by Maj Sjowall
Martin Beck sat in the same room with Ahlberg. As he hung up the phone. Ahlberg looked at him questioningly.
'She's going there in about a half an hour," Martin Beck told him.
'We'll just have to wait then. She's a great gal. I like her."
When they had waited for over two hours Ahlberg said: "Surely nothing could have happened to her now…"
'Keep calm," Martin Beck answered. "She'll call."
She called after they had waited another half hour.
'Have you been waiting long?"
Martin Beck grimaced:
'What happened?" he said, and cleared his throat.
'I'll start at the beginning. Two drivers came with the bureau twenty minutes after I talked with you. I hardly glanced at it and told the men where it should go. After they left I noticed it was the wrong bureau and I went down to the office to complain."
'You were there quite a long time."
'Yes. He had a customer when I arrived. I waited outside the counter and he looked at me several times. It seemed as if he was trying to hurry the customer. He was very distressed about the bureau and I said that the mistake was mine, not the firm's. We almost got into an argument about whose fault it was. Then he went to find out if someone could bring the right bureau this evening."
'Yes?"
'But he couldn't arrange it. He promised to see that it would be delivered tomorrow morning, though. He said that he would have liked to bring it himself, and I said that was too much to ask although it certainly would have been pleasant."
'Okay. Did you leave then?"
'No. Of course I stayed on."
'Was he hard to talk to?"
'Not particularly. He seemed a little shy."
'What did you talk about?"
'Oh, about how terrible the traffic is and how much better Stockholm was before. And then I said that it was no city to be alone in, and he agreed, although he said he rather liked to be alone."
'Did he seem pleased to talk to you?"
'I think so. But I couldn't hang around forever. He mentioned that he liked to go to the movies but other than that he didn't go out very much. Then, there wasn't much more to say. So I left. He walked out to the door with me and was very polite. What do we do now?"
'Nothing. Wait."
Two days later Sonja Hansson went back to the moving company again.
'I wanted to thank you for your help and tell you that I received the bureau. I'm sorry to have caused so much trouble."
'It was no trouble at all," Folke Bengtsson said. "Welcome back. What can I do for you?"
A man walked into the room and interrupted. He was clearly the head of the firm.
When she left the office she knew Bengtsson was looking at her over the counter and before she reached the outer door, she turned and met his glance.
A week went by before the experiment was repeated. Once again the pretext was a transportation problem. She hadn't been in her apartment on Runeberg Street very long and she was still in the process of gathering some furniture from the attics of various relatives.
After still another five days she stood in his office again. It was just before five o'clock and because she was passing by, she thought she'd drop in.
Sonja Hansson sounded annoyed when she telephoned in.
'He still isn't reacting?" Martin Beck asked.
'Only moderately. You know, I don't believe it's him."
'Why not?"
'He seems so shy. And rather disinterested. I've pressed hard these last few times, practically given him an open invitation. Seven out of ten men would have been sitting outside my door howling like wolves by now. I guess I just don't have any sex appeal. What should I do?"
'Keep on."
'You ought to get someone else."
'Keep on."
Continue. But how long? Hammar's look became more questioning each day that passed. And each time Martin Beck looked in the mirror the face that he met was more and more haggard.
The electric clock on the wall at the Klara Police Station ticked away another three uneventful nights. Three weeks had passed since the dress rehearsal. The plan was well conceived but it didn't seem as if they would ever have the chance to put it into effect. Absolutely nothing had happened. The man called Folke Bengtsson lived a quiet, routine life. He drank his buttermilk, went to work, and slept nine hours each night. But they were almost losing contact with their normal environments and the outer world. The hounds chased themselves to death without the fox even noticing it, Martin Beck thought.
He stared angrily at the black telephone which hadn't rung for three weeks. The girl in the apartment on Runeberg
Street knew that she should only use it for one specific situation. They called her twice each evening to check. Once at six o'clock and again at midnight. That was the only thing that happened.
The atmosphere in Martin Beck's home was strained. His wife didn't say anything but the doubting look in her eyes was more and more unmistakable each time he looked at her. She had given up faith in this project a long time ago. It had not produced results and kept him away from home night after night. And he neither could nor would explain.
It was somewhat better for Kollberg. At least Melander and Stenström relieved him every third night. Ahlberg kept occupied by playing chess by himself. That was called solving problems! All topics of conversation had long since been pre-empted.
Martin Beck had lost the train of thought in the newspaper article he was pretending to read. He yawned and looked at his exemplary colleagues who, eternally silent, sat directly opposite each other, their heads heavy with profound thoughts.
He looked at the clock. Five to ten. Yawning again, he got up stiffly and went out to the toilet. He washed his hands, rinsed his face with cold water, and went back.
Three steps from the door he heard the telephone ring. Kollberg had already finished the conversation and hung up.
'Has he…?"
'No," said Kollberg. "But he's standing outside on the street."
This was unexpected, but actually, it changed nothing. During the next three minutes Martin Beck analyzed the plan in detail. Bengtsson couldn't force the downstairs door and even if he managed to, he would hardly have time to get upstairs before they got there. "We had better be careful." "Yes," said Kollberg.
