The Laughing Policeman (27 page)

'Like Olsson,' Rönn said. 'Especially his build and clothes. The overcoat, that is.'

'Hm,' Gunvald Larsson murmured. 'The difference being that Olsson paid 300 kronor for his coat at a sale three years ago. This guy has probably shelled out 5,000 for his. But someone like Schwerin wouldn't notice that'

'Nor would I, to tell the truth,' Rönn said.

'But I notice it,' Gunvald Larsson said. 'Luckily there are people who have an eye for quality. Otherwise they might as well build whorehouses all along Savile Row.'

'Where?' Rönn asked in astonishment

Kollberg's schedule broke down completely. Not only did he oversleep, but the weather was worse than ever. By one thirty he had still only got as far as a motel just north of Linköping. He had a cup of coffee and called Stockholm. tWell?’

'Only nine of them had a car in the summer of '51,' Melander replied, 'Ingvar Bengtsson a new Volkswagen, Rune Bengtsson a '49 Packard, Kent Carlsson a '38 DKW, Ove Eriksson an old Opel Kapitan, prewar model, Björn Forsberg a '49 Ford Vedette and-'

'Stop. Did anyone else have one?' 'A Vedette? No.' 'Then that'll do.'

'The original paintwork on Göransson's Morris was pale green. The car might of course have been repainted while he had it.'

'Fine. Can you put me through to Martin?'

'One more detail. Göransson sent his car to the scrapyard in the summer of '51. It was removed from the car registry on 15 August, only one week after Göransson had been questioned by the police.'

Kollberg put another krona piece into the phone and thought impatiently of the 127 miles still ahead of him. In this weather the drive would take several hours. He regretted not having sent the ledger up by train the evening before.

'Hello, this is Superintendent Beck.'

'Hi. What did that firm do?'

'Sold stolen goods, I should think. But it could never be proved. They had a couple of travelling salesmen who went around the provinces peddling clothes and the like.'

'And who owned it?'

'Björn Forsberg.'

Kollberg thought for a moment, and then said, 'Tell Melander to concentrate entirely on Forsberg. And ask Hjelm if either he himself or someone else will stay at the lab until I get up to town. I've something that must be analysed.'

At five o'clock Kollberg had still not returned. Melander tapped at Martin Beck's door and went in, pipe in one hand and some papers in the other. He began speaking at once.

'Björn Forsberg was married on 17 June 1951, to a woman called Elsa Beatrice Håkansson. She was the only child of a businessman called Magnus Håkansson. He dealt in building materials and was the sole owner of his firm. He was considered very wealthy. Forsberg immediately wound up all his former commitments like the firm on Holländaregatan. He worked hard, studied economics and developed into an energetic businessman. When Håkansson died nine years ago his daughter inherited both his fortune and his firm, but Forsberg had already become its managing director in the middle of the fifties. He bought the house at Stocksund in '59. It probably cost about half a million then.'

Martin Beck blew his nose.

'How long had he known the girl before he married her?'

'They seem to have met up at Are in March '51,' Melander replied. 'Forsberg was a winter sports enthusiast. Still is, for that matter. His wife too. It seems to have been so-called love at first sight They kept on meeting right up to the wedding, and he was a frequent guest in her parents' home. He was then thirty-two and Elsa Håkansson twenty-five.'

Melander changed papers.

'The marriage seems to have been a happy one. They have three children, two boys who are thirteen and twelve and a girl of seven. He sold his Ford Vedette soon after the wedding and bought a Lincoln. He's had dozens of cars since then.'

Melander was silent and lit his pipe.

'Is this what you have found out?'

'One more thing. Important, I should think. Björn Forsberg was a volunteer in the Finnish Winter War in 1940. He was twenty-one and went off to the front straight after he'd done his military service here at home. His father was a warrant officer in the Wende artillery regiment in Kristianstad. He came from a respectable, middle-class family and was considered promising until things started to go wrong for him soon after the war.'

'OK, it seems to be him.'

'Looks like it,' Melander said.

'Which men are still here?'

'Gunvald, Rönn, Nordin and Ek. Shall we look at his alibis?' 'Exacdy,' Martin Beck said.

Kollberg didn't reach Stockholm until seven o'clock. He drove first to the laboratory and handed in the garage ledger.

