“Superintendent Sven Andersson, how do you do?”
“How do you do? Ivan Viktors.”
His voice was deep and well modulated, naturally. His smile was warm and genuine. Andersson made an apologetic gesture.
“I was just passing by and thought I’d say hello.”
Ivan Viktors leaned toward the superintendent and said in a low, conspiratorial voice, “Inspector Blom is about to narrow in on my mysterious activities.”
Jonny’s ears turned red, and he quickly read aloud from his notes: “‘Took the afternoon train up to Stockholm last Sunday. Visited an older brother at the Caroline Hospital.’ What’s he in for?”
“Compound fracture of the femur and concussion. He was operated on a week ago. Old men shouldn’t run across the street after the light turns red and think they can make it!”
Viktors tried to sound easy going, but Andersson heard an undertone of anxiety. He quickly asked, “Is it serious?”
“Not anymore. He’s recovering, thank you.”
Jonny again looked down at his papers and went on reading aloud: “ ‘Monday morning at nine o’clock V. met a pupil. They practiced until four P.M. Broke off only for lunch at noon.’”
“V? Is that me?” Ivan Viktors gave an effervescent laugh that to Andersson’s ears sounded like a pitch-perfect A major.
Jonny grew peevish and gave the opera singer a gritted-teeth look. “I always abbreviate names in my reports! The name of the pupil is Claes Winer. I’ve got his phone number and address and will call and check later.”
Andersson nodded and saw Ivan Viktors watching Jonny with a smile. Nothing in the man’s behavior seemed tense or uncertain. On the contrary, with his self-confident elegance he did not seem a bit perturbed by the dreariness of police headquarters; he seemed to fit right in and feel at home, which he no doubt did everywhere. Andersson reminded himself that skilled opera singers are also good actors.
Viktors turned directly to Andersson. “That’s how far Inspector Blom and I had gotten before you came in. On Tuesday morning I flew directly from Stockholm to Copenhagen. I had a delicious lunch with some old friends from the Royal Theater. They had contacted me regarding their production of Wagner’s Flying Dutchman. The young man who’s going to sing my old starring role is having problems finding his way in the songs, so to speak. And it is very difficult to sing. I can recall-”
“What hotel did you stay at?” The fact that Inspector Blom didn’t give a damn about all the flying Dutchmen in the world was clear from his tone of voice.
“Hotel? Oh yes, the Admiral.”
“And in Stockholm?”
For a split second Viktors lost his worldly self-assurance. But it passed so quickly that afterward Andersson wasn’t sure if he had seen correctly.
“Stockholm? My brother’s apartment, of course. He has a wonderful place on Strandvägen. The penthouse.”
Jonny Blom fired off his questions in an angry staccato. “Does he live alone?”
“Yes. And no. He’s divorced, but now is keeping company with a judge from Sunne district court. She commutes back and forth every week. My brother has a son from his marriage who has three charming little girls whom I call my grandchildren. Unfortunately my wife and I never had children. So I won’t be having any grandchildren of my own.”
The superintendent gave a start. He was all too familiar with that situation. Strangely enough it wasn’t until recent years that he had felt any longing for children and grandchildren. But he did have his niece’s children as surrogate grandkids. It was a good situation, since he only had to meet them three times a year at most. Maybe Ivan Viktors felt the same way.
Jonny looked really pissed off. At first Andersson couldn’t figure out why. After a while he understood that it wasn’t just Viktors’s annoying attitude, but also his own presence that was bothering Jonny. The superintendent admitted to himself that maybe the man had a point. Despite his blunt and insensitive manner, Jonny was actually very good at questioning people. Especially the tougher hoodlums. Right now the inspector was glowering at Ivan Viktors, while his brain was running at high speed. Finally he decided where to strike the next blow. Brusquely he said, “Were you alone in the apartment?”
Viktors was quite clearly shaken out of his complacency. His face turned red and he looked close to having a pulmonary hemorrhage. Quickly he pulled himself together and made a brave attempt to feign indignation.
“What do you mean? That must be obvious,” he said superciliously.
Jonny sensed the presence of a lie. He had an idea and leaned across the desk. His voice was hard edged and insinuating when he said, “So it’s not true that your brother’s girlfriend was also staying overnight at the apartment?”
Boom! Andersson saw at once how Viktors regained his confidence. It had wavered for a second, but now he was obviously again on solid ground. With his best patronizing and theatrical tone of voice and looking deeply insulted, he said, “My good inspector! My brother is sixty-nine years old and his partner is sixty-three! She is a highly respected lawyer and serves as a judge. The reason she commutes is because she will be retiring in two years and likes living in Sunne so much that she doesn’t want to leave her job there. Now she’s working Monday through Thursday. She comes home late Thursday evening and drives back on Sunday night. No, you know what? We didn’t see each other at all that night.”
“Do you have a key to the apartment?”
Viktors took a deep breath. His look said, What an idiot!
“Naturally my brother gave me a key. He’s still in the hospital; all you have to do is call and check. Please do, here’s the number.”
He pulled out his wallet from the breast pocket of his suit coat and took out a little yellow note, which he handed to Jonny Blom. Without thanking him or looking at the note, Jonny stared him straight in the eye.
“Was there anyone else at the apartment on Sunday night?”
“No. And if there were, I can’t see what business it is of yours. You’re investigating what happened to Richard, aren’t you? Not what I was doing in Stockholm last Sunday night. And at that time Richard was alive and in the best of health. He died on Tuesday, after all. And I was in Copenhagen at the time.”
Sulkily Jonny looked down at his papers. He felt that he had missed something, but didn’t know if it was of any importance to the investigation. Andersson agreed with him, but also wasn’t sure what it was that had passed through the room. Just a hunch. Jonny continued persistently, “What were you doing Tuesday night?”
Again a light sigh from Viktors. His gaze held a trace of pity. “At six-thirty I ate dinner at one of the best restaurants in Copenhagen, St. Gertrud’s Cloister.”
“Alone?”
“No. There were at least ten of us. All from the theater. I’d be happy to give you their names.”
“Thank you, two would be sufficient.”
Andersson felt that it was high time for him to break in for a while. If nothing else, it would give Jonny a chance to figure out what it was that had fluttered past them. Viktors wrote two names on the back of the yellow note with his brother’s phone number on it. Andersson cleared his throat softly before he said, “Going a little farther back in time, what did you think of the von Knechts’ party last Saturday?”
Surprised, Viktors looked up from the note he was writing. He looked like he was thinking it over.
“Well. . what can I say? As a matter of principle I don’t believe that people should wage war. The Thirty Years’ War, you know. Ha ha. It was fun to see old friends. I hadn’t seen Gustav and Louise in at least ten years.”