her. She was as open as you could want about her gentlemen. No, it has to be someone else. Maybe he got himself a call girl. Too bad he took a sauna and shower.”
With a wave she vanished down the hall toward the lunchroom. Andersson sat there a long time staring thoughtfully into space. Not one usable idea occurred to him. He kept on seeing the image of Pirjo’s charred body. In his ear Stridner’s voice rang, You should be asking what she was doing there!
HE PUT a note on Hannu’s desk. The last line read, “Urgent & important info re Pirjo L.,” to underscore the importance of talking to each other.
He returned to his office after a tiresome and sweaty fitting for the uniform pants. Hannu was sitting with a notebook on his lap, looking out his dirt-streaked window. Were the pale, sparse sun breaks also tempting him to go out into the city? His ice-blue eyes revealed nothing of his longing or any other feelings when they turned toward Andersson. They were calm and alert.
Hannu also listened without interrupting. He just nodded a few times. Clearly the pieces fit together for him. The superintendent envied him. He himself thought that everything seemed like one big mess. If only he could get hold of the right string and start to unravel the tangle. But in the present situation they had to sniff around for a while longer and dig where they smelled the most shit. Routine police work, in other words.
The superintendent asked, “What have you found out about Pirjo besides what we already know? Birgitta told me that Pirjo’s old man is in Malmö now, so we can skip him for the time being. What we need is something that can explain where she fits into the picture when it comes to the bomb on Berzeliigatan.”
“I found her in our records. She’s been up twice for shoplifting. Suspended sentence each time. The first time she took some ski overalls at Obs department store, the second time Falun sausage and a box of macaroni at ICA on Angered Square,” Hannu reported.
“Nothing else?”
“No.”
“She doesn’t sound like a terrorist bomber. Interesting that she has a rap sheet; it means she had some criminal inclination, at least. Have you asked our colleagues in Helsinki whether they have anything on her in their records?”
“I have. They’ll get back to me this afternoon.”
“One of your pals in the Helsinki police force?”
Andersson could have bitten off his tongue. But at the same time he was so damned curious about this reticent man. Why? Because he was an old snoop, he chastised himself. Still, the question had been asked. And would get the answer it deserved.
“Yep.”
Calmly Hannu turned to a page in his notebook. Without looking up he began to summarize, “On Monday Pirjo and Marjatta cleaned von Knecht’s apartment. During the night Juha and Timo took sick; they got the flu. Pirjo cleaned the Press Bureau office on Tuesday afternoon. Wednesday morning Pirjo took the bus to the von Knechts’ but had to return home. She told the kids that von Knecht was dead. In the afternoon she cooked dinner. Just after five she told her daughter that she ‘had to go out and do some extra cleaning.’ Then she disappeared in a cloud of smoke. Literally.”
Andersson felt a slight shiver at the back of his neck. He nodded to conceal it and said, “What was she doing at Berzeliigatan?”
The icy blue eyes regarded him for an instant before the answer came. “Cleaning.”
Their eyes met. Both shook their heads simultaneously. His voice heavy and emphatic, as if he were afraid that the meager little idea he had come up with would slip his mind if he dressed it in precise words, Andersson said, “No. She knew that von Knecht was dead. She had two sick kids at home. It was almost six-thirty when the building blew up. No, she didn’t go there to clean, but to steal.”
“Right.”
It was silent again. Both saw the problem. It was Hannu who voiced it. “The key.”
“According to Irene, Sylvia von Knecht said that all the keys she knew of were in place at the apartment on Molinsgatan.”
“That she knew of,” echoed Rauhala.
When he heard his own words repeated, Andersson also understood the solution. Excitedly he said, “There must have been a set of keys that Sylvia didn’t know about! But how did Pirjo get hold of them?”
“Stole them. Or was given them.”
“Stole them?”
“When she cleaned von Knecht’s place on