Andersson couldn’t help interjecting a question. “How much does he have to pay for that?”
Birgitta looked at him with her clear brown eyes until he started to blush. “She wouldn’t say. But I can tell you this: She lives in a cozy three-room apartment on Stampgatan. The art and furniture are firstrate. She wears jewelry that could easily have financed my trip to Australia, and she was impeccably and expensively dressed. When I was leaving I saw a car key on the hall table. I asked what kind of car she has. A Saab 900, she said, last year’s model.”
A meditative silence fell over the room. This wasn’t your usual type of prostitute, selling herself for a couple of hundred kronor on the backseat of a car and quickly spending it on booze or dope. Everyone had heard of call girls and high-priced “escorts,” but no one in the room had ever actually encountered someone in that category. Not until now.
Andersson wanted to proceed with the investigation and broke the silence. “What did she say about Valle’s visit on Tuesday?”
Birgitta smirked when she replied, “That must have been some entertaining day! It’s precisely for that reason that Gunnel was quite sure of the times. On Tuesday, gentleman number one didn’t show up at twelve like he normally does. She assumed that he was sick or tied up. But at four-thirty he rang the doorbell and demanded his weekly screw. That’s a good deal of money for Gunnel. She said that if he hurried it would be fine. And it would have been, if Valle hadn’t come staggering to her door just before five on that particular Tuesday. She couldn’t have him yelling out in the stairwell, so she had to let him into her living room and prop him up with a stiff drink while she finished off gentleman number one. Then she had to pilot him out so that the two gentlemen wouldn’t see each other. According to Gunnel, all four of them think they’re ‘the one and only’ for her.”
“Could Valle Reuter have paid her to give him an alibi?” Irene interposed.
“No, I don’t think so. Their stories fit pretty well. Neither of them was overly eager to talk. No, it doesn’t seem made up. But . . .” Birgitta fell silent and smiled slyly before she went on, “in exchange for a promise that we leave her in peace with her ‘gentlemen,’ I got the name of Tuesday’s gentleman number one!”
“Hot damn!” said Andersson, looking impressed.
“I called him at his office and explained what it was all about. He was not eager to cooperate, but faced with the threat of a formal request to come down here to make an official statement, he gave in. He confirms Gunnel’s and Valle’s stories.”
She looked up from her notes and stretched her shoulder muscles before she went on. “If I have to draw any conclusions, then it would be that Valle Reuter is no murderer. Which I never believed for a moment anyway.”
The look she gave Andersson was challenging, and he hurried to agree. “No. You don’t murder your best and only friend. He has no motive and isn’t the killer type. As I said, I listened to Birgitta’s interview with Valle. Speaking of conversations, that photographer, Bobo Torsson, called me just before the meeting. He’s thinking of staying another night in Stockholm. He’s taking the train tomorrow and will come straight here after lunch. One of you will have to talk to him. I have to go and get fitted for that damned uniform.”
Jonny looked surprised. “But wasn’t that what you were doing earlier today?”
“Yes, but they only had pants in children’s sizes. By the way, did you get hold of Ivan Viktors?”
“Yes, by phone. He called around three and said that he had just returned from Copenhagen. It was evidently on the TV news in Denmark, because he already knew what had happened. I guess you have to be sure to wash your hair and change your shirt every day now, so you look fresh on screen.”
He licked the palm of his hand and stroked it lightly over his hair. Birgitta snorted, but before she managed to make any derisive comment, the boss headed her off.
“I’ll handle all contact with the media. Refer them to me. That’s easiest. I don’t have much hair to wash.”
The superintendent imitated Jonny’s gesture over his own pate. Irene snorted, trying to stifle her amusement.
Jonny pursed his lips and assumed a professional tone. “Ivan Viktors is coming here tomorrow morning at ten.”
“So you can be the one to talk to him. Anything else?”
