Roseanna mb-1

by Maj Sjowall

  'Where did you stay in Gothenburg?"

  'I used to stay at the Salvation Army Hotel on Post Street but I don't know where she stayed. Presumably on board or at some other hotel. I'm sorry but I have to go now. The customers are waiting."

  Martin Beck called Motala and Ahlberg listened silently.

  'She must have gone to the hospital in Växjö directly from Gothenburg," he said, finally. "We had better find out where she stayed on the night of the eighth and ninth of August. It must have happened then."

  'She was in pretty bad shape," said Martin Beck. "It's strange that she could get herself to Växjö in that condition."

  'Maybe the man that did it lived in Gothenburg. In that case it must have happened in his house."

  He was silent for a moment. Then he said:

  'If he does it one more time, we'll get him. Even though she wouldn't say who he was, she knew his name."

  'She's frightened," said Martin Beck. "Frightened to death as a matter of fact."

  'Do you think it's too late to get hold of her?"

  'Yes," replied Martin Beck. "She knew what she was doing when she ran off. As far as we are concerned she can be out of reach for years. We also know what she did."

  'What did she do?" asked Ahlberg.

  'She fled for her life," said Martin Beck.

  22

  The trampled, dirty snow was packed on the streets. Melting snow fell from the rooftops and dropped from the large, yellow star which hung between the buildings on either side of Regering Street. The star had been hanging there for a few weeks in spite of the fact that Christmas was still almost a month away.

  Hurried people crowded the sidewalks and a steady stream of traffic filled the streets. Now and then a car would increase its speed and sneak into an opening in the line of cars, spraying muddy snow with its wheels.

  Patrolman Lundberg seemed to be the only person who was not in a hurry. With his hands behind his back he walked down Regering Street toward the south staying close to the rows of Christmas decorated windows. Melting snow from the rooftops fell in heavy drops on his patrolman's hat and the slush squeaked under his galoshes. -Near NK, he turned off onto Smĺland Street where the crowds and the traffic weren't as heavy. He walked carefully down the hill and outside of the house where the Jakob Police Station once stood. He stopped and shook the water from his hat. He was young and new to the police force and didn't remember the old police station which had been torn down several years ago and whose district is now part of the Klara Police Station.

  Constable Lundberg belonged to the Klara police force and had an errand on Smĺland Street. At the corner of Norrland Street was a cafe. He entered it. He had been told to collect an envelope from one of the waitresses there.

  While he waited, he leaned against the counter and looked around. It was ten o'clock in the morning and only three or four tables were occupied. Directly across from him, a man was sitting with a cup of coffee. Lundberg thought that his face looked familiar and searched his memory. The man began to reach for money in his trouser pocket, and while he was doing so he looked away from the constable.

  Lundberg felt the hair on his neck stiffen.

  The man on the Göta Canal!

  He was almost sure that it was he. He had seen the photograph up at the station house several times and his picture was etched in his memory. In his eagerness he almost forgot the envelope, which was given to him the same second as the man got up and left a few coins on the table. The man was bare-headed and wasn't wearing an overcoat. He moved toward the door and Lundberg established that he was the same height and had the same build and hair coloring as the description.

  Through the glass doors he could see the man turn to the right and, with a quick tip of his hat to the waitress, he hurried after him. About thirty feet up the street the man went into a driveway door and Lundberg reached it just in time to see the door close after the man. There was a sign on the door which said: J. A. ERIKSSON MOVING COMPANY.,'OFFICE. In the upper part of the door there was a glass window. Lundberg went up to the doorway slowly. He tried to look into the glass window as he went by but was only able to make out another glass window at a right angle to the door. Inside were two trucks with J. A. ERIKSSON MOVING COMPANY painted on their doors.

  He passed the office door again, more slowly this time. With his neck outstretched, he looked in more carefully. Inside the glass windows were two or three partitions with doors leading to a corridor. On the nearest door which led to the smallest partitioned area and had a window in the glass, he could read the word CASHIER. On the next door there was a sign saying OFFICE—Mr. F. Bengtsson.

