Helene Tursten - Detective Inspector Huss

“Don’t you check your tire once in a while? I do at regular intervals. About every other month,” said Hans Borg.

For once Borg was interested. Cars were his passion.

Jonny made an irritated gesture and replied, “Phooey. It’s just one of those things that’s always there. Sometimes you remember to check, but most of the time you forget. Who’s interested in spare tires?”

Irene gave a start. She said pensively, “Charlotte von Knecht is.”

“Is what?” asked Jonny.

“Interested in spare tires. According to the car dealer Robert Skytter, the spare tire was the last thing they checked on her new Golf before she drove off.”

“Okay, I get it. Someone cares. But I have a lot of other things to think about. It doesn’t seem important to check the air in the spare tire until the day you need it. And then it’s too late!”

That matched Irene’s own relationship with her spare tire. Charlotte didn’t give the impression that she was the orderly type who checked everything in advance. She probably batted her heavenly eyelashes when things got screwed up. And some gentleman would come hurrying to the beauty’s rescue. Were there a few sour grapes to these thoughts? Maybe, but life had taught Irene that it wasn’t the practical girls in the woolen pants and rubber boots who awakened a male’s protective instincts. It was the small defenseless creatures in high-heeled pumps and chiffon skirts who prompted men to fling their capes across puddles. For her part she never wore high heels. And the only chiffon skirt she had ever owned was quickly confiscated by the twins to play dress-up.

Andersson asked, “Fredrik and Jonny, you haven’t discovered any activity at Shorty’s over the weekend that would indicate contacts with Billdal?”

Each shook his head in reply. Disappointed, the superintendent snapped, “On Friday we have to be able to give Inez Collin some reason for the detention order! Jonny, you’ll have to try to question Shorty today. Birgitta, have you found anything else interesting on Bobo or Shorty?”

“That’s pretty hard to do where Bobo’s concerned. He, his apartment, and his photo studio have all been blown to bits. I have to make do with what little there is. We have only those three arrests that I mentioned earlier. The assumption, of course, is that he’s been using drugs for years. Narcotics thinks he was mostly dealing, but he probably was using a lot himself. We base that conclusion on his behavior,” said Birgitta.

She paused and a dark shadow passed over her face. But it vanished quickly and she went on, “Today I’m going up to Vänersborg to talk to Bobo’s mother. She was extremely upset when she heard that Bobo is dead. But when I called her today to set a time for us to meet, she asked if I thought it would take a long time before she got the insurance money!”

Insurance money? Who had said something about insurance money before? Irene couldn’t remember, but thought it was Sylvia. Quick note in her notebook: “S. v. K. Changed lock? Insurance money?”

The superintendent nodded and looked pensive. “Has anybody tried to get hold of his father?”

“No. He’s a homeless wino. I haven’t spent much time on him,” said Birgitta.

“Hannu, this sounds like a job for you.”

Hannu nodded. Andersson asked him, “Did you find out if Pirjo had a driver’s license?”

“I did. She never had one.”

“Did you ask the daughter if she knew anything about the keys?”

“Yes, Pirjo didn’t have any. Richard von Knecht loaned her his keys whenever they went down to the garbage room. All the doors to the courtyard are locked.”

“So you have to have a key even to get out of the courtyard?”

“Right.”

“That confirms my belief that our murderer had the spare-key ring. But how did Pirjo get hold of it?”

“Maybe on Wednesday,” Hannu said.

Andersson regarded the department’s “exotic” element. Slowly he nodded. “She came to the apartment on Wednesday morning. You mean that she could have pinched it at an unguarded moment. That’s not impossible. Hans, you’re in charge of the keys; ask the techs if there’s any chance that Pirjo entered the apartment on Wednesday. And ask them if they saw a key ring lying around anywhere.”

“Which techs were there on Wednesday morning?”

“Ljunggren and Åhlén.”

Borg nodded but didn’t jot down anything on his clean, blank pad.

Irene asked Hannu, “Do Pirjo’s kids know that she’s dead?”

“Yes. They were told yesterday. Welfare has them now.”

His voice was somber, and she understood that he was at least as affected by the fate of the poor children as she was.

Birgitta cleared her throat; her expression became stubborn. Harshly she said, “I still think Pirjo was lured by someone to Berzeliigatan. Maybe with the prospect that she would have a free hand to steal now that Richard von Knecht was dead.”

No one said anything, but several nodded in agreement.

“But why was it so important for the office on Berzeliigatan to be blown up?” asked Irene.

That was another question that no one could answer.

Tommy Persson waved his hand in the air. “Late last night I got hold of the hairdresser on the ground floor of the building. Her partner was in bed at home with a cold, so she was alone in the salon on Wednesday night. She saw Pirjo arrive! When I described Pirjo’s appearance, she was positive that she had seen her minutes before the explosion.”

The superintendent interrupted him. “Why didn’t she call and tell us about it?”

“According to her, she was so shocked by the fire that she forgot. By the way, she didn’t see or hear anything out of the ordinary on Wednesday. When I asked whether she’d seen any unusual visitors on the days before the fire, she said something quite remarkable: ‘There was always a bunch of funny characters going upstairs to that photographer. He’s quite well known, of course, but I don’t like him much.’ Remember, she didn’t know that the victim out at Delsjön was Bobo Torsson. I didn’t tell her either. When I asked why she didn’t like Torsson, it came out that he had been over to her salon, offering her a future as a photo model if she just did as he said. He promised her fame and fortune. But that is one tough dame, and she told him to get lost. The interesting thing is that he had asked both her and her partner whether they wanted to buy any dope. He said he could get hold of whatever they wanted.”

Tommy paused, broke his Marie biscuit into three pieces, and stuffed them one after the other into his mouth. He washed each piece down with a sip of coffee. After he finished this ritual he went on, “My interview with the woman who lived below von Knecht’s office confirms many of the hairdresser’s statements. It was a brief conversation. Her husband is very sick because of his heart attack. She told me many strange people were always coming and going to Bobo’s place. And some wild parties had kept the entire building awake until the wee hours. I asked in more detail about Friday night, whether they had heard anything from von Knecht’s apartment around one o’clock. At first she couldn’t remember, but after a while she recalled that she woke up that night because someone was going up and down the stairs. At least three times, she said. But she couldn’t say for sure whether she had heard anything in particular from von Knecht’s apartment.”

The superintendent listened intently. Finally things were starting to move on Berzeliigatan. Eagerly he said, “That confirms what we already know. He was dealing. But what a careless devil, to invite people into his own building! Was that why it was so important to blow up the place? What was it that had to be destroyed, that we weren’t supposed to see? Dope? Dope-processing equipment?”