Irene didn’t doubt that for a minute. She was certain that something was wrong. “So nothing at all from next door.”
“No. Just the cat meowing and meowing. He’s probably hungry. Poor thing.”
Irene tactfully explained the situation to the old woman. “It’s a little worrying that Linda has not come home. I’ll have a locksmith pay a visit. We need to get inside and see to poor … Belker.”
Miss Berg nodded with enthusiasm. “You do that. Belker is a wonderful cat. He’s one of a kind, like all Siamese.”
“I’ll phone right away for the locksmith,” Irene said pleasantly as she tapped in the numbers for the emergency dispatcher.
“Dispatch. Detective Rolandsson.”
“Hi, Inspector Irene Huss here. We’ve gotten a complaint from a neighbor that a cat has been howling all day. The owner hasn’t been seen since late last night, and she also has not shown up at work today. I need to get in to check on her. Can you send a locksmith?”
“All right. Who is making the complaint?”
Irene took her phone away from her ear and whispered to Miss Berg.
“What’s your first name?”
“Ruth,” Miss Berg said hesitantly.
“Ruth Berg,” Irene spoke into the phone. She gave Rolandsson the address and clicked off.
“But I didn’t make a complaint!” Ruth Berg looked somewhat resentful.
“I know. It’s just procedure. Now everything will go faster. For Belker’s sake,” Irene added.
The old woman’s face softened at the mention of the cat’s name. “I see. Something must have happened, but don’t ask me to go on any witness stand.”
Irene reassured her that that would be highly unlikely. She jerked her thumb toward the door of Linda Svensson’s other neighbor. “Who lives there?”
“Nobody,” Ruth Berg sniffed. “Not right now. An old man lived there until he couldn’t take care of himself any longer. Finally, right after Christmas, they had to put him in a nursing home. He got filthy. Did his business anywhere he pleased, not in a toilet like normal people. Now they’ll have to renovate the whole place before they can rent it out again.”
Irene was reluctant to ask her next question. “Miss Berg, may I have your age, please?”
At first it seemed as if Ruth Berg did not intend to answer. Eventually, though, she shrugged and sighed. “Ninety-one next month. But no one’s coming here to celebrate it. I live all alone. Everyone else has passed on. Sometimes I believe that our Lord has forgotten me.” Miss Berg fell silent. Then she said, “I really can’t stand up and answer questions any longer. If you need anything else, please ring the bell again.”
Miss Berg closed her door. Irene could hear the rattling of the chain and then the thud of the bolt.
WHILE SHE WAITED for the locksmith, Irene called Löwander Hospital to check in with the superintendent. Linda Svensson still had not shown up at work. She also had not been admitted to any emergency room, Chief Inspector Andersson reassured Irene, mentioning that he’d placed those calls himself. The fact that Linda hadn’t been seen since last night worried him also.
“Please don’t tell me that another nurse has become a victim!” he said.
THE LOCKSMITH ARRIVED and easily unlocked the door, letting Irene inside. She carefully shut the door behind her so Belker couldn’t get out, then switched on the ceiling lamp in the small entry hall. The cat was nowhere to be seen. He’d obviously gone into hiding. On the right there was a tiny bathroom, directly ahead a small kitchen, and to the left of the kitchen was the entrance to a large living room with a sleeping alcove. All the rooms were tidy. The furniture was mostly from IKEA, and splashy movie and theater posters had been framed and hung on the walls. The whole impression was functional, youthful, and pleasant.
There was no trace of Linda. Irene called the chief inspector again to let him know. His only response was a deep sigh.
Irene found the litter box next to the shower stall, and it reeked. She had no idea how to take care of a cat, since she’d owned only dogs, but she expected that the sand in the box had to be changed and the cat was certain to need some food.
Resolutely, Irene searched the kitchen cabinets until she found cans of cat food. She washed the two ceramic bowls she saw on the floor and filled one with water and the other with the food. Now only the guest of honor had to be found.
“Here, kitty, kitty, kitty. Food! Belker! Come and get your food!” she called.
Her dog would have responded immediately. Before she’d finished the final syllable, Sammie would be standing right next to his bowl. The area rugs in the hallway would be scrunched together like the bellows of an accordion after his sprint to the kitchen.
Apparently cats didn’t work like dogs. Or perhaps Siamese cats didn’t let themselves be commanded. Belker did not show up. Irene decided to search the apartment, both for Belker and for any clues to Linda’s disappearance.
She searched the kitchen thoroughly. Either Linda Svensson was anorexic or she never ate at home. All Irene found was one almost-finished bag of muesli, one unopened pack of yogurt, and one tube of Kalles caviar. There were spices, half a pound of coffee, and a few tea bags on the shelf above the stove. The freezer held one opened package of fish sticks. On the other hand, she found four more cans of cat food. At least Belker’s needs were seen to, even though he didn’t seem to have the sense to come when he was served.
The tiny bathroom also held no secrets. Neither were there clues in the hall closet. In the large living room, Irene searched through the bookshelf and then the neat pine desk by the window. She sat down on the swivel chair in front of the desk and systematically went through the contents of its one drawer.
The layout of the desk drawer showed that Linda was highly organized. The tidy piles of bills, postcards, letters, and bank forms had nothing in common with Irene’s own administrative system, which was “deal with the one on top first.” At the bottom of the drawer, Irene found a new passport in the name of Linda Sophia Svensson.
None of the papers gave any clues to Linda’s whereabouts. Suddenly Irene realized why. There were no address books or telephone lists—not even a pocket calendar. She searched the room again and found none of these things. Nor were there any keys, nor a wallet. Nor Belker.
Irene’s toes struck something. When she bent down to look under the desk, she saw an old yellow caller ID box with deep claw marks in the plastic. A gray cord had been disconnected from the telephone. Obviously the caller ID box had become a plaything for a bored Belker. Irene reconnected the ID box to the phone, but it was obvious that the device was completely dead, probably broken when it fell.
Nothing else to see here. Probably time to quit. Irene turned off the light in the room and went into the hallway. As she reached up to turn off that light, she wondered where Belker had gone to hide. A second later a tiger bolt flew from the hat rack onto her head. Belker hissed with fury, and with all the strength he possessed, the Siamese cat dug his claws right in under her chin. It hurt like hell. Irene instinctively grabbed his front leg, but then a burning pain shot through her right ear as Belker buried his teeth in it.
“OH, MY DEAR. This is really not a pretty sight.”
Nurse Ellen shook her head sympathetically as she continued to clean the wound in Irene’s ear. Irene’s right arm was sore after a tetanus shot, but she hardly noticed that compared to the pain in her ear and under her chin.
Dr. Löwander walked into the room and put on his professional cheerfulness. “This will heal without a scar. You’ll need some antibiotics, but it’s too late to fill the prescription at a pharmacy. We’ll start you out with a few pills from our medicine cabinet.”