“Precisely. We know that because we’ve already checked it out. But Bobo didn’t know that. And we know how Henrik pulled it off. Paul didn’t have much more to offer. He got sick last night, and the doctor’s been looking in on him regularly. He got an injection and went to sleep. He hadn’t slept since we nabbed him on Saturday. Why don’t we get a cup of coffee before we continue?”
“Continue? Is there more?”
“You bet! There’s plenty more.”
They had to settle for coffee from the vending machine. Since both of them were caffeine addicts, taste played a minor role. It was possible to get used to almost anything. Andersson stopped by the toilet. From out in the corridor she could hear him blowing his nose.
Back in the office he pulled out the top desk drawer and took out a little tape recorder. With a satisfied smile he said, “Yesterday’s interrogation of Shorty. I went to see him right after my talk with Paul Svensson. The strategy was the same. Play them off against each other and get them confused. And I took along an envelope with one of the photographs from the safe.”
He began fiddling with the buttons on the tape recorder. His contented smile turned into an angry grimace. Half-stifled oaths and groans filled the air before he finally succeeded in pushing the right button. The superintendent’s voice was heard saying, “. . a good deal now. Paul Svensson has talked. We know that you and Bobo were planning to extort five hundred thousand from Henrik von Knecht so you could buy smack from the Hell’s Angels. We know that there was a bomb in the briefcase instead of money. We know that’s why you pounded the life out of Henrik on Sunday, as revenge for killing Bobo.”
Silence. After a while there was a dull muttering, “Fucking idiot.”
“Svensson denies that he or anyone in the Hell’s Angels would have had anything to do with a contract on Henrik von Knecht. Or the bomb on Berzeliigatan. He thinks it’s you and Bobo who did the job for them.”
Silence again. Then a stream of invective poured out of the minuscule machine. If even half of the abusive words were correct, Paul Svensson ought to be picking out a nice, pleasant grave site.
Shorty’s outpouring was interrupted by Andersson’s voice. “Why isn’t what Paul Svensson told us right?”
“We didn’t have shit to do with any bombs or the murder of Pappa von Knecht! We needed the bread to do business. That’s all.”
“It was these pictures that were going to get you the five hundred thousand, right?”
Light rustling was heard from the tape recorder. Shorty took a very deep breath before he wheezed, “Where the fuck did you get hold of those? That shithead said he burned them!”
“As you see, he didn’t. Why didn’t Richard von Knecht pay?”
Sullen silence. Then came a petulant, “Because his God damned pig-face didn’t show. We couldn’t prove it was him.”
“So that’s why you tried to extort the money from Henrik von Knecht instead?”
“Fucking dumb idea. We didn’t have much time. We should have knocked over a bank instead!”
Then Andersson pushed the off button. Chuckling, Irene said, “I can imagine that discussion, between the two cousins.”
“Me too. I asked when they had contacted Henrik von Knecht. Shorty wasn’t sure, because it was Bobo who was taking care of that part. It was probably on Thursday. It must have been two days before the party that Sylvia and Richard had, celebrating the Thirty Years’ War. And on Friday Henrik primed the bomb, if it all went the way we think.”
“Actually a brilliant plan. If he’d been lucky, both his father and Bobo Torsson would have been blown up in the same explosion! It didn’t happen, but you can understand what Henrik was thinking. He knew that he couldn’t pay the amount the extortionists were demanding. When he saw the pictures he also knew about the relationship between Richard and Charlotte. If the bomb had been triggered by Richard, Henrik would have solved at least one of his problems. In the best-case scenario, both of them.”
“Why did Henrik bother to pretend to pay? His revenge could have been to let the world see the pictures of his unfaithful wife and his lecherous father.”
“He was probably concerned about the family’s reputation. And Sylvia would have had a breakdown!”
“There’s still the murder of Richard von Knecht.”
“That’s where everything started and that’s where everything will end. And we’re going to crack the last part too.”
“One more thing. Jonny traced Charlotte’s phone calls on Sunday. After Shorty came by she made a call. To reserve a table at Brasserie Lipp.”
Andersson leaned over and pulled out the bottom desk drawer. In a subdued voice he said, “Here are the pictures you asked for from Pathology. Disgusting. He’s a murderer and deadly arsonist, but the question is whether anyone deserves this. The poor devil is completely mashed. He could pass for the chop suey special at a Chinese restaurant. God damn!”
She took them and stuffed them into the interdepartmental envelope along with the other pictures she had gotten from the lab earlier that morning.
AT EIGHT-THIRTY Irene went into the interview room where Jonny sat with Charlotte. Jonny loved the whole setup. He would get to play his favorite role, the bad cop. It would be a shame to bother a great actor during his big scene, so Irene sat passively in a corner and made herself invisible. The time for her entrance would come soon enough. Her role would be determined by the progress of the interview. Nothing must be allowed to go wrong. Charlotte wasn’t exceedingly intelligent, but she was cunning and totally self-centered. Those were dangerous characteristics combined with a beautiful body.
Charlotte ignored Irene’s entrance and concentrated completely on Jonny. The moist film over her turquoise eyes shimmered, and she ran her tongue over her lips, carefully, so as not to disturb her lipstick. Irritated, Irene noticed that she had taken time to put on her contacts and some makeup. There was a strong scent of Cartier in the room. Charlotte tilted her head and glittered turquoisely at Jonny.
“My dear man, I want an attorney and I don’t have to answer these horrid questions. I don’t know anything. And I need some breakfast. I’m pregnant,” she said in explanation.
Jonny showed his teeth in a reptilian smile. “Calm down, little lady, we’ll get to that too, eventually. Of course you’ll have an attorney. Do you have one of your own?”
“Well. . no. . Father-in-law did. .”
“But you and Henrik don’t have a family lawyer?”
“No.”
“Why do you think that the attorneys at the firm Eiderstam and Sons would have any great desire to take on your defense? There’s reason to suspect you were an accessory in the arson murder on Berzeliigatan and the bombing murder of Bobo Torsson. As well as conspiracy to murder your own husband, Henrik von Knecht. Deeds that were indirectly aimed at one of their biggest clients, Richard von Knecht, who has also been murdered. We’ll come back to that later. If I may give you some advice, ask for a public defender.”
Charlotte’s lips began to tremble, and for a moment Irene thought she was about to cry. But she crossed her arms firmly under her breasts, making sure to push them up a little at the same time as she paused to think. After about a minute her strategy was decided. With her eyelids lowered and in a soft voice, she cooed, “I’ll follow your advice. I’m sure you know best. I would like to have a public defender.”
“We’ll arrange that. But until then you have to answer my questions. If you don’t I’ll take it as an indication that you have something to hide. And then there will be a very tough interrogation!”
Her eyes widened slightly and the hint of a satisfied smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.
“So. . this isn’t an interrogation?”
“No. You just have to answer my questions.”
Would she bite? Did she really believe that it wasn’t an official interrogation? She might be lulled into feeling safe for the time being, but she would find out otherwise.
“Let’s begin with the bomb on Berzeliigatan. Why did you never mention to us that Henrik stored a large quantity of explosives in a box in your bedroom at Marstrand?”
She rolled her eyes so they flashed turquoise lights, and made sure to expand her bust by sighing deeply. “I didn’t know that Henrik had explosives in the box. He always kept it locked.”
“Didn’t you ever ask him what was in the box?”
“No.”
