Roseanna mb-1 Read online

  'I don't want to bring her any unpleasantness."

  'It won't be unpleasant for her. What's her name?"

  'If you can guarantee… her married name is Siv Lindberg. But I ask you really…"

  'Where does she live?"

  'Lidingö. Her husband is an engineer. I don't know the address. Somewhere in Bodal I think."

  Martin Beck took a last glance at the picture of the woman from Lincoln. Then he closed the drawer again and said:

  'Thank you. I am sorry that I have to ask these kinds of questions. But, unfortunately, it's part of my job."

  Melander came in and sat down at his desk.

  'Would you mind waiting a few minutes," Martin Beck said.

  In the room one flight below, the tape recorder played back the last replies. Martin Beck stood with his back against the wall and listened.

  "Do you want something to drink?" '•

  "No thank you. I'm not thirsty."

  The Public Prosecutor was the first person to say something. . "Well?"

  'Let him go."

  The Public Prosecutor looked at the ceiling, Kollberg at the floor, and Ahlberg at Martin Beck.

  'You didn't press him very hard," said the Prosecutor. "That wasn't a very long examination."

  'No."

  'And if we hold him?" asked the Prosecutor.

  'Then we have to let him go by this time on Thursday," Hammar replied.

  'We don't know anything about that"

  'No," said Hammar.

  'All right," said the Prosecutor.

  Martin Beck nodded. He walked out of the room and up the stairs and he still felt ill and had some discomfort in the left part of his chest.

  Melander and the man called Folke Bengtsson seemed as if they hadn't moved at all since he had left them.

  'I am sorry that it was necessary to bother you. Can I offer you transportation home?"

  'I'll take the subway, thank you."

  'Maybe that's faster."

  'Yes, actually."

  Martin Beck walked with him to the ground floor out of routine.

  'Goodbye then."

  'Goodbye."

  An ordinary handshake.

  Kollberg and Ahlberg were still sitting and looking at the tape recorder.

  'Shall we continue to tail him?" asked Kollberg.

  'No."

  'Do you think he did it?" asked Kollberg.

  Martin Beck stood in the middle of the floor and looked at his right hand.

  'Yes," he said. "I'm sure he did."

  24

  The apartment house reminded him, in a basic way, of his own in the southern part of Stockholm. It had narrow flights of stairs, standardized nameplates on the doors and incinerator doors between each floor. The house was on Fredgat Road in Bodal and he took the Lidingö train to get there.

  He had chosen the time carefully. At a quarter past one, Swedish office workers are sitting at their desks and small children are having their afternoon naps. Housewives have turned on some music on the radio and sit down to have a cup of coffee with saccharin tablets.

  The woman who opened the door was small, blond, and blue-eyed. Just under thirty and rather pretty. She held on to the doorknob anxiously, as if prepared to close the door immediately.

  'The police? Has anything happened? My husband…"

  Her face was frightened and confused. It was also fetching, Martin Beck thought. He showed her his identification, which seemed to calm her.

  'I don't understand how I can help you but, by all means, come in."

  The furniture arrangement was nondescript, gloomy and neat. But the view was marvelous. Just below lay Lilla Vĺrtan and two tugboats were in the process of bringing a freighter to the pier. He would have given a lot to have traded apartments with her.

  'Do you have children?" he asked as a diversion.

  'Yes, a little girl ten months old. I've just put her in her crib."

  He took out the photographs.

  'Do you know this man?"

  She blushed immediately, looked away, and nodded uncertainly.

  'Yes, I knew him. But—but it was several years ago. What has he done?"

  Martin Beck didn't answer at once.

  'You understand, this is very unpleasant My husband…"

  She was searching for the right words.

  'Why don't we sit down," said Martin Beck. "Forgive me for suggesting it."

  'Yes. Yes, of course."

  She sat down on the sofa, tense and straight.

  'You have no reason to be afraid or worried. The situation is this: we are interested in this man, for several reasons, as a witness. They have nothing to do with you, however. But it is important that we get some general information about his character from someone who has, in one way or another, been together with him."

  This statement didn't seem to calm her particularly.

  'This is terribly unpleasant," she said. "My husband, you understand, we have been married for nearly two years now, and he doesn't know anything… about Folke. I haven't told him, about that man… but, yes, naturally, as you can understand, he must surely have known that I had been with someone else… before…"

  She was even more confused and blushed profusely.

  'We never speak about such things," she said.

  'You can be completely calm. I am only going to ask you to answer some questions. Your husband will not know what you say, or anyone else for that matter. In any case, no one that you know."

  She nodded but continued to look stubbornly to the side.

  'You knew Folke Bengtsson?"

  'Yes."

  'When and where did you know him?"

  'I… we met more than four years ago, at a place, a company where we both worked."

  'Eriksson's Moving Company?"

  'Yes, I worked there as a cashier."

  'And you had a relationship with him?"

  She nodded with her head turned away from him.

  'For how long?"

  'One year," she said, very quietly.

  'Were you happy together?"

  She turned and looked at him uncertainly and raised her arms in a helpless gesture.

