with three kids to take care of! She must have seen something last Monday. Lean on her daughter a little more.”
He reflected for a moment, but couldn’t think of anything else to do to find Pirjo.
“Now we’ve got a homicide, a bombing, and a missing person to investigate. And we don’t know if there’s any connection or if they’re all sheer coincidences. But I have a feeling they’re related,” he said grimly.
He took a deep breath, got up, and paced back and forth at the end of the table. Moving around usually cleared his mind. Just now his head felt chaotic.
“Getting back to von Knecht’s murder. Hannu, did you get hold of the illegitimate son and his mom?”
“Since I was in Angered, I asked a pal from the academy for help. A detective from Stockholm. He’ll call us tomorrow.”
“Can’t he call you at home tonight?”
“No. I haven’t gotten a phone put in yet.”
“You mean you just moved to Göteborg, and not merely to General Investigations?”
“That’s right.”
Everyone was waiting for more, but nothing came. When Andersson realized this, he moved on.
“Irene, you still have to talk to the car dealer tomorrow. You might as well wait for the call from Stockholm too. Then Hannu can get going right away with the search for Pirjo.”
Irene gave Hannu a questioning look. He nodded, and the shadow of a smile passed over his face. He was actually quite a handsome guy. And no wedding ring. But about as forthcoming as a sphinx. She quickly put a question to him.
“What’s your pal’s name in Stockholm?”
“Veiko Fors. Detective Inspector.”
Andersson was very near asking whether there was a secret Finnish information network within the police corps, but reason prevailed. It’s not good to have every question answered. Instead he turned to Birgitta.
“Birgitta, you help Hannu search for Pirjo. It’s a top priority. Do we have a description?”
Hannu nodded. “About a hundred and fifty-five centimeters tall. Her daughter doesn’t know how much she weighs, but says she’s fat. Blond, shoulder-length hair. Thirty-two years old. She cleans part time at a newspaper kiosk. She’s on welfare. I talked to the welfare office since they needed to know that Pirjo has disappeared. They promised to keep an eye on the kids.”
Fredrik raised his hand politely, wanting to ask a question.
“So she has plenty of money then? I mean, welfare plus legal and illegal wages, the whole thing?”
Hannu leafed through his notebook, found what he was looking for, and rattled off: “Half-time wages as cleaning woman, forty-three hundred kronor, plus welfare and rent and subsidies for the children. After taxes, forty-one hundred and ten kronor a month, which has to cover the rest of the rent, food, and clothes for four people. The welfare office had all the figures. She needs the illegal jobs.”
Irene looked pensive and asked to speak. “I wonder how many hours a week she worked for the von Knechts? Even if it was three days, I think it was only a matter of a few hours at a time. Should I check it out?”
“Yes, call your dear little friend Sylvia and ask her.”
Andersson chuckled, pleased with his joke. Irene had a guilty conscience. Was it so obvious how much she disliked Sylvia? At the same time she felt she understood the woman to some degree and maybe even had a certain sympathy for her. It couldn’t have been much fun being Richard von Knecht’s wife.
Andersson slapped his palm on his knee. “No, now I want a coffee break before Malm and Ljunggren take over with their hot technical clues.”
He got up and went over to the coffee machine. A third pot had just finished brewing. The night was still young.
SVANTE MALM started talking as soon as he took his last sip of coffee and stuffed a pinch of snuff under the left side of his top lip.
“Today we started to sort out all the fingerprints. We found a total of twenty-two different sets. Thirteen are identified. Colleagues from the various locations where Saturday’s guests reside are helping us take their fingerprints so they won’t have to come all the way in to Göteborg. Hannu gave me prints from Pirjo’s daughter, and he also took Pirjo’s prints from the alarm clock by her bed. In von Knecht’s apartment there were no prints on the light switches in the hall, kitchen, and pantry, the bedroom on the top floor, the bathroom, or the light panel at the foot of the stairs leading to the top floor. These were all