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devil.
    “There was a crime in my neighbor’s apartment! On Saturday night!”
    She gave a start when an echo sounded from one of the cages.
    “Saturday night, Saturday night!”
    Erik got even more of a fright. He had the parrot right at his ear and dropped the cake dish on the floor. Distressed about the damage but delighted the remaining piece of cake was now lying among the shards of porcelain on the floor so he couldn’t reasonably be expected to devour it, he excused himself, mouth full and stuttering.
    The old man was as cheerful as ever. He hobbled off to fetch adustpan and brush. Erik followed after him, insisting on clearing it up himself. The owner of the parrots placed two large black cloths over the cages, and there was sudden silence.
    “So. Now we can talk. You don’t need to speak so loudly. I can hear fine.”
    They sat down again, facing each other.
    “A crime,” he mumbled softly. “A felony. There’s so much of that these days. In the newspapers. Every day. I stay indoors most of the time.”
    “That’s probably for the best,” the policewoman acknowledged. “The safest thing to do.”
    The room was hot. A mantel clock was ticking loudly, slowly, and as she sat there waiting she realized it was almost four o’clock. Hesitantly and laboriously, it struck four hollow chimes.
    “We’re here to check with the neighbors. To see if they saw or heard anything,” Hanne said.
    “There’s something wrong with that clock. It wasn’t like that before. The sound has changed. Don’t you think so?”
    Hanne Wilhelmsen sighed. “A bit difficult to say. I haven’t heard it before. But I agree, it sounds slightly . . . slightly unhappy. Perhaps you should get a watchmaker to have a look at it?”
    Perhaps he didn’t agree. He didn’t say anything and simply continued to sit there shaking his head.
    “Did you hear . . . Sir, did you hear anything on Saturday night? Early yesterday morning?”
    Despite the old man’s statement about his hearing, she couldn’t prevent herself raising her voice.
    “No, hear anything . . . I don’t think so. I really heard nothing. Other than what I hear every night, of course. Cars. And then the tram, when it goes past. But it doesn’t do that during the night, of course. So I wouldn’t have heard that.”
    “Do you usually—”
    “I sleep very lightly, you see,” he interrupted. “It’s as thoughI’ve done all my sleeping through my whole long life. I’m eighty-nine now. My wife only lived to sixty-seven. Here, have another piece of cake. My daughter baked it. No, as a matter of fact it was my granddaughter. I get a bit mixed up now and again. My daughter’s dead, of course! She can’t very well have baked any cakes!”
    He offered an unassuming, serene smile, as though in sudden recognition that time had not merely caught up with him but had long ago passed him by.
    Waste of time. Detective Inspector Hanne Wilhelmsen finished her coffee, thanked him graciously, and drew the conversation to a close.
    “What kind of crime are we talking about?” he asked, suddenly interested as the two police officers clutched their helmets and leather jackets in the hallway beside the outer door.
    Detective Inspector Wilhelmsen turned to face him and hesitated for a moment about bothering the dear old man with the city’s brutal dark side. Then she checked herself. He’s seen three times more of life than I have.
    “Rape. It was a rape.”
    He shivered, spreading his arms expressively.
    “And that lovely young girl,” he said. “So terrible.”
    Closing the door behind them, the old man shuffled off to rejoin his feathered friends and remove the cloths from the cages. He was rewarded by a cacophony of thanks and stuck his finger in at one of the birds, and was met with a friendly nibble.
    “Rape. That’s dreadful,” he said to the parrot, who nodded, totally in agreement. “Could there be someone here in the block who might think of doing such a