The Man Who Went Up in Smoke

'When did you meet Alf Matsson for the first time?'

'Two years ago.'

'Where?'

'Here in Budapest. At a place called the Ifjusag. A sort of young people's hotel.'

'How did you meet him?'

'Through Ari Boeck. She worked there. That was long before she moved to Ujpest.'

'What happened then?'

'Nothing special. Theo and I had just come back from Turkey. We arranged trips there for tourists. From resorts in Rumania and Bulgaria. We brought a little stuff back with us from Istanbul.'

'Had you already begun to smuggle drugs then?'

'Only a little. For our own use, so to speak. But we didn't use it all that often. We never use it now.' He paused briefly, and then said, 'It's not good for you.'

'What did you want it for then?'

'Well, for broads and all that. It's good for broads. They get… more… inclined…'

'Matsson, then? Where does he come into the picture?'

'We offered him some to smoke. He wasn't all that interested either. Drank liquor mostly.'

He thought for a moment, then said foolishly, 'That's not good for your body either.'

'Did you sell narcotics to Matsson that time?'

'No, but he got a little. We hadn't got all that much. He grew interested when he heard how easy it was to buy in Istanbul.'

'Had you yourselves already thought about smuggling on a large scale at that time?'

'We'd talked about it. The difficulty was getting the stuff into the countries where it paid you to sell it'

'Where, for instance?'

'Scandinavia, Holland, at home in Germany. The customs and the police are on the alert there, especially when they know you come from countries like Turkey. Or North Africa and Spain too, for that matter.'

'Did Matsson offer to become a pusher?'

'Yes. He said that when you traveled from Eastern Europe, the customs people were hardly ever interested in your luggage, especially if you were flying. It wasn't difficult for us to get the stuff out of Turkey, to here, for instance. We were travel guides, after all. But then we couldn't get much farther with it. The risks were too great. And you can't sell it here. You'd get caught, and anyhow, it isn't worth it.' He thought about this for a moment. 'We didn't want to get caught,' he said. 'I can see that. Did you make an agreement with Matsson then?'

'Yes. He had a good idea. We were to meet at different places—ones that suited Theo and me. We let him know and then he went there for his magazine. It was a good cover-up. Looked innocent.'

'How did he pay you?'

'In dollars—cash. It was a fine plan, and we built up our organization that summer. Got hold of more pushers—a Dutchman we met in Prague and—'

This was Szluka's department. Martin Beck said, 'Where did you and Matsson meet next time?'

'In Constanta, in Rumania, three weeks later. Everything went very smoothly.'

'Was Miss Boeck in on it then too?' 'Ari? No, what use would she have been?' 'But she knew what you were doing?' 'Yes, part of it anyhow.'

'How many times did you and Matsson meet altogether?' 'Ten, maybe fifteen. It worked beautifully. He always paid what we asked and must have earned a lot himself.' 'How much, do you think?' 'Don't know, but he always had plenty of money.' 'Where is he now?' 'I don't know.' 'Really?'

'Yes, it's true. We met here in May, when Ari had moved to Ujpest. He stayed at that young people's hotel. He got a shipment at that point. He said he had a big market, and we decided that we should meet here again on the twenty-third of July.' 'And?'

'We came here on the twenty-first. That was a Thursday. But he never turned up.'

'He was here in Budapest. He came on the twenty-second in the evening. He left his hotel on the twenty- third, in the morning. Where were you going to meet?'

'In Ujpest. At Ari's place.'

'So he went there on the twenty-third in the morning.'

'No, I tell you. He never turned up. We waited, but he didn't come. Then we phoned the hotel, but he wasn't there.'

'Who called?'

'Theo and I did, and Ari. We took turns.'

'Did you call from Ujpest?'

'No. From different places. He didn't come, I tell you. We sat there waiting.'

'You claim you haven't seen him since he came here, in other words?'

'Yes.'

'Let's pretend that I believe you. You haven't met Matsson. But that doesn't stop Frobe or Miss Boeck from having contacted him, does it?'

'No, I know they haven't.'

'How do you know that?'

Radeberger's expression began to grow slightly desperate. He was sweating freely. It was very hot in the room.

'Now listen,' he said. 'I don't know what you think, but that other man seems to believe we got rid of him. But why should we do that? We made money off him, a lot of money.'

'Did you give Miss Boeck money too?'

'Oh, yes. She helped and got her share. Enough so that she didn't have to work.'

Martin Beck stared at the man for a long time. Finally he said, 'Did you kill him?'

'No, I keep telling you. Would we have stayed on here for three weeks with nearly that whole supply of stuff if we'd done that?'

His voice had grown shrill and tense.

'Did you like Alf Matsson?'

The man's eyes flickered.

'Please answer when I ask you something,' said Martin Beck seriously.

'Of course.'

'Miss Boeck appears to have said at her interrogation that neither you nor Theo Frobe liked Matsson.'

'He was nasty when he drank. He… despised us because we were Germans.'

He turned an appealing blue look upon Martin Beck and said, 'And that's not fair, is it?'

There was a silent pause. Tetz Radeberger did not like it. He fidgeted and pulled nervously at the joints of his fingers.

'We haven't killed anyone,' he said. 'We're not that kind.'

'You tried to kill me last night'

'That was different.'

The man said this in such a low voice that his words were almost inaudible.

'In what way?'

'It was our only chance.'

'Chance to what? To be hanged? Or to get a life sentence in prison?'

The German gave him a shattered look.

'You'll probably get that anyway,' said Martin Beck, in a friendly way. 'Have you been to prison before?'

'Yes. At home.'

'Well, what did you mean by your only chance being to try to kill me?'

'Don't you see? When you came to trjpest and had his—Matsson's—passport with you, we thought at first that he hadn't been able to come and had sent you instead. But you didn't say anything, and besides you weren't the right type. So Matsson must have been caught and spilled the beans. But we didn't know who you were. We'd already been here twenty days, and we had the whole consignment lying around, and we were getting nervous about it. And after three weeks we'd have to get our visas extended. So Theo followed you when you went and…'