Helene Tursten - Detective Inspector Huss

“No. Just changed. Completely empty.”

“Then it’s possible that both the bag and the trash were dumped in the trash room. If it was the murderer who was in there. So far none of the other residents has admitted to being in the trash room at that time.”

Andersson had to interrupt. “But von Knecht must have noticed that it had been cleaned again. It stank of Ajax when we came in the door several hours later!”

“Yes, he must have been prepared for it. Used to it.”

The implications of this caused yet another thoughtful silence to descend.

“You mean that the killer cleaned the place before the murder?” Andersson looked dubious.

Irene shrugged. “Not necessarily the killer. But perhaps. At any rate someone wanted to remove all traces of being in the apartment. The careful cleaning that was done couldn’t have been done after the murder. It must have taken a couple of hours.”

Andersson was so excited that his ears were glowing. He exploded, “That can’t be right! Nobody would let someone in to erase all traces that he had been in the apartment. And then go out and eat a huge lunch-? Then home to his lovely sauna and whiskey and calmly let himself be knocked on the head by the party concerned! Anyway, there were no signs that two people had taken a sauna and spent a cozy time together.” He stopped to catch his breath.

Tommy Persson saw his chance to interject, “Wait a minute. I think Irene is on the right track. Could it be like this: Von Knecht let Pirjo in to clean! After what?”

Jonny lit up. “An orgy! That’s obvious. His wife was away, after all.”

Birgitta couldn’t pass up the opportunity. “Don’t judge everyone else by your own behavior!”

Andersson’s ears began to pale a little; he looked from Tommy to Irene. “Pirjo? Sure, why not? One idea is no more nuts than any other. But it doesn’t really fit. Why should she come back the day after she did a major cleaning? On the other hand, it explains why von Knecht was alone when he came home. She had already left. Hannu and Birgitta, you have to find Pirjo!”

Hannu made a calming gesture. Irene remembered something else she wanted to ask about.

“Svante, were there any sandwiches in the refrigerator? Sylvia told me that Richard was going to buy two sub sandwiches for supper.”

“No, it was almost empty. A little cheese and some eggs. A few beers and pickled herring. No fresh food.”

“I see. He told Sylvia on the phone when they spoke on Tuesday that he was going to bring home two subs, but I guess he forgot. They vanished in the alcohol and eucalyptus vapors,” she surmised dryly.

Malm nodded and went on, “If we move on to the fire site on Berzeliigatan, there is no doubt that it was caused by a firebomb. I spoke with arson investigator Pelle Svensson and he says there are definite traces of a large bomb. From what they’ve found so far, it seems to have been a devilish variant, a thick iron pipe filled with plastique. Apparently det cord was connected between the bomb and the gasoline cans.”

“How was the bomb detonated?”

“Pelle promised to let me know about that tomorrow. The proof hadn’t been secured yet, but he has a theory. That’s all he would tell me.”

“And the body that was found?”

“We don’t know much about the man yet. Stridner promised to look at him early tomorrow morning. They told me at Pathology that she’s busy with a scientific symposium in forensic medicine. And the other pathologists are there too.”

Now it was Birgitta’s turn to ask a question. “What’s det cord?”

“Detonator cord. Most people who’ve been in the military know about it. Let me put it this way: If you wind this fuse around an ordinary pine tree and trigger the detonator, the fuse explodes and splits the trunk. Explosive fuse, you might call it.”

He sat down. A general surge of ideas and questions resulted, but they didn’t seem to be getting much farther. At nine o’clock the superintendent decided to adjourn.

“Okay. Let’s go home and get some shut-eye. We need to be clear headed all day tomorrow. You all know what you have to do tomorrow?”

They muttered and nodded.

“I’ll be here all day from seven to. . as long as necessary in the evening. As soon as you find out something, give me a call. We’ll all meet here at eight on Monday morning. Weekend duty on Saturday is assigned to Tommy. Backup will be. . Irene. Sunday duty, Hans. Backup will be. . me.”

That was fine with her, Irene realized. Then she’d have Sunday off. On Saturday night she and Krister would have a real cozy evening. Great. Suddenly she noticed how tired she was.

EXCEPT FOR Sammie’s happy snuffling and small yips, it was completely quiet in the house, even though it was only shortly after ten. The dog’s coat was getting shaggy; it was time to have him groomed. But it would have to wait until this investigation was over. Or at least until things calmed down. She felt a pang of guilty conscience. Sammie was a lovely dog, but nobody really had time for him anymore. Everyone had taken on too many work, school, and leisure-time activities. He had his doggy pals, of course, at the dog-sitter’s. To compensate him a little and to soothe her guilty conscience, she took him out on an evening walk.

From the street she saw that there was a light on in Katarina’s room. She was lying on her bed reading or else she had fallen asleep with the light on. Before she went to bed, Irene would have to go in and turn it off.

Actually Krister’s schedule was ideal. He always worked late on Thursdays, until midnight. Then either Friday or Saturday was a late night too. Every third weekend he had both Saturday and Sunday off. When the twins were little, her mother had taken over when his schedule and her overtime conflicted. But now the girls were big and Grandma hadn’t needed to come over as often during the past three years. The passage of time works for the benefit of parents of small children.

She walked along smiling to herself, lost in her thoughts. That’s why she was totally unprepared when Sammie suddenly barked and hurled himself at a figure slipping into the deep shadows next to the garage.

“GOOD MORNING, SWEETIE. YOU look like a disaster zone.”

“Thank you, dear. That’s just the sort of comment that makes my day!”

Irene angrily snatched the bath towel he was about to dry himself off with and flicked the towel into the spray of the shower. A little revenge is still revenge, even if it’s childish. Krister laughed annoyingly.

“Okay, okay. So it’s one of those mornings. About time for your period?”

That did it. “No, but I’ve worked more than fifty hours in four days! And yesterday Jenny made a point of seeing that I threw in the towel for good!”

“Did we get off on a towel thing for some reason?”

“Oh, go jump in the lake!”

Mad as a hornet she climbed into the shower. When she turned around she saw Krister take her towel and walk out the door, whistling. Now she was the one with no towel. There was no justice in the world. “Just one of those days.” Or was it “things”? Was it Frank Sinatra who sang that song? Didn’t make a damned bit of difference which old fart it was. It was a rotten day even before it got started.

She felt a little better after the shower, but still spoiling for a fight. Krister wasn’t the main adversary, but he’d get his. First she had to take on Jenny.

Her other daughter was sitting at the breakfast table.

“Where’s Jenny?” Irene asked.

“She says she’s sick,” said Katarina, who was absorbed in the front page of GP. Holding the newspaper open in front of her face, she asked, “Mamma, were you there when they found the guy who burned up?”