Part 16 (1/2)

'But she talks so d.a.m.n much,' said Kollberg. 'And she's too broad-shouldered and she looks a little narrow in the hips. Doesn't she bleach her hair, too?'

He fell silent, suddenly aware that he might have hurt his old friend's feelings.

But Martin Beck smiled and said, 'I could name some other people who talk too much and whose shoulders are maybe a little too broad, not to say chubby.'

Kollberg hauled a large automatic out of the box, put it down on his chess problem and said, 'Well, Martin, what is it you want? I don't suppose you came here to talk about women.'

'I wondered if you'd do a special little job for me.' 'Paid?'

'Yes, for Christ's sake. I've a good budget Almost unrestricted.' 'What for?'

'Protection for this senator from the States who's coming on Thursday. I'm in charge of the security.' 'You?'

'I was forced into it'

'And what do you want me to do?'

'Just read through these papers, plus one highly confidential doc.u.ment. Look at it and see if you can spot anything weird.'

'Isn't it weird enough to invite the guy here?'

Martin Beck did not reply to the question, but said instead, 'Will you do it?'

Kollberg looked appraisingly at the bundle of photocopies. 'How quickly?' he asked.

'As quickly as possible.'

'Okay,' said Kollberg. 'They say money doesn't smell, and anyway I can't believe the police's money stinks any worse than any other. But it'll probably take all night What is it that's secret?'

'Here.' Martin Beck took a folded doc.u.ment out of his jacket pocket 'There isn't even a copy of this.'

'Okay,' said Kollberg. 'I'll be here same time tomorrow morning.'

'You're as punctual as a bailiff' said Kollberg on Tuesday morning. 'I read it all. Twice. Took me all night'

Martin Beck took a long, narrow envelope out of his pocket and handed it over. Kollberg counted the money and whistled to himself.

'Well, it was worth a night's work. This means a night on the town at least, perhaps even this very evening.'

'What did you find?' 'Nothing really. It's a good plan. But...'

'Well?'

'Well, if there's any point in trying to tell Moller anything, then you might draw his attention to the fact that he has two really difficult moments: when this b.a.s.t.a.r.d's standing on Logrden with the King, and a less difficult situation when the Senator and the Prime Minister are laying that wreath.'

'What else?'

'Nothing, as I said. I think that secret stuff seems a bit crazy. Wouldn't it be better to disguise Gunvald Larsson as a Christmas tree with an angel and the Stars and Stripes on top and put him up in Sveaplan? And let him stay there until Christmas?'

Kollberg placed the papers in a pile in front of Martin Beck, the most important on top, then took a very small revolver out of the box and added, 'So that people would have time to get used to such a horrible and dreadful sight, as Malm would say?'

'Anything else?'

'Yes, tell Einar Ronn that he should never again try to express himself in writing, and that if he does, he simply mustn't let anyone else see what he has written. Or else he'll never get promoted.'

'Mmm,' said Martin Beck.

'Isn't this a pretty little thing,' said Kollberg. 'A little nickel-plated lady's revolver like American women used to carry in their handbags or m.u.f.fs at the turn of the century.'

Martin Beck looked without interest at the nickel-plated firearm as he stuffed his papers into his briefcase.

'Maybe you could hit a cabbage with it at a range of ten inches, presuming that it stayed absolutely still,' said Kollberg as he opened the little revolver with one swift movement 'I've got to run,' said Martin Beck. 'Thanks for the help.'

'Peace,' said Kollberg. 'Give my regards to Rhea if you like. Otherwise you don't even have to mention my name. That would be acceptable.'

'So long, then.'

'See you,' said Lennart Kollberg, reaching for one of his index cards.

16.

Over the years, more than one person had wondered what it was that made Martin Beck such a good policeman. The question was discussed as eagerly by his superiors as by his subordinates, and was more often dictated by envy than by admiration.

The enviers were apt to point out that he had few cases, and most of them easy to solve. This was true, for the a.s.signments he dealt with were few in comparison with what overwhelmed other departments of Stockholm's police. The Fraud, Drugs and Violent Crimes Squads, for instance, had an enormous workload, and their percentage of solved cases was frighteningly low. A great many reports were simply never followed up and eventually just written off. The Stockholm chief and ultimately National Headquarters always produced the same explanation; shortage of manpower.

In fact, it wasn't easy to be a policeman in Stockholm, where various gangs and syndicates nowadays wreaked havoc quite freely, where drugs were plentiful and the simplest conflict often released insane violence on both sides. The National Commissioner and many others with him had persisted in the reorganization of the old local police system into a centrally directed, paramilitary force with frightening technical resources. The policeman's profession was a dreary one with little or no glamour attached to it, and many of its functions automatically produced hostility and unpopularity. Martin Beck's Murder Squad, with its established and often exaggerated reputation of excitement and even romance, was an exception.

But Martin Beck had come up through the ranks, and had been a good policeman even when he began patrolling the Jakob division over thirty years before. He had always found it easy to talk to people; many problems were easy to solve with the aid of humour and intelligence, and the occasions when he had been compelled to use force could be counted on one hand.

Later on he had developed even further as an officer, often having to compromise with stupid superiors, but enduring both that and various inexplicable disciplinary decisions without great injury to his soul. On one point, however, he had always refused to compromise. He liked to work in the field, in direct contact with people and their surroundings.

Shortly after 1950, when he became a detective, he was transferred to the Murder Squad; He had begun to study criminology and psychology on his own time, and the work in Murder had interested him. Until the state takeover, he had had the good fortune to have understanding superiors and good colleagues. He had not lost his ability to talk to people and thus had become known as one of the best interrogators on the force.

Although Martin Beck himself had often demonstrated a brilliant and a highly deductive mind, these were not abilities he demanded either of himself or of his colleagues. In fact, if anyone had asked him what was most important to the profession, he would in all probability have replied, 'a systematic mind, common sense, and conscientiousness', in that order.

Even if Martin Beck was largely in agreement with Lennart Kollberg about the role of police in society, resignation was unthinkable for him; he was simply too conscientious. His awareness of this caused him to think of himself as an almost painfully dreary figure, and he often got depressed. Things had been considerably better lately, but he was certainly no cheerful Charlie, and had no aspirations to become one.

Among the many characteristics that made Martin Beck an especially good policeman must be mentioned his good memory, his obstinacy, which was occasionally mule-like; and his capacity for logical thought Another was that he usually found the time for everything that had anything to do with a case, even if this meant following up small details that later turned out to be of no significance. Occasionally these minute considerations led to important clues.

Once he had Lennart Kollberg's positive opinion of their overall plan, he left with a certain feeling of satisfaction, because Kollberg was still the one person he relied on most when it came to questions of policy. It had been a brief meeting and he suddenly decided to pay a call that he had contemplated for a long time but had not had time for until now. Actually, he really didn't have time for it now either, but the rest of the group ought to be quite capable of handling all the other more or less meaningless visits and telephone calls.

With only two days left until the great event Martin Beck had been supplied with a special official car. It was green, and the policeman at the wheel was a civilian. He asked to be driven to David Bagaresgatan, and five minutes later he was standing outside the door to Hedobald Braxen's office.

The bell did not work, so he knocked. A hollow voice called out,'Come in.'