Bertilsson shook his head. Andersson groaned out loud and everyone could hear him muttering, “We’re going to have to release that scumbag!”
Birgitta patted him lightly on the arm and said consolingly, “I think I’ll keep digging in the files. I’ll work on it this afternoon. If there’s any connection, that’s where it’ll be.”
“All right. Keep digging,” her boss sighed.
Irene leaned forward and patted Andersson on the other arm. She gave him an encouraging smile and said, “And you can ask Shorty if Bobo and Charlotte had a relationship. No doubt he won’t answer, but maybe you can read something from his reaction.”
“You mean a sexual relationship?”
“Yes.”
Andersson raised his eyebrows and nodded. He turned to his colleagues from Narcotics and explained, “This is the only point of contact between Bobo and the von Knecht family we’ve found. Do you have the slightest indication that Richard von Knecht or anyone else in the von Knecht family might be mixed up with drugs?”
Annika Nilsén cleared her throat and said in her toneless voice, “No. That name has never come up in our department, as far as I know. Have you ever seen it?” She turned to the two agents, who both shook their heads.
Birgitta said eagerly, “But we’ve found Charlotte’s name on a list from a raid in ninteen eighty-nine! She was single at the time and her last name was Croona.”
Stig Bertilsson looked crestfallen. “But I was in on that bust! Charlotte Croona! She was doing a striptease on the table, so there wasn’t much to search. For lack of anything better I had a good look at her necklace, a little carved cylinder. And when I unscrewed it there was snow inside. Freebase, not pure. That’s why she got off with a suspended sentence. When we got to the station she was almost psychotic. Hallucinating.”
He paused and grimaced at the memory. Then he went on, “I found out that she was a pretty well-known photo model, although there was never anything in the papers about her. But believe me, nobody who was there could forget Charlotte Croona!”
Andersson exclaimed, “And Bobo and Shorty were there too! It has to be Bobo and Charlotte who are the point of contact.”
The others agreed.
Irene sighed dejectedly. “We have to find proof! We’ve got nothing but assumptions and guesses.”
Andersson gave her an indulgent look and said, “That’s fairly normal for an investigation. We just have to find some evidence that will hold up.” He turned to Bertilsson. “What did you come up with in Billdal?”
Bertilsson shrugged. “Not much. Judging from the statements given by the neighbors along the road, the motorcycle guys were on the scene for three days. But no one ever saw more than two at a time. And no one suspected that they had broken into those two summer cabins. The gang had picked the locks. The only trace of drugs was a number of small plastic bags containing amphetamine. No hypodermics, but some paper towels with blood spots. Both places were a mess, and we found tons of fingerprints. Two pairs have been identified, belonging to Glenn ‘Hoffa’ Strömberg and Paul Svensson. Three pairs aren’t in the records. One of them is so small that we assume it’s from the girl. We haven’t managed to identify her. We sent the other two sets to Interpol. We suspect the police in Holland may have those prints in their archives. Death Squadron had a visit from an Amsterdam club all last weekend and the beginning of this week. They came up via Malmö last Thursday. Twelve of them thundering up the coast of Halland. We followed them. Or at least we tried. They split up and stayed with various gang members. Yesterday they went back to Holland.”
Andersson was frowning anxiously when he asked, “But how did Bobo, and possibly also Shorty, come in contact with the Hell’s Angels? Shorty vehemently denies knowing Hoffa.”
The investigators from Narcotics merely shrugged.
After a bit more discussion they decided to adjourn.
IRENE GOT a lift with one of the patrol officers and was dropped off at St. Sigfridsgatan. She brought along a sandwich and a light beer from the cafeteria for Tommy. He had moved the car, but she saw it, quickly walked over, opened the door, and climbed in.
“Hi. I brought you some chow. Anything happening?” she asked.
“Not a thing. I went off to take a leak an hour ago. I was gone ten minutes max. But nothing happened during that time. The Golf is still there, the blinds are closed. Man, stakeouts are sure boring!”
He unwrapped the sandwich from the plastic and opened the beer. It was already dark, and it was starting to get cold in the car.
Irene looked around. “Hey, maybe we should move. The old lady in the house across the street has peeked at us several times from behind her curtains. She probably thinks we’re up to no good. Let’s switch places, then you can keep eating.”
She got out of the car and Tommy slid over to the passenger’s side.
Suddenly a light showed behind the closed blinds on the top floor of Charlotte’s house. After a few minutes a lamp was turned on downstairs. It was probably the hall lamp, because behind the curtains in the bay window of the living room it was still dark. They waited tensely, but nothing else happened. It was time to move the car; the neighbor lady was getting suspicious.
They drove off and parked on Förtroligheten. Irene stuck her arm under Tommy’s and they slowly strolled back up Långåsliden. They talked softly as they walked.
Tommy asked, “Is Jenny going to the Karl the Twelfth demonstrations tonight? Or rather riots, in the worst case.”
“No, she’s never been that interested in going. That was a real eye-opener you gave her last night. She never really understood before that joining up with a group like that also meant that she might have to do things she didn’t like or want to do.”
“But what if her boyfriend demands that she come along?”
Irene hesitated. “I don’t know. I honestly don’t. But Krister says that we need to trust her judgment. She’s a smart girl, but a little lost; she’s had a hard time finding a real best friend. She has Katarina, of course, but they fight all the time, except when Krister or I say something to one of them. Then they gang up on us and stick together.”
They were nearing the yellow villa, completely unprepared, when the front door suddenly opened and a figure rushed out, stumbling down the uneven garden path. The door closed quickly. Evidently Charlotte wasn’t going out with him, which was lucky, considering she might have recognized them at once.
With great self-control Irene forced herself to continue walking at Tommy’s side as if nothing had happened. They kept on talking as they discreetly observed the young man walk around the Golf. He was blond, of medium height, about twenty years old, and he was wearing the soft suede jacket and cowboy boots. The glow of the streetlight fell on him for a moment before he turned his back to them to unlock the car. He had a surprisingly young face with regular features, but he looked very grim. Was he angry? Had they had an argument? With an impatient gesture he pushed the hair out of his face. Irene caught herself thinking that he looked really sweet. Charlotte had gotten herself a boytoy. Although judging by his costume, he would probably prefer being called a cowboy. He got into the car and started fumbling in his jacket pockets. Apparently he was thinking of lighting a cigarette. Tommy and Irene passed the Golf and tried to increase their pace without being noticed. As fast as they dared, they hurried toward the Saab. When they opened the car doors, Irene looked back and saw the Golf swinging out onto the street. She let him drive by, hopped in the Saab, and then made one of her usual illegal U-turns.