The Locked Room (21 page)

'Oh yes, to be sure,' she said. 'This business about Svärd.'

'Did he keep any valuables at home?'

'No. Two chairs, and a table, and a bed. A filthy carpet, and only the most indispensable things in the kitchen. Hardly any clothes, even. That's why that lock business can only have been a phobia. He avoided everyone. It's true he used to talk to me, but only when it was absolutely necessary.'

'He was as poor as can be, as far as I know.'

She looked meditative, filled her glass, and drank. 'I'm not so sure about that' she said. 'Mostly he seemed stingy to the point of lunacy. True, he always paid his rent, though he grumbled about it Even though it was only eighty a month. And as far as I know he never bought himself anything but dog food. Well, cat food. Didn't drink. Had no expensive habits at all. So even if he only had his old-age pension he ought to have been able to indulge in a sausage now and again. It's true all too many old people live on dog food, but usually they have higher rents to pay and place rather higher demands on existence, for example half a bottle of wine with their dinner sometimes. Svärd didn't even have a radio. When I was studying psychology I read about people who live on potato peelings, and go about in fifty-year-old clothes, and have hundreds of thousands of kronor stuffed inside their mattress. Well, everyone knows about them. A psychological phenomenon, I forget what it's called.'

'But there was no money in Svärd's mattress.'

'And he moved out, which wasn't like him. His new place must have cost him more, and to move his belongings must have cost something too. It doesn't make sense.'

Martin Beck emptied his wineglass. He would have liked to have stayed among these people; but now he had to be off. He had got food for thought 'Well, I'm off now.'

'I was going to make spaghetti bolognese. It's not bad when one makes the sauce oneself. Stay, by all means.'

'No. I must go now.'

She followed him out on her bare feet. They passed the nursery, and he cast a glance inside.

'Yes,' she said. 'The kids are out in the country. I'm divorced.' After a moment's pause, she added: 'You too, eh?'

'Yes.'

At the door she said: 'So long, then. Come back. I've lectures at the summer university in the daytime, but I'm always home after six.' Brief pause. She threw him an intriguing glance and said: 'We can talk about Svärd, can't we?'

A fat man in slippers and impressed grey trousers came down the stairs. He was wearing a red, yellow and blue Viet Cong badge on his shirt 'Rhea,' he said, 'the light in the attic's gone out'

'Get a new bulb from the cleaning cupboard,' she said. 'Seventy-five watts'll do.'

'You want to stay,' she said to Martin Beck. 'So stay.'

'No. I'm off now. Thanks for the tea, sandwiches, and wine.'

He saw that for just a moment she was thinking of exerting some kind of influence over him, presumably using the spaghetti as a lever.

But she refrained and said: 'Well, good-bye, then. Again.'

‘Bye.'

Neither of them said, See you again.

He was thinking of Svärd. He was thinking of Rhea. He was in a more cheerful mood than he'd been in for a long time, a very very long time; though as yet he was not conscious of it.

Kollberg and Gunvald Larsson were sitting facing each other at the latter's desk. Both looked thoughtful.

It was still Thursday and they had left Bulldozer Olsson alone with his dreams of the impending day of happiness when he'd be able to put Werner Roos behind bars.

'What the devil's up with Bulldozer?' Gunvald Larsson said. 'Is he really thinking of letting Mauritzon go, just like that?'

Kollberg shrugged. "That's the way it would seem,' he said.

'But not even having him shadowed, that's what I don't understand,' Gunvald Larsson went on. 'There's every prospect of a tail yielding high dividends. Or do you think Bulldozer's got his sights on something even more brilliant?'

Kollberg shook his head thoughtfully and said: 'No, it's like this, I reckon: Bulldozer'd sooner sacrifice what he might gain by shadowing Mauritzon than lose something else he values more.'

Gunvald Larsson frowned. 'And what might that be?' he asked. 'Surely no one's more eager to get his mitts on this gang than Bulldozer.'

'No, that's for sure,' Kollberg said. 'But has it occurred to you that hardly any of us has such first-class sources of information as Bulldozer? He knows any number of informers and crooks, and they really trust him because he never cheats them and always keeps his word. They rely on him and know he never promises something he can't deliver. Bulldozer's snitches are his chief asset.'

'What you mean to say is, if it gets around that he tails his snitches when they've been here giving him some tips, that'll be the end of their confidence in him and all those nice tips too?'

