by Maj Sjowall
Martin Beck hesitated before replying.
“I don’t think he’s the one.”
“You consider he’s not the murderer?”
“I don’t see how he can be. Nothing fits. Quite apart from the alibi for Monday, he’s the wrong type. Sexually he seems quite normal.”
“I see.”
Even Hammar had seemed a trifle irritable. Martin Beck went back to the other two. Rönn and Lundgren were sitting in stony silence.
“Don’t you really want anything to eat?” Martin Beck asked.
“No,” Lundgren said. “When’s that guy coming?”
Rönn sighed and blew his nose.
16
Gunvald Larsson entered the room. Exactly thirty-seven minutes had passed since he had been called up and the taxi receipt was still in his hand. Since they had last seen him he had shaved and put on a clean shirt. He sat down at the desk opposite Rolf Lundgren, folded the receipt and put it in the top righthand drawer. He was now ready for some of the two million four hundred thousand hours of overtime that the Swedish police have to put in annually. But in view of his rank it was uncertain if he would ever be paid for his work during the next few hours.
It was some little while before Gunvald Larsson said anything. He busied himself with the tape recorder, the note pad and his pencils. There was no doubt some sort of psychological reason for this, Martin Beck thought as he regarded his colleagues. He disliked Gunvald Larsson and had no high opinion of Rönn. He had no high opinion of himself either for that matter. Kollberg made out he was scared and Hammar had seemed irritated. They were all very tired, added to which Rönn had a cold. Many of the men in uniform on patrol duty, either on foot or in radio cars, were also working overtime and were also worn out. Some of them were scared and Rönn was certainly not the only one with a cold.
And in Stockholm and its suburbs by this time there were over a million frightened people.
The hunt was entering its seventh abortive day.
And they were the bulwarks of society.
Some bulwarks.
Rönn blew his nose.
“Well,” Gunvald Larsson said, laying one of his huge hairy hands on the tape recorder.
“It was you who picked me up,” Rolf Evert Lundgren said in a tone that was almost reluctant admiration.
“Yes,” Gunvald Larsson said, “that’s correct. But it’s nothing I feel particularly proud of. It’s my job. I pick up scum like you every day. By next week I’ll probably have forgotten you.”
This of course was a qualified truth, but the bombastic opening evidently had some effect. The man called Rolf Evert Lundgren seemed to droop.
Gunvald Larsson switched on the tape recorder.
“What’s your name?”
“Rolf Evert Lundgren.”
“Born?”
“Yes.”
“No insolence.”
“Fifth of January nineteen forty-four.”
“Where?”
“In Gothenburg.”
“Which parish?”
“Lundby.”
“What are your parents’ names?”
Come on now, Gunvald, Martin Beck thought. You’ve several weeks for that. There’s only one thing that really interests us.
“Any previous convictions?” Gunvald Larsson asked.
“No.”
“Have you been at an approved school?”
“No.”
“We’re chiefly interested in one or two details,” Martin Beck put in.
“Didn’t I damned well say I’d only talk to him there?” Rolf Evert Lundgren said.
Gunvald Larsson looked stonily at Martin Beck and said:
“What’s your occupation?”
“Occupation?”
“Yes, you have one, I presume?”
“Well …”
“What do you call yourself?”
“Businessman.”
“And what kind of business do you consider you do?”
Martin Beck and Rönn exchanged a resigned look. This was going to take time.
It took time.
One hour and forty-five minutes later Gunvald Larsson said:
“We’re chiefly interested in one or two details.”
“So I gather.”
“You’ve already admitted having been in Vanadis Park on the evening of the ninth of June, that is, Friday of last week?”
“Yes.”
“And that you committed robbery with violence there at 9.15
P.M.?”
“Yes.”
“Against Hildur Magnusson, shopkeeper?”
“Yes.”
“What time did you get to the park?” Rönn asked.
“Shut up,” Lundgren said.
“No insolence,” Gunvald Larsson said. “What time did you get to the park?”
“About seven. A little after maybe. I left home when the rain eased off.”
“And you were in Vanadis Park from seven o’clock up to the time when you assaulted and robbed this lady, Hildur Magnusson?”
“Well, I was in the neighborhood. Keeping an eye open.”
“Did you notice any other persons in the park during that time?”
“Yes, a few.”
“How many?”
“Ten maybe. Or twelve. Ten more likely.”
“I presume that you observed these persons closely?”
“Yes, pretty closely.”
“To see if you dared attack them?”
“Rather to see if they were worth the trouble.”
“Can you recollect any of these persons you saw?”
“Well, one or two anyway.”
“Which ones?”
“I saw two cops.”
“Policemen?”
“Yes.”
“In uniform?”
“No.”
“Then how did you know they were policemen?”
“Because I’d already seen them twenty or thirty times. They work at the cop-shop at Surbrunnsgatan and drive a red Volvo Amazon and sometimes a green Saab.
Now don’t say “The police station, you mean?” thought Martin Beck.
