Involuntarily Andersson’s whole face took on a disapproving expression. Irene knew why. Then he would have to contact the prosecutor in charge, Inez Collin. But he had to relinquish his personal distaste. He nodded.
“Okay. Hang on a minute, and I’ll try to fix one,” he said.
Tommy looked surprised and asked, “Why does Torsson have to be brought in so soon?”
“Assault and battery on a civil servant. He voiced a serious threat to Birgitta. I would feel better if I had some hold over little Bobo. And for him to know it. Remember, Shorty is his cousin. There’s a risk he’ll send some of his friends. There’s always some creep who owes a guy like that a favor. Why not take on the pleasure of beating up a cop? Especially a female one!”
His facial color had risen and he looked very serious. He gazed meditatively at his inspectors and went on, “One of you has to go on the patrol that picks up Torsson. Even if you don’t find him at the apartment, you can always get a sense of the lay of the land. Tommy, will you take it?”
“Yep.”
“Remember to proceed cautiously. Shorty has shot at cops before.”
Irene couldn’t help asking, “Why is one of society’s worst enemies set up in a little tobacco shop?”
“A legitimate question; unfortunately, I don’t have a good answer. But mark my words: If he’s on the scene, something fishy is going on!”
The superintendent looked very stern and determined. No one contradicted him.
WHEN THE others had left the room, Irene started to look for the phone number to Marstrand. She managed to find the number of the caretaker, just as Jonny Blom had.
A female voice answered. “Svensson.”
“Good day, this is Detective Inspector Irene Huss. I’m actually looking for Sylvia von Knecht. Can you connect me?”
“I can take a message. She and my husband are out exercising the horses right now. They won’t be back for at least an hour.”
“Would it be possible to talk to Henrik von Knecht?”
“Unfortunately, I can only switch the call to the big house. The smaller houses don’t have phone lines.”
“Do you happen to have his cell phone number?”
“No, sorry.”
In a friendly voice the caretaker’s wife promised to give the message to Fru von Knecht.
Annoyed, Irene slammed down the receiver. Strangely enough, Henrik’s cell phone number wasn’t in the phone book either. Lacking anything better to do, she got started on all the material lying on her desk. She zealously sorted, wrote reports, and filed various witness statements. She jumped in her chair when the phone rang. With a quick glance at the clock, she saw that almost two hours had passed since she started looking for Sylvia.
“Inspector Irene Huss.”
“Sylvia von Knecht. Anita Svensson said you had asked for me. What is it regarding?”
Irene could hear from her voice that it would be fine to skip the pleasantries and chitchat. She assumed an authoritative tone. “We have indications that there seems to have been a fourth set of keys. Do you know anything about this?”
“No, I already told you! There are no other sets of keys except for the three I showed you.”
Irene chose her words with some care before she went on. “We have reason to believe that there are. And that the murderer has access to these keys. Plus the spare keys to the garage and the Porsche.”
There was a long pause. Irene could hear that Sylvia was breathing fast on the other end of the line. Finally she said, still in a dismissive tone, “What makes you think there are more keys?”
Irene referred to the statement that the Porsche had been seen on Berzeliigatan on Friday night. Sylvia herself had stated that it couldn’t possibly have been Richard who was driving. So someone had keys to both the garage on Molinsgatan and to the car. This someone also had access to keys to the locked street doors, both on Molinsgatan and Berzeliigatan. The garbage room doors and the doors onto the courtyard were locked in both neighborhoods. Despite this the murderer had passed unhindered through these doors and stairways. So there had to be additional keys. In conclusion Irene said, “I want to remind you that you said there were keys on your own and Richard’s key rings that fit the house outside Marstrand. Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
Her voice sounded thin and afraid. She had grasped what Irene was getting at. Shakily Sylvia said, “You mean that the murderer might be able to come here! And would be able to get in, because he has the keys?”
Now the panic in her voice was blatant. Irene assumed a soothing tone when she replied, “From what we can tell, there is some risk of that. It can’t be ruled out. Are you alone in the big house?”
“Yes. Henrik is down in his cabin.”
“Can you ask him to sleep in the house with you tonight? Or can you stay down there with him?”
There was a long silence. Finally she heard Sylvia’s voice, sounding much steadier and stronger. “I’ll take care of the horses up here. Then I’ll drive to a friend’s house. Henrik can drive home to his own place; the murderer wouldn’t have any of his keys, would he?”
“Probably not. Can you tell me where you’re going?”
“I can’t see that it’s any of your business!”
The familiar feeling that arose whenever Irene talked to Sylvia now reappeared. Her patience ran out and the adrenaline started pumping in her arteries. Softly and pedagogically, as if she were dealing with an unruly child, she said, “Sylvia, we suspect a dangerous killer is behind the events of the past few days. Try to understand that we’re not snooping into your private life. We’re trying to protect you.”
“Then catch the murderer!”
Astonishment changed to anger as Irene sat staring stupidly at the receiver. God damned bitch, didn’t she realize! Irene stopped her angry torrent of words. An idea popped up in the back of her mind. She picked it out, scrutinized it, and gave it her approval. Decisively she stood up and went in to see the superintendent.
“IT’S ACTUALLY not such a dumb idea. Go ahead. If anything comes of it, call me. I’ll probably be here until six. Otherwise I’ll be home all evening. Tomorrow I thought I’d try to get home a little earlier. I’m going to dinner at my niece’s place-Marianne, you know.”
Irene nodded. She was well aware of Marianne and her two small boys, even though they had never met.
“Have they found Torsson yet?”
“No. He’s gone underground; he must know that things are getting hot. You can’t just bite a police officer with impunity on the ti. . on the breast!”
Irene managed to conceal her smile in a light cough. The superintendent, struck by newly acquired respect for the fair sex, was amusing.
It was just before noon, no time to lose. Her lunch would have to be a hot dog on the way.
HIGHWAY E6 is almost ten kilometers longer, but it’s faster than driving on narrow city streets. The wind was blowing; gray clouds had drawn the damp hems of their skirts low over Hisingen. Traffic was heavy. Apparently all the residents of the suburbs were headed for Goteborg to shop, look at the Christmas displays, and eat hamburgers with their kids at McDonald’s. Suddenly Irene realized how hungry she was. She braked quickly at the first gas station that had a hot dog stand. But it wasn’t easy to eat while she was driving. The last bit of sausage slipped out of the bun and landed in her lap. The mustard showed up well on black jeans. She borrowed some words from her boss’s vocabulary. She almost missed the exit north of Kungalv, but at the last moment saw it and turned off.
The road out toward Marstrand is extremely beautiful, and she usually gave it the attention it deserved. On this gray November day, though, she was focused on driving as fast as she could while she kept an eye out for her colleagues from the Traffic Division.
She had memorized the route before she left Goteborg. Holta Church flashed by. She knew that there would soon be a side road and that she should take it toward Tjuvkil. Then she was no longer sure, so she pulled off the road and took out the map.
