Andersson.
Irene thought of the little old lady with the dog.
“I spoke with the closest witness, an elderly lady with a dachshund. She was quite upset that von Knecht almost landed on her dog. But she didn’t mention any scream. Surely she would have said something if he’d screamed as he fell. But she was obviously in shock. I’m interviewing her tomorrow.”
“Okay. We’ll keep looking around.”
Tall built-in bookshelves dominated the library. They extended from floor to ceiling and had glass doors. The sofa group stood in the middle of the area. A smaller reading group in one corner consisted of a glass table and two wing chairs, in the same leather and design as the sofa group. There were no bookshelves around the big window or by the balcony door. Modern art hung on the walls instead. Below a brilliantly colored oil painting, depicting a green monster head with yellow eyes, stood the piece by Haupt. You could hardly call it a bureau; rather, it was a secretary on tall, ornate legs. Below the writing surface were three drawers in a row, and above it an elegant rolltop. It was a disappointment. The bureau in the hall was grander. But evidently that wasn’t what determined its value, as Irene gathered from Svante Malm’s reaction. On the other side of the window hung two paintings that even the superintendent’s untrained eye could tell were Picassos. There were clear signatures on each.
“Cubist style. I recognize it from the descriptions of paintings that were stolen from the Modern Museum in Stockholm. Nothing is where it should be. How do they expect you to see two eyes when the nose is in profile?” said Andersson.
He eyed both paintings critically. They were considerably smaller than the monster painting, but surely much more valuable.
“We’ll take a look around. And we won’t touch anything, and only use flashlights.”
This last he directed at Svante, whose face was again visible in the balcony doorway.
THEY WALKED toward the corridor on the upper floor where the other rooms were located. The first room proved to be the den, slightly smaller than an ordinary living room. In the beam of light they could see more bookshelves with books and binders, a small sofa group, a large desk, and a separate computer table.
Everything looked very clean and neat. Andersson’s flashlight stopped at a framed poster over the desk. It depicted a ballerina in a calf-length tulle dress. She had assumed a pose with one leg raised at an angle in front of her, and her arms and torso stretched forward. In large type the poster announced: THE NUTCRACKER. MUSIC BY TCHAIKOVSKY AND WITH ORIGINAL CHOREOGRAPHY BY L. IVANOV.
Surprised, Andersson said, “Did von Knecht like ballet?”
Curious, Irene stepped forward and read in the beam of her penlight: “JOIN US IN CELEBRATING THE NUTCRACKER’S 75TH ANNIVERSARY, 1892–1967, AT THE GRAND THEATER IN GOTEBORG. Yes indeed, obviously he was interested in ballet,” she declared.
“We’ll do a quick search through the apartment now. The techs will have all night to secure evidence. I’ll meet with them early tomorrow morning if they’ve found anything of value. . well, that’s a damned stupid thing to say in these surroundings!”
He snorted lightly and Irene felt her heart warm. He too was affected by the objects around them.
They left the den and went into the next room. It turned out to be the famous sauna, completely tiled from floor to ceiling. At the back of the room was a solid Plexiglas wall with a door, also of Plexiglas. Inside were benches at different levels, with a large sauna heating unit against one wall. Outside was a shower with glass walls and sliding doors. Two teak deck chairs with thick cushions and a small table made up the furnishings. There was a strong scent of eucalyptus. Irene shone her light in the shower and saw that the walls and floor were still wet.
“Nothing more of interest. Let’s move on to the next door,” said Andersson.
Behind it was a separate toilet with a large marble washbasin. The last door on the right side of the corridor led to the billiard room. A large billiard table occupied the middle of the room. On the walls the racks of cues were a nice counterpoint to the art.
They crossed the hallway and entered the largest bedroom either of them had ever set foot in. An extra-wide king-size bed with a yellow silk bedspread and heaps of pillows was the focus of the room. It was surrounded by shining wooden cabinets and chests of drawers; the walls were covered with paintings. Here you could actually see what the art was supposed to represent. Naked bodies, mostly female. There were also a few men pictured. Some of the paintings by the bed were downright pornographic, or perhaps erotic, since the copulating couples were partially clothed. What clothing they still had on was old-fashioned; the women wore corsets, crinolines, and bonnets. Irene inspected with interest some advanced lovemaking positions portrayed in a number of small Japanese prints. A door on the wall facing the wardrobes proved to conceal a large bathroom. The bathtub was a corner model, apparently the Jacuzzi that had been mentioned.
The superintendent stifled a yawn with the back of his hand and said, “It’s ten-thirty. We’ll have to settle for a quick once-over of the rest. By the way, did you notice one thing? Where are all the curious neighbors who should be running in and asking what happened? There are three other apartments in this building, after all.”
“I’ll do a quick round of knocking on doors.”
Huss left the von Knecht bedchamber.
She came back sooner than she expected. Andersson was surprised when he ran into her in the downstairs hall again.
“Not a single neighbor is home. It’s dark and quiet in all three apartments. And I rang the bells and knocked on the doors,” she assured him.
Andersson looked pensive.
“That explains the lack of curious neighbors. And it made things easier for the killer. Headquarters couldn’t get any of the neighbors on the phone either. By the way, I looked into the last room upstairs. A TV room. Nothing of interest. Just a bunch of pictures and a giant TV.”
He nodded toward the kitchen door.
“Let’s look it over.”
The kitchen was ultramodern, probably at least fifty square meters. In the middle of the room there was a huge cooking island with an enormous copper ventilation hood. The upper and lower cupboards had carved doors of red-toned cherry wood. On the floor a silk rug lay upon dark red-glazed parquet that gleamed. In front of the stove and around the kitchen island reddish brown tile had been laid. The walls were light colored, almost white. Beams ran across the ceiling, glazed the same color as the floor. Everything was clean and in immaculate order. The door of the dishwasher was ajar. Cautiously the superintendent poked the end of his flashlight inside and looked around.
“Dishes done. No dishes on the drainboard,” he declared.
“Sven, look above the counter,” said Irene. “There are kitchen implements hanging underneath the ventilator hood.”
Five centimeters above the edge of the hood ran a rod that was soldered fast. It had small hooks on it, and various kitchen implements hung on them. They didn’t see any meat cleaver. Andersson looked a little perplexed and asked, “What do you use a meat cleaver for?”
Irene was amazed that he didn’t know, but restrained herself.
“One side has a sharp edge for chopping off tendons and gristle. The wide, flat part you use to pound the meat to make it thinner and more tender. I wouldn’t think it would be used much these days. Usually meat is already cut up and tenderized when you buy it.”
“We’ll have to compare the wooden handle of the cleaver with the handles of the implements hanging here. It seems to be the same style. And here’s an empty hook,” said the superintendent.
“I get the feeling these are only for decoration. The tools don’t seem to have been used. I’ve certainly never seen a more virginal whisk! And look how the wooden handles match the cupboard doors exactly,” Irene snorted.
She pointed to a door on the far wall. “I wonder where that leads?”
“Looks like an ordinary door to the kitchen stairs. The techs will check it out tomorrow,” Andersson decided.
He stifled another yawn before he went on, “I think we’ve been pretty thorough even though it’s just the preliminary survey. Anything we’ve forgotten?”
Irene understood that the superintendent’s question was rhetorical, but that door was bothering her. An