“The police station in ninth district, you mean?” said Larsson.
“Yes, if that’s the one in Surbrunnsgatan.”
“What was the time when you saw these policemen?”
“About eight thirty, I should think. I mean, that’s when they came.”
“How long did they stay?”
“Ten minutes, maybe fifteen. Then they drove to Lill-Jans Wood.”
“How do you know?”
“They said so.”
“Said so? Do you mean you spoke to them?”
“Like hell I did. I was standing near and heard what they said.”
Gunvald Larsson made a pregnant pause. It was not hard to imagine what he was thinking. At last he said:
“Who else did you see?”
“A guy and a girl. Pretty young. About twenty.”
“What were they doing?”
“Petting.”
“What?”
“Petting. He shoved his fingers up her cunt.”
“Mind your language.”
“What’s wrong with it? I’m telling you just how it was.”
Gunvald Larsson was again silent for a moment. Then he said stiffly:
“Are you aware that a murder was committed in the park while you were there?”
Lundgren put his hand to his face. For the first time in many hours he seemed nervous and at a loss for an answer.
“I read about it,” he said at last.
“And?”
“It wasn’t me. I swear. I’m not that sort.”
“You have read about this girl. She was nine years old and her name was Eva Carlsson. She was dressed in a blue skirt, striped T-shirt …”
Gunvald Larsson consulted his notes.
“… and black wooden-soled sandals. Did you see her?”
Lundgren did not answer. After about half a minute Larsson
repeated the question.
“Did you see this girl?”
After a long hesitation Lundgren said:
“Ye-es, I think so.”
“Where did you see her?”
“In the playground down by Sveavägen. At any rate there was a kid there. A girl.”
“What was she doing?”
“Swinging.”
“Who was she with?”
“No one. She was solo.”
“What time was this?”
“Just after … soon after I got there.”
“And that was?”
“I’d say about ten past seven. Or a bit later.”
“And you’re sure she was alone?”
“Yes.”
“And she had a blue skirt and striped T-shirt, you’re sure of that?”
“No. I mean, I don’t know. But …”
“But what?”
“I think so.”
“And you saw no one else? No one talking to her?”
“Wait,” Lundgren said. “Wait, wait. I read about that in the paper. I’ve thought no end about it.”
“What have you thought?”
“Well, that I …”
“Did you speak to her yourself?”
“No, no, for Christ’s sake.”
“She sat there all alone on the swings. Did you go up to her?”
“No, no …”
“Let him tell us himself, Gunvald,” Martin Beck said. “He must have thought a lot about this.”
Lundgren glanced resignedly at Martin Beck. He looked tired and rather scared. No truculence now.
Keep quiet, Gunvald, Martin Beck thought.
Gunvald Larsson kept quiet.
The mugger sat silent for a minute or two, his head in his hands. Then he said:
“I’ve thought about this. Every day since then.”
Silence.
“I’ve tried to think back. I know that I saw that kid in the playground and that she was alone and that it must have been just after I got there. About ten or a quarter past seven. I didn’t pay much attention, see. Only a kid, and anyway I wasn’t going to work down there by the playground. Too near the street, Sveavägen. So I didn’t think much about her. Then. It would have been different if she’d been in the playground up there by the water tower.”
“Did you see her there too?” Gunvald Larsson asked.
“No, no …”
“Did you follow her?”
“No, no, try and get this. I wasn’t in the least interested in her, but …”
“But what?”
“There weren’t many people in the park that evening. It was stinking weather, could have poured at any minute. I was about to give up and go home when that old bag … when that lady came. But …”
“But what?”
“What I want to say is that I saw that girl. And the time must have been nearly seven fifteen.”
“You’ve already said that. Who did you see with her?”
“No one. She was solo. What I mean is that I saw about a dozen people the whole time. I’m … I’m very careful. When I work I don’t want to get caught. So I watch out. And what I mean is that maybe one of those I saw …”
“Well, whom did you see?”
“I saw those two cops …”
“The policemen.”
“Yes, for Chrissake. One was red-haired and had a trenchcoat and the other had a cap and jacket and trousers, lean face sort of.”
“Axelsson and Lind,” Rönn said to himself.
“You’re very observant,” Martin Beck said.
“Yes, you are,” Gunvald Larsson said. “Out with the rest now.”
“Those two cops … no, don’t interrupt, for Chrissake … they went into the park from different directions and were in there about a quarter of an hour. But it was much later than when I saw the girl. Must have been an hour and a half later.”
“And?”
“And then those other two. The guy that felt the girl up. That was earlier again. I followed them, was nearly going to have a go
“Have a go?”
“Yes, at … no, for Chrissake, I don’t mean sex. The girl had on a mini-skirt, black and white, and the guy was wearing a blazer. Looked upper class, but she had no handbag.”
He was silent. Gunvald Larsson, Martin Beck and Rönn waited.
“She had white lace panties.”
“How could you see that without her seeing you?”
