Reluctantly Sylvia gave her the number. Irene wrote it down on a slip of paper and handed it to Hannu. With a nod he disappeared down the corridor.
Only then did Sylvia mention the fire the night before. “So odd that the building on Berzeliigatan would burn down the day after Richard’s death. But it’s an old building, of course. There was probably a short circuit in the wiring. They had started tearing up the top floor. It was going to be a studio. I hope he had adequate insurance on his computers. I know the building was insured,” she said.
Irene asked carefully, “Did he have any employees at his office?”
“No,” Sylvia replied quickly. “He watched the whole world’s stock exchanges on his computer screens. He didn’t need a secretary to do that. His broker takes care of all the daily business with the stock trades. Richard was only there a few days a week.”
Sylvia agreed to meet Irene at ten.
With a sigh Irene looked at the pile of gossip magazine faxes awaiting her. Procrastinating a bit, she called Henrik von Knecht and set a time to meet him. He would come down to HQ after one o’clock.
ANDERSSON FOLLOWED Birgitta Moberg into her office. Waldemar Reuter hadn’t shown up yet, but it was only five past eight. Andersson liked working with Birgitta. She was quick witted, alert, young, and pretty. There was only one problem. She made the superintendent feel old and a little clumsy. She was in the swing of things, went out with friends, traveled abroad, and skied in the winter. She also had a scuba diving certificate and often went to the Red Sea or the Mediterranean.
Bosses were supposed to show interest in their subordinates; that’s what they had said at the last manager development course, so Andersson began by asking, “Will you be diving in the Red Sea or skiing in the Alps this spring?”
“Neither, I’m afraid. I’m trying to save money. No vacations until next fall. Then I’m going to Australia for at least two months. Pack everything in a rucksack and bum around.”
“By yourself?”
He felt foolish after he said it, but it was his spontaneous reaction.
She gave him an easy smile. “Of course. Guys just slow you down. If you take a guy along, you always have to worry about his needs. No, I want to experience things and be open to everything.”
“Isn’t it dangerous for a single woman to travel alone like that?”
Birgitta laughed. “As you know, it can be dangerous to go out on your balcony!”
Would he dare venture into the Australian outback? Never! Sleep under the stars with nocturnal predators stalking around? Snakes and spiders? He shuddered. And felt about as old as Methuselah.
“A trip like that must cost a lot of money. How do you manage to save up that much?”
“I have a cheap studio apartment out in Hogsbo. My car is twelve years old and I repair and maintain it myself. But my seed money was actually a small inheritance from my grandmother.”
There was a noise at the door, and Waldemar Reuter made his entrance. He waved at someone out in the corridor. Both detectives noticed that he was slurring his words when he said, “A thousand thanks, my dear lady. It was kind of you to escort me through the labyrinth of Goteborg Police Headquarters.”
With a small lurch he turned around and fixed his bloodshot eyes on Birgitta. “Oh, good morning! Beauties abound in this building!”
He made a deep bow and belched audibly. His breath, which spread through the room, could have been sliced up and sold as well-aged Stilton. Reuter wasn’t hung over, but he would be in a few hours. His round head seemed to be fastened directly to his globular body, without any neck visible in between. He actually appeared to be as wide as he was tall. His arms seemed to stick straight out from his body, but his attempt to keep his balance by using them as stabilizers may have contributed to this impression. His legs were short. His feet, clad in expensive shoes, were surprisingly small. He had a Burberry trench coat over one arm, which flapped and waved in the air when he flailed his arms. His suit was dark blue, made of a soft wool fabric with discreet shiny piping. For some reason his tie was draped under his lapel and not around the collar of his shirt. But at least he still had it on.
Birgitta grimaced with disgust behind Reuter’s inclined back, but when he straightened up she flashed him a dazzling smile, asked him to take a seat in the visitor’s chair, and introduced herself and the superintendent.
Waldemar Reuter blurted out, “Oh, hell, there’s a guy in the room! I didn’t even see you!” He gave Andersson a moist handshake and winked mischievously, casting a roguish glance toward Birgitta.
Was it an advantage that he was drunk? Perhaps. The best tactic would be to let Birgitta handle the interview. Reuter clearly viewed her as a little cutie pie, not as a cop. Andersson tried to make himself invisible in his corner, which was entirely unnecessary. Reuter had already forgotten his existence.
Birgitta asked amiably, “Would you like some coffee, Herr Reuter?”
“Call me Valle, sweetie! Everyone calls me Valle!”
“Coffee?”
“Yes, please.”
Andersson was taken by surprise when Birgitta signaled to him to go get the coffee. But that was only proper. She was the one running the interview, after all. Though he did feel rather stupid as he walked over to the coffee vending machine. He bought three cups, which he regretted on his way back. It was hard to carry three at once.
Andersson set two of the cups on the desk. Valle Reuter was sobbing and took no notice of him. He crept back to his corner.
“. . my oldest friend. We had known each other forty-five years!”
Reuter wiped his nose on the checked lining of his coat. With a well-feigned expression of sympathy Birgitta handed him a tissue.
“We understand that you were at the party last Saturday. Their thirtieth anniversary.”
“But of course! Leila and I served as bridesmaid and groomsman at their wedding.”
“Leila?”
“My ex-wife. We divorced five years ago. She didn’t get a dime!”
Birgitta decided quickly to drop the subject of the ex-wife. Reuter’s voice had turned aggressive and hate- filled. With good humor she asked, “Was it a nice party?”
“Party? What party?”
“At the von Knechts’ last Saturday.”
“Ah, the party! Excellent fun! Wonderful food and superb wines. With the appetizer they served an interesting white from South Africa, of all places! Neil Ellis, Sauvignon Blanc. Dry and peppery, fresh and round. A long finish. Slight aroma of pissant and spice shop. Excellent with the salmon tartare!”
To the superintendent’s ears it sounded like total drivel, but since Birgitta seemed to be following it all right, he didn’t interrupt.
Reuter sank farther into the fog, chattering on. “With the main course they served a fantastic French wine. Thank God that Richard doesn’t subscribe to that boycott nonsense. A red, Bandol Cuvee Special ’ninety-two. A profound nose, concentrated, rich and fruity with a hint of licorice. The saddle of venison landed in good company, I must say.”
Andersson thought it sounded disgusting. Licorice in your red wine! On the other hand, he didn’t like red wine anyway. White once in a while, with shrimp. He preferred beer with a schnapps.
Birgitta asked, “Did you think Richard seemed the same as usual?”
“Absolutely! Happy and in high spirits, as always. We love parties, Richard and I. But now he won’t be going to any more parties. Richard …”
Again Birgitta had to come to the rescue with a tissue. Reuter blew his nose loudly and stared at her, red- eyed. He took a deep breath before he went on. “My dear, I beg your pardon. I’ve been drinking all night long. In memory of Richard. My friendship with Richard. He’s my best friend.”
“How did you remember you were supposed to come here?”
“Mats Tengman came and got me. I asked him to do it yesterday. After you called, dear. . what was your. . oh yes, Birgitta. He’s a fine boy, Mats Tengman. I handpicked him. My successor. My son is a doctor. He’s going to specialize in pharmaceuticals, because he wants to work with people, not for money, as he says. My whole staff is firstrate. If you only knew what fine employees I have.”
Another audible snort underlined his statement.
