street, though that building was torn down many years ago. This house hadn’t been built yet. Pappa was a baker and Mamma sometimes helped in the bakery where he worked. It was them and the six of us kids in a two-room apartment. I’m the only sibling left of the bunch. I guess I was what you would call a late surprise.”
“Have you always lived on this street?”
“All my life. I’ve lived in this apartment for thirty-two years because it suits me so well. Before that I had a studio apartment in the house next door for many years.”
“What did you work as?” It had nothing to do with the investigation, but Irene was curious.
“A seamstress. The last few years I worked at Gillblad’s.”
Gretta sat up straight in the little chintz-covered Emma recliner and kept her light blue eyes focused steadily on Irene as she slowly brushed a white wisp of hair out of her face and tucked it behind her ear. “But this isn’t about me. Where is Marcus?” she asked.
“If we only knew,” Irene sighed.
Gretta looked as though she was preparing to ask another question, but Irene quickly prevented her. “How long has Marcus been your neighbor?”
“Ten and a half years. We celebrated our ten-year anniversary during Saint Lucia. He came over with a bottle of wine and I made some delicious sandwiches. We sat talking and had a wonderful time. That’s when he told me about Copenhagen and I promised to look after his apartment.”
“Do you often get together over a bottle of wine?”
“Sometimes. He comes over when he thinks I’m feeling lonely. That’s the way he is. Very sweet and thoughtful.”
Gretta smiled unconsciously when she spoke about Marcus.
“I know that Marcus moved to Copenhagen around New Year’s. How often did he call you from Copenhagen?”
“Not very often. He had so much to do. There were always new jobs and . . .” She stopped herself and compressed her lips. Finally she said dully, “He called me twice.”
“When was the last time?”
“Wait.”
Gretta rose surprisingly quickly and disappeared into the bedroom. After a while she came back with a small blue pocket diary. She nervously skimmed back and forth, then triumphantly she announced, “Here. February 18.”
She held out the page. “Marcus has called,” it said. The other days were blank.
“I always write down important things.”
“Do you remember what he said?”
Gretta’s brow wrinkled as she concentrated. “He said that he was getting on very well in Copenhagen and he might come home at the beginning of March, but he would call me beforehand. He didn’t. But he may have called when I was in the hospital.”
“When were you in the hospital?”
“I was admitted the night of February 27 and came home on March 5. I’d had some intestinal bleeding and it turned out to be a large polyp, which they removed immediately. But I lost a lot of blood so they had to give me transfusions. I got seven bags of blood! Then there were a bunch of tests with—”
“Could Marcus have been home during that time?” Irene brusquely interrupted the health story.
“Yes. Because there was something . . .” Gretta fell silent and looked uncertain. “I went to the emergency room on Sunday night. I had gone in and watered the plants at Marcus’s on Friday. As soon as I got home, I went into his apartment because I expected that the flowers would be droopy, but they weren’t. They looked healthy. As if someone had watered them.”
“Did they look like they had been watered recently? Was there water on the dishes? Was the soil moist?”
“They hadn’t been watered that recently. Maybe three or four days earlier.”
This was very interesting. If they could prove that Marcus had been home the first week in March, they might be able to pinpoint when he died.
Irene chose her words carefully. “Do you know if Marcus had a girlfriend or another friend whom he often saw?”
“Marcus lived such an active life. There wasn’t room for a girlfriend. He used to say that he didn’t need one because he had me.”
What kind of man had this effect? Tom Tanaka and Gretta Svensson both seemed to feel specially chosen by Marcus.
“Did he have a lot of buddies?”
“Not all that many. Sometimes he would have small parties in his apartment. But never any rowdiness! All of the boys were polite and well behaved.”
“Do you know any of their names?”
“No.”
Irene couldn’t come up with any more questions for the moment. She got up and said, “I’d