“Yes, I had a look at the house up in Marstrand. On the map, that is. It’s located on a peninsula north of Marstrand called Kärringnäset. It includes the peninsula itself and property a bit inland. The total we’re talking about is fifteen hectares. On the map you can see a big stable and paddocks. And down by the sea there are two cabins, each about a hundred square meters. I saw that the boundary of the plot was marked with a sturdy fence or maybe a wall. Next to the stable, right next to the road, down toward the von Knecht palace, there’s a house labeled the ‘caretaker’s residence.’ Then I got the phone number of the summer residence and was connected to the caretaker, Lennart Svensson. He and his wife take care of the horses and property. The wife evidently cleans the big house. He’s fifty-seven and has worked for the von Knechts for fifteen years. Before that he was in the military. He told me that von Knecht’s parents owned this land. After they both died, Richard tore down the old house and built a giant mansion.”
Irene waved her hand. “Good that you’re talking about Marstrand, Jonny. Henrik asked me if it was okay for him and Sylvia to go up there this weekend. I said I didn’t think there would be any problem.”
Jonny leaned across the table and said in surprise, “Sylvia? Don’t you mean Charlotte?”
“No, Charlotte is going to her sister’s in Kungsbacka.”
“Ha! Now you see that Henrik and Sylvia have an incestuous relationship! They did away with Richard and the next in line is the lovely Charlotte. She needs a bodyguard! I’ll volunteer!”
“And who stuck a quarter in you? Such a shame that the two of them were standing five stories below when he was shoved off the balcony.” Just at the right moment the intercom beeped and a voice reported that the pizzas were ready to pick up down at the front desk.
“THIS PIZZA habit is getting a little monotonous. I’m going to make a radical change in diet. Next time I’ll have a kabob.” Tommy Persson groaned and unbuttoned the top button of his jeans. He leaned back in his chair and drank his light beer in big gulps. It was his turn to report on the day’s activities. He stifled a yawn with the back of his hand before he began.
“Fredrik already told you what it was like last night on Berzeliigatan. The damage to the adjacent property is quite extensive. All the windows on the neighboring buildings were blown out. The only one that survived, strangely enough, was the shop window of the tobacconist’s on the corner. Irene already knows who owns it, but the rest of you don’t. Any guesses?”
Jonny grumbled, “A lot of damned guessing here today!”
Tommy ignored him. “Our own Lasse ‘Shorty’ Johannesson!”
Even Jonny shut up.
The color rose in the superintendent’s cheeks, and his eyes gleamed with excitement. “The worst possible hooligan right at our doorstep! Literally. That might mean something. Damn it, it’s got to mean something!”
He was unconsciously rubbing his hands together. Impatiently he signaled Tommy to continue.
“The arson techs can just barely get up to the third floor. Higher than that it’s too risky. As luck would have it—well, depending on how you look at it—the guy’s body was found behind the door to von Knecht’s office. Apparently he barely managed to make it that far and crept behind the door for protection. He was horribly burned. The pathologist is looking at him now. Poor devil,” Tommy said glumly.
He paused briefly. Then he went on with his report about the legwork in the neighboring buildings. No one had noticed anything suspicious. Everyone had heard the powerful explosion and felt the blast wave. The techs had found parts of a large homemade bomb in the entryway to von Knecht’s office. Pelle, the arson tech, had found some lumps
of plastic around the site of the bomb. According to him, they were probably remnants of gasoline cans. Whoever placed the bomb there wanted to make sure that everything would burn up. The techs would report tomorrow with more details about the bomb.
Andersson was still looking flushed when he said, “Tommy, you and Fredrik check out Lasse ‘Shorty.’ Find out when he got out. This might be a lead. Hans, did you get hold of anyone who saw anything at the parking garage Tuesday night?”
Hans Borg shook his head. “I went through the building a second time. I concentrated on the apartments facing Kapellgatan, but there was nothing. From two o’clock until four-thirty I talked to people who came to get their cars from the parking garage. No one saw a thing. A teacher from Ascheberg High School loaned me a notepad and a felt-tip pen. So now there’s a note inside the entrance of the garage asking for anyone who saw anything unusual on the night of the murder to contact us.”