  The tall man was standing there behind the counter, talking on the telephone. He stood turned toward the window with his back to Lundberg. He had changed from his jacket into a thin, black office coat and was standing with one hand in his pocket. A man in a windbreaker and a fur cap came in through the door farthest back on the short side of the corridor. He had some papers in his hands. When he opened the office door he looked toward the outer door and saw Lundberg who continued calmly out the doorway.

  He had done his first shadowing.

  'Now damn it," said Kollberg. "We can begin." "Presumably he has his lunch hour at twelve o'clock," said Martin Beck. "If you hurry, you can get there. Clever boy, that Lundberg, if he's right. Call in when you can this afternoon so that Stenström can relieve you."

  'I think I can manage myself today. Stenström can jump in this evening. So long."

  At a quarter of twelve Kollberg was at his place. There was a bar right across the street from the moving company and he sat down there by the window. On the table in front of him was a cup of coffee and a small, red vase with a tired tulip in it, a twig of evergreen, and a dusty, plastic Santa Claus. He drank his coffee slowly and never took his eyes off the driveway across the street. He guessed that the five windows to the left of the driveway door belonged to the moving company, but he couldn't distinguish anything behind the glass due to the fact that the bottom halves of the windows were painted white.

  When a truck with the moving company's name on the doors came out of the driveway, Kollberg looked at the clock. Three minutes to twelve. Two minutes later the office door opened and a tall man in a dark gray coat and a black hat came out. Kollberg put the money for his coffee on the table, got up, took his hat as he followed the man with his eyes. The man stepped off the curb, and crossed the street past the bar. When Kollberg came out on to the street he saw the man turn the corner onto Norrland Street He followed him but didn't have to go far. There was a cafeteria about sixty feet from the corner which the man entered.

  There was a line in front of the counter where the man waited patiently. When he got there he took a tray, grabbed a small container of milk, some bread and butter, ordered something at the window, paid, and sat down at an empty table with his back to Kollberg.

  When the girl at the window shouted "One salmon!" he got up and went to get his plate. He ate slowly and with concentration and only looked up when he drank his milk. Kollberg had gotten a cup of coffee and placed himself so that he could see the man's face. After a while he was even more convinced that this really was the man on the film.

  He neither drank coffee nor smoked after his meal. He wiped his mouth carefully, took his hat and coat and left. Kollberg followed him down to Hamn Street where he crossed over to the King's Gardens. He walked rather quickly and Kollberg stayed about sixty feet behind through the East Allé. At Mollin's fountain he turned to the right, passed the fountain which was half filled with dirty, gray snow, and continued up on the West Allé. Kollberg followed him past the "Victoria and Blanche" cafe, across the street to NK, down Hamn Street to Smĺland Street, where he crossed the street and disappeared into the driveway door.

  'Oh yes," thought Kollberg, "that was certainly exciting."

  He looked at his watch. Lunch and the walk had taken exactly three-quarters of an hour.

  Nothing particular happened duri
ng the afternoon. The trucks returned, still empty. People went in and out of doors. A station wagon drove out and came back. Both trucks went out again and when one of them came back it almost collided with the station wagon which was on its way out.

  Five minutes before five one of the truck drivers came out of the driveway door with a heavy, gray-haired woman. At five o'clock the other driver came out. The third had still not come back with his truck. Three more men followed him out and crossed the street. They entered the bar and loudly ordered their beers which they received and drank in silence.

  Five minutes after five, the tall man came out. He stood in front of the door, took out a key ring from his pocket, and locked the door. Then he placed the key ring back in his pocket, checked to see if the door was properly locked, and walked out onto the street.

  While Kollberg was putting his coat on he heard one of the beer drinkers say: "Folke's going home now."

  And one of the others: "What does he have to do at home when he isn't hooked. He doesn't know how good he has it. You should have heard my old lady when I came home last night… What a time just because a man goes and has a few beers before he goes home after work. I swear…"

  Kollberg didn't hear any more. The tall man who, without a doubt, was named Folke Bengtsson had disappeared out of sight. Kollberg caught up with him on Norrland Street again. The man was walking through the crowds toward Hamn Start and he continued on to the bus stop right across the street from NK.

