the Frog and the doctor wouldn’t have been able to hide her from them. She couldn’t have been so sick that she couldn’t talk. She had given them a statement earlier in the investigation. And it would have been a lot cheaper.
Sven Andersson hadn’t bothered turning on the lights, despite the fact that the darkness was creeping in on him. He sat in the dusk and enjoyed his well-earned can of ale—in all honesty, the third he’d had this April Friday evening. And that wasn’t anyone’s damn business, in his opinion.
When the doorbell rang, initially he was terribly upset. He automatically glanced at his watch and noted that it was almost nine o’clock. His first impulse was not to open the door, to pretend he wasn’t home. On the other hand, it was very seldom that his doorbell ever rang. Sheer curiosity propelled him out of his recliner and to the door.
To his surprise, his cousin Georg was standing on the front step. He was alone, without the ever-cheerful Bettan. There was nothing bad to be said about her, but sometimes she could be rather trying.
“Hey, Sven,” said Georg.
Andersson noted that his usually self-confident cousin stood and rocked uncertainly, teetering from side to side.
“Hi. What do you want?”
Georg licked his lips nervously and forced a smile. “Could I come in for just a minute?”
Again, curiosity took hold of the superintendent. Maybe his police instincts were awakened. That’s what he preferred to think, but old honest curiosity had also led to the solution of cases.
Sven backed up so he could let his cousin in. With one foot, he discreetly pushed away the boots which were lying where they had been thrown, just inside the threshold, when he got home from the previous weekend’s fishing trip. He had spent the only day he had taken off during the whole Easter weekend pursuing his hobby, fishing. His other hobby was gardening, but he hadn’t told them about that one at work.
He became aware that it had been a while since he had cleaned his little house. “You’ll have to excuse the mess, but a lot has been happening. The Schyttelius murders and the motorcycle gang war that broke out over Easter . . . I’ve had to put in a lot of overtime.”
That would have to do as an explanation. If it didn’t, Georg could pull out the vacuum cleaner and clean up himself. It was Sven’s mess, and he was content with it. But right now it was probably worse than usual.
So that the layer of the dust on the furniture wouldn’t be visible, he only lit one lamp.
“Do you want a beer?” he asked.
“No, thank you. I’m driving.”
Of course he was driving. He and Bettan lived in Billdal, on the other side of Göteborg. Andersson suppressed a sigh, but at the same time he was pleased. He only had three cans left in the fridge.
“Coffee then . . . ?” he inquired, halfheartedly.
“No, thank you. Nothing. I just wanted to talk about . . . something.”
Georg sat gingerly on the outer edge of the green sofa. He may have been worried about his light-colored suit. The sofa was quite faded and soiled after all these years. Several times, Andersson had thought about buying a slipcover to conceal these imperfections, but he had never gotten around to it. Andersson himself sank down into his well-broken-in leather armchair. It was a fiftieth birthday present from himself. His half-consumed beer can sat in front of him on the stained teak table.
“Okay. You want to talk about something. Go ahead. You’re among friends,” Andersson said jovially, smiling at his own joke.
Georg didn’t seem to have understood that this was an attempt at humor. Troubled, he cleared his throat, hesitated, then spoke. “It’s about Jacob Schyttelius. Naturally, this has nothing to do with his murder. Both the girl’s father and I thought it was best to let everything go . . . to die with Jacob, so to speak. If we started digging into things, it would only cause more damage. And Jacob is, after all, dead. He can’t defend himself. And for her, it’s probably best the way things are. So that she can forget all about it. Children forget quickly.”
Confused, Georg gave his cousin a desperate look. Andersson only felt bewildered. For lack of a better idea, he picked up the can and drank a gulp. What was it Georg was trying to say? Something about Jacob Schyttelius and a child. Thoughtfully, he put