“There’s not much more we can do. Maybe we should show up around five-thirty in the evening. Someone who may have observed something might put in an appearance at that time. No, now I know what we should do. Tomorrow we’ll launch an intensive drive in the parking garage. We’ll start at six in the morning and keep it up till seven in the evening. Everyone who parks in the garage will be quizzed about anything they noticed Tuesday night. If that doesn’t produce anything, we’ll have to call this approach a dud. But I think it’s unlikely that the killer would have walked away in the pouring rain after the murder. I still think he had a car. Jonny and Hans, I’m giving this assignment to you,” Andersson said firmly.
Neither of the designated officers looked particularly enthusiastic about it, but they realized there was some logic to their superintendent’s reasoning.
“All right, only Hannu is left. Did you get hold of Pirjo?”
“No, just the kids. I drove out there this afternoon. They live near Angered Square. Two rooms and a kitchen.”
“Not much room for five people.”
“Four. Göte Larsson took off. The kids haven’t seen him in two years. Maybe he’s at sea. He’s a sailor.”
“But he and Pirjo are still married?”
“Yep. The little boys, Juha and Timo, were at home. They have the flu. Pirjo hasn’t been heard from since Wednesday afternoon.”
“So who’s taking care of the boys?”
“Marjatta. She’s thirteen and is used to taking care of her brothers.”
“Does Pirjo usually disappear like this?”
“No, it’s never happened before. Marjatta says there isn’t any other man. I checked with the Angered Police and called all the emergency rooms. Not a thing. We should probably report her missing.”
“Yes, we probably should. You’ll have to look for her, Hannu. It definitely seems strange. Why should the von Knechts’ cleaning woman disappear at the same time he’s murdered and his office is bombed? She must have seen something last Monday when she was there cleaning. By the way, wasn’t her daughter with her?”
“Yes, she was.”
“Thirteen, you said?”
“Right.”
Andersson thought about it. He turned again to Hannu. “Did she hear or see anything of interest last Monday?”
“No. But her Finnish is hard to understand.”
“Are there different kinds of Finnish?”
“Yes, Pirjo and the kids come from northern Karelia. From Joensuu. I’m from Övertorneå. Different dialects, almost a different language.”
He was interrupted by a knock on the door. The techs had arrived, and there was a short pause while they greeted everyone and chairs were found for them. They’d already eaten, so they declined the remnants of pizza that Irene and Birgitta offered them. They did want coffee though.
After everyone had settled down, Hannu continued, unperturbed. “Pirjo doesn’t take a newspaper or listen to the Swedish news. She didn’t know that von Knecht was dead. She went to the von Knechts’ place, as she does every Wednesday. There she was met by the techs, heard about the murder, and went home. According to the boys she got home at eleven-thirty. She doesn’t have a car, but always takes the bus or streetcar. Marjatta came home from school at three-thirty. Pirjo made dinner. After five she said she had to go out and do some extra cleaning, but she didn’t say where. She hasn’t been seen or heard from since.”
There was a moment’s silence in the room. It was as though everyone had to catch their breath after this unexpectedly long speech from Hannu. Andersson was the first to recover. He asked, “Do you know how long Pirjo and the kids have lived in Sweden?”
“Three years.”
“And Pirjo has never disappeared like this before?”
“No.”
Andersson looked genuinely worried. What did Pirjo’s disappearance mean? Was it a coincidence? Had she gone underground voluntarily? Was she threatened? From pure instinct the superintendent felt that this had something to do with the von Knecht case. He slammed his hand on the table.
“Hannu, you’ll have to pull out all the stops. We have to get hold of Pirjo! Damn it, she can’t just disappear like this, with three kids to take care of! She must have seen something last Monday. Lean on her daughter a little more.”
He reflected for a moment, but couldn’t think of anything else to do to find Pirjo.
“Now we’ve got a homicide, a bombing, and a missing person to investigate. And we don’t know if there’s any connection or if they’re all sheer coincidences. But I have a feeling they’re related,” he said grimly.