‘We have regular working hours,' Hjelm said sourly. 'Finishing at five.'

'Then it would be awfully good of you to -' 'OK, OK, I'll call you before long. Is it only the car number you want?'

'Yes. I'll be at Kungsholmsgatan.'

Kollberg and Martin Beck hardly had time to begin talking when the call came through. 'A 6708,' Hjelm said laconically. 'Excellent'

'Easy. You should almost have been able to see it yourself.' Kollberg put down the phone. Martin Beck gave him an inquiring look.

‘Yes. It was Forsberg's car that Göransson used at Eksjo. No doubt of that What are Forsberg's alibis like?'

'Weak. In June '51, he had a bachelor flat on Holländaregatan, in the same building as that mysterious firm. At the interrogation he said that he had been in Norrtälje on the evening of the tenth. Evidently he had been, too. Met someone there at seven o'clock. Then, still according to his own statement, he took the last train back to Stockholm, arriving at eleven thirty in the evening. He also said that he had lent his car to one of his salesmen, who confirmed this.'

'But he was damn careful not to say that he had exchanged cars with Göransson.'

'Yes,' Martin Beck said. 'So he had Göransson's Morris, and this puts a different complexion on things. He made his way comfortably back to Stockholm by car in an hour and a half. The cars were parked in the rear courtyard at Holländaregatan, and no one could see in from the street There was, however, a cold-storage room in the yard. It was used for fur coats, which officially had been left for storage over the summer but which in all probability were stolen. Why do you think they exchanged cars?'

'I expect the explanation is very simple,' Kollberg said. 'Göransson was a salesman and had a lot of clothes and junk with him. He could pack three times as much into Forsberg's Vedette as into his own Morris.'

He sat in silence for half a minute, then said, 'I don't suppose Göransson was aware of it until afterwards. When he got back he realized what had happened and that the car might be dangerous. That's why he had it scrapped immediately after the interrogation.'

‘What did Forsberg say about his relations with Teresa?' Martin Beck asked.

'That he met her at a dance hall in the autumn of 1950 and slept with her several times, how often he didn't remember. Then he met his future wife in the winter and lost interest in nymphomaniacs.'

'Did he say that?'

'More or less in those words. Why do you think he killed her? To get rid of the victim, as Stenström wrote in the margin of Wendel's book?'

'Presumably. They all said they couldn't shake her off. And of course it wasn't a sex murder.'

'No, but he wanted it to look like one. And then he had the unbelievable stroke of luck that the witnesses got the cars mixed up. He must have been tickled pink. That meant he could feel pretty safe. Göransson was the only worry.'

'Göransson and Forsberg were pals,' Martin Beck said.

'And then nothing happened until Stenström started rooting in the Teresa case and got that strange tip from Birgersson. He found out that Göransson was the only one who had had a Morris Minor. The right colour, what's more. He questioned a lot of people off his own initiative and started shadowing Göransson. He soon noticed, of course, that Göransson was getting money from someone and assumed that it came from whoever had murdered Teresa Camarão. Göransson got more and more jittery ... By the way, do we know where he was between 8 October and 13 November?'

'Yes. In a boat down at Klara Strand. Nordin found the spot this morning.' Kollberg nodded.

'Stenström realized that sooner or later Göransson would lead him to the murderer, and so he went on shadowing him day after day, and presumably quite openly. It turned out that he was right. Though the result for his own part was not a success. If he had hurried up with that trip to Småland instead ...'

Kollberg was silent. Martin Beck thoughtfully rubbed the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger of his right hand.

'Yes, it seems to fit' he said. 'Psychologically as well. There were still nine years before the Teresa murder would have lapsed and the period of prosecution expired. And a murder is the only crime which is sufficiently grave for a more or less normal person to go to such lengths in order to avoid discovery. Besides, Forsberg has an awful lot to lose.'

'Do we know what he did on the evening of 13 November?'

'Yes. He butchered all those people in the bus, including Stenström and Göransson, both of whom were extremely dangerous for him by this time. But the only thing we know at present is that he had an opportunity of committing the murders.'

'How do we know that?'

