to HQ to look at them. He was alone in the store and the Christmas shopping season was starting. He couldn’t get away until Saturday afternoon after three at the earliest. Then he had unlimited time, if the inspector could make it then? So Fredrik decided that the mountain would have to come to Mohammed. He persuaded himself that the primary reason was the time factor. They had to clear up quickly what make of car they were looking for. Somewhere in the back of his mind Jonny’s scornful comments during morning prayers were still reverberating. But then he remembered Birgitta’s reaction to the verbal battle with Jonny and instantly felt quite satisfied with the way things had developed.
Irene managed to find a parking place on the other side of Aschebergsgatan. They agreed to meet back at the car at one o’clock on the dot. Anyone who didn’t show up within fifteen minutes would have to take the streetcar back to HQ. Gingerly, Fredrik walked off toward the clothing store with his pictures in the dark blue bag. Irene and Tommy saw him slip and almost fall in the middle of the crosswalk.
Irene chuckled. “He doesn’t really have his feet on the ground. He’s still floating after Birgitta’s kiss.”
“No wonder! Who wouldn’t be?”
“Would you?”
“Well . . . a little hop, maybe . . .”
They laughed, and it warmed them up. They decided to split up. Tommy would do a round and ask about the cars outside the garage on Friday night. Irene would take Pirjo and the light-colored car.
The streetcar stop where Pirjo had stood was about forty meters from Quist’s store. There were always people waiting at the stop, since two streetcar lines and three bus lines passed by. It was probably no use to ask the people standing there now. Better to concentrate on the shops and businesses at street level.
Closest to her was a big art gallery. GALLERI UNO was written in curlicue letters on the show window and doors. When she tried to push open the door, it was locked. A note the size of a postage stamp was fastened with tape at eye level. “Monday-Tuesday closed. Wednesday- Saturday 12-17. Sunday 12-16.” Okay, Uno would have to wait till last.
Uno’s neighbor was a small foot-care shop. The woman behind the counter was wearing a nylon dress that had probably been white once upon a time. The only thing that gleamed white now was her hair. Irene was unsure. Was this a real business? In Sweden people usually retire at the age of sixty-five, but this lady had to be twenty years older. Yet her voice was strong and clear.
“Hello, how can I help you?”
“Hello. My name is Irene Huss, detective inspector. I’m investigating the murder of Richard von Knecht.”
The old woman leaned over the counter and whispered so excitedly that her dental work clacked. “Imagine, how exciting, right at my doorstep! I’ve been following it on TV and in the papers.”
“I suppose you’ve read in the papers that there is a possible link to the arson bombing on Berzeliigatan?”
“Well, it’s obvious there’s a connection! And that little cleaning woman who died in the fire! Since she cleaned here at the von Knechts’ place, it’s clear that she had something to do with the fire on Berzeliigatan!”
She crossed her arms and gave Irene a challenging look.
“That little cleaning woman is the key,” said Irene. “We’re trying to track whom she met on that last day of her life. Wednesday of last week. According to several witnesses, she was seen outside here at the streetcar stop at around ten—”
“That’s right. I saw her. Three times a week for a couple of years I’ve seen her arrive on the streetcar. She usually rode home around three in the afternoon. But last Wednesday she went home at ten in the morning.”
“Did you see whether she walked over to a car that had stopped?”
“Yes, she did. But they only talked for a minute. The car drove off almost at once.”
“What kind of car was it?”
For the first time in their conversation the elderly saleswoman looked uncertain. “What kind?”
“Yes, what make of car.”
“I’m not so good at makes of cars.”
Irene sighed, but she tried to hide it. “Was it a large or small car?”
“I don’t know. Pretty big, I think,” she said and sucked pensively on her ill-fitting false teeth.
“Do you remember what color it was?”
“I don’t remember. Maybe brown. Or lighter . . . But the little cleaning woman—actually she wasn’t