They drove to a fast stop in front of the Little Theater. They separated.
Martin Beck stood, watched Ahlberg go through the door, and looked at his watch. It was exactly four minutes since she had called. He thought about- the woman alone in the apartment two flights above. Folke Bengtsson was not in sight.
Thirty seconds later a light was turned on in a window on the third floor. Someone came to the window and seemed to look out, but disappeared almost immediately. The light went off. Ahlberg was in his place. They waited in silence by the bedroom window. The room was dark but a narrow stream of light came through the door. The lamp in the living room was lit to show that she was home. The living room window looked out on the street and from the bedroom they could see several of the cross streets leading to the intersection.
Bengtsson stood by the bus stop directly across the street. He looked up at her window. He was the only person there and after he had stood for a while he looked up and down the block. Then he walked slowly to the island that separated the street's traffic. He disappeared in back of a telephone booth.
'Here it comes," said Ahlberg and motioned in the dark.
But the telephone didn't ring and after several minutes Bengtsson could be seen walking up the street.
Along the sidewalk there was a low, stone wall which ran all the way to the building below her window. In back of it was an area planted with grass and low shrubbery which led to the house.
Once again, the man stopped on the sidewalk and looked up toward her house. Then he began to walk toward her door slowly.
He disappeared out of sight and Ahlberg stared out over the square until he caught sight of Mart
in Beck who stood completely still by a tree in the planted area. A trolley on Birger Jarls Street hid him for several seconds and after it had passed, he was gone.
Five minutes later they saw Bengtsson again.
He had been walking so close to the wall that they hadn't seen him until he stepped out into the street and began to walk toward the trolley stop. At a kiosk, he stopped and bought a frankfurter. While he ate it, he leaned against the kiosk and stared up at her window constantly. Then he began to pace back and forth with his hands in his pockets. Now and then he looked up at her window.
Fifteen minutes later Martin Beck was behind the same tree again.
The traffic was heavier now and a stream of people crowded the streets. The movie had ended.
They lost sight of Bengtsson for a few minutes but then saw him in the midst of a group of moviegoers on the way home. He walked toward the telephone booth but stopped again a few feet from it. Then suddenly, he walked briskly toward the planted area. Martin Beck turned his back and slowly moved away.
Bengtsson passed the little park, crossed the street toward the restaurant and disappeared down Tegnér Street. After a few minutes he appeared again on the opposite sidewalk and began to walk around Eriksberg Square.
'Do you think that he's been here before?" asked the woman in the cotton dressing gown. "I mean, it's only pure chance that I saw him tonight."
Ahlberg stood with his back against the wall near the window and smoked a cigarette. He looked at the girl beside him who was turned toward the window. She stood with her feet apart and had her hands in her pockets. In the weak light reflected from the street, her eyes looked like dark holes in her pale face.
'Maybe he's been here every night," she said.
When the man below had completed his fourth swing around the square, she said: "If he's going to tramp around like this the whole night I'll go crazy and Lennart and Martin will freeze to death."
At 12:25 he had gone around the square eight times, each time moving faster. He stopped below the steps leading to the park, looked up at the house, and half-ran across the street to the trolley stop.
A bus drove in to the bus stop, and when it moved on, Bengtsson was no longer there.
'Look. There's Martin," Sonja Hansson said.
Ahlberg jumped at the sound of her voice. They had been whispering to one another all along and now she spoke in her normal voice for the first time in two hours.
He saw Martin Beck hurry across the street and jump into a car which had been waiting in front of the theater. The car started even before he managed to close the door and drove off in the same direction as the bus.
'Well, thanks for your company tonight," Sonja Hansson said. "I think I'll go to sleep now."
'Do that," said Ahlberg.
He would have liked some sleep too. But ten minutes later he walked through the door at Klara Police Station. Kollberg arrived shortly after.
They had made five moves in their chess game when Martin Beck came in.
'He took the bus to St. Erik's Square and went home. He put out the light almost immediately. He's probably asleep by now."
'It was mere chance that she caught sight of him," said Ahlberg. "He could have been there several times before."
Kollberg studied the chess board.
'And if he was? That wouldn't prove anything."
'What do you mean?"
'Kollberg's right," Martin Beck answered.
'Sure," said Kollberg. "What would it prove? Even I have roamed around like an alley cat outside of the houses of willing girls."
Ahlberg shrugged his shoulders.
'Although I was younger, a lot younger."
Martin Beck said nothing. The others made a half-hearted attempt to concentrate on their game. After a while, Koll-berg repeated a move which caused a draw, in spite of the fact that he had been winning.
'Damn," he said. "That chatter makes me lose my train of thought. How much are you leading by?"
'Four points," said Ahlberg. 'Twelve and a half to eight and a half."
Kollberg got up and paced around the room.
'We'll bring him in again, make a thorough search of his house, and rough him up as much as we can," he said.
No one answered.