“She didn’t see a goddam thing, neither did the guy. They wouldn’t have seen a hippopotamus. They didn’t even see each other. And they must have come about …”
He paused. Then said:
“What time were the cops there?”
“Eight thirty,” Martin Beck said quickly.
The mugger looked almost triumphant as he said:
“Exactly. And by then those two had been gone at least a quarter of an hour. And the two of them were in the park for at least half an hour. From a quarter to eight until a quarter past, that is. I followed them at first, but then I shoved off. Stand there watching their petting. Christ no. But when they came the little girl wasn’t there. She wasn’t in the playground, either when they came or when they left. I’d have seen her if she’d been there. I’d have noticed.”
He was really trying to help now.
“So she was in the playground at seven fifteen but had gone by seven forty-five?” Gunvald Larsson said.
“Exactly.”
“And what did you do in the meantime?”
“Kept an eye open, so to speak. I hung about the corner, between Sveavägen and Frejgatan. So that I could see people entering the park from those directions.”
“Just a moment. You say you saw about ten persons altogether?”
“In the park? Yes, roughly.”
“Two policemen, this young couple, the lady you robbed, the little girl. That’s six.”
“I also followed a man with a dog. I followed him the whole time, but he only walked about by Stefan’s Church and near the street. Probably waiting for the dog to shit or something.”
“What direction did this man come from?” Martin Beck asked.
“He came in from Sveavägen, by the candy stand.”
“What time?” Rönn asked.
“It was soon after I came. He was the only one I considered before that guy with the girl. He … wait, he came in by the candy stand and had one of those skinny little dogs. The girl was in the playground then.”
“Are you sure?” Gunvald Larsson said.
“Yes. Wait a sec now. I followed him the whole time. He was there for ten minutes or a quarter of an hour. And when he left, the girl must have gone.”
“What other people did you see?”
“Only a few bums.”
“Bums?”
“Yes. I never even considered them. Two or three of them. They went through the park.”
“Try and remember now, for God’s sake,” Gunvald Larsson said.
“I am trying. I saw two walking together. They came from Sveavägen and went up towards the water tower. Hobos. Pretty old.”
“Are you sure they were together?”
“Almost. I’d seen them before. I remember now thinking they had a bottle of liquor or a few beers they wanted a swig at up in the park. But that happened while those two were still there, the girl with the lace pants and her guy, the ones who were petting. And …”
“Yes?”
“I saw another one. He came from the other direction.”
“A bum too, as you call it?”
“Well, it wasn’t anyone worth noticing anyway, not as far as I was concerned. He came from up by the water tower. I remember quite plainly now, I remember thinking he must have come up the steps from Ingemarsgatan. Hell of a steep pull, climbing up that way and then just going down again.”
“Down again?”
“Yes. He went out into Sveavägen.”
“When did you see him?”
“Soon after the man
with the dog had gone.”
There was silence in the room. It dawned on them one by one what Lundgren had just said.
It dawned on Lundgren himself last of all. Raising his eyes, he looked Gunvald Larsson straight in the face.
“Christ, yes!”
Martin Beck felt a nerve tingle somewhere in his system. And Gunvald Larsson said:
“To sum up, we can say this: An elderly, well-dressed man with a dog entered Vanadis Park from Sveavägen some time between seven fifteen and seven thirty. He walked past the candy stand and the playground, where the girl still was. The man with the dog stayed for about ten minutes, fifteen at the most, in that part of the park that lies between Stefan’s Church and Frejgatan. You shadowed him the whole time. When he came back and went out of the park, again past the candy stand and the playground, the girl was no longer in the playground. A few minutes later a man appeared from the direction of the water tower and went out into Sveavägen. You presumed that he had come from Ingemarsgatan and climbed the steps behind the water tower and then came down through the park in the direction of Sveavägen. But this man could just as well have come from the direction of Sveavägen a quarter of an hour earlier, while you were shadowing the man with the dog.”
“Yes,” Lundgren said, gaping.
“He could have passed the playground and lured the girl with him up to the water tower. He could have killed her there and thus been on the way back when you saw him.”
“Yes,” Lundgren said, gaping wider.
“Did you see which way he went?” Martin Beck asked.
“No, all I thought was he’d left the park and that was that.”
“Did you see him at close quarters?”
“Yes, he went right past me. I was standing behind the candy stand.”
“Good, let’s have his description,” Gunvald Larsson said. “What did he look like?”
“He wasn’t very tall, not small either. Rather shabby. He had a big nose.”
“How was he dressed?”
“Shabbily. Light-colored shirt, white I should think. No tie. Dark trousers, gray or brown, I think.”
“And his hair?”
“A bit thin. Brushed straight back.”
“Hadn’t he a coat?” Rönn put in.
“No. Neither jacket nor overcoat.”
“Color of eyes?”
“What?”
“Did you see the color of his eyes?”
“No. Blue, I imagine. Or gray. He was that type. Fair.”