to visit the beautiful Fru von Knecht. For his own part it was out of the question, for several reasons. But he could always dream. And enviously keep an eye on those granted access to the beauty.
Irene clarified her question. “Have there been different gentlemen, or perhaps one special gentleman?”
The well-meaning neighbor began to have a vague sense that he was being subjected to a regular questioning, but it was too late to retreat. Once you’ve said A, you have to say B. Self-consciously he stood digging the toe of his worn-out loafer into the soft lawn and muttering indistinctly.
Quickly Irene said, “Excuse me, I didn’t hear you.”
He gave up and puffed, “There used to be various cars that picked her up. Sometimes they stayed overnight. But not very often.”
“How often?”
“Well, maybe ten times.”
If he said ten times, then it was ten. He probably kept track.
“There used to be, you said. Have things been different recently?”
Embarrassed, he twisted his voluminous body before he answered. “Well, yes. Early last fall a red Porsche would come to pick her up. The first few times we didn’t think so much of it, because it was her father-in-law coming to pick her up. We recognized him from the newspapers. But one night he. . spent the night.”
“When was that?”
“At the end of August, maybe early September. It doesn’t have to mean anything. . inappropriate. We knew that it was him, Richard von Knecht, and he was her father-in-law, after all. But you start to wonder. . He always came when his son, Henrik, wasn’t home. And he’s basically never home. But we’ve never seen the mother-in-law there.”
They thanked him for his valuable information and said that they would be in touch to go over things in more detail. As he was about to return to his own house, he suddenly put his chubby hand on Irene’s arm. Embarrassed, he said, “Well. . excuse me for pointing my rifle at you. . but it’s not loaded. I couldn’t find the ammunition. But that wasn’t. . Do you have to tell Fru von Knecht that I was the one who told you this?”
Despite the freezing weather, his forehead was covered by a thin layer of sweat. Irene gave him a few calming pats on the hand, which she hoped would instill trust in him and said in her best official police voice, “Not unless it turns out to be of crucial importance for the investigation. At this point it’s just one of many leads. If necessary, you may be called to testify in court. However, at present there is nothing to suggest it will be necessary. If it is, we’ll let you know in plenty of time.”
Statements that sound official always calm the public. They instill a feeling that the authorities have the situation under control. Which was hardly the case for the three inspectors at the moment. The whole investigation had been turned upside down!
After the neighbor had toddled back to his house, with the barrel of his rifle dragging through the wet lawn, Irene turned to the patrol officers and said, “Stefansson, you and I know each other well, don’t we?”
Hans Stefansson nodded, at the same time giving her a puzzled look.
“Under no circumstances, and I repeat, under
She held out her hand and they shook on it. Stefansson’s colleague was a young assistant and he didn’t seem to have understood a thing. But his expression was solemn and serious as he shook Irene’s hand.
The two officers took off in their car, and the three inspectors were left standing in the overgrown yard. They looked at each other but were unable to make real eye contact in the gathering dusk.
It was Tommy who broke the silence. “We have to talk. And eat! It’s almost three-thirty.”
“China House on Sodra Vagen?”
“Perfect.”
As if by mutual agreement they didn’t say a word during the ten-minute ride.
Chapter Seventeen
THEY WERE THE ONLY customers in the Chinese restaurant, but still picked a booth at the back. They selected “Four Small Dishes” and a large light beer each. Within a few minutes the food arrived. They didn’t start talking until they could see the bottom of their bowls.
Irene began, “Henrik and Charlotte are probably the ones we need to talk to right away, not Sylvia. But it will be difficult, since we only have hearsay to go on.”
Fredrik quickly broke in, “I think that guy Henrik is shady! I’d put money on it that he’s the bomber! He could have easily arranged to get the keys to the garage and the Porsche, and he owns a big, light-colored car with dark windows. He also keeps plastic gas cans in his garage.”
Tommy nodded and said, “I agree with you. There’s a lot pointing to Henrik as the bomber. But why? Why try to blow up your own father? Why would he lure Pirjo over to trip the bomb? And why blow Bobo Torsson sky- high?”
Irene eagerly waved her hands to emphasize her theory. “I think the easiest question to answer is why he lured Pirjo to Berzeliigatan. Everything was turning to shit for him. If he’s the bomber, that is.”
“To shit?”
“Yes. Remember that the bomb was made almost four days before Richard was murdered. If he hadn’t gotten a cold he would have gone down to his office on Monday. But he didn’t. And not on Tuesday either. On Tuesday evening he was murdered. We know that Henrik couldn’t have committed that murder, since he and Sylvia were down on the street when he fell. But Henrik knows that there’s a devil bomb down on Berzeliigatan. It will kill whoever opens the door first. Who is most likely to be that first person?”
He looked at his two colleagues. They were both pictures of total concentration. Tommy answered after a moment, “Sylvia von Knecht. It would obviously be Sylvia, who would go there to inspect her inheritance.”
“Exactly! And Sylvia von Knecht is probably the last person in the world that Henrik would want to kill. As I said before, it was too bad that there wasn’t a back entrance to the apartment. Then he could have gone in the back way and disarmed the bomb. Evidently he didn’t dare even open the door a crack to unhook the wire to the detonator. So instead he chose to sacrifice an unimportant louse. Pirjo.”
Fredrik got excited and leaned over the table, without noticing that he had put his elbow in a bowl with leftover sweet-and-sour sauce. Agitated, he said, “This fits with everything we found out today! Henrik von Knecht knows Pirjo’s hours and knows that she won’t be allowed in by the guys from the lab. So he shadows her and drives up when she’s standing there waiting for the streetcar. Hold on a minute. .”
He paused to wipe the sauce off his elbow. Absentmindedly he rubbed at the spot on his sweater. Irene was about to tell him to go out to the toilet and rinse out the spot properly. But she managed to stop herself. With his gaze fixed on a far corner of the room Fredrik continued, “How could Henrik von Knecht know that Pirjo was at Molinsgatan? The whole city, except Pirjo, knew that the guy was dead! Wouldn’t it be more logical to assume that she knew he had fallen from the balcony? If so she would have stayed home.”
Both Irene and Tommy nodded. Irene said firmly, “We have to go downtown and talk to the superintendent. It’s probably Henrik we should be watching, not Shorty. Maybe we can get the Narcs to take over the stakeout.”
She didn’t pin great hope on her last remark, but it never hurt to ask. She continued, turning to Fredrik, “Have you guys made up a stakeout schedule for watching Shorty?”
“Yes. Birgitta is there now, until six. Hans Borg takes over and then I arrive at midnight. Jonny is taking Saturday morning. And so on.”
“There wouldn’t be anything wrong with us moving this stakeout to Marstrand, would there? According to
