in the left part of his chest.
Melander and the man called Folke Bengtsson seemed as if they hadn't moved at all since he had left them.
'I am sorry that it was necessary to bother you. Can I offer you transportation home?'
'I'll take the subway, thank you.'
'Maybe that's faster.'
'Yes, actually.'
Martin Beck walked with him to the ground floor out of routine.
'Goodbye then.'
'Goodbye.'
An ordinary handshake.
Kollberg and Ahlberg were still sitting and looking at the tape recorder.
'Shall we continue to tail him?' asked Kollberg.
'No.'
'Do you think he did it?' asked Kollberg.
Martin Beck stood in the middle of the floor and looked at his right hand.
'Yes,' he said. 'I'm sure he did.'
The apartment house reminded him, in a basic way, of his own in the southern part of Stockholm. It had narrow flights of stairs, standardized nameplates on the doors and incinerator doors between each floor. The house was on Fredgat Road in Bodal and he took the Lidingo train to get there.
He had chosen the time carefully. At a quarter past one, Swedish office workers are sitting at their desks and small children are having their afternoon naps. Housewives have turned on some music on the radio and sit down to have a cup of coffee with saccharin tablets.
The woman who opened the door was small, blond, and blue-eyed. Just under thirty and rather pretty. She held on to the doorknob anxiously, as if prepared to close the door immediately.
'The police? Has anything happened? My husband…'
Her face was frightened and confused. It was also fetching, Martin Beck thought. He showed her his identification, which seemed to calm her.
'I don't understand how I can help you but, by all means, come in.'
The furniture arrangement was nondescript, gloomy and neat. But the view was marvelous. Just below lay Lilla Vlrtan and two tugboats were in the process of bringing a freighter to the pier. He would have given a lot to have traded apartments with her.
'Do you have children?' he asked as a diversion.
'Yes, a little girl ten months old. I've just put her in her crib.'
He took out the photographs.
'Do you know this man?'
She blushed immediately, looked away, and nodded uncertainly.
'Yes, I knew him. But—but it was several years ago. What has he done?'
Martin Beck didn't answer at once.
'You understand, this is very unpleasant My husband…'
She was searching for the right words.
'Why don't we sit down,' said Martin Beck. 'Forgive me for suggesting it.'
'Yes. Yes, of course.'
She sat down on the sofa, tense and straight.
'You have no reason to be afraid or worried. The situation is this: we are interested in this man, for several reasons, as a witness. They have nothing to do with you, however. But it is important that we get some general information about his character from someone who has, in one way or another, been together with him.'
This statement didn't seem to calm her particularly.
'This is terribly unpleasant,' she said. 'My husband, you understand, we have been married for nearly two years now, and he doesn't know anything… about Folke. I haven't told him, about that man… but, yes, naturally, as you can understand, he must surely have known that I had been with someone else… before…'
She was even more confused and blushed profusely.
'We never speak about such things,' she said.
'You can be completely calm. I am only going to ask you to answer some questions. Your husband will not know what you say, or anyone else for that matter. In any case, no one that you know.'
She nodded but continued to look stubbornly to the side.
'You knew Folke Bengtsson?'
'Yes.'
'When and where did you know him?'
'I… we met more than four years ago, at a place, a company where we both worked.'
'Eriksson's Moving Company?'
'Yes, I worked there as a cashier.'
'And you had a relationship with him?'
She nodded with her head turned away from him.
'For how long?'
'One year,' she said, very quietly.
'Were you happy together?'
She turned and looked at him uncertainly and raised her arms in a helpless gesture.
Martin Beck looked over her shoulder and out the window toward a dismal, gray winter sky.
'How did it begin?'
'Well, we… saw each other every day and then we began to take our coffee breaks together and then lunches. And… yes, he took me home several times.'
'Where did you live?'
'On Uppland Street.'
'Alone?'
'Oh no. I was still living with my parents then.'
'Did he ever come upstairs with you?'
She shook her head, energetically, still without looking at him.
'What else happened then?'
'He invited me to the movies a few times. And then… yes, he asked me to dinner.'
'At his house?'
'No, not at first.'
'When?'
'In October.'
'How long had you been going out with him by then?'
'Several months.'
'And then you began a real relationship?'
She sat quietly for a long while. Finally she said: 'Do I have to answer that question?'
'Yes, it is important. It would be better if you answer here and now. It would save a great deal of unpleasantness.'
'What do you want to know? What is it that you want me to say?'
'You had intimate relations with one another, didn't you?' She nodded.
'When did it begin? The first time you were there?' She looked at him helplessly. 'How often?'
'Not particularly often, I think.' 'But every time you were there?' 'Oh, no. Not at all.'
'What did you usually do when you were together?' 'Well… oh, everything, have something to eat, talk, look at TV and the fish.' 'Fish?'
'He had a large aquarium.' Martin Beck took a deep breath.
'Did he make you happy?' 'I…'
