fire on the late news. What a shock! Imagine, getting comfortable in an easy chair with a beer, turning on the hotel TV, and finding out that your home is burning down! He’s working on an assignment up in Stockholm, he said. But he’s going to come down today and will be in touch with us. His name is Bo-Ivar ‘Bobo’ Torsson. We thought we’d continue with our follow-up on the fire and see if it produces any connections to the murder.”
The superintendent nodded. “Okay. You should also contact the retired couple when they’re released from the hospital. They’re going to be staying with their daughter in Mölndal. Of course there is a connection between von Knecht’s murder and the bomb in his office. The question is why they had to blow up his office too. Did he have any employees, maybe a secretary?”
“I’ll be talking to Sylvia von Knecht this morning. She should know,” said Irene.
“Then why don’t you take on Henrik von Knecht too? Tommy and Fredrik will follow up on the fire. Birgitta is supposed to meet Waldemar Reuter, the stockbroker, today.”
“Yes, first thing this morning,” Birgitta confirmed.
“I want to be with you at that interview. He must have been among the last to see von Knecht alive. Jonny, can you try to get hold of the opera singer, Ivan Viktors? We haven’t heard back from him, despite the notes we’ve left and messages on his answering machine. Wait a minute, I have the note here somewhere . . .”
The superintendent rummaged around in his papers on the table. Finally, he exclaimed: “Here it is! Take it. And Hannu, keep digging up information on the illegitimate son in Stockholm. Although the most important thing right now is to get hold of Pirjo Larsson.”
Hannu nodded and to everyone’s surprise actually spoke. “She’s not in the phone book.”
“Okay, well . . . you’ll figure it out somehow.”
Andersson still wasn’t quite sure that he wanted to know about Hannu’s methods of gathering information. But they were effective.
Irene turned to Hannu and said, “Sylvia von Knecht said that she has Pirjo Larsson’s phone number. I’ll call her right after the meeting and set a time to meet, ask her for Pirjo’s number, and give it to you right away.”
Hannu nodded again. Andersson turned to Hans Borg, who was dozing in his chair, as usual. To wake him up, Andersson raised his voice and addressed his oldest inspector, “Hans, you’ll have to drive back to the von Knecht neighborhood. Whatever hasn’t burned down, that is. Find out if anybody saw anything on Kapellgatan, around twenty to six on the night of the murder. There’s a parking garage across the street. Even if it was dark and crappy weather, somebody might have seen the killer if he went out through the street door.”
Andersson paused, preparing to close the meeting. “We’ll get together here this afternoon around five.”
A knock on the door interrupted him. The secretary came in with a fax in her hand.
“Fresh fax from the pathologist,” she said briskly.
Andersson took it from her. The others could see his bushy eyebrows arch up to his nonexistent hairline when he exclaimed, “Von Knecht had a blood alcohol level of point-one-one! He wasn’t dead drunk, but clearly feeling no pain. That would have made it easier for the murderer.”
BACK IN her office, Irene called Sylvia von Knecht. Hannu, who came sauntering after her, sat on a chair by the door.
Sylvia answered at once. When Irene identified herself, Sylvia flew into a rage, denouncing the entire Göteborg police force for turning her apartment upside down. She got a good head of steam going. From where he was sitting, Hannu could hear her saying shrilly, “And I can’t get hold of Pirjo either! I’ve been calling her since seven o’clock. She has to come in today and help me clean up!”
Irene held the receiver a little way from her ear and gave Hannu a knowing glance before she put the receiver back and said in a friendly tone of voice, “So good of you to mention Pirjo. We would like to talk to her too. Could I get her phone number? Or perhaps the number of the cleaning firm, her employer?”
There was silence on the other end of the line. Finally Sylvia snapped, “It’s not a crime to pay your cleaning woman under the table.”
It most certainly is, Irene felt like saying, but knew this wouldn’t be good psychology. Calmly she said, “No, of course not, Fru