik seemed subdued, according to one account.”
“No wonder! She’s been knocked up by someone other than her husband. Maybe even by her father-in-law. And Henrik has just primed a bomb to send his father to kingdom come! No wonder they were subdued!”
Hannu put in, “Tense. Not subdued. Tense.”
It took her a second to realize what he meant. The engine was turned off, but they were still sitting in the car. She nodded. “Not subdued. Tense. Precisely. Henrik was nervous that something would go wrong with the bomb. And Charlotte had other things on her mind. Plans to take the life of her father-in-law, her lover, her child’s father? What was his relationship to her?”
Tommy sighed and threw up his hands. “It’s all circumstantial! We need proof! Proof!”
THE SUPERINTENDENT had driven home, simmering with fever. The three inspectors sat down and went over what the day had produced. On Andersson’s desk was a fax from the lab. The techs reported that the pipes in the cellar on Berzeliigatan had been located and “in all probability match the pipes that were used in the fabrication of the bombs in question. Additional tests for positive verification are ongoing.” They called the techs to ask about the sandwiches in von Knecht’s refrigerator, but no one answered. So they sent a fax too: “Definite information received that Richard von Knecht bought two ready-made sandwiches an hour and a half before his death. Did you see these sandwiches in the refrigerator? If so, were any of you hungry?”
Irene called the cab company. After lengthy explanations and fuss it came out that the driver they were looking for was on vacation. He was probably at his summer cabin in Bengtsfors. No, there was no telephone. But they could have the number of his apartment in town. Irene thanked them and hung up. As she had expected, she got no answer at the driver’s home number. She turned to her two colleagues and said, “Let’s go home now. I’ll take the number with me and try to get hold of the taxi guy over the weekend. Although tomorrow morning I’ll be downtown with the twins. It’s a tradition. We’re going to look at the Christmas decorations. I promised to go with them. I thought they were too old to want to take their old mother along. But they actually asked me to come with them.”
Inside she felt both happy and flattered.