“Hello! Are you still there?”
“What? Yes. I was busy with something else. Excuse me. Listen, Robert, I called you about the fact that Charlotte von Knecht was down there picking up her new car Tuesday evening. Is that correct?”
“That’s right!”
“When did she arrive?”
“Well, after four, maybe closer to four-thirty.”
“What time did she leave?”
There was a brief pause. There wasn’t the same self-confident zing in his voice when he replied. “Don’t know for sure. Right after five, I should think.”
“Not before five?”
“No, I’m quite sure of that. I remember hearing the five o’clock news on the radio.”
“Weren’t you selling a car? How did you have time to listen to the radio?”
“Well, we were taking a test drive in Charlotte’s new car. She was feeling a little insecure about driving it. I was giving her some advice.”
“Didn’t she have a Golf before?”
“Yes, but this one is much newer. More features. For instance, a more powerful engine, hundred and fifteen horsepower-”
“Thanks, but I already have a car. By the way, how old are you?”
Now there was a long pause. “What does that have to do. . twenty-two.”
“Married or living with someone?”
“Neither. How about yourself? Are you trying to pick me up or. .?”
Her response caught her by surprise, but she couldn’t stop it. The laughter surged up from her chest and exploded from her lips. She had to put down the phone. She leaned over the desk as tears of laughter made even more spots on the already soiled blotter on the desk. She ended up with a cramp in her diaphragm. With a powerful effort she pulled herself together, wiped her nose and the corners of her eyes with her sleeve, and picked up the receiver.
“Hello, excuse me, Robert. But it was just too funny. I could almost be your mother. If I’d only started in time.”
“That’s cool. I’m glad I can make somebody happy. Although I do prefer mature women.”
“Like Charlotte?”
“Charlotte is really something special. And fun. Nice as hell.”
“And you’re sure you heard the five o’clock news while you were in the car?”
“Yes. Even though I wasn’t sitting in the car then. I had just gotten out. Charlotte wanted to see how to remove the spare tire. The car door was open, so we heard the news. Charlotte said something like, ‘Is it five o’clock already?’ Well, then we checked to see if she had all her papers and everything. Then she left.”
“So it would have been about ten after five. Or more correctly, seventeen-ten.”
“Yes, it must have been.”
“Thanks, Robert. Please forgive the laughing fit, but you really made my day.”
“No problem. Drop by if you ever need a good car.”
Well, damned if a faint clearing on the horizon didn’t herald a clear day. A little sun never hurt. It hadn’t been seen in almost two weeks. Irene felt renewed energy flowing through her body. Wasn’t that called “comic relief”? Screw the ginseng; a little flirting on the phone works wonders with ladies approaching forty.
Andersson was sitting in his office. When Irene knocked lightly on the door frame he jumped in his chair.
“Jesus, you scared me!”
“Sitting there trying to think? It smells like something’s burning.” Irene sniffed the air.
He gave her a weary look. “How do you manage to be so cheerful in the morning? And smells like burning is the right expression. The fire on Berzeliigatan doesn’t seem to fit in with von Knecht’s murder. Yet it was incredibly convenient. And now the cleaning woman has disappeared.”
“I spoke to Hannu’s pal in Stockholm, Veiko Fors.”
“So how were things going for him?”
“Nothing yet. He had shit by the boxful.”
“Shit by the boxful. . are you nuts?”
Irene laughed and even got Andersson to smile a little.
“Those were his exact words. Stockholm slang, you know. The shit is that Jonas Söder can’t be found. He’s apparently an artist. His mamma went crazy when Veiko Fors said he wanted to talk to both of them regarding von Knecht’s murder. She refuses to speak to anyone but the detective in charge of the investigation.”
Andersson looked out his overgrown window thoughtfully. The poor lily hanging in its macramé holder had given up the ghost long ago. He sat in silence for a long time. Without looking at Irene, he said pensively, “Besides myself, there’s only you and Jonny here right now. Jonny is talking to Ivan Viktors. They may have already started by now. How are you doing?”
“I thought I’d call Sylvia von Knecht in a while and ask how many hours a week Pirjo works for them. Otherwise, I just talked to the car dealer in Mölndal. He gives Charlotte an alibi up to about ten minutes past five.”
“Then she couldn’t have made it downtown and hoisted her father-in-law over the balcony railing. It’s also hard to believe that Charlotte is particularly skilled at bomb making.”
“Something tells me she can’t even cook a meal.”
It was meant as a joke, but she could hear her own cattiness. In her mind Rob’s cheerful voice exclaimed: Who needs to know how to cook with steering wheels like that. . wow!
Andersson didn’t seem to notice the comment about Charlotte’s deficiencies in the domestic arena. He was busy with his own thoughts and plans. “And then Jonny and Hans have to watch the parking garage. Tommy and Fredrik are checking Berzeliigatan. Birgitta has to talk to the photographer, Bobo Torsson, and help Hannu look for Pirjo Larsson. And I have to talk to Yvonne Stridner. Richard von Knecht is finished being examined, you might say. What else is there? Oh yes, I have to try on some pants.”
At the last sentence a shadow came over his face. He took a deep breath. “No, it’ll have to be you, Irene-you’re going to have to take care of the mother and son in Stockholm.”
“That’s fine. I have Veiko Fors’s phone number. But first I’m going to call Sylvia.”
THE PHONE rang about a dozen times before Sylvia’s slurred voice was heard at the other end of the line. Have you overdosed now, little Sylvia? thought Irene. But she didn’t say it. Instead she chirped in her softest voice, “Good morning, Sylvia. Pardon me for waking you. It’s Inspector Irene Huss.”
An incoherent mumble and grumbling was her reply. Irene hastily plunged ahead, “I’m calling on behalf of Superintendent Andersson. We’re searching for Pirjo Larsson. She’s been missing since last Wednesday afternoon. You still haven’t heard from her?”
“No-o-o. Not. . gone. . I think she lives in Angered,” Sylvia mumbled.
“We know that. But she’s been missing from her apartment and left her three children alone since last Wednesday.”
“Oh. . that’s odd.” It sounded as though she was starting to wake up. “So who’s going to clean our apartment then?”
She was awake now. Irene stifled a sigh and continued undeterred, “We were wondering how many hours a week Pirjo works for you.”
There was silence for half an eternity. Finally came a dejected, “Fifteen hours.”
“Divided over three days? Monday, Wednesday, and Friday? Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“How much do you pay Pirjo?”
“I can’t see that that’s any of your business!”
Irene tried to sound as convincing as possible. “Yes it is, actually. We’re investigating Pirjo’s financial situation.” That sounded good. But it didn’t impress Sylvia.