He took a deep breath, got up, and paced back and forth at the end of the table. Moving around usually cleared his mind. Just now his head felt chaotic.
“Getting back to von Knecht’s murder. Hannu, did you get hold of the illegitimate son and his mom?”
“Since I was in Angered, I asked a pal from the academy for help. A detective from Stockholm. He’ll call us tomorrow.”
“Can’t he call you at home tonight?”
“No. I haven’t gotten a phone put in yet.”
“You mean you just moved to Göteborg, and not merely to General Investigations?”
“That’s right.”
Everyone was waiting for more, but nothing came. When Andersson realized this, he moved on.
“Irene, you still have to talk to the car dealer tomorrow. You might as well wait for the call from Stockholm too. Then Hannu can get going right away with the search for Pirjo.”
Irene gave Hannu a questioning look. He nodded, and the shadow of a smile passed over his face. He was actually quite a handsome guy. And no wedding ring. But about as forthcoming as a sphinx. She quickly put a question to him.
“What’s your pal’s name in Stockholm?”
“Veiko Fors. Detective Inspector.”
Andersson was very near asking whether there was a secret Finnish information network within the police corps, but reason prevailed. It’s not good to have every question answered. Instead he turned to Birgitta.
“Birgitta, you help Hannu search for Pirjo. It’s a top priority. Do we have a description?”
Hannu nodded. “About a hundred and fifty-five centimeters tall. Her daughter doesn’t know how much she weighs, but says she’s fat. Blond, shoulder-length hair. Thirty-two years old. She cleans part time at a newspaper kiosk. She’s on welfare. I talked to the welfare office since they needed to know that Pirjo has disappeared. They promised to keep an eye on the kids.”
Fredrik raised his hand politely, wanting to ask a question.
“So she has plenty of money then? I mean, welfare plus legal and illegal wages, the whole thing?”
Hannu leafed through his notebook, found what he was looking for, and rattled off: “Half-time wages as cleaning woman, forty-three hundred kronor, plus welfare and rent and subsidies for the children. After taxes, forty-one hundred and ten kronor a month, which has to cover the rest of the rent, food, and clothes for four people. The welfare office had all the figures. She needs the illegal jobs.”
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br /> Irene looked pensive and asked to speak. “I wonder how many hours a week she worked for the von Knechts? Even if it was three days, I think it was only a matter of a few hours at a time. Should I check it out?”
“Yes, call your dear little friend Sylvia and ask her.”
Andersson chuckled, pleased with his joke. Irene had a guilty conscience. Was it so obvious how much she disliked Sylvia? At the same time she felt she understood the woman to some degree and maybe even had a certain sympathy for her. It couldn’t have been much fun being Richard von Knecht’s wife.
Andersson slapped his palm on his knee. “No, now I want a coffee break before Malm and Ljunggren take over with their hot technical clues.”
He got up and went over to the coffee machine. A third pot had just finished brewing. The night was still young.
SVANTE MALM started talking as soon as he took his last sip of coffee and stuffed a pinch of snuff under the left side of his top lip.
“Today we started to sort out all the fingerprints. We found a total of twenty-two different sets. Thirteen are identified. Colleagues from the various locations where Saturday’s guests reside are helping us take their fingerprints so they won’t have to come all the way in to Göteborg. Hannu gave me prints from Pirjo’s daughter, and he also took Pirjo’s prints from the alarm clock by her bed. In von Knecht’s apartment there were no prints on the light switches in the hall, kitchen, and pantry, the bedroom on the top floor, the bathroom, or the light panel at the foot of the stairs leading to the top floor. These were all carefully wiped off. As were the door handles to the balcony and the outer door and the handle of the cleaver. On the other switch plates there are plenty of prints, mostly from Richard and Sylvia von Knecht. As well as a good number from Pirjo and her daughter. They were there on Monday to do the cleaning. Even the controls on the washing machine were wiped off.”
Detective Inspector Huss: A Huss Investigation set in Sweden, Vol. 1 Page 15
