Part 14 (2/2)
”He is not a celebrity by any means but naturally I know him. It is strange that no one has identified him before now.”
”In that case, what have you been doing for the past three days?”
”I was at a workshop,” Lissvall said.
He looked at Lindell.
”A good one,” he added.
A Dalarna accent, she thought. Why do they have to be so d.a.m.ned long-winded?
”All right, maybe you could kindly bring yourself to reveal who he is?”
”He has been in this town for a long time, but as I said-”
”What restaurant?”
Lissvall was thrown off for a second, blinked, and smiled at Haver who was sitting at the far end of the table.
Lindell had taken a chance. The city unit, which Lissvall belonged to, worked with restaurant-related crimes.
”Several,” Lissvall said.
”Slobodan Andersson's imperium, in other words,” Haver said suddenly, with unexpected loudness. ”Because I can't imagine it is Svensson's?”
”A name,” Lindell said. She was thoroughly sick of the guessing game.
”Armas.”
”And more?”
”I don't know what his last name is,” Lissvall was forced to admit, ”but it is no doubt a mouthful. I've never heard anything except Armas.”
”And he worked for Slobodan?”
”Yes.”
Lindell shot Haver a quick look.
”I was at Dakar with Beatrice recently,” she said.
Lissvall chuckled.
”Thank you very much,” Lindell said firmly, and stood up. ”I take it you have no further information.”
”I guess not,” he said and got up from the table.
”What an idiot,” Lindell said when he had left the room.
”What do we do?” Haver asked.
Lindell examined her notes. She had written ”Armas” in capital letters. She was relieved, grateful that the murder victim was from Uppsala. It would have been boring with a dumped Stockholmer.
”We go out to dinner,” she said lightly.
Slobodan Andersson's apartment was located in a one-hundred-year-old building just east of the railroad. It was within walking distance of the police station. The morning had been clear and chilly, but now, with the time approaching ten o'clock in the morning, the suns.h.i.+ne was warm. Lindell couldn't help pausing for a few seconds and closing her eyes. She lapped up the sun and thought about her visit to Dakar. Had Armas been there that evening? Lindell could not recall any member of the staff except the waitress. in a one-hundred-year-old building just east of the railroad. It was within walking distance of the police station. The morning had been clear and chilly, but now, with the time approaching ten o'clock in the morning, the suns.h.i.+ne was warm. Lindell couldn't help pausing for a few seconds and closing her eyes. She lapped up the sun and thought about her visit to Dakar. Had Armas been there that evening? Lindell could not recall any member of the staff except the waitress.
Haver, who had pushed on, stopped, turned around, and looked at Lindell.
”Come on,” he said.
Lindell laughed. Haver couldn't help but smile.
”You find it invigorating with murder, don't you?”
”Maybe,” Lindell said and tried to imitate Lissvall's dialect, but failed miserably.
”No, not really,” she resumed. ”But I do find it invigorating to do some good.”
They discussed how they should proceed in their conversation with Slobodan Andersson. They considered bringing someone from the city unit, but finally rejected the idea. Lindell had awakened the restaurant owner with her call. It was difficult to determine if it was the circ.u.mstances that made him appear confused. He had asked what the call was in regards to but Lindell had only said she wanted to talk.
”Can't it wait until this afternoon?”
”No, I don't think so,” Lindell said.
After getting the door code from Slobodan Andersson and informing Ottosson of their plans, they immediately left the station.
Slobodan Andersson received them in a lime-yellow robe. The apartment, which consisted of five rooms with high ceilings, deep windowsills, and ornate moldings, was newly renovated. Lindell could still smell the paint. Andersson asked them to sit down and offered them coffee, which they declined. a lime-yellow robe. The apartment, which consisted of five rooms with high ceilings, deep windowsills, and ornate moldings, was newly renovated. Lindell could still smell the paint. Andersson asked them to sit down and offered them coffee, which they declined.
Lindell sat down while Haver remained standing by the window.
”Well, how can I be of service to the police?”
No trace of the earlier confusion remained.
Lindell studied the restaurant owner. She thought she had seen him before. Maybe at Dakar? On the other hand, he had the kind of appearance that stood out. He was ample, Lindell decided, summing up her impression, not to say fat.
Lindell estimated his age at around fifty. On his left hand he had a gold band on his ring finger and around his throat he had a gold chain with an amulet. He gave off a waft of perfume or aftershave.
”You have an employee by the name of Armas, don't you?”
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