The Talented Mr. Varg by Alexander McCall Smith

Author:Alexander McCall Smith
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
Published: 2020-04-27T16:00:00+00:00

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Ulf reflected on the fact that he could not remember the last time he had followed somebody on foot. He felt vaguely self-conscious about it, imagining that it would be obvious to any observer, even if not to Jo Dahlman himself. Of course, following a quarry along the street, keeping sufficient distance between pursuer and pursued, readily lent itself to fantasy, and for a moment Ulf imagined himself in some Eastern European landscape, in some Cold War drama, following a defector or double agent, in the eternal cat-and-mouse game of espionage. Such things still happened, no doubt, played out by others, in new settings, because there were still secrets that people kept from others. In human affairs, so little changed; new enmities replaced old; the children of rivals re-enacted their parents’ battles; nothing much changed in the human script.

Dr. Dahlman seemed unhurried, with the result that Ulf and Blomquist had to saunter rather than stride. It was important, Ulf explained, that he should not be spotted, as he had met Jo Dahlman on several occasions and would probably be recognised. “It’s going to be over to you,” he said to Blomquist. “I’ll have to hang back.”

Blomquist nodded. “There are a few bars down there,” he said. “He’s probably going to meet his lover there.”

“If he has a lover,” said Ulf. “We don’t know that yet.”

“Oh, he’ll have a lover,” said Blomquist. “No smoke without fire.” He paused. “I take it that Anna found some evidence.”

Ulf drew in his breath. Blomquist had a habit of working out what was what with uncanny accuracy. “Yes,” he said. “She did.”

“Probably something left behind after an assignation,” mused Blomquist. “An item of jewellery, perhaps. Underwear.”

Ulf threw a sideways glance at the policeman. Jewellery in underwear, he thought, but how was Blomquist to know that?

Blomquist touched Ulf’s arm. “Slow down,” he said. “He’s going to make a call.”

Dr. Dahlman had stopped and could be seen extracting his mobile from his jacket pocket. Blomquist turned to face Ulf and addressed him, gesticulating as if they were engaged in an animated conversation.

“Always check the packet for carbohydrate content,” he said. And then, under his breath, “Act, Varg. Act in case he looks this way.”

Ulf made an indeterminate gesture. “Carbohydrates?”

“Yes,” said Blomquist, watching as Dr. Dahlman put the phone to his ear.

“Packages should give information on the number of grams of carbohydrate in every hundred grams,” Blomquist went on. “Fifty or sixty grams is high. Fifteen is better, if you’re trying to cut down on carbs.” He paused. “He’s putting his mobile away. He’s found out where she is. She’ll be waiting for him.”

“You seem pretty sure, Blomquist,” Ulf said.

“It’s obvious,” Blomquist retorted, with the air of one who was pointing out something self-evident. He pointed to a side street, a few yards on from where Dr. Dahlman had been standing. “He’ll be heading for that bar down there. I know the place. Booths. Candles. Ideal place to meet a lover.” He smiled, then added, “Garlic may not be everybody’s idea of the ideal accompaniment to romance.

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