the Porsche probably come from the plastic containers he had set down on the floor in here. They got oily on bottom.”
Fredrik interrupted her. “Why didn’t he use his own car to drive down to Berzeliigatan?”
“Because he didn’t want his own car to be seen in the neighborhood at the time. It would be hard to explain what he was doing there in the middle of the night. Von Knecht’s own car would arouse some curiosity but not the same amount,” Irene said.
That sounded reasonable. Tommy nodded and took the piece of hose. “Let’s take this down to the lab, to confirm that gasoline actually ran through it. But take a whiff. It has definitely been used for gasoline. We’ll have to ask the techs to come out here and take a few samples of the oil spots on the floor—if they haven’t already—and compare them with the ones in the car,” he said firmly.
They went out and closed the squeaky door behind them. Tommy looked thoughtfully at the solid, gray-painted door.
“Imagine if we could get hold of a witness who saw them loading the gasoline cans into the Porsche! But no one has come forward. It must have happened while the witness on the third floor was putting his baby to bed and going to the john,” he sighed.
Irene patted him lightly on the arm. “Tommy, we’ve already seen plastic cans somewhere. Quite recently. In Henrik and Charlotte’s garage. Let’s swing by there and take a closer look. We’ll keep these keys and give them to the techs. I think it’s about time for another meeting with Sylvia von Knecht. Although I’m probably the last person on earth she wants to see. Things between us always seem to go a little off kilter somehow.”
Tommy smiled. “Maybe it’s time to call in some male expertise? Mine, that is.”
“What a good idea.”
THEY DROVE back out to Örgryte and went into Henrik von Knecht’s still-unlocked garage. The two plastic cans, marked DISTILLED WATER, were still in the corner. Irene unscrewed the lid and sniffed, but smelled only stagnant water. Tommy looked at them and said, “Ten-liter cans. Perfect for the purpose. Easy to carry. Five or six of them would be enough for the devil bomb. We’ll have to question young Herr von Knecht more closely about this. His wife is still away, isn’t she?”
All signs seem to indicate that that was the case. No one answered when they rang the doorbell. They started to go around the house, looking in windows. When Irene stood at the edge of an overgrown flower bed in the backyard, she could look right into the kitchen. The dirty dishes were gone. Everything was clean and orderly. Henrik would never dream that his wife had had a visit from a cowboy. On the other hand, he was going straight up to Marstrand, according to Charlotte. While she herself was going to a party at a friend’s house . . .
Irene’s train of thought was interrupted by a gruff voice that shouted, “Don’t move, or I’ll shoot! The police have been called and will be here any minute!”
Startled, she turned toward the voice and stared straight into the barrel of a rifle. It trembled ominously in the hands of a fat, bald, elderly man.
THE THREE detective inspectors had almost managed to convince the armed man that they were actually police by the time the squad car arrived. The two officers came around the house with their weapons drawn. Fortunately one of them was Hans Stefansson. Or perhaps unfortunately, Irene wasn’t sure. She was sure of one thing, though. The story of how a suspicious neighbor stood holding the three detectives in check with a moose gun while he waited for the patrol car would be all over PO1 before evening.
The poor elderly gentleman was terribly embarrassed when he realized his mistake. He defended himself in a shrill voice. “You can’t be too careful these days. The wife saw some strange figures creeping around here and peeking into cars. A gang of burglars, that’s what I thought!”
Irene suspected that “the wife” was the woman behind the curtain who had spied on her and Tommy the day before. It’s better to have them with us than against us, she thought. Some average citizen who thinks he has the confidence of the police might start telling us something that would prove useful. As long as it was about someone else, that is. So in a confidential tone Irene said to