  Martin Beck looked over her shoulder and out the window toward a dismal, gray winter sky.

  'How did it begin?"

  'Well, we… saw each other every day and then we began to take our coffee breaks together and then lunches. And… yes, he took me home several times."

  'Where did you live?"

  'On Uppland Street."

  'Alone?"

  'Oh no. I was still living with my parents then."

  'Did he ever come upstairs with you?"

  She shook her head, energetically, still without looking at him.

  'What else happened then?"

  'He invited me to the movies a few times. And then… yes, he asked me to dinner."

  'At his house?"

  'No, not at first."

  'When?"

  'In October."

  'How long had you been going out with him by then?"

  'Several months."

  'And then you began a real relationship?"

  She sat quietly for a long while. Finally she said: "Do I have to answer that question?"

  'Yes, it is important. It would be better if you answer here and now. It would save a great deal of unpleasantness."

  'What do you want to know? What is it that you want me to say?"

  'You had intimate relations with one another, didn't you?" She nodded.

  'When did it begin? The first time you were there?" She looked at him helplessly. "How often?"

  'Not particularly often, I think." "But every time you were there?" "Oh, no. Not at all."

  'What did you usually do when you were together?" "Well… oh, everything, have something to eat, talk, look at TV and the fish." "Fish?"

  'He had a large aquarium." Martin Beck took a deep breath.

  'Did he make you happy?" "I…"

  'Try to answer."
/>   'You… you are asking such difficult questions. Yes, I think so."

  'Was he brutal to you?"

  'I don't understand."

  'I mean when you were together. Did he hit you?"

  'Oh, no."

  'Did he hurt you in any other way?"

  'No."

  'Never?"

  'No, he never did. Why should.he have?"

  'Did you ever talk about getting married and living together?"

  'No."

  'Why not?"

  'He never said anything about it, never a word."

  'Weren't you afraid of becoming pregnant?"

  'Yes. But we were always so careful."

  Martin Beck managed to make himself look at her. She still sat completely straight on the edge of the sofa, with her knees tightly together and the muscles in her legs strained. She was not only red in the face but even her neck was red, and there were small, fine drops of perspiration along her hairline.

  He started again.

  'What kind of a man was he? Sexually?"

  The question came as a total surprise to her. She moved her hands worriedly. Finally she said:

  'Nice."

  'What do you mean by nice?"

  'He… I mean that I think he needed a lot of tenderness. And I, I am, I was the same."

  Even though he was sitting less than five feet from her he had to strain to hear what she had said.

  'Did you love him?"

  'I think so."

  'Did he satisfy you?"

  'I don't know."

  'Why did you stop seeing each other?"

  'I don't know. It just ended."

  'There is one more thing I must ask you to answer. When you had intimate relations, was it always he who took the initiative?"

  'Well… what do you want me to say… I suspect that it was so, but it usually is that way. And I always agreed."

  'How many times would you say it happened?"

  'Five," she whispered.

  Martin Beck sat quietly and looked at her. He should have asked: Was he the first man you slept with? Did you usually take all your clothes off? Did you have the lights on? Did he ever…

  'Goodbye," he said, and got up. "Forgive me for having bothered you."

  He closed the door after himself. The last thing he heard her say was:

  'Forgive me, I'm a little shy."

  Martin Beck walked back and forth in the slush on the platform while he waited for the train. He kept his hands in his coat pockets and hunched his shoulders, whistled absent-mindedly and off key.

  Finally, he knew what he was going to do.

  25

  Hammar was doodling old men on a piece of scratch paper while he listened. This was supposed to be a good sign. Then he said:

  'Where will you get the woman from?"

  'There must be someone on the force."

  'You had better find her first."

  Two minutes later Kollberg said: "Where are you going to get the girl from?"

  'Is it you or I who has spent eighteen years with his rear end on the edge of other people's desks?"

  'It won't do to get just anybody."

  'No one knows the force better than you do."

  'Well, I can always look around."

  'Right."

  Melander appeared totally uninterested. Without turning around or taking his pipe out of his mouth, he said: "Vibeke Amdal lives on Toldebod Street, is fifty-nine years old and the widow of a brewer. She can't remember having seen Roseanna McGraw other than on the picture she took at Riddarholm. Karin Larsson ran away from her boat in Rotterdam, but the police say that she isn't there. Presumably, she took another boat with false papers."

  'Foreign ones, of course," said Kollberg. "She knows all about that. It can take a year before we find her. Or five. And then she might not say anything. Has Kafka answered?"

  'Not yet."

  Martin Beck went upstairs and called Motala.

  'Yes," said Ahlberg calmly. "I guess it is the only way. But where are you going to get the girl from?"

  'From the police force. Yours, for example."

  'No, she doesn't fit."

  Martin Beck hung up. The telephone rang. It was a man from the regular patrol force at the Klara Station.

  'We did exactly as you said."

  'And?"

  'The man seems sure enough, but believe me, he's on the alert. He's watchful, turns around, stops often. It would be hard to tail him without his noticing it."

  'Could he have recognized any of you?"

