theory about the murderer taking a shortcut through the woods.
“The first hundred and fifty meters from the cottage are a bit tricky, but then you come to an area that has been cleared for power lines. It goes straight as an arrow toward Kullahult. In some places the power line goes over meadows and fields, but it never gets close to any houses, until you’re almost at Kullahult. It wouldn’t have been hard to sneak up to the rectory on foot.”
Fredrik looked up from the map pages in order to make sure they were following along. Irene, Hannu, and Superintendent Andersson were sitting around the table, and they were paying careful attention. Encouraged, he continued. “The power lines continue across the large field that lies behind the rectory. If you go through that field, you come to the back of the church hill. There aren’t any houses until here, on the other side, where the farm that owns the field is located. It’s too far away for the people at the farm to be able to see if someone is moving near the church.”
“So you can use a flashlight without any great risk of being seen,” Hannu said.
“Absolutely. But in order to be on the safe side, you can keep to the edge of the field. I went out there last night around eleven and checked. I had no problem making my way without a flashlight by walking along the edge of the woods. The forest stretches all the way to the church hill, and then a stone wall takes over. If you continue along it, you come to the spruce hedge behind the rectory. And that’s when I did what Irene’s dog does.”
Fredrik paused for dramatic effect and smiled.
“What the hell does Irene’s dog do?” the superintendent asked, irritated.
“Follow the animals. And I followed the deer. They’ve actually made a passage through the spruce hedge. The fat tulips in the garden lure them. The opening was a tight fit for me, but it’s possible to push your way through. I can guarantee that the murderer went that way.”
The triumph in his voice couldn’t be missed. The others sat quietly because this was Fredrik’s performance, and he was playing it for all he was worth.
“I found a footprint and a red woolen thread inside the passage. I called the technicians before I pushed through the opening. They took care of the yarn and made a cast of a shoeprint. This morning I talked to Ahlen. They say that the yarn piece is the same type as the two that Irene and I found. My theory about the tasseled murderer still holds.”
Irene giggled but realized right away that she was the only one amused. Hannu and the superintendent were completely absorbed. Knowing that he had his listeners’ full attention, Fredrik continued. “The shoeprint was perfect; the rain hadn’t gotten at it. The print came from a sturdy Adidas athletic shoe, size 11. According to Ahlen, it’s a winter model, almost like a boot.”
“Gore-Tex,” said Hannu.
“Probably. Light, warm, and waterproof. The technicians are in the process of trying to find out exactly what kind of shoe made the print. It shouldn’t be impossible.”
“So we’re still looking for a short guy with a tasseled hat who has big feet on which he wore Gore-Tex boots. He shouldn’t be difficult to get ahold of,” Irene said.
In her mind, she could see the little man in a tasseled hat fighting his way through the woods, stumbling in his large boots. A second later, when she remembered what he had done to his victims, he didn’t seem as comical any more.
“I also timed how long it took to go between the crime scenes. One hour and five minutes,” Fredrik concluded.
Irene told them about Urban Berg’s visit, and Hannu promised to check to see if there was any foundation for the accusations against Louise Maardh. Covering up embezzlement could be a motive for murder. It would have had to be a great deal of money, thought Irene.
Chapter 12
IT WAS QUIET AT Landvetter Airport at six fifteen in the morning. Irene had checked her small suitcase and stumbled, half asleep, toward the open cafe.
“Small cup, or large?” the smiling girl behind the counter chirped.
“Bucket,” Irene croaked.
Her sunny smile unchanged, the girl turned and took out a ceramic soup bowl. She filled it two thirds of the way.
“Milk or cream? I can steam the milk if you want.”
Irene felt a warm thankfulness over meeting a fellow human being who really understood her basic early- morning need.
“No, thanks. Just black.”
Irene attempted a smile, but felt it was too great an effort: Her facial muscles weren’t awake yet. She was moved when the girl behind the counter placed a napkin and an After Eight chocolate on her tray. It made her realize that she must look like the wreck she felt.
After finishing her bowl of coffee, Irene was ready for shopping. She went to the perfume store and starting selecting items for herself and for the twins, based on the list they had given her. Pretty soon, she realized that maybe ten percent of the basket’s contents were hers; the rest was for the girls.
THE PLANE landed at Heathrow after barely two hours in the air. Hail splattered against the body of the aircraft, then turned into a light drizzle as the passengers were leaving the plane and wandering down the stairs. It was windy, damp, and raw.
Several people were waiting holding up cardboard signs outside Customs. One of them had “Ms. Irene Huss” on it. Irene realized this must be Inspector Glen Thompson. Her surprise must have been obvious, because Glen Thompson broke into a wide smile and then laughed.
“Welcome to London. I’m Glen Thompson.”
His white teeth shone against dark skin. His hair was a shiny black, short and curly. He was slightly taller than Irene and a few years younger.
He held out his hand to greet her, and Irene managed to get her act together and squeak out her name.
Glen Thompson took her bag and said, “I think we’ll go to the hotel first.”
Outside the airport terminal, a pale sun now shone between the clouds.
“You have April weather,” Irene commented.
Thompson flashed his teeth in a quick smile and nodded. He walked up to a black Rover and unlocked it, then politely held open the door on the passenger’s side for Irene and threw her bag onto the back seat.
“We’ve had fantastic weather the last two weeks, then yesterday it turned. It rained all day. But it’s going to be better today.”
Irene couldn’t hear the slightest bit of an accent when he spoke. If he hadn’t been born in England, then he must have grown up here, she thought.
They drove past budding trees and greening fields. The cherry trees, too, were blooming, a month earlier than in Goteborg. When they drew closer to London and the first block of houses popped up, she saw yellow forsythia and magnolias in bud.
Traffic became thicker the closer to London they came. And everyone drove on the wrong side! Irene thanked her lucky stars that she didn’t have to drive. Glen Thompson didn’t seem to have any problems with the traffic. When Irene admitted that it was the first time she had been to London, he immediately said, “Then we’ll take a longer route so I have an opportunity to show you the main streets. It’s easier to orient oneself using them. And you’ll want to walk around on your own without getting lost.”
He talked and pointed out sights worth seeing without seeming to give his fellow road users the slightest bit of attention.
“I’ve booked you in at my sister’s hotel. Our father started it after the war. He was Scottish and married late in life. My mother was in London with a Brazilian dance group and stayed on after she met the old man. He died a few years ago, and then my mother opened this restaurant a few blocks from the hotel. The restaurant was a childhood dream-look, there’s the Marble Arch, and on the left side you have Hyde Park-and she manages
