she didn’t like or want to do.”
“But what if her boyfriend demands that she come along?”
Irene hesitated. “I don’t know. I honestly don’t. But Krister says that we need to trust her judgment. She’s a smart girl, but a little lost; she’s had a hard time finding a real best friend. She has Katarina, of course, but they fight all the time, except when Krister or I say something to one of them. Then they gang up on us and stick together.”
They were nearing the yellow villa, completely unprepared, when the front door suddenly opened and a figure rushed out, stumbling down the uneven garden path. The door closed quickly. Evidently Charlotte wasn’t going out with him, which was lucky, considering she might have recognized them at once.
With great self-control Irene forced herself to continue walking at Tommy’s side as if nothing had happened. They kept on talking as they discreetly observed the young man walk around the Golf. He was blond, of medium height, about twenty years old, and he was wearing the soft suede jacket and cowboy boots. The glow of the streetlight fell on him for a moment before he turned his back to them to unlock the car. He had a surprisingly young face with regular features, but he looked very grim. Was he angry? Had they had an argument? With an impatient gesture he pushed the hair out of his face. Irene caught herself thinking that he looked really sweet. Charlotte had gotten herself a boytoy. Although judging by his costume, he would probably prefer being called a cowboy. He got into the car and started fumbling in his jacket pockets. Apparently he was thinking of lighting a cigarette. Tommy and Irene passed the Golf and tried to increase their pace without being noticed. As fast as they dared, they hurried toward the Saab. When they opened the car doors, Irene looked back and saw the Golf swinging out onto the street. She let him drive by, hopped in the Saab, and then made one of her usual illegal U-turns.
He drove down toward Skårs Allé and then turned south on St. Sigfridsgatan. Before long he turned up Kungsbackaleden. Tommy groaned, half in jest, but said with a serious undertone, “Oh no! Don’t tell me we’re going out to Billdal again!”
But they weren’t. At Mölndal the red Golf turned off and headed down Bifrostgatan. He drove a short distance and then parked outside a low apartment house. Irene quickly turned down a side street. They jumped out of the car and saw the young man calmly walk up to the street door and go inside. They jogged up to the door and opened it as cautiously as they could in time to hear a door closing on the floor above. The list of occupants was posted in the foyer.
She saw the name right away and started giggling. She said in a low voice, “R. Skytter. Robert Skytter. She’s screwing her car dealer. And he’s the one who gave her the alibi for the evening of the murder!”
THEY WAITED five minutes before they went upstairs. Tommy rang the doorbell with the nameplate “R. SKYTTER.” They heard footsteps and the door opened. But it wasn’t the cowboy. The man who opened the door had red hair and was taller, but about the same age.
“Hello, we’re from the police. Inspector Irene Huss and Inspector Tommy Persson. We’re looking for Robert Skytter.”
The redhaired youth’s eyes narrowed and he said with feigned nonchalance, “Do you have any ID?”
Both Irene and Tommy pulled out their laminated ID cards and held them up in front of him. He couldn’t hide his disappointment when he said, “These can’t be right. It’s supposed to be a big gold badge.”
Irene sighed loudly. “That’s in the States. You’ve seen too many cop movies. Are you Robert, or is it the guy who came in five minutes ago?”
The redhaired guy looked like he was thinking about answering, but he never got a chance. Behind him the blond young man appeared. He smoothly greeted them, “Hello! What’s this about?”
This was Robert. She recognized his trumpeting voice.
“Hi, Robert. Detective Inspector Irene Huss. We spoke on the telephone last week. May we come in?”
The redhaired guy moved aside reluctantly. Tommy turned to him and said, “And who are you?”
“Daniel Skytter,” he replied sullenly.
Now Irene could see the likeness. They were brothers. In a friendly voice she asked, “Do you live here too?”
“Yes. Temporarily.”
“Temporarily?”
Daniel Skytter showed signs of uneasiness, rocking back and