  'No, there were three of us and we didn't follow him. We just stood still and let him walk by. Anyway, it's our job not to be recognized. Is there anything else we can do for you?"

  'Not for the moment."

  The next telephone call came from Adolf Fredrik's Station.

  'This is Hansson in the fifth. I watched him at Brĺvalla Street both this morning and now when he came home."

  'How did he act?"

  'Calm, but I have an idea that he was being careful."

  'Did he notice anything?"

  'Not a chance. This morning I was sitting in the car, and the second time there was a real crowd. The only time I was near him was just now at the newspaper stand on St. Erik's Square. I stood two places behind him in the line."

  'What did he buy?"

  'Newspapers."

  'Which ones?"

  'A whole bunch. All four morning papers and both of the evening rags."

  Melander tapped on the door and stuck his head in.

  'I think I'll go home now. Is that all right? I have to buy some Christmas presents," he explained.

  Martin Beck nodded and hung up the phone and thought, "Oh God, Christmas presents," and immediately forgot what he had been thinking.

  He went home late but even so he didn't manage to avoid the crowd. The Christmas rush was on and all the stores were open later than usual.

  At home his wife said that he seemed absentminded, but he didn't hear her and didn't reply.

  At breakfast she said: "Will you be off between the holidays?"

  Nothing happened before a quarter after four when Kofl-berg thundered in and said: "I think I have one who will do."

  'On the force?"

  'Works at Berg Street. She's coming here at nine-thirty tomorrow morning. If she seems right, Hammar can fix it so that we can borrow her."

  'What does she look like?"

  'I think that she looks like Roseanna McGraw in some way. She's taller, a little prettier, and presumably shrewder."

  'Does she know anything?"

  'She's been with the police force for several years. A calm and good girl. Healthy and strong."

  'How well do you know her?"

  'Hardly at all."

  'And she isn't married?"

  Kollberg took a piece of paper out of his pocket.

  'Here's everything you need to know about her. I'm leaving now. I have to go Christmas shopping."

  'Christmas presents," thought Martin Beck and looked at the clock. Four-thirty, and struck by a thought, he grabbed the telephone and called the woman in Bodal.

  'Oh, is it you. Yes, Mr…"

  'Am I calling at a bad time?"

  'No, it's not… my husband doesn't get home before a quarter of six."

  'Just one simple question. Did the man we spoke about yesterday ever get anything from you? I mean any present, a souvenir or something like that?"

  'No, no presents. We never gave each other any. You understand…"

  'Was he tight?"

  'Economical, I would rather say. I am too. The only…"

  Silence. He could almost hear her blushing.

  'What did you give him?"

  'A… a little amulet… or trinket… just an inexpensive little thing…"

  'When did you give it to him?"

  'When we parted… He wanted to have it… I always used to have it with me."

  'He took it from you?"

  'Well, I was glad to give it to hi
m. One always wants a souvenir… even if… above all, I mean…"

  'Thank you very much. Goodbye."

  He telephoned Ahlberg.

  'I've talked to Larsson and the Commissioner. The Public Prosecutor is sick."

  'What did they say?"

  'Okay. They realized that there isn't any other way. It's certainly unorthodox, but…"

  'It's been done many times before, even in Sweden. What I plan to suggest to you now is a great deal more unorthodox."

  'That sounds good."

  'Give out the news to the press that the murder is almost cleared up."

  'Now?"

  'Yes, immediately. Today. You understand what I mean?"

  'Yes, a foreigner."

  'Right. Like this, for example: 'According to the latest announcement a person, who has been searched for by Interpol for a long time for the murder of Roseanna McGraw, has finally been arrested by the American police."

  'And we have known all along the murderer was not in Sweden?"

  'That's only an example. The main thing is to get it out fast."

  'I understand."

  'Then I think you'd better come up here."

  'Immediately?"

  'Just about."

  A messenger came into the room. Martin Beck gripped the telephone tightly with his left shoulder and ripped open the cable. It was from Kafka.

  'What does he say?" asked Ahlberg.

  'Only three words: 'Set a trap.'"

  26

  Policewoman Sonja Hansson was actually not unlike Roseanna McGraw. Kollberg had been right.

  She sat in Martin Beck's office with her hands crossed lightly in her lap and looked at him with calm gray eyes. Her dark hair was combed into a page-boy and her bangs softly over her left eyebrow. Her face was healthy and her expression was open. She didn't seem to use make-up. She looked no more than twenty years old but Martin Beck knew that she was twenty-five.

  'First of all I want you to understand that this is voluntary," he said. "You can say no if you want to. We have decided to ask you to take on this assignment because you have the best qualifications to handle it, mainly because of your looks."

  The girl in the chair pushed the hair off her forehead and looked questioningly at him.

  'Then too," Martin Beck continued, "you live in the middle of the city and you're not married or living with anyone, as it's so nicely put these days. Is that right?"

  Sonja Hansson shook her head.

  'I hope I can help you," she said. "But what's wrong with my looks?"

  'Do you remember Roseanna McGraw, the girl from America, who was murdered on the Göta Canal last summer?"