who knew more about the business, he should go and see a certain Burman, who
had been the foreman and who now lived on a street called Solvändan.
Norsjö was a small town with one main street, appropriately enough called
Storgatan, that ran through the whole community. It was lined with shops with
residential side streets off it. At the east end there was a small industrial area and a
stable; at the western end stood an uncommonly beautiful wooden church.
Blomkvist noted that the village also had a Missionary church and a Pentecostal
church. A poster on a bulletin board at the bus station advertised a hunting
museum and a skiing museum. A leftover flyer announced that Veronika would
sing at the fair-grounds at Midsummer. He could walk from one end of the village
to the other in less than twenty minutes.
The street called Solvändan consisted of single-family homes and was about five
minutes from the hotel. There was no answer when Blomkvist rang the bell. It was
9:30, and he assumed that Burman had left for work or, if he was retired, was out on
an errand.
His next stop was the hardware store on Storgatan. He reasoned that anyone living
in Norsjö would sooner or later pay a visit to the hardware store. There were two
sales clerks in the shop. Blomkvist chose the older one, maybe fifty or so.
“Hi. I’m looking for a couple who probably lived in Norsjö in the sixties. The man
might have worked for the Norsjö Carpentry Shop. I don’t know their name, but I
have two pictures that were taken in 1966.”
The clerk studied the photographs for a long time but finally shook his head, saying
he could not recognise either the man or the woman.
At lunchtime he had a burger at a hot-dog stand near the bus station. He had given
up on the shops and had made his way through the municipal office, the library,
and the pharmacy. The police station was empty, and he had started approaching
older people at random. Early in the afternoon he asked two young women: they
did not recognise the couple in the photographs, but they did have a good idea.
“If the pictures were taken in 1966, the people would have to be in their sixties
today. Why don’t you go over to the retirement home on Solbacka and ask there?”
Blomkvist introduced himself to a woman at the front desk of the retirement home,
explaining what he wanted to know. She glared at him suspiciously but finally
allowed herself to be persuaded. She led him to the day room, where he spent half