'Precisely,' Kollberg said.

'Anyway I think it's damn stupid to let this opportunity slip,' Gunvald Larsson said. 'Suppose we keep quiet tabs on where Mauritzon goes and what he gets up to next. That needn't trouble Bulldozer, need it?' He threw Kollberg a questioning glance.

'Okay,' Kollberg said. 'I'm also rather curious as to what Mr Faithful Mauritzon has in mind. By the way, is Faithful a Christian name or a surname?'

'It's a dog's name,' said Gunvald Larsson. 'Maybe he some¬times disguises himself as a dog. But we'll have to get started, because I imagine he's being let out any moment now. Who starts?'

Kollberg looked at his new wristwatch, which was of the same make and model as the one that had gone through the washing machine. He hadn't eaten for a couple of hours and had begun to feel ravenous. Anyone who's trying to get his weight down, he'd read somewhere, should eat little but often; the latter part of this advice he had accepted with pleasure.

'I suggest you do,' he said. 'I'll stick by the phone here, so you just call me if you need any help or want me to relieve you. Take my car. It's not such an eyesore as yours.' He took out his keys and handed them to Gunvald Larsson.

'Good,' said Gunvald Larsson. He got up and buttoned his jacket. In the doorway he turned and said: 'If Bulldozer asks after me, think of something. You'll be hearing from me. So long.'

Kollberg waited two minutes, then went down to the cafe¬teria for his dietetic repast.

Gunvald Larsson didn't have to wait very long. Mauritzon came out on to the staircase, hesitated a moment, and set off for Agnegatan. He turned off to the right, went up to Hantverkargatan, swung off to the left, and went on to the bus stop on Kungsholmstorg, where he stood waiting.

In a doorway, not far off, Gunvald Larsson also waited. He was well aware of the difficulty of this enterprise. For one thing, his height and bulk were not easily concealed, even in a crowd. And for another, Mauritzon would recognize him if he so much as looked in his direction. If Mauritzon was thinking of taking the bus, Gunvald Larsson could hardly get on the same one without being recognized. At the taxi stand, diagonally across the street, an empty cab was waiting, and he hoped no one would take it before he needed to.

A number 62 pulled up at the bus stop and Mauritzon got on.

Before going over to the cab Gunvald Larsson waited until the bus had gone far enough for Mauritzon not to recognize him through the rear window. He left Kollberg's car standing where it was.

The cab driver was a young woman with tousled blonde hair and lively brown eyes. When Gunvald Larsson showed her his identity card and asked her to follow the bus, she lit up with enthusiasm.

'Great!' she said. 'This guy you're chasing, is he a dangerous gangster?'

Gunvald Larsson didn't reply.

'I understand - it's secret. Don't worry, I'll be as silent as the grave.'

Silence, however, turned out to be the one thing she was incapable of.

'We'd better take it easy,' she said, 'so we can stay behind that bus at the bus stops.'

'Yes,' Gunvald Larsson said, as curtly as possible. 'But keep your distance.'

'I get it,' she said. 'You don't want to be seen. Pull down the sun visor so you can't be seen from above.'

Gunvald Larsson pulled it down. She threw him a conspirator¬ial glance, caught sight of his bandaged hand, and exclaimed: 'How did that happen? Been in a fight, eh?'

Gunvald Larsson grunted.

'It's a dangerous profession, being a policeman,' she went on. 'But terribly exciting, of course. Before I started driving a cab I thought of joining the force. Best of all I'd have liked to be a detec¬tive, but my husband was against it.'

Gunvald Larsson said nothing.

'Though it can have its moments of excitement, driving a cab, too. Like now, for instance.' She beamed at Gunvald Larsson, and with an effort he smiled back a twisted smile.

All the time she was keeping a medium distance from the bus. Altogether, she drove exceptionally well, and this had to make up for her talkativeness. .

Gunvald Larsson uttered no more than an occasional mono¬syllable, while his driver had time for no end of chatter before Mauritzon finally got off the bus on Erik Dahlbergsgatan. He was the only passenger to do so, and while Gunvald Larsson was taking out his money the girl at the wheel gave Mauritzon a curious stare.

'He doesn't look at all like a crook to me,' she said, disappointed. She took her money and quickly scribbled a receipt 'Anyway, good luck,' she added, and slowly drove off.

