Hells Rockets, she felt as though she had left that investigation. Mentally, she was already in London.
Chapter 17
AT HEATHROW, THE WEATHER was as overcast as it had been when the plane took off from Landvetter. The only difference was that the air was slightly warmer in London.
Glen Thompson was waiting at the same spot. A lukewarm drizzle began as Irene and Glen walked to his black car.
As usual, he talked about everything and everyone. First, he said that the Butcher was still in the hospital. According to the doctors, his brain injuries were permanent. Gravedigger had regained consciousness but was in critical condition. Glen cleared his throat with difficulty before he asked, “You weren’t injured seriously during the car crash?”
“No. Just bumps and bruises,” Irene answered, surprised.
“Good. He’s HIV-positive. AIDS is developing. I was thinking about contacting you when I found out, but since you have to wait at least eight weeks before you can be tested. . . .”
He finished the sentence with a shrug. It was unpleasant to think that the man she had fought with suffered from HIV, but as far as she could remember neither he nor she had bled after the crash.
The taxi driver who had fallen victim to the two robbers had also been allowed to leave the hospital.
“He has healed physically but is unwilling to drive a taxi any more. Doesn’t surprise me. They had to pump almost three liters of blood into him! He was very close to death from exsanguination. There’ll probably be some legal proceedings, but since the defendants aren’t in good shape it will take a while. According to my boss, it’s not likely that you’ll have to testify in person. I’ve made a final copy of your statement. Read through it and sign at the bottom.”
“Can I take it home with me and read it in peace?” Irene wanted to have an English-Swedish dictionary at hand.
“Of course.”
Glen also told her that Estelle had gotten a lot of bookings through a new partnership agreement with a large travel agency representing Scandinavian tourists who wanted to stay near the central city, comfortably and cheaply. This had given the small, well-run family hotel in Bayswater a big boost.
He and Kate were considering taking the ferry over and driving through Sweden during the summer, probably the last two weeks in July and the first week in August. The boys were fired up with enthusiasm about living in a tent, but Kate refused to wake up in a soaking-wet sleeping bag; she preferred staying at a bed and breakfast.
“Are there bed and breakfasts in Sweden?” Glen asked.
“Yes, but they’re not as common as in England. However, we have hostels. They maintain very high standards and are economical.
“But in Göteborg, you’ll stay with us,” Irene said firmly.
Glen smiled. “If we accept the invitation, we’ll have the twins with us,” he warned her.
“They are more than welcome. Neither Jenny nor Katarina will be home during those three weeks. Katarina is going to be traveling by boat in Greece, and Jenny is going with her band to practice new songs and record a demo.”
“Aren’t you and your husband going on vacation?”
“Yes. We’re going to Crete, but not until the middle of August.”
“We want to see the midnight sun. Is it really light all night long during the summer months in northern Sweden?”
“Yes. The sun never sinks below the horizon. But don’t forget the converse: From the end of November to the middle of February, they don’t see the sun at all up there. Then it’s eternal night.”
They found the car and started driving toward London. Summer greenery had taken over outside the car, and the gardens they passed were dazzling with flowers. Irene could understand why the English are crazy about their gardens. The pains they take are amply repaid when the gardens start blooming so early. In Sweden, the frosty nights at the end of May, when the temperature drops to freezing and all the tender newly planted plants freeze, postpone the blooming season. Irene had lost count of all of the tomatoes and marigolds that she had had to throw out after the night frost had transformed small sprouts into dead sticky piles.
Glen changed the conversation. “I checked out Lefévre’s alibi for the night of the murder. The pub owner confirmed that Christian was there on that Monday night. There’s a group of five guys who meet there every Monday to organize their betting pools for the week. Despite the fact that there were