Roseanna

hold of a radio car, he put on his hat and coat, turned up his collar and walked through the slush to the subway.

The headwaiter at the SHT Restaurant seemed harassed and irritated, but showed him to one of Miss Gota's tables right next to the swinging doors which led to the kitchen. Martin Beck sat down on the banquette and picked up the menu. While he was reading it, he looked out over the restaurant.

Almost all the tables were taken and only a few of the patrons were women. At several tables there were men sitting alone, most of them in late middle age. To judge by their familiar manner with the waitresses most of them ate there quite often.

Martin Beck watched the waitresses who rushed in and out through the swinging doors. He wondered which of them was Miss Gota and it took almost twenty minutes before he found out.

She had a round, friendly face, large teeth, short rumpled hair, the color of which Martin Beck described as 'hair color.'

He ordered small sandwiches, meatballs and an Amstel beer and ate slowly while he waited for the lunchtime rush to ebb away. When he had finished eating and had downed four cups of coffee, Miss Gota's other tables were empty and she came over to his.

He told her why he had come and showed her the photograph. She looked at it for a while, laid it down on the table, and took a breath before answering.

'Yes,' she said. 'I recognize him. I don't have any idea of who he is but he has traveled with the boats several times. Both the Juno and the Diana, I believe.'

Martin Beck took the picture and held it up before her.

'Are you certain?' he asked. 'The picture isn't very clear, it could be someone else.'

'Yes, I'm certain. He was always dressed like that, by the way. I recognize the jacket and that cap.'

'Do you remember if you saw him this past summer? You were on the Juno then, weren't you?'

'Yes. Let me think. I don't really think so. I see so many people. But the summer before last. I know that I saw him several times. Twice, in any case. I was on the Diana then and the girl I worked with, the other waitress, knew him. I remember that they used to talk to each other. He wasn't a regular passenger. I think he only went part of the way. He was a deck passenger. In any event he used to eat at the second or third sitting and he didn't come to all of the meals. But I think he usually got off in Gothenburg.'

'Where does your friend live?'

'I wouldn't exactly call her my friend, we only worked together. I don't know where she lives, but she usually went to Vaxjo at the end of the season.'

Miss Gota shifted her weight to the other foot and crossed her hands over her stomach as she looked up at the ceiling.

'Yes, that's right. Vaxjo. I think she lives there.'

'Do you know how well she knew this man?'

'No, I really don't. I think she was a bit taken with him. She used to meet him sometimes when we were off duty although we weren't actually supposed to mix with the passengers. He looked quite pleasant. Attractive in a way…'

'Can you describe him? I mean hair color, the color of his eyes, height, age, and so forth.'

'Well, he was pretty tall. Taller than you are, I think. Not thin, not fat, but stockily built, one could say. He had rather broad shoulders, and I think he had blue eyes. I'm not sure about that, of course. Light hair, the kind called ash blond, a little lighter than mine. I didn't see his hair very much because he usually had that cap on. And he had nice teeth, I do remember that. His eyes were round… I mean I think he was a little popeyed. But he was definitely good looking. He could be between thirty-five and forty.'

Martin Beck asked a few more questions but didn't get much more information. When he got back to his office he looked through the list again and soon found the name he was looking for. There was no address given, only a notation that she had worked on the Diana from 1960 until 1963.

It took him only a few minutes to find her name in the Vaxjo telephone book but he had to wait a long time before she answered the telephone. She seemed very unwilling to meet him but she couldn't really refuse.

Martin Beck took the night train and arrived in Vaxjo at 6:30 a.m. It was still dark and the air was mild and hazy. He walked through the streets and watched the city awaken. At a quarter of eight he was back at the railroad station. He had forgotten his galoshes and the dampness had begun to penetrate the thin soles of his shoes. He bought a newspaper at the kiosk and read it, sitting on a bench in the waiting room with his feet up against a radiator. After a while he went out, looked for a cafe which was open, drank some coffee and waited.

At nine o'clock he got up and paid his check. Four minutes later he was standing in front of the woman's door. The name Larsson was on a metal plate and above it was a calling card with the name Siv Svensson printed in an ornate style. The door was opened by a large woman in a light blue bathrobe.

'Miss Larsson?' said Martin Beck.

The woman tittered and disappeared. From inside the apartment he heard her voice: 'Karin, there's a man at the door asking for you.'

He didn't hear an answer but the large woman came back and asked him to come in. Then she disappeared.

He stood in the small, dark hall with his hat in his hand. It was several minutes before a pair of drapes were pushed aside and a voice said to him, 'Come in.'

'I wasn't expecting you this early,' said the woman who was standing inside.

She had gray streaks in her dark hair which was swept up sloppily from her neck. Her face was thin and seemed small in relation to her body. Her features were even and pretty but her skin was sallow and she had not had time to put on any make-up. There were still traces of mascara around her eyes, which were brown and slightly slanted. Her green jersey dress was tight across her breasts and her broad hips.

'I work late every night so I usually sleep late in the morning,' she said with some annoyance.

'I beg your pardon,' said Martin Beck. 'I have come to ask your help in a matter which has a connection with your employment on the Diana. Did you work there last summer too?'

'No, last summer I was on a boat that went to Leningrad.' answered the woman.

She was still standing up and looked at Martin Beck cautiously. He sat down in one of the flowery easy chairs. Then he gave her the picture. She took it and looked at it. A nearly imperceptible change crossed her face, her eyes widened for a fraction of a second, but when he handed the picture back to him her face was stiff and dismissing.

'Yes?'

'You know this man, don't you?'

'No,' she answered, without the slightest hesitation.

She walked across the room and took a cigarette out of a glass box which lay on the tile table in front of the window. She lit the cigarette and sat down on the sofa across from Martin Beck.

'What do you mean? I've never seen him. Why are you asking?'

Her voice was calm. Martin Beck looked at her for a while. Then he said:

'I know that you know him. You met him on the Diana the summer before last.'

'No, I've never seen him. You had better go now. I have to get some sleep.'

'Why are you lying?'

'You have no right to come here and be impertinent. You had better leave now, as I said.'

'Miss Larsson. Why won't you admit that you know who he is? I know that you are not telling the truth. If you don't tell the truth now, it could be unpleasant for you later on.'

'I don't know him.'

'Since I can prove that you have been seen with this man several times, it would be better to tell the truth. I want to know who the man on the photograph is and you can tell me. Be reasonable.'

'This is a mistake. You must be wrong. I don't know who he is. Please leave me alone.'

During the conversation Martin Beck looked steadily at the woman. She was sitting on the edge of the sofa and constantly tapping her index finger against her cigarette although there wasn't any ash to knock off. Her face was tense and he saw how her jawbones moved under her skin.