“What was it you wanted when you came in here?”
First Jonny looked as if he didn’t intend to answer, and sat sulking. But discipline prevailed, and he said with restrained rage, “I’ve been in contact with Sylvia von Knecht’s mother and sister. They corroborate Sylvia’s alibi. They went to the theater, and afterward they had a late supper. So she wasn’t the one that Viktors spent his Sunday evening with. And now I think I’ll drive over to the parking garage on Kapellgatan. And I never sent any porno clippings in an interdepartmental envelope to Birgitta!”
With great effort he gathered up his remaining dignity and tried not to limp as he went out the door.
The air went out of Birgitta again, and she rested her head heavily in her hands. Andersson worried that she was going to start crying again; he had always found it unpleasant when women cried. A bit too quickly he said, “I’m going to get us a couple of coffees from the vending machine. Then you can report on what happened with that scumbag Torsson. After we drink our coffee.”
He added the last remark hastily when he thought her shoulders were beginning to shake again.
“HE ARRIVED at three o’clock. Tall, thin, and tan from a tanning salon. Bleached blond streaks in his hair. Armani sport coat and worn blue jeans. According to his Social Security record he’s thirty-seven years old, but he works hard at looking ten years younger. When he was shown into my office he sailed in with the words, ‘I’ll admit everything if you not only interrogate me but seduce me too!’ And then he started laughing like a madman. He stank of stale booze but he’s on something else. A tentative guess is amphetamines. Maybe cocaine. He rubbed his index finger under his nose several times as he sat and babbled. He could have snorted some snow before he came to see me. He was exhilarated and restless at the same time. Couldn’t sit still on his chair, kept jumping up and down. Toward the end of the conversation, after about half an hour, he started to sweat profusely. Then I asked him if he was feeling bad. That’s when. . he jumped on me. ‘I’ll show you how bad I feel!’ he yelled, and when I got up he pulled me close and lifted me up against the wall. And grabbed me between my legs and. . bit me on my right breast.”
Birgitta broke off and was fighting hard not to start crying again. Andersson looked very worried when he leaned over the desk. In a sympathetic voice he asked, “Was it a hard bite? Did it leave marks?”
She gave a sob and nodded.
“Good! I mean, it wasn’t good that he bit you. But if there are marks we’ll have to see about getting them photographed. And a doctor will have to examine you and sign a statement. Go on.”
“At first he didn’t seem to notice the pain when I kneed him in the groin. I had to press my fingers into his eyes to get him to let go. He started to laugh like a crazy person again. Then he collapsed with his hand in his crotch. For a long time he didn’t make a sound. I was ready for another attack, but the air had gone out of him. Finally he got up and whispered, ‘I’m going to mark you. I know your name. Even your own mother won’t recognize you!’ And then he disappeared out the door. Good Lord! I sat there shaking like an aspen leaf in my chair. Then I got mad. Maybe I was mostly afraid, but it turned to rage. That’s when I knew that I had to talk to somebody. Well, I found you in the lunchroom and you know the rest.”
Andersson nodded and thought for a moment. He called the secretary and asked her to make an emergency appointment with the doctor for Birgitta. He emphasized in particular the importance of photo documentation.
When that was taken care of, he turned again to his inspector. She seemed to have recovered her spirits. She even gave him a wan smile.
To encourage her he said, “I’m sure we have time to go over what Torsson told you. First of all, where does he live?”
“You won’t believe it. He told me he was living with his cousin. Right across from the building that burned down on Berzeliigatan. His cousin is the owner of a small tobacco shop.”
“Lasse ‘Shorty’ Johannesson! Is this a joke or what?”
“No. Bobo Torsson and Shorty are actually cousins. Their mothers are sisters. Unfortunately it wasn’t until the end that this came up. I didn’t have time to dig any go deeper, because that was just before he … flipped out.”
Andersson didn’t care anymore that Birgitta was in the room. He excused himself, pulled out his desk drawer, and took out the tube of antacids. He stepped out in the corridor and went into the men’s room. There he took a plastic cup from the vending machine and dissolved two tablets. While he waited for them to stop fizzing, he caught sight of his face in the mirror.
Old. For the first time in his life he thought he looked old. Ancient. Ready to die. No, not yet. But well on the way. Florid, hair thin, with his eyes embedded in wrinkles and folds. You could sum him up in three words: bald, fat, ugly. It was no use to have the blues about the inexorable passage of time. He was mostly to blame. Physical training had never interested him. A little gardening and fishing now and then was what he called enough exercise. He gulped down the contents of the plastic cup and cast another self-critical glance in the mirror. Unfortunately, antacids are no youth elixir. He looked just as old and tired as before. Was it the conversation with Birgitta that had triggered this paranoia about his age? That sweet, lively girl, who was so attractive that men couldn’t contain themselves but bit her on the breast and sent her pornographic clippings. He slowed his steps and thought about how she must feel right now. Distressed, violated, and furious. Afraid. There was a real reason for fear if Shorty was in the picture. The pounding in his temples hadn’t let up yet; it was too soon after taking the medicine. The minute he thought about Torsson and Shorty, von Knecht and Pirjo, the roaring that started in the convolutions of his brain made his headache worse.
Birgitta was sitting just as he had left her. All energy seemed to have gone out of her, and she looked tired. Tonelessly she continued where she had left off. “Torsson went up to Stockholm last Friday night. He took the train, says he’s a little afraid of flying. He spent the weekend with two ‘old buddies,’ both photographers. I have their names and addresses. These three are supposed to do a big job together. A catalog of next year’s fall and winter fashions. This is apparently supposed to start in January. They were meeting to plan their strategy. From what I understood of his babble, they drank like pigs the whole weekend. He rattled off a bunch of pub names where they spent their evenings and nights. Café Opera, Gino, and other places like that. And then that repulsive laugh.”
“You’re positive? He was obviously on narcotics?”
“No doubt about it! High as a kite. The strange thing is that he didn’t stay with either of his buddies, but at the Hotel Lydmar the whole time. According to him it’s a jazz club and the coolest hotel in Stockholm. I assume he was making this up, because a jazz club can’t really be a hotel at the same time, can it?”
“In Stockholm anything is possible.”
“Could be. I’ll look into it. Evidently he had barely checked in to his hotel room when he and the other guys went on a bender all weekend. With no sleep. That’s why I’m starting to lean toward amphetamines.”
“Sounds quite probable.”
“During the week they apparently tried to work, and according to Torsson they got some fantastic ‘visions’ of the job’s setup. A biennale, he said! Isn’t that some sort of big art exhibition that’s held every other year? At any rate, the partying eventually took its toll. On Wednesday evening they ate dinner somewhere, but after that Torsson felt the need to go back to the hotel and sleep. He bought a big bottle of beer, took it up to his room, and sat down in front of the TV to unwind. He watched his home and photo studio burn down on the late news. First he called up Shorty on his cell phone. Apparently Shorty was the one who told Torsson to contact us, because he didn’t know what had happened either. That’s when I started to ask about his dealings with Shorty and found out that that’s where he’s been living. And that they’re cousins. And after that. . that was when he jumped on me.”