  By the time Kollberg got there four people were in line behind Bengtsson. He hoped that the bus wouldn't be too full to take them both. Bengtsson looked straight ahead of him the entire time and seemed to be looking at the Christmas decorations in NK's windows. When the bus arrived he hopped up on the step and Kollberg just managed to get on himself before the doors closed.

  The man got off at St. Erik's Square. The traffic was tight and it took him a few minutes to get by all the traffic lights and cross to the other side of the square. On Rörstand Street he walked into a supermarket.

  He continued along Rörstand Street, passed Birk Street, slunk across the street and went through a door. After a while Kollberg followed him and read the names on the mailboxes. There were two entrances to the house, one from the street and the other from the garden. Kollberg congratulated himself and his luck when he saw that Bengtsson lived in an apartment facing the street, two flights up.

  He stationed himself in a doorway across the street and looked up at the third floor. In four of the windows there were frilly tulle curtains and a number of potted plants. Thanks to the man in the bar, Kollberg knew that Bengtsson was a bachelor and doubted that these windows belonged to his apartment. He concentrated his attention on the other two windows. One of them was open and while he was watching it, a light was turned on in the second one, which he presumed was the kitchen window. He saw the ceiling and the upper part of the walls which were white. A few times he could see someone moving about inside but not quite clearly enough to be sure it was Bengtsson.

  After twenty minutes it was dark in the kitchen and a light was turned on in the other room. A little later Bengtsson appeared in the window. He opened it wide and leaned out. Then he closed it again, and closed the Venetian blinds. They were yellow and let light come through and Kollberg saw Bengtsson's silhouette disappear inside the room. The windows were without drapes because on both sides of the blinds broad streams of light appeared.

  Kollberg went and telephoned to Stenström.

  'He's home now. If I don't call you back before nine come and take over."

  Eight minutes after nine, Stenström arrived. Nothing had happened except that the light had been turned off at eight o'clock and after that there had been only a weak, cold blue stream of light from between the blinds.

  Stenström had an evening paper in his pocket and announced that the man was probably looking at a long, American film on the television.

  'That's fine," said Kollberg. "I saw it ten or fifteen years ago. It has a wonderful ending. Everyone dies except the girl. I'll run along now and maybe I'll get to see some of it If you call me before six I'll come over here."

  It was a cold and clear morning. Ten hours later Sten ström hurried off toward St. Erik's Square. Since the light had been turned off at ten-thirty in the room on the third floor, nothing had happened.

  'Be careful that you don't freeze," Stenström had said before he left. When the door opened and the tall man came out, Kollberg was thankful for a chance to move.

  Bengtsson had on the same overcoat as he had the day before but he had changed his hat to a gray Crimea cap. He walked quickly and the breath from his mouth looked like white smoke. At St. Erik's Square he took a bus to Hamn Street and a few minutes before eight Kollberg saw him disappear behind the door to the moving company.

  A few hours later he came out again, walked the few steps to the cafe in the house next door, drank a cup of coffee and ate two sandwiches. At twelve o'clock he went to the cafeteria and when he had eaten, he took his walk through the city and went back to his office. At a few minutes after five he locked the door behind him, took the bus to St. Erik's Square, bought some bread in a bakery, and went home.

  At twenty minutes after seven he came out of his front door again. At St. Erik's Square he walked to the right, and continued over the bridge and finally swung in to Kungsholm Street where he disappeared into a doorway. Kollberg stood for a while outside the door where the word BOWLING shone in large, red letters. Then he opened the door and went in.

  The bowling hall had seven lanes and in back of a railing was a bar with small, round tables and some chairs. Echoes of voices and laughter filled the room. Now and then he heard the sound of rolling balls and the bang that followed.

  Kollberg couldn't see Bengtsson anywhere. On the other hand he immediately spotted two of the three men from the bar the previous day. They sat at a table in the bar and Kollberg drew back toward the door in order not to be recognized. After a while the third man came toward the table together with Bengtsson. When they had begun to bowl, Kollberg left.

  After a few hours the four bowlers came out. They separated at the trolley stop at St. Erik's Square and Bengtsson walked back the way he had come, alone.

