“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 Charlotte, Henrik isn’t coming home until around ten o’clock-tomorrow night, that is.”
Tommy sat sipping at his hot coffee. Pensively he said, “Do you think that staking out Henrik will produce anything? He comes home, tired and exhausted from his auction deals. He probably sits down and polishes some priceless trinket. And then he goes to bed. That’s what I think.”
Irene tried to persuade him. “But these are concrete leads in the investigation that we’re following now! We aren’t even sure that Shorty has a direct connection to the case. I propose that we take this up with the superintendent. What do you think about the neighbor’s story? Did Charlotte and Richard have a sexual relationship?”
All three thought about it.
“It seems likely.”
“There’s a lot to indicate it. Especially the times he stayed overnight.”
“At the start of this investigation I would have dismissed such testimony as utterly improbable. But considering what we’ve learned of Richard’s and Charlotte’s personalities over the course of the investigation, I would say that it’s not at all inconceivable!” said Irene.
Fredrik again began showing signs of some excitement, so Irene leaned over and moved the bowl of sauce. Eagerness glinted in his eyes, and he leaned over the table to persuade them.
“That gives Henrik a motive. Jealousy! His own father is fucking his wife! That’s a damned strong motive!”
Something started to stir in the back of Irene’s mind and she managed to pry it loose. “I’m not sure that Henrik is capable of great jealousy. Or any emotions at all. He’s hardly passionate about anything but his relationship to his antiques. But there’s actually another very strong motive. The most ordinary of all-namely money.”
Tommy looked surprised and asked, “But isn’t it Sylvia who is her husband’s heir?”
“Yes. Except for an insurance policy. Sylvia told me about it herself. She and Henrik get half a million each over a period of ten years, in the event of Richard’s death.”
Fredrik gave a low whistle. After thinking a while he said, “From what I understand from you, Henrik and Richard von Knecht didn’t like each other much, right?”
“They weren’t exactly enemies. But according to Sylvia, Richard could never accept that Henrik’s personality changed after his meningitis.”
Irene looked at the clock. It was past four-thirty. Resolutely she said, “We have to call and see if Andersson is still at HQ. We’ll have to go there and present what we learned today. Then he has to decide the next plan of attack.”
They paid and got up to leave.
//
IRENE DROVE, with Fredrik sitting next to her and Tommy in the backseat. After they managed to escape the rush-hour traffic on Södra Vägen, Fredrik leaned forward and turned on the radio. The Sven-Ingvar hit about “The Only Blonde in Town” filled the car. Loud and off-key, they all joined in on the chorus. They giggled when the music faded out. A pleasant male voice rapidly announced, “And that’s all for Melody Cavalcade for today. This is Program Three. Time for Today’s Echo at a Quarter to Five.”
Out of sheer reflex Irene stomped on the brakes, and almost got a taxi in her rear bumper.
Her male colleagues yelled simultaneously, “What are you doing?” “Watch out for the cab!”
Demonstrating discipline, she put on the blinker and turned down Burgårdsgatan. The gods must have accepted some offering she had made, because she lucked out and found an empty parking space. She turned off the engine and turned up the volume of the radio, staring as if entranced by the tiny glowing red and green lights on the car radio that showed it was on. Fascinated she whispered, “Listen, you guys, listen!”
“. . no serious incidents in yesterday’s demonstrations in conjunction with the anniversary of Karl the Twelfth’s death. The police. .”
Fredrik looked angry, mostly because of shock. “What was that all about? You could have caused an accident! Then they can say on the Echo tomorrow, ‘Three cops in Göteborg were the cause of a serious accident in rush-hour traffic yesterday, due to an acute brain malfunction on the part of the driver!’”
Tommy started to laugh, but Irene just waved her hand and didn’t take her eyes off the radio. Dramatically she said, “Didn’t you hear the sound of something cracking?”
Fredrik and Tommy exchanged a glance, filled with male bonding. Fredrik’s circling index finger next to his temple was enough. Irene saw it and started laughing too.
“What just cracked was Charlotte’s alibi. There isn’t any five o’clock news on the radio! It’s called Today’s Echo at a Quarter to Five because it’s on at a quarter to five!”
The two colleagues realized what she was getting at. That would give Charlotte an extra fifteen minutes, which would be plenty of time to reach Molinsgatan from Mölndalsvägen.
Tommy was the one who recovered first. “Is there really no five o’clock news?”
“No, not on the big radio stations. And since Charlotte’s Golf was brand new when she left the Volkswagen dealership on Tuesday afternoon, I doubt she had managed to set the button for any small local station that broadcast news.”