'Gunvald managed to kidnap Forsberg's German maid. She has the evening off every Monday. And according to a pocket diary she had in her handbag, she spent the night with her boyfriend between the thirteenth and fourteenth. We also know, still from the same source, that Mrs Forsberg was out at a ladies' dinner that evening. Consequently, Forsberg himself was presumed to be at home. On principle, they never leave the children alone.'

'Where is she now? The maid?'

'Here. And we're keeping her overnight'

'What do you think about his mental condition?' Kollberg asked.

'Probably very bad. On the verge of collapse.' 'The question is, do we have enough evidence to take him in?' Kollberg said.

'Not for the bus,' Martin Beck replied. 'That would be a blunder. But we can arrest him as a suspect for the murder of Teresa Camarão. We have a key witness, whose opinion has changed, and a number of new facts.'

'When?'

'Tomorrow morning.' 'Where?'

'At his office. The minute he arrives. No need to drag his wife and children into it especially if he's desperate.' 'How?'

'As quietly as possible. No shooting and no kicked-in doors.' Kollberg thought for a moment before asking his last question. 'Who?'

'Myself and Melander.'

The blonde at the switchboard behind the marble counter put down her nail file when Martin Beck and Melander entered the reception room.

Björn Forsberg's office was on the sixth floor of a building on Kungsgatan near Stureplan. The fourth and fifth floors were also occupied by the firm.

The time was only five minutes past nine and they knew that Forsberg did not usually come until about nine thirty.

'But his secretary will be here soon,' the girl at the switchboard said. 'If you care to sit down and wait.'

On the other side of the room, out of sight of the receptionist, some armchairs were grouped around a low glass table. The two men hung up their overcoats and sat down.

The six doors leading out of the reception room had no name plates. One of them was ajar.

Martin Beck got up, peeped in the door and vanished inside the room. Melander took out his pipe and tobacco pouch, filled his pipe and struck a match. Martin Beck came back and sat down.

They sat in silence, waiting. Now and then the telephone operator's voice was heard, and the buzz from the switchboard as she put the calls through. Otherwise the only sound was the faint noise of the traffic. Martin Beck turned the pages of a year-old issue of Industria, Melander leaned back with the pipe in his mouth and his eyes half-closed.

At twenty past nine the outer door was pulled open and a woman came in. She was dressed in a fur coat and high leather boots and had a large handbag over her arm.

She nodded to the girl at the switchboard and walked quickly towards the half-open door. Without slowing her steps she cast an expressionless glance at the men in the armchairs. Then she banged the door behind her.

After another twenty minutes Forsberg arrived.

He was dressed in the same way as the day before and his movements were brisk and energetic. He was just about to hang up his overcoat when he caught sight of Martin Beck and Melander. He checked himself in the middle of the movement, for a fraction of a second. Recovered himself quickly, hung the coat on a hanger and came towards them.

Martin Beck and Melander stood up together. Björn Forsberg raised his eyebrows questionirigly. He opened his mouth to say something, and Martin Beck put out his hand and said, 'Superintendent Beck. This is Detective Inspector Melander. We'd like a word with you.'

Björn Forsberg shook hands with them.

'Why, certainly,' he said. 'Please come in.'

The man appeared quite calm and almost gay as he held open the door for them. He nodded to his secretary and said, 'Good morning, Miss Sköld. I'll see you later. I'll be engaged with these gentlemen for a little while.'

He preceded them into his office, which was large and light and tastefully furnished. The floor was covered from wall to wall with a deep-pile grey-blue carpet, and the big desk was shining and empty. Two telephones, a dictaphone and an intercom stood on a small table beside the swivel chair covered in black leather. On the wide windowsill stood four photographs in pewter frames.

His wife and three children. On the wall between the windows hung a portrait in oils, presumably of his father-in-law. The room also contained a cocktail cabinet, a conference table with water carafe and glasses on a tray, a sofa and two easy chairs, some books and china figures in a case with sliding-glass doors, and a safe discreetly set into the wall.

All this Martin Beck saw as he closed the door behind him and as Björn Forsberg walked towards his desk with deliberate steps.

Laying his left hand on the top of the desk, Forsberg leaned forward, pulled out the drawer on the right and put his hand into it. When his hand reappeared, the fingers were closed around the butt of a pistol