There must be pictures from that trip pasted into twenty or thirty family albums. All kinds of pictures. The first ones were probably taken right at the pier in Stockholm, and the last ones in Gothenburg. Let's say that twenty people took thirty pictures each during those three days. That's about one roll per person, and some might have taken more. Lennart, that means there must be at least six hundred photographs… Do you understand… six hundred photographs. Maybe even a thousand.'
'Yes,' said Kollberg slowly. 'I understand what you mean.'
'It will be a terrible job, of course,' said Martin Beck.
'No worse than what we're already doing,' answered Koll-berg.
'Maybe it's only a wild idea. I could be completely wrong.'
This was a game that they had played many times before, Martin Beck doubting and needing support. He knew in advance what the answer would be and he also knew that Kollberg knew he knew. Even so, they stuck to their ritual.
'It will have to give us something,' said Kollberg stubbornly.
And after a few seconds he added: 'Anyway, we have a head start. We already know where they are with a few exceptions, and we've already had contact with most of them.'
It was easy for Kollberg to sound convinced. That was one of his specialties.
After a while Martin Beck asked: 'What time is it?'
'Ten minutes after seven.'
'Is there anyone on the list who lives in the vicinity?'
Kollberg studied his notebook.
'Nearer than you think,' he said. 'On North Malar-strand. A retired colonel and his wife.'
'Who's been there? You?'
'No, Melander. Nice people,' he said.
'Was that all?'
'Yes.'
The street was wet and slippery and Kollberg swore bitterly when his back wheels skidded. Three minutes later they were there.
The colonel's wife opened the door.
'Axel, there are two gentlemen from the police here,' she called in towards the living room in a very loud voice.
'Ask them to come in,' roared the colonel. 'Or would you rather I came out and stood in the hall?'
Martin Beck shook the rain off his hat and walked in. Kollberg wiped his feet energetically.
'We are having maneuver weather,' bellowed the colonel. 'Please excuse me, gentlemen, for not getting up.'
On the low table in front of him was a half-played game of dominoes, a cognac glass, and a bottle of Remy Martin. Nearby, the television was blaring away deafeningly.
'Maneuver weather, as I said. Would you gentlemen like to have some cognac? That's the only thing that helps.'
'I'm driving,' shouted Kollberg as he looked seriously at the bottle.
It took ten seconds before Martin Beck's feelings of solidarity won out. He shook his head.
'You do the talking,' he said to Kollberg.
'What was that?' the colonel screamed.
Martin Beck managed a smile and made a nonchalant gesture. He was convinced that the least attempt to enter into the discussion would ruin his voice for a whole week. The conversation continued.
'Photographs? No, we never take pictures any more. I see so poorly and Axel always forgets to wind the film after he's taken a picture. That nice young man who was here two weeks ago asked the same thing. He was such a nice boy.'
Martin Beck and Kollberg exchanged a quick look, not only in astonishment, over the remarkable statement about Melander.
'But strangely enough,' thundered the colonel, 'Major Jentsch… But of course, naturally you don't know who he is. We sat with him and his wife during the trip. A procurement officer, a most pleasant man. As a matter of fact we were commissioned the same year but the unfortunate end of the campaign against the Bolsheviks put an end to his career. You know, the promotions came quickly as long as the war continued, but after 1945, that was that. Well, it wasn't so serious for Jentsch. He was a procurement officer and they were worth their weight in gold right after the war. I remember he received a Director's position with a food company in Osnabr?ck. Yes, we had some things in common, a lot to talk about, and the time passed quickly. A great deal, as I said. For nine months, maybe it was eleven as a matter of fact, well, in any case he had been the liaison officer with the Blue Division. You know about the Blue Division? The Spanish elite troops that Franco put in against the opposition. And I must say, we often tear apart the Italians and Greeks and Spaniards and others here at home… yes, we rip them up pretty well, but I must say, as I have said, that these boys in the Blue Division, in other words, they really could…'
Martin Beck turned his head and looked with despair at the television screen which was now showing a program that must have been at least one month old about picking beets in southern Sweden. The colonel's wife was watching the program attentively and seemed unconscious of her surroundings.
'I understand,' Kollberg screamed.
Then he took a deep breath and with admirable strength of voice and direction continued:
'What was it you began to say about photographs?'
'What? Oh yes, I was saying that strangely enough Major Jentsch was an expert in handling a camera, in spite of the fact that he doesn't hear or see any better than we do. He took a lot of photographs on the trip and just a few days ago we received a whole envelope full of them from him. I think that was very thoughtful of him. It must have been expensive for him to have them printed for us. They are very good photographs. Pleasant memories no matter what.'
Martin Beck moved toward the television and lowered the volume a little. It had happened instinctively, in self-protection, without his really having been conscious of what he had done. The colonel's wife looked at him uncomprehend-ingly.
'What? Yes, naturally. Missan, will you get the photographs we received from Germany. I would like to show them to these gentlemen.'
Martin Beck watched the woman who was called Missan from under knotted eyebrows as she got out of her TV chair.
The pictures were in color and about 3 by 4 inches in size. There were about fifteen of them in the envelope and the man in the easy chair held them between his thumb and his index finger. Martin Beck and Kollberg stood bent forward, one on either side of him.
'This is us and here is Major Jentsch's wife, oh yes, and you can see my wife here__yes, and here am I. This photograph was taken from the command bridge. That was the first day out. I'm talking to the captain, as you probably can see. And here… unfortunately I don't see too well either… will you give me the magnifying glass, darling…?' The colonel wiped off the magnifying glass slowly and carefully before he continued.
'Yes, here we are. Now you can see Major Jentsch himself, and then me and my wife…Major Jentsch's wife must have taken this photograph. It looks a bit dimmer than the rest. And here we are again, in the same place but from a slightly different angle, it seems to me. And… let me see… the lady that I am talking to here was a Frau Lieben-einer, she was German too. She ate at our table, too, a very charming and fine woman, but, unfortunately, a bit elderly. She lost her husband at El Alamein.'
Martin Beck paid closer attention and saw a very old woman in a flowered dress with a pink hat. She stood next to one of the lifeboats with a cup of coffee in one hand and a piece of pastry in the other.
The inspection continued. The shots were all the same. Martin Beck began to get a pain in his back. He knew now, without doubt, just how Major Jentsch's wife looked.
The last picture lay on the mahogany table in front of the colonel. It was one of those which Martin Beck had already spoken of. The
The picture must have been taken just before the boat sailed because there were at lot of people already on
