Both Fredrik and Tommy looked astonished. They stared dumbly at the hose and suddenly Tommy lit up.
“Yep! You’re right. That’s it.”
Fredrik sighed, “I still think it’s a piece of hose.”
Both Irene and Tommy shook their heads and said at the same time, “It’s a siphon!”
Irene stepped over to the coiled-up water hose. The piece had come from it. The fresh cuts fit perfectly when she put them together. Her heart was pounding with excitement, a familiar reaction to a riddle that was nearing its solution.
“That’s it all right! This is what took time inside the garage. Our bomber cut off a piece of the hose and used it as a siphon, to transfer the gasoline from the metal can to the plastic can. Or the plastic cans, I mean,” she added.
Tommy nodded his agreement and said, “Yep! But it would take more gasoline. Do you think he took it out of the car gas tanks?”
They looked at the Porsche. The BMW had also been in here. That was quite a lot of gasoline. Irene looked at the Porsche a long time. Finally she said, “I think I know why he took the Porsche and not his own car.”
She took the car key, climbed into the soft driver’s seat, and turned the ignition. The engine turned over. Her heart was pounding again as she pointed at the instrument panel.
“Look. The tank is almost empty.”
“Shut it off so we don’t die of carbon monoxide poisoning!”
Coughing, Tommy opened the garage door. It was doubtful whether the air outside was much better, but at least it wasn’t as concentrated.
Feeling a pang of loss, Irene shut off the engine. It had purred as softly as a leopard. She sketched out her imagined scenario. “The bomb maker comes here after midnight. He knows that there’s gasoline in the can and in the cars. He has just filled up his own tank. Once he’s here, he discovers that the Porsche has almost no gas in the tank. It’s only enough for less than fifty kilometers. He drives the Porsche out onto the street and puts his own car in the garage, so he can siphon the gas into the plastic containers undisturbed. But he leaves enough in his car that he won’t risk running out on the way home. The oil spots in the Porsche probably come from the plastic containers he had set down on the floor in here. They got oily on bottom.”
Fredrik interrupted her. “Why didn’t he use his own car to drive down to Berzeliigatan?”
“Because he didn’t want his own car to be seen in the neighborhood at the time. It would be hard to explain what he was doing there in the middle of the night. Von Knecht’s own car would arouse some curiosity but not the same amount,” Irene said.
That sounded reasonable. Tommy nodded and took the piece of hose. “Let’s take this down to the lab, to confirm that gasoline actually ran through it. But take a whiff. It has definitely been used for gasoline. We’ll have to ask the techs to come out here and take a few samples of the oil spots on the floor-if they haven’t already-and compare them with the ones in the car,” he said firmly.
They went out and closed the squeaky door behind them. Tommy looked thoughtfully at the solid, gray- painted door.
“Imagine if we could get hold of a witness who saw them loading the gasoline cans into the Porsche! But no one has come forward. It must have happened while the witness on the third floor was putting his baby to bed and going to the john,” he sighed.
Irene patted him lightly on the arm. “Tommy, we’ve already seen plastic cans somewhere. Quite recently. In Henrik and Charlotte’s garage. Let’s swing by there and take a closer look. We’ll keep these keys and give them to the techs. I think it’s about time for another meeting with Sylvia von Knecht. Although I’m probably the last person on earth she wants to see. Things between us always seem to go a little off kilter somehow.”
Tommy smiled. “Maybe it’s time to call in some male expertise? Mine, that is.”
“What a good idea.”
THEY DROVE back out to Orgryte and went into Henrik von Knecht’s still-unlocked garage. The two plastic cans, marked DISTILLED WATER, were still in the corner. Irene unscrewed the lid and sniffed, but smelled only stagnant water. Tommy looked at them and said, “Ten-liter cans. Perfect for the purpose. Easy to carry. Five or six of them would be enough for the devil bomb. We’ll have to question young Herr von Knecht more closely about this. His wife is still away, isn’t she?”
All signs seem to indicate that that was the case. No one answered when they rang the doorbell. They started to go around the house, looking in windows. When Irene stood at the edge of an overgrown flower bed in the backyard, she could look right into the kitchen. The dirty dishes were gone. Everything was clean and orderly. Henrik would never dream that his wife had had a visit from a cowboy. On the other hand, he was going straight up to Marstrand, according to Charlotte. While she herself was going to a party at a friend’s house. .
Irene’s train of thought was interrupted by a gruff voice that shouted, “Don’t move, or I’ll shoot! The police have been called and will be here any minute!”
Startled, she turned toward the voice and stared straight into the barrel of a rifle. It trembled ominously in the hands of a fat, bald, elderly man.
THE THREE detective inspectors had almost managed to convince the armed man that they were actually police by the time the squad car arrived. The two officers came around the house with their weapons drawn. Fortunately one of them was Hans Stefansson. Or perhaps unfortunately, Irene wasn’t sure. She
The poor elderly gentleman was terribly embarrassed when he realized his mistake. He defended himself in a shrill voice. “You can’t be too careful these days. The wife saw some strange figures creeping around here and peeking into cars. A gang of burglars, that’s what I thought!”
Irene suspected that “the wife” was the woman behind the curtain who had spied on her and Tommy the day before.
There was no risk, since she knew he was in Stockholm. But the neighbor probably didn’t know that. He shook his spherical head and said indifferently, “Henrik von Knecht? He’s almost never home. For a while I thought he and his wife had gotten a divorce. But last week we saw him again.”
“We met with Charlotte von Knecht yesterday, but would like to get hold of her again. You understand. . everything has to be checked and double-checked in a homicide investigation.”
The neighbor nodded eagerly in agreement. But when he thought about it, he turned grumpy. This was an excellent opportunity to complain. “We don’t see much of the wife either. I mean. . she’s never out in the garden. Which really needs it! We always have to clean up the hedge between our properties. They never take care of their side. And I’m the one who has to clip it. Every year!”
“Don’t they have a gardener to take care of their side?”
“No, and you’d think they could afford it! But they expect me to take care of their part too!”
Irene clucked her tongue sympathetically and decided to approach the actual target. Evasively she said, “If her husband is away so much, does she have a lot of friends and relatives visiting?”
The reply was curt and quick. “No.”
There was something. Best to keep dangling the bait. She took a new tack. “But does she have parties occasionally? Otherwise she’d be pretty lonely in this big house, wouldn’t she?”
The neighbor looked uncertain, and Irene thought she sensed some reserve when he replied. “No, there haven’t been any parties all year. The house is empty most of the time. But sometimes she has had. . visitors.”
“Gentleman visitors?”
A light blush spread over the round cheeks and up toward his forehead. Probably about the person who had been standing behind the curtains and indignantly taking notice of these visits. Those lucky dogs who were allowed
