“What do we do now?” asked Jacobsson as they got coffee from the office coffee machine.
“I don’t know. Do you believe him?”
“Yes, actually, I do,” she said, looking up at Knutas. “I think he sounds very convincing.”
“I do, too. If only there was someone who could corroborate his story, we could release him right away. I think we can disregard the theft of the money for the time being.”
“His pal, this Orjan, seems to keep popping up. We need to get hold of him,” said Jacobsson.
“I’ll talk to Birger about whether we should hold Bengt Johnsson any longer or not. I think we’ll stop the interview here. Would you like some lunch?”
The choice of lunch restaurants in Visby during the wintertime was limited. Most of the pubs were open only in the evening, and so they usually ended up at the same place if they wanted a change from the meager offerings in the police department’s cafeteria. Of course the lunch was more expensive, but it was worth every ore. The Cloister was furnished in classic inn style and had a well-respected chef. The owner, Leif Almlov, was one of Knutas’s best friends. When Knutas and Jacobsson stepped through the door, they were met by a great bustle and clatter and plenty of hurrying waitresses. All the tables were taken.
Leif caught sight of them and waved.
“Hi, how are things going?”
He gave Jacobsson a hug and shook hands with Knutas as he kept an eye on everything going on around them.
“Good. It’s sure crowded in here today,” said Knutas.
“There’s a convention in town. It was like this yesterday, too. Total hysteria. What would you like to eat?”
“Looks like we’re going to have to settle for hot dogs instead.”
“No, no, don’t even think of it. Of course I’ll get you a table. Just wait here. Have a seat at the bar for the time being.”
He called to the bartender to give them something to drink, on the house. As they sat down with glasses of light beer in front of them, Jacobsson lit a cigarette.
“Have you started smoking?” exclaimed Knutas in surprise.
“No, not at all. I only smoke when I go to a party or if I’m having problems.”
“I see, and what would you call this?”
“The latter. I’m having some personal difficulties.”
“Is it something you’d like to talk about?”
“No. Leif is waving to us-we have a table.”
Sometimes Jacobsson could really drive Knutas crazy. She was overly secretive about her private life. She might tell him something about her travels, her relatives, or some social event that she had gone to, but he seldom found out anything important.
They didn’t meet socially, except infrequently at a party. He had been to her place only a few times. She lived on Mellangatan, in a big three-room apartment with a view of the sea. The only male companion she ever talked about at any length was her large cockatoo named Vincent, who was the center of attention in his cage in the living room. The stories about him were legion: for one thing, he was a whiz at playing Ping-Pong with his beak, and he could scare off unwelcome visitors by growling like a dog.
Knutas didn’t actually know very much about Karin Jacobsson except that she was interested in sports. She played soccer in Division Three and was by all accounts very good at it. She could always talk about soccer. She was a midfielder on the Visby P18 team that played in the mainland league, which meant that she often played matches off the island. Knutas imagined that if she operated on the same level as she did on the job, she was undoubtedly a tough player to tackle, in spite of her small size. She shared her interest in sports with Erik Sohlman. They were always talking about soccer.
Jacobsson was from Tingstade parish in the north of the island. Her parents still lived in the same house on the edge of Tingstade swamp, practically right across from the church. Knutas knew that she had a younger brother, but she never talked about him or her parents.
Many times he had wondered why she still lived alone. Karin was both charming and nice, and when she first started working with the Visby police, he had been slightly attracted to her. But that was just when he happened to meet Lina, so he had never fully examined his feelings. He didn’t dare ask Karin about her love life; her sense of privacy blocked all attempts of that sort. Yet Knutas never held back from telling her about his own problems. She knew just about everything about him, and he considered her to be his best female friend.
Their food arrived, and they hungrily focused their attention on eating as they discussed the investigation. They both agreed that they believed Bengt Johnsson’s story.
“Maybe the murder has nothing to do with the money Dahlstrom won at the track,” said Jacobsson. “The perp could have stolen the cash as a diversion. He wants us to think that the murder was the result of a burglary. But then the question is: What was the real motive?”
“Do you know whether he was seeing anyone?”
“Well, that Monica who was at the track with him told us that they sometimes slept together, but it was nothing serious.”
“What about in the past? Maybe there’s a story farther back and none of his current friends knows anything about it.”
“That’s conceivable,” said Jacobsson, drinking the last of the light beer she was having with her fish. “Do you think it might be about an ex-girlfriend who wanted revenge, or a jealous husband whose wife was sleeping with Dahlstrom, or some neighbor who got tired of all the coming and going in the stairwell?”
“I think the explanation could be even simpler than that. The most obvious motive is the track money-someone killed Dahlstrom for the money, plain and simple.”
“Maybe.” Jacobsson stood up. “I’ve got to run. We’re going to track down Orjan Brostrom-Bengt’s buddy.”
“Okay. Good luck.”
Most of the lunch guests had left the restaurant, and Leif sat down on the chair that Jacobsson had vacated.
He opened a frosty bottle of beer and took several long gulps.
“What an ordeal. Practically every customer wanted to order a la carte instead of choosing the daily special. The kitchen was an inferno, and the chef has been yelling at everyone. I had to console one of the waitresses who started sobbing.”
“You poor guy,” said Knutas with a laugh. “Is she cute?”
Leif made a wry face.
“Not much fun when you have to play nanny to every single person. Sometimes this place seems just like a day-care center. But never mind that, a lot of people means money in the bank, and that’s what we need during the long, cold winter. How are things with you?”
“Lots of work-just like you. The difference is that the profits are scanty.”
“How’s the investigation going?”
“We’ve got someone under arrest, although between you and me, I doubt he’s the guy. But I’m sure we’ll solve this case, too.”
“Wasn’t it one of his drinking buddies who did it?”
“That seems the most likely, but we’ll have to wait and see,” said Knutas.
Even though he and Leif were close friends, he didn’t like to discuss an investigation when he was in the middle of it. Leif was fully aware of this and respected his reticence.
“How are Ingrid and the kids?” asked Knutas.
“They’re all fine. This morning I went out and bought tickets to Paris. I’m thinking of surprising Ingrid with a week of romance right after New Year’s. We’re celebrating our fifteenth wedding anniversary.”
“Has it been that long?”
“Incredible but true.”
“You always manage to come up with such good ideas. I can’t think of what to buy Lina for her birthday. Do you have any suggestions?”
“No, you’re going to have to think of something yourself. I’ve filled my quota when it comes to your wife’s birthdays. At least until it’s time for her fiftieth.”
Knutas smiled with embarrassment. When Lina had turned forty they were going through a rough period financially. So the Almlovs had provided the place and the wait staff for the big celebration. Leif also happened to know the members of a band, and they had agreed to play for free. Leif was truly a thoughtful and generous friend. The entire Knutas family had been invited to the Almlov mountain cabin and to their time-share apartment on the Costa del Sol in Spain.