'We ought to tail him again, with new guys."
'No," said Ahlberg.
Martin Beck continued biting on his index finger knuckle. After a while he said: "Is she getting frightened?"
'It doesn't seem so," Ahlberg answered. "That girl doesn't get nervous easily."
'Neither did Roseanna McGraw," Martin Beck thought.
They didn't say much more to one another but were still wide awake when the noise of the morning traffic on Regering Street indicated that although their work day had ended, it was just beginning for others.
Something had happened, but Martin Beck didn't know exactly what.
Another twenty-four hours passed. Ahlberg increased his lead by another point. That was all.
The following day was a Friday. Three days were left before the end of the month and the weather was still mild. It had been rainy and misty most of the time and at twilight the fog had rolled in.
At ten minutes after nine the sound of the telephone broke the silence. Martin Beck picked up the receiver.
'He's here again. He's standing by the bus stop."
They got there fifteen seconds faster than the last time in spite of the fact that Kollberg had parked on the street. After another thirty seconds they saw the signal indicating that Ahlberg was in his place.
The repetition was almost frightening. The man named Folke Bengtsson wandered around Eriksberg Square for four hours. Four or five times, he hesitated outside the telephone booth. Once he stopped and ate a frankfurter. Then he rode home. Kollberg followed him.
Martin Beck had been very cold. He walked quickly back to the police station with his hands in his pockets and his eyes on the ground.
Kollberg arrived a half hour later.
'Everything's quiet."
'Did he see you?"
'He was like a sleepwalker. I don't think he would have seen a hippopotamus three feet in front of him."
Martin Beck dialed Policewoman Sonja Hansson's number. He felt that he must think about her in terms of her job and her rank. Otherwise, he couldn't stand it
'Hello. It's Saturday tomorrow, or more correctly, today. He works until noon. Be there when he finishes work. Rush past him as if he were on your way somewhere. Take hold of his arm and say: 'Hi, I've been waiting for you. Why haven't I heard from you?' or something like that. Don't say any more. Then take off. Leave your coat open too."
He paused briefly.
'You have to do your very best this time."
He hung up. The others stared at him.
'Which one of you is the best tail?" he said absently.
'Stenström."
'Okay. From the minute he leaves his house early tomorrow morning I want him followed. Stenström can do it. Report all his movements. Here. On the other telephone. Two of us must be here all the time."
Ahlberg and Kollberg were still staring at him but he didn't notice.
At twenty-two minutes to eight Bengtsson walked out of his front door and Stenström's assignment had begun.
He stayed near the moving company's office on Smĺland
Street until quarter after eleven when he went into a cafe and sat down by the window waiting.
At five minutes to twelve he saw Sonja Hansson on the corner.
She was dressed in a thin, blue tweed coat which was open. He could see that her belt was drawn tightly around her waist. Under the coat she had on a black turtleneck sweater. She was bare-headed and carried gloves but no pocketbook. Her stockings and black pumps seemed much too thin for the weather.
She continued across the street and disappeared out of his sight.
The moving company's employees began to leave the office and finally the man named Bengtsson came out and locked the door.
He ambled along the sidewalk and when he had moved a few feet, Sonja Hansson came running toward him. She greeted him, took hold of his arm, and said something to him as she looked in his eyes. She let go of his arm almost immediately and continued talking while she took a few steps away from him. Then she turned on her heels and ran on.
Stenström had seen her face. It had expressed eagerness, pleasure and appeal. Silently he applauded her performance.
The man remained where he was and watched her run down the street. He moved slightly, as if to follow her, but changed his mind, put his hands in his pockets and walked off slowly with his head lowered.
Stenström got his hat, paid the cashier, and looked out the door carefully. When Bengtsson had turned the corner, Stenström left and followed him.
At the Klara Police Station Martin Beck stared dismally at the telephone. Ahlberg and Kollberg had temporarily given up their chess game and sat silently behind their newspapers. Kollberg was working on a crossword puzzle and chewing frantically on a pencil.
When the telephone finally rang, he bit so hard on the pencil that it broke in two.
Martin Beck had the receiver at his ear before the first ring ended.
'Hi. It's Sonja. I think it went well. I did exactly as you said."
'Good. Did you see Stenström?"
'No, but I guess he was there someplace. I didn't dare turn around so I just kept on going for several blocks."
'Are you nervous?"
'No. Not at all."
It was a quarter after one before the telephone rang again.
'I'm in a tobacco shop on Järn Square," said Stenström. "Sonja was great. She must have put a few bees in his bonnet. We've walked through the center of town, over the main bridge and now he's wandering around in the Old City."
'Be careful."
'No problem. He's walking like a zombie. He doesn't see or hear anything around him. I've got to take off now so that I don't lose him."
Ahlberg got up and walked back and forth on the floor.
'It's not exactly a pleasant job we've given her," he said.
'She'll do fine," said Kollberg. "She'll take care of the rest of it well too. I hope Stenström doesn't scare him off though."
'Stenström's okay," he said, after a while.
Martin Beck said nothing.