Roseanna

15

At nine-thirty the next morning Martin Beck sent for Eriksson for the third time. The examination continued for two hours and brought equally poor results.

When Eriksson slouched out of the room escorted by a young constable, Martin Beck put the tape recorder on rewind and went to get Ahlberg. They listened to the tape mostly in silence which was broken only now and then by Martin Beck's short comments.

A few hours later they were sitting in Ahlberg's office.

'Well, what do you think?'

'It wasn't he,' said Martin Beck. 'I'm almost sure of it. In the first place he isn't intelligent enough to keep up the mask. He simply doesn't understand what it's all about He's not faking.'

'Maybe you're right,' said Ahlberg.

'In the second place, and this is only instinct, but I'm convinced of it in any case. We know a little about Roseanna McGraw, don't we?'

Ahlberg nodded.

'So it's very hard for me to believe that she would willingly go to bed with Karl-Lke Eriksson.'

'No, that's right. She was willing, but not with just anyone. But who said that she did willingly?'

'Yes. It must have been that way. She met someone that she thought she would like to go to bed with and by the time it had gone far enough for her to discover her mistake, it was too late. But it wasn't Karl-Lke Eriksson.'

'It could have happened some other way,' said Ahlberg doubtfully.

'How? In that tiny cabin? Someone forced open the door and threw himself on her? She would have fought and screamed like mad and people on board would have heard her.'

'He could have threatened her. With a knife or maybe a pistol.'

Martin Beck shook his head slowly. Then he got up quick ly and walked over to the window. Ahlberg followed him with his eyes.

'What should we do with him?' asked Ahlberg. 'I can't hold him much longer.' I

'I'd like to talk with him one more time. I don't think he really knows why he is here. I am going to tell him now.'

Ahlberg got up and put on his jacket. Then he went out.

Martin Beck remained seated for a while, thinking. After that he sent for Eriksson, took his briefcase and went into the examining room next door.

'What the hell is all this about?' asked Eriksson. 'I haven't done anything. You can't keep me here when I haven't done anything. God damn it…'

'Be quiet until I tell you you can talk. You are here to answer my questions,' said Martin Beck.

He took out the retouched photograph of Roseanna McGraw and held it up in front of Eriksson.

'Do you recognize this woman?' he asked.

'No,' Eriksson answered. 'Who is she?'

'Look carefully at the picture and then answer. Have you ever seen the woman in this photograph?'

'No.'

'Are you sure?'

Eriksson placed one elbow on the back of his chair and rubbed his nose with his index finger.

'Yes. I've never laid eyes on the dame.'

'Roseanna McGraw. Does that name mean anything to you?'

'What a hell of a name. Is this a joke?'

'Have you heard the name Roseanna McGraw before?'

'No.'

'Then I'm going to tell you something. The woman in the photograph is Roseanna McGraw. She was an American and a passenger on the Diana's first trip out of Stockholm on July 3. The Diana was delayed on that trip by twelve hours, first due to fog south of Oxelosund and then due to an engine breakdown. You have already said that you were on that trip. When the vessel arrived in Gothenberg ten hours off schedule Roseanna McGraw wasn't on it. She was killed during the night between July 4-5 and was found three days later in the lock chamber at Borenshult.'

Eriksson sat straight up in his chair. He grabbed the arm rests and chewed on the left corner of his mouth.

'Is that why…? Do you think that…?'

He pressed the palms of his hands together, placed his hands tightly between his knees and bent forward so that his chin nearly rested on the desk. Martin Beck saw how the skin on the bridge of his nose had paled.

'I haven't murdered anyone! I've never seen that dame! I swear!'

Martin Beck said nothing. He kept looking directly at the man's face and saw the fear grow in his enlarged eyes.

When he spoke his voice was dry and toneless.

'Where were you and what were you doing on the night of July 4-5?'

'In my cabin. I swear! I was in my cabin sleeping! I haven't done anything! I've never seen that dame! It isn't true!'

His voice rose to a falsetto and he threw himself back in his chair. His right hand went up to his mouth and he began to bite on his thumb while he stared at the photograph in front of him. Then his eyes narrowed and his voice became thin and hysterical.

'You're trying to trick me. You think you can frighten me, don't you? All that about the girl is fake. You've talked with Roffe and that devil said it was me. He's squealed. He did it, not me. I haven't done anything. That's the truth. I haven't done anything. Roffe said it was me, didn't he? He said it.'

Martin Beck didn't take his eyes away from the man's face.

'That bastard. He fixed the lock and he stole the money.'

He bent forward and his voice became eager. The words poured out of him.

'He forced me to go along with it. He had worked in that damn building. It was his idea all along. I didn't want to. I said so. I refused. I didn't want to have anything to do with such a thing. But he forced me, that damned louse. He squealed, that ass…'

'Okay,' said Martin Beck. 'Roffe squealed. You'd better tell me everything now.'

One hour later he played back the tape for Larsson and Ahlberg. There was a complete confession of a burglary which Karl-Lke Eriksson and Roffe Sjoberg had committed in a garage in Gothenburg one month earlier.

When Larsson had left to telephone to the Gothenburg police, Ahlberg said: 'In any case we know where we have him for the time being.'

He sat quietly for a while and drummed on the desk.

'Now there are about fifty possible suspects left,' said Ahlberg. 'If we go on the premise that the murderer was among the passengers.'

Martin Beck remained silent and looked at Ahlberg who sat with his head down and seemed to be examining his fingernails. He looked just as depressed as Martin Beck had felt when he realized that the examination of Eriksson wasn't leading anywhere.

'Are you disappointed?' he asked.

'Yes, I'll have to admit it. For a while I really thought we were there and now it seems that we have just as far to go.'

'We've made some progress in any case. Thanks to Kafka.'

The telephone rang and Ahlberg answered it. He sat listening for a long while with the receiver pressed against his ear. Then he cried suddenly:

'Ja, ja, ich bin hier. Ahlberg hier.'

'Amsterdam,' he said to Martin Beck who left the room discreetly.

While he was washing his hands he thought 'an, auf, hinter, in, neben, uber, unter, vor, zwischen,' and he was reminded of the first sticky odor of a room many years ago and of a round table with a baize cloth and an elderly teacher with a thin German grammar book between her fat fingers. When he went