by Maj Sjowall
'But how could he stop her? He must have… been at it rather long?"
Martin Beck did not answer. Each of them was thinking about the small cabin with its few Spartan conveniences. Neither of them could keep their imagination from entering the picture. Both of them were experiencing the same feeling of helpless, creeping unpleasantness. They reached in their pockets for cigarettes and smoked in silence.
When they drove into Ulricehamn, he said: "She could have received some of the injuries after she was already dead, or at least, unconscious. There are things in the autopsy statement that suggest it could have happened that way."
Ahlberg nodded. Without having to talk about it they both knew that such a thought made them feel better.
In Jönköping they stopped at a cafeteria and got some coffee. It didn't sit well with Martin Beck as usual, but at the same time it perked him up a little.
At Gränna, Ahlberg said what they had both been thinking for the last few hours:
'We don't know her."
'No," replied Martin Beck without taking his eyes from the hazy but pretty view.
'We don't know who she was. I mean…"
He was silent.
'I know what you mean."
'You do, don't you? How she lived. How she acted. What kind of people she went around with. That kind of thing."
'Yes."
All that was true. The woman on the breakwater had received a name, an address and an occupation. But nothing more…
'Do you think that the technical boys will find something?"
'We can always hope."
Ahlberg gave him a quick look. No, they didn't need fancy phrases. The only thing they could conceivably hope for from the technical report was that it would, at least, not contradict their assumption that cabin A 7 was the scene of the crime. The Diana had made twenty-four trips on the canal since the woman from Lincoln had been on board. That would mean that the cabin had been well cleaned at least as many times; that the bedclothes, towels and other paraphernalia which had been there had been washed over and over again and were hopelessly mixed together by now. It also meant that between thirty and forty people had occupied the cabin after Roseanna McGraw. All of them had naturally left their traces.
'We still haven't heard the records of witnesses' examinations," said Ahlberg.
'Yes."
Eighty-five people, one of whom was presumably guilty, and the rest of whom were possible witnesses, each had their small pieces that might fit into the great jig-saw puzzle. Eighty-five people, spread over four different continents. Just to locate them was a Herculean task. He didn't dare think about the process of getting testimony from all of them and collecting the reports and going through them.
'And Roseanna McGraw," said Ahlberg.
'Yes," said Martin Beck.
And after a while:
'I can only see one way."
'The guy in America?"
'Yes."
'What's his name?"
'Kafka."
'That's a strange name. Does he seem competent?"
Martin Beck thought about the absurd telephone conversation a few days earlier and produced the first smile of that dismal day.
'Hard to say," he replied.
Halfway between Vadstena and Motala Martin Beck said, more or less to himself:
'Suitcases. Clothing. Toilet articles, the toothbrush. Souvenirs she had bought. Her passport, money, traveler's checks."
Ahlberg's hands gripped the wheel harder.
'I'll comb the canal carefully," he said. "First between Borenshult and the harbor. Then east of Boren. The locks have already been covered, but…"
'Lake Vättern?"
'Yes. We have almost no chance there and maybe not even in Boren if the dredger has buried everything there by now. Sometimes I dream about that damned apparatus and wake up in the middle of the night swearing. My wife thinks that I've gone mad. Poor thing," he said and drove to a stop in front of the police station.
Martin Beck looked at him with a quick, passing feeling of envy, disbelief, and respect.
Ten minutes later Ahlberg was sitting at his desk in his shirtsleeves as usual, talking to the lab. While he was talking, Larsson entered the room, shook hands with Martin Beck and raised his eyebrow questioningly. Ahlberg hung up the receiver.
'There were some traces of blood on the mattress and the rug. Fourteen counting carefully. They are analyzing them."
If these traces of blood had not been found, the theory of cabin number A 7 as the scene of the crime would not have been likely.
The Superintendent didn't seem to notice their relief. Their wordless communication was carried on wave-lengths that were unfamiliar to him. He raised his eyebrow again and said: "Was that all?"
'A few old fingerprints," said Ahlberg. "Not particularly many. They must have cleaned pretty well."
'The Public Prosecutor is on his way here," said Larsson.
'He's most welcome, of course," Ahlberg responded.
Martin Beck left on a 5:20 p.m. train via Mjölby. The trip took four and a half hours and he worked on a letter to America the entire time. When he got to Stockholm, the draft was finished. He wasn't completely satisfied with it but it would have to do. To save time he took a taxi to Nikolai Station, borrowed an examining room, and typed up the letter. While he was reading the finished copy, he heard brawling and swearing nearby and heard a constable say: "Take it easy, boys, take it easy."
For the first time in a long while he remembered his own days as a patrolman and how deeply -he had disliked the results of Saturday nights.
At a quarter of eleven he stood in front of the mailbox on Vasa Street. The metal top closed with a bang.
He walked southward in the light rain, past the Hotel Continental and the new, tall department stores. On the escalator down to the subway, he thought about Kafka and wondered if this man, whom he didn't know, would understand what he meant.