  At eleven o'clock it got dark in Bengtsson's apartment but by that time Kollberg was already home and in bed, while his bundled up colleague paced back and forth on Burk Street. Stenström had a cold.

  The next day was a Wednesday and it went by pretty much as the earlier days. Stenström nursed his cold and spent the major part of the day in the cafe on Smĺland Street.

  That evening Bengtsson went to the movies. Five rows in back of him Kollberg watched while a blond, half naked Mr. America struggled with an ancient monster in cinemascope.

  The next two days were similar. Stenström and Kollberg took turns following the man's uneventful and highly regimented life. Kollberg visited the bowling alley again and found out that Bengtsson played well and that for years he had played every Tuesday with his three friends from work.

  The seventh day was a Sunday and according to Stenström the only interesting thing that happened during the entire day was a hockey match between Sweden and Czechoslovakia which, together with Bengtsson and ten thousand others, he attended.

  Kollberg found a new door to stand in on Sunday night.

  When, for the second Saturday in a row, he saw Bengtsson come out of his office, lock the door at two minutes after twelve and begin to walk toward Regering Street, he thought: "Now we'll go to the Löwenbräu, and have a beer." When Bengtsson opened the door to the Löwenbräu, Kollberg stood at the corner of Drottning Street and hated him.

  That evening he went up to his office at Kristineberg and looked at some pictures from the film. He didn't know how many times he had looked at them.

  He looked at each picture for a long time and very carefully, but in spite of the fact that it was hard to believe, he still saw the man whose quiet life he had witnessed for two weeks.
<
br />   23

  'It must be the wrong guy," said Kollberg.

  'Are you getting tired?"

  'Don't misunderstand me. I have nothing against standing and sleeping in a doorway on Birk Street night after night, but…"

  'But what?"

  'For ten out of fourteen days this is exactly what has happened: at seven o'clock he opens the blinds. At one minute after seven he opens the window. At twenty-five minutes to eight he shuts the window. At twenty minutes to eight he walks out of his front door, walks over to St. Erik's Square and takes the number 56 bus to the corner of Regering Street and Hamn Street, walks to the moving company and unlocks the door at one half minute before eight. At ten o'clock he goes down to the City Cafe, drinks two cups of coffee and eats a cheese sandwich. At one minute after twelve he goes to either one of two cafeterias. He eats…"

  'What does he eat?" asked Martin Beck.

  'Fish or fried meat. He is finished at twenty minutes past twelve, takes a quick walk through the middle of town, and goes back to work. At five minutes past five he locks up and goes home. If the weather is terrible he takes the number 56 bus. Otherwise he walks up Regering Street, King Street, Queen Street, Barnhus Street, Uppland Street, Observatory Street, through Vasa Park, across St. Erik's Square, past Birk Street and home. On the way he sometimes shops in some supermarket where there aren't too many people. He buys milk and cake every day and every few days he gets bread, butter, cheese and marmalade. He has stayed home and looked at the boob tube eight evenings out of the fourteen. On Wednesdays he has gone to the seven o'clock show at the movies. Fanciful nonsense films, both times. I was the one that had to sit through them. On the way home he stuffs a frankfurter into himself, with both mustard and catsup. Two Sundays in a row he has taken the subway to the stadium to see the ice hockey games. Stenström got to see those. Two

  Tuesdays in a row he has gone bowling with three men from his company. On Saturdays he works until twelve. Then he goes to the Löwenbräu and drinks a stein of beer. In addition, he eats a portion of frankfurter salad. Then he goes home. He doesn't look at the girls on the street. Sometimes he stops and looks at the posters in front of the movie houses or in the shop windows, mostly sporting goods and hardware stores. He doesn't buy any newspapers and doesn't subscribe to any either. On the other hand he does buy two magazines, Rekord-Magasinet and some kind of fishing magazine. I've forgotten what it is called. Garbage! There is no blue Monark motor bike in the cellar of the apartment house he lives in but there is a red one made by Svalen. It's his. He rarely gets any mail. He doesn't mix with his neighbors but does greet them on the stairs."