Usually, the lovely preserve was full of people strolling around. In the summer swimming was popular at the sandy beach. But on a damp Saturday afternoon in late November there were no crowds. Irene was completely alone. She kept close to the bushy vegetation along the shoulder of the road and tried to blend into nature. When she reached the hedge that surrounded the garden of the redbrick house, she had to duck down quickly and pretend to tie her shoelace.
Sylvia was loading Viktors down with suitcases and bags from the trunk of the BMW. Was she thinking of moving in? From the amount of baggage it looked like it. She had almost as much as Irene used to pack for the whole family’s three-week vacation at her husband’s parents’ summerhouse up in Värmland. It was too windy for her to hear what they were saying to each other. But judging by Sylvia’s body language, she was very excited. She gesticulated as she talked, tossing out the baggage with great energy and making swift, abrupt movements. To top it off she went up to Viktors, wrapped her arms around his waist, and leaned her head against his broad opera singer’s chest. He glanced around quickly and for a moment Irene thought he was looking straight through her peephole in the lilac hedge. Evidently, he didn’t see her. With an impatient movement he broke free of Sylvia’s embrace. Carrying all the gear, he started walking toward the solid oak front door. It closed heavily behind them.
BACK AT headquarters, Irene found out that not much had happened. Torsson seemed to have been swallowed up by the earth. Shorty claimed that he had no idea where his cousin was. Andersson was very pleased with Irene’s investigative efforts. He was especially happy that he had been right about Sylvia and Ivan Viktors. He clapped his hand to his chest and beamed like the sun.
“Male intuition, understand? Male intuition!”
Irene tactfully refrained from pointing out whose intuition had led to the disclosure.
Andersson went on, “Fredrik called just before you arrived. From lunchtime until midnight yesterday he kept Shorty’s smoke shop under surveillance. A person who may have been Bobo Torsson entered the street door to the stairwell of Shorty’s apartment building at three-thirty yesterday afternoon. The same man left after about an hour. In his hand he was carrying a large bag. Based on my description of Torsson, which I got secondhand from Birgitta Moberg, Fredrik thinks it was him. Now I’ve spoken with both Hannu and Fredrik. They’re continuing the surveillance of Shorty over the weekend. Not because I think Torsson is so damned stupid that he’d show up on Berzeliigatan again, but you never know. It might be good to see what Shorty’s up to as well.”
Irene teased him, “Male intuition?”
“Nope. Cop intuition,” said the superintendent.
Both laughed. Andersson turned serious then. “Speaking of cop intuition. . because Torsson threatened Birgitta, I’ve asked her not to stay at her apartment this weekend. She must have been feeling jumpy, because she complied. Really. She’s staying with her mother in Alingsås for a few days.”
“You’re afraid that Shorty and Torsson might be our phantoms?”
“Well. . no. . but I don’t want them tramping around in this shit. They’re stirring things up!”
From many years of working with Andersson, she knew what he was getting at. Maybe Shorty and Bobo Torsson didn’t have a thing to do with the von Knecht case. They were troubling elements, though, and the police couldn’t just ignore them. Shorty was too well known to the force for that. Suddenly, she had an idea.
“What if I tried to ferret out something useful on Bobo Torsson?”
“There should be something on him. Birgitta is stone certain that he was high as a kite. Go check with Narcotics, see what they’ve got.”
The only person she could find in the International Narcotics Division was unknown to her, a relative rookie. He muttered that he had tons of things to do, but promised to get back to her on Monday morning. There wasn’t much else she could do just now. She wrote a report about her surveillance of Sylvia von Knecht and decided to go home. It was almost five, and she was tired, but pleased with her day. And she looked forward to the rest of the evening.
A WONDERFUL feeling of excited anticipation rippled through her as Irene turned into their parking lot. She almost ran over Jenny, who was on her way out of the row-house courtyard. Quickly, she parked the car and went over to her daughter. Irene gave Jenny a hug. She noticed her reserve, but decided not to mention it. Cheerfully she said, “Hi, pal! Where are you off to?”
“Out.”
“Yes, I can see that. Where to?”
Jenny sighed heavily. “To the rec center. We have to practice.”
“The band? White Killers?”
“Yeah.”
“Aren’t you going to stay home with us tonight? We’re going to have a special evening and-”
“You’re going to drink wine and eat dinner! What’s so special about that? I want to be with my friends!”
“But Katarina-”
“She went to Uddevalla with the judo crowd.”
“Uddevalla?”
“Did you forget the tournament that’s going on there tomorrow? Admit you forgot it!”
“Well, yes. . ”
She had indeed. The von Knecht case had taken up all her mental energy this week. Still, that was no excuse for forgetting that Katarina was competing in the junior Swedish championship in judo. But she hadn’t forgotten the hickey on Jenny’s neck. As nonchalantly as possible she asked, “Is that guy coming, what’s-his-name?”
“Markus.”
Right into the trap! Jenny was furious when she realized she had let the cat out of the bag. “Lay off, will you? Do you think I’m one of your crooks to be interrogated, or what?” she screeched in rage.
Irene was worried the neighbors would begin to wonder. Tactfully she said, “Not at all. Do want us to pick you up?”
“No!”
“Then don’t come home later than midnight. On the dot! Are a bunch of you going together?”
“Yeah. I’m supposed to pick up Pia.”
That was a relief. Pia lived a few buildings down, in their neighborhood. She was a good, responsible girl, Irene thought. The rec center was about a kilometer away, so it wouldn’t be far for them to walk. But Markus was waiting for her there. Irene realized there wasn’t anything she could do about it. It made her uneasy, through. A little too quickly she said, “Have a great time. If you need anything, give us a call.”
“Yeah. ’Bye!”
Impatiently, Jenny slipped out of her mother’s attempt to give her another hug. She vanished into the November darkness. The same forlorn feeling that Irene had experienced in her dream seized her without warning. It took all the self-control she could muster to resist the impulse to run after her little daughter.
THE HOUSE already smelled lovely inside. Her mood and spirits brightened instantly.
“Hello, dear. Child-free tonight!”
Krister stuck his head out the kitchen doorway. His kiss tasted of the sea and he smelled like garlic.
“Oh, don’t tell me!” Irene sighed, delighted. “You’re making crab au gratin!”
“I have to take the opportunity when we’re alone. Although I split a small crab. It’s only for an appetizer.”