Martin Beck was tired and fell asleep soon after he got into the subway, safe in the knowledge that he wouldn't be getting off before the end of the line.
12
Ten days later Martin Beck received a reply from America. He saw it on his desk when he arrived in the morning, even before he had shut the door behind him. While he hung up his coat he glanced at his face in the mirror. He was pale and looked sallow and he had dark circles under his eyes. This was no longer due to the flu but to the fact that he had gone without much sleep. He tore open the large brown envelope and took out two transcripts of examinations, a typewritten letter and a card with biographical data. He thumbed through the papers with curiosity but thwarted his impulse to begin reading them immediately. Instead, he went in to the administrative office and asked for a rapid translation with three copies.
Afterwards he walked up one flight of stairs, opened a door, and walked into Kollberg's and Melander's office. They sat at their desks working, with their backs to one another.
'Have you changed the furniture?"
'It's the only way we can manage," said Kollberg.
He was pale and red-eyed just like Martin Beck. The imperturbable Melander looked no different than usual.
A copy of a report on thin, yellow paper lay in front of Kollberg. He was following each line with his index finger and said:
'Mrs. Lise-Lotte Jensen, sixty-one years old, has told the police in Vejle, Denmark, that it was a wonderful trip. That the smörgĺsbord was wonderful, that it rained one whole day and one whole night and that the boat was delayed and that she was seasick the night it rained out in the lake, which was the second night. In spite of all that, the trip was wonderful and all the other passengers were so nice. She can't remember the nice girl in the picture. In any case they didn't sit at the same table. But the captain was charming and her husband said that it wasn't possible to eat all that good food so it certainly could have been possible that not everyone went to all the meals. The weather was wonderful except when it rained. They had no idea that Sweden
could be so nice! Damn it, I had no idea it could be either," continued Kollberg. "They mostly played bridge with that charming gentleman from South Africa and his wife, Mrs. Hoyt, who came from Durban. Of course the cabins were rather small and the second night—here's something—there was a big, hairy arachnida on the bed. Her husband had a great deal of trouble getting it out of the cabin. Well, does arachnida mean a sex maniac?"
'A spider," said Melander without taking his pipe out of his mouth.
'I love the Danes," Kollberg continued. "They have nei- ther seen nor heard anything unusual and, 'finally,' writes the policeman named Toft in Vejle who conducted the examina-tion,'there is obviously nothing in the testimony of this delightful, elderly couple which can spread any light on the case.' His art of deduction is crushing."
'Let's see, let's see," Melander grumbled to himself.
'Here's to our Danish brothers," said Kollberg.
Martin Beck leaned over the desk and leafed through the papers. He mumbled something which was inaudible. After ten days of work they had managed to locate two-thirds of the people who had been on board the Diana. By one means or another they had contacted more than forty persons and in twenty-three cases, they had regular examination transcripts at their disposal. The results were meager. Of those who had thus far been examined there was no one who could remember anything about Roseanna McGraw other than that they thought they had seen her on board some time during the trip.
Melander took his pipe out of his mouth and said: "Karl-Ĺke Eriksson, one of the crew. Have we found him?"
Kollberg checked one of his lists.
'A stoker. No, but we know a little about him. He shipped out from the Seamen's House in Gothenburg three weeks ago. On a Finnish freighter."
'Uhum," said Melander. "And he is twenty-two years old?"
'Yes, and what do you mean with that uhum?"
'His name reminded me of something. You ought to remember it too. But he didn't call himself by the same name then."
'Whatever you remember must certainly be right," said Kollberg with resignation.
'That devil has a memory like a circus elephant," he said to Martin Beck. "It's like sharing an office with a computer."
'I know."
'One who smokes the world's worst tobacco," said Koll-berg.
'I'll have it in a minute," said Melander.
'Sure, I know. Damn it I'm tired," answered Kollberg.
'You don't get enough sleep," said Melander.
'Yes."
'You ought to see to it that you get plenty of sleep. I sleep eight hours every night. Fall asleep the minute I put my head on the pillow."
'What does your wife say about that?"
'Nothing. She goes to sleep even faster. Sometimes we don't even get to turn out the light."
'Nonsense. No, in any case, I don't get enough sleep these days."
'Why not?"
'I don't know. I just can't sleep."
'What do you do then?"
'Just lie there and think about how dreadful you are."
Kollberg grabbed his letter basket. Melander knocked the ashes out of his pipe and gazed at the ceiling. Martin Beck, who knew him, realized that he had just fed new material into that priceless memory where he stored everything he had ever seen, read, or heard.
A half hour after lunch one of the girls from the administrative office came in with the translations.
Martin Beck took off his jacket, locked his door and began to read.
First the letter. It read:
Dear Martin:
I think I understand what you mean. The transcripts of examinations which I am enclosing have been typed directly from the tapes. I haven't made any changes or shortened them in any way. You can judge the material for yourself. If you would like me to, I can dig up a few more people who knew her but I think that these two are the best. I hope to God that you get the devil that did it. If you get the guy, don't forget to give it to him for me too. I am enclosing a collection of all the biographical
data I could get hold of and a commentary on the transcripts.
