by Wahlöö, Per
‘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 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 absentmindedly 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 in 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 might 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 Bråvalla 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 past four when Kollberg 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, it is you. Yes, Mr �
�’
‘Am I calling at a bad time?’
‘No, it's not… my husband doesn't get home before a quarter to 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 him. 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 grey eyes. Her dark hair was combed into a page-boy and her fringe fell 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?’
‘Do I? I'm in the Missing Persons Bureau and worked on the case for a while.’
‘We know who did it and we know that he's here in the city. I've examined him. He admits that he was on the boat when it happened and that he had met her, but says he doesn't even know about the murder.’
‘Isn't that a rather improbable statement? I mean there was so much about it in the papers.’
‘He says that he doesn't read newspapers. We couldn't get anything out of him. He acted totally forthright and seemed to answer all our questions honestly. We couldn't hold him and we have stopped tailing him. Our only chance is that he will do it again and that's where you come in. If you are willing, and think you can handle it, of course, you shall be his next victim.’
‘How nice,’ said Sonja Hansson and reached for a cigarette from her purse.
‘You are rather like Roseanna and we want you to act as a decoy. It would be like this: he works as an office manager for a moving company on Småland Street. You go there and say that you want to have something moved, flirt with him and see that he gets your address and telephone number. You must get him interested in you. Then, we have to wait and hope.’
‘You say that you've already examined him? Won't he be on his guard?’
‘We have leaked some information that ought to have quieted him.’
‘Am I also supposed to vamp him? How the devil will that be? And if I succeed?’
‘You don't need to be afraid. We will always be in the vicinity. But you have to learn everything about the case first. Read all the material we have. You must be Roseanna McGraw. Be like her, I mean.’
‘Of course I acted in school plays but mostly as angels or mushrooms.’
‘Well, then. You'll manage.’
Martin Beck sat quietly for a few seconds. Then he said:
‘This is our only chance. He only needs an impulse and we must provide it for him.’
‘Okay, I'll try. I hope I can handle it. It isn't going to be easy.’
‘You'd better start going through everything, reports, films, the examination reports, letters, photographs. After that we can talk about it again.’
‘Now?’
‘Yes, today. Commissioner Hammar will arrange for you to be relieved of your other work until this is settled. And one more thing. We have to go to your apartment and see what it looks like. We have to arrange for duplicate keys as well. We'll get to the rest later.’
Ten minutes later he left her in the room next to Kollberg's and Melander's office. She sat with her elbows on the table reading the first report.
Ahlberg arrived that afternoon. He had hardly sat down when Kollberg stormed in and thumped him on the back so hard that he almost fell out of the visitor's chair.
‘Gunnar's going home tomorrow,’ said Martin Beck. ‘He ought to get a look at Bengtsson before he goes.’
‘It had better be a pretty careful look,’ said Kollberg. ‘But then we had better get going immediately. Every person in town plus half the population in general is running around buying Christmas presents.’
Ahlberg snapped his fingers and struck his forehead with the palm of his hand.
‘Christmas presents. I had completely forgotten.’
‘Me too,’ said Martin Beck. ‘That is to say I think of it from time to time but that's all that ever gets done about it.’
The traffic was terrible. At two minutes to five they dropped Ahlberg at Norrmalms Square and watched him disappear into the crowds.
Kollberg and Martin Beck sat in the car and waited. After twenty-five minutes Ahlberg returned and climbed into the back seat. He said:
‘It sure is the guy on the film. He took the number 56 bus.’
‘To St Erik's Square. Then he'll buy milk, bread and butter and go home. Eat, look at the boob tube, go to bed and fall asleep,’ said Kollberg. ‘Where shall I drop you?’
‘Here. Now we have our big chance to go Christmas shopping,’ Martin Beck said.
One hour later in the toy department, Ahlberg said: ‘Kollberg was wrong. The other half of the population is here too.’
It took them nearly three hours to finish their shopping and another hour to get to Martin Beck's home.
The next day Ahlberg saw the woman who was to be their decoy for the first time. She had still only managed to get through a small part
of the case material.
That evening Ahlberg went home to Motala for Christmas. They had agreed to start the plan right after the new year.
27
It was a grey Christmas. The man called Folke Bengtsson spent it quietly at his mother's house in Södertälje. Martin Beck thought unendingly about him, even during the Christmas service in church and in a bath of perspiration under his Santa Claus mask. Kollberg ate too much and had to spend three days in hospital.
Ahlberg called the day after Christmas and was not sober.
The newspapers contained several differing and unengaging articles which pointed to the fact that the Canal Murder was almost cleared up and that the Swedish police no longer had any reason to bother with the case.
There was the traditional new year's murder in Gothenburg which was solved within twenty-four hours. Kafka sent a tremendously large repulsive postcard, which was lilac-coloured and portrayed a deer against a sunset.
7 January arrived and looked like 7 January. The streets were full of grey, frozen people without money. The sales had begun but even so, the stores were nearly empty. In addition, the weather was hazy and freezing cold.
7 January was D-Day.
In the morning Hammar inspected the troops. Then he said:
‘How long are we going to carry on with this experiment?’
‘Until it succeeds,’ said Ahlberg.
‘So you say.’
Hammar thought about all the situations which might possibly arise. Martin Beck and Kollberg would be needed for other tasks. Melander and Stenström should, at least part of the time, be working on other cases. Soon, the Third District would begin to complain because the borrowed girl never came back.
‘Good luck, children,’ he said.
A little later, only Sonja Hansson was there. She had a cold and sat in the visitor's chair and sniffled. Martin Beck looked at her. She was dressed in boots, a grey dress and long black tights.
‘Do you plan to look like that?’ he said sourly.
‘No, I'll go home and change first. But I want to point out one thing. On 3 July last year, it was summertime and now it's winter. It might look a bit odd if I ran into a moving company office just now in sunglasses and a thin dress and asked if they could move a bureau for me.’
‘Do the best you can. The important thing is that you understand the main point.’