Mauritzon crossed the street diagonally and turned off onto Armfeldtsgatan. When he'd disappeared around the corner,

Gunvald Larsson made haste to reach it and peeped around just as Mauritzon was vanishing into a doorway.

After a while Gunvald Larsson opened the door. Somewhere inside the building he heard another door slam. Then he went in and inspected the list of tenants.

At once his glance was caught by the name Mauritzon. Astonished, he raised his eyebrows. So - Filip Faithful Mauritzon lived here under his own name! Gunvald Larsson recalled that while he'd been questioned he'd given an address on Vickergatan, where he lived under the name of Lennart Holm. Most practical, Gunvald Larsson thought to himself. Hearing the lift start up, he hastily betook himself out into the street again.

Not daring to cross the street for fear Mauritzon might catch sight of him through a window, he hugged the wall of the building as he made his way back to the corner of Erik Dahlbergsgatan. There he took up his post, peeping cautiously out to keep an eye on Mauritzon's doorway.

After a while the cut under his knee began to ache. It was too early to ring Kollberg, and anyway he didn't dare leave his observation post in case Mauritzon should put in an appear¬ance.

When Gunvald Larsson had been standing there waiting at the street corner for three-quarters of an hour, Mauritzon suddenly emerged from the doorway. Gunvald Larsson just had time to realize that the fellow was walking towards him before pulling abruptly back out of sight. Hoping Mauritzon hadn't seen him, he ran limping down the street and into the nearest doorway.

Mauritzon, looking straight ahead of him, walked briskly by. He had changed his suit and was carrying a little black suitcase. He crossed Valhallavägen, and Gunvald Larsson followed at as great a distance as possible without losing sight of him.

Mauritzon went quickly down towards Karlaplan. Twice he turned and looked nervously behind him; the first time Gunvald

Larsson took cover behind a parked lorry, and the second time he dived into a doorway.

As Gunvald Larsson had already guessed, Mauritzon was on his way to the metro. Only a few people were waiting on the plat¬form, and Gunvald Larsson found it hard to keep out of sight. But there was nothing to suggest Mauritzon had spotted him. He boarded a southbound train, and Gunvald Larsson got into the next carriage.

At Hötorget they both got off, and Mauritzon disappeared into the crowds.

Gunvald Larsson looked around, trying to find him on the plat¬form. But it was as if the man had been swallowed up. He searched each exit without catching sight of Mauritzon, and in the end he took the escalator to the upper level. He went around to the five different exits. No Mauritzon. Finally he came to a standstill outside Strom's shop window, swore, and wondered whether Mauritzon hadn't seen him after all. In which case he could have given him the slip by running across the platform and jumping on a north¬bound train.

Gunvald Larsson looked sombrely at a pair of Italian shoes that were lying in the window and whose owner he would gladly have been had they existed in his size. Several days earlier he had been in and enquired.

Now he turned to go up and take the bus to Kungsholmen. Suddenly he caught sight of Mauritzon at the other end of the station. He was on his way towards the Sveavägen exit Besides his black suitcase he was now carrying a package tied with a large and elaborate ribbon with bows. After he had disappeared up the stairs, Gunvald Larsson followed.

Mauritzon went on southwards down Sveavägen and entered the city-centre air terminal. Gunvald Larsson took up his obser¬vation post behind a lorry on Lästmakargatan. Through the huge windows he could see Mauritzon go up to the counter and talk to a tall blonde in uniform. Gunvald Larsson wondered where

Mauritzon was thinking of going. South, of course, perhaps to some spot on the Mediterranean. Or still further - Africa was popular nowadays. For obvious reasons Mauritzon was scared of staying in Stockholm; yet the moment Malmström and Mohrén realized he'd split they certainly wouldn't be feeling kindly towards him either.

He saw Mauritzon open his suitcase and put the box of choco¬lates, or whatever it was, inside. Then he got his tickets, stuffed them inside his jacket, and emerged on to the pavement

Gunvald Larsson watched him stroll slowly away in the direc¬tion of Sergelstorg; then he went inside. The girl who had helped Mauritzon was standing leafing through a card index. She threw Gunvald Larsson a quick glance, went on leafing, and said: 'Yes, sir, what can I do for you?'

'I should like to know whether that gentleman who was here just now bought a ticket,' Gunvald Larsson said. 'And if so, where to.'