Sincerely, Elmer
He laid the letter aside and took out the transcripts. The first one contained the heading:
'Examination of Edgar M. Mulvaney at the office of the District Attorney, Omaha, Nebraska, October 11, 1964. Examining Officer: Detective Lieutenant Kafka. Witness to the Examination: Sergeant Romney.
KAFKA: You are Edgar Moncure Mulvaney, thirty-three years old, living at 12 East Street here in town. You are an engineer and have been employed for one year as an Assistant Department Head at the Northern Electric Company in Omaha. Is that correct?
MULVANEY: Yes, that's right.
K: You are not under oath and your testimony will not be registered with a notary public. Some of the questions that I am going to ask you have to do with intimate details of your private life and you may find them unpleasant. You are being examined for information and none of the things that you say will be made public or will be used against you. I cannot force you to answer but I want to state the following: by answering all the questions fully and truthfully and as explicitly as possible, you can make a contribution which will help to see that the person or persons responsible for the murder of Roseanna McGraw are captured and punished.
M: I'll do my best.
K: You were living in Lincoln until eleven months ago. You also worked there.
M: Yes, as an engineer with the Department of Public Works, the section that took care of street lighting.
K: Where did you live?
M: In a building at 83 Greenrock Road. I shared an apartment with a colleague. We were both bachelors then.
K: When did you get to know Roseanna McGraw?
M: It was nearly two years ago.
K: In other words the autumn of 1962?
M: Yes, in November.
K: Under what circumstances did you meet?
M: We met at the house of one of my colleagues, Johnny Matson.
K: At a party?
M: Yes.
K: Did that Matson go around with Roseanna McGraw?
M: Hardly. It was an open house party where a lot of people came and went. Johnny knew her slightly from the library where she worked. He had invited all kinds of people.
Lord knows where he got hold of all of them.
K: How did you meet Roseanna McGraw?
M: I don't know. We simply met there.
K: Had you gone to the party specifically looking for female company?
(Pause)
K: Will you kindly answer the question.
M: I'm trying to remember. It's possible. I didn't have a particular girl I was going with at that time. But more likely I went there because I didn't have anything better to do.
K: And what happened?
M: Roseanna and I met by sheer chance, so to speak. We talked for a while. Then we danced.
K: How many dances?
M: The first two. The party had hardly begun.
K: Then you met right away?
M: Yes, we must have.
K: And?
M: I suggested that we leave.
K: After only two dances?
M: More exactly, during the second dance.
K: And what did Miss McGraw answer?
M: She said:'Yes, let's go.'
K: Without any other comment?
M: Yes.
K: How did you presume to make such a suggestion?
M: Do I have to answer questions like that?
K: If you don't, this conversation is meaningless.
M: Okay, I noticed that she was getting excited while we were dancing.
K: Excited? In what way? Sexually?
M: Yes, naturally.
K: How did you know?
M: I can't (pause) exactly explain. In any case it was obvious. It was her behavior. I can't really be more precise.
K: And you? Were you sexually excited?
M: Yes.
K: Had you had anything
to drink?
M: One martini, at most.
K: And Miss McGraw?
M: Roseanna never drank liquor.
K: So you left the party together? What happened then?
M: Neither of us had driven there. We took a taxi to the house that she was living in, 116 Second Street. She still lives there. Lived, I mean.
K: She let you go with her—just like that?
M: Oh, we made some conversation. The usual stuff, you know. I don't remember the words. Actually, they seemed to bore her.
K: Did you get close to one another in the taxi?
M: We kissed.
K: Did she object?
M: Not at all. Anyway, I said we kissed.
(Pause)
K: Who paid the taxi driver?
M: Roseanna. I didn't have time to stop her.
K: And then?
M: We went into the apartment. It was very nice. I remember that I was surprised. She had a lot of books.
K: What did you do?
M: Aw…
K: Did you have intercourse?
M: Yes.
K: When?
M: Almost immediately.
K: Will you please give an account, as carefully as possible, of what happened.
M: Say, what the hell are you doing? Is this some kind of private Kinsey Report?
K: I'm sorry. I want to remind you of what I said at the beginning of our conversation. This can be important.
(Pause)
K: Are you having difficulty remembering?
M: God, no.
(Pause)
M: It feels strange to sit here and talk about a person who hasn't done any harm and who is dead anyway.
K: I understand your feelings. If I keep on insisting it's only because we need your help.
M: Okay, ask.
K: You came into the apartment together. What happened?
M: She took off her shoes.
K: And then?
M: We kissed.
K: And then?
M: She went into the bedroom.
K: And you?
M: I followed her. Do you want the details?
K: Yes.
M: She undressed and lay down.
K: On the bed?
M: No, in the bed. Under the sheets and blankets.
K: Was she totally undressed?
M: Yes.
K: Did she seem shy?