The Man Who Went Up in Smoke

Probably a fat, bumptious little man with pig eyes and a red beard.

'So today I've decided to publish our first article on the Alf Matsson case in next week's issue. This coming Monday, without further delay. The moment has come to focus public attention on this story. I just wanted to know whether you'd found any trace of him, as I said.'

'I think you should take your article and—'

Martin Beck stopped himself just in time and said, '… throw it into the wastebasket.'

'What? What did you say? I don't understand.'

'Read the papers in the morning,' said Martin Beck and put down the receiver.

His appetite had vanished during the conversation. He took out his bottle and poured himself a stiff whisky. Then he sat down and thought. He was in a bad temper and had a headache, and on top of that he had been discourteous. But that was not what he was thinking about.

Alf Matsson had come to Budapest on the twenty-second of July. He had been seen at the passport control. He had taken a taxi to the Hotel Ifjusag and stayed there for one night. Someone at the reception desk must have dealt with him. The following morning, Saturday the twenty-third, he had, again by taxi, moved to the Hotel Duna and stayed there for half an hour. At about ten o'clock in the morning he had gone out. The people at the reception desk had noticed him.

After that, as far as was known, no one had seen or spoken to Alf Matsson. He had left one single clue behind him: the key to his hotel room, which, according to Szluka, had been found on the steps outside the police station.

Assuming that Frobe and Radeberger were telling the truth, he had not turned up at the meeting place in Ujpest and, consequently, they had not been able either to kidnap or kill him.

So for some unknown reason, Alf Matsson had gone up in smoke.

The existing material was extremely thin but, nevertheless, it was all there was to work on.

Five people, it was established, had had contact with Alf Matsson on Hungarian soil and could be regarded as witnesses.

A passport officer, two taxi drivers and two hotel receptionists.

If something wholly unexpected had happened to him—if, for instance, he had been attacked, kidnapped or killed in an accident or gone insane—then their testimonies were useless. But, on the other hand, if he had made himself Invisible of his own free will, then those people might have observed some detail in his appearance or behavior which might be important to the investigation.

Martin Beck had personally been in contact with two of these hypothetical witnesses. Considering the language difficulties, however, it was uncertain whether he had been able to exploit them fully. Neither the taxi drivers nor the passport official could be located, and even if he found them, he would presumably not be able to speak to them.

The only substantial material he had to go on was Matsson's passport and luggage. Neither told him anything.

This was his summary of the Alf Matsson case. Extremely depressing insofar as it showed that, as far as he was concerned, the investigation had ended in complete deadlock. If, despite everything, Matsson's disappearance was connected with the gang of smugglers—and it was difficult to believe that it was not—then Szluka would sooner or later clear the matter up. In that case, the best support he could give the Hungarian police would be to go home, bring in the Narcotics Squad and help wind up the Swedish end of the case.

Martin Beck came to a decision and converted it immediately into action by means of two telephone calls.

First, the well-dressed young man from the Swedish Embassy.

'Have you managed to find him?'

'No.'

'Nothing new, in other words.'

'Matsson was a narcotics smuggler. The Hungarian police are looking for him. For our part, we'll put out a description through Interpol.'

'How very unpleasant.'

'Yes.'

'And what is this going to mean for you?'

'That I go home. Tomorrow, if it can be arranged. I'd like some help with that little matter.'

'It may be difficult, but I'll do my best.'

'Yes, do that. It's very important.'

'I'll phone early tomorrow morning.'

'Thank you.'

'Good-bye. I hope you've had a nice time these few days, all the same.'

'Yes, very nice. Good-bye.'

After that, Szluka. He was at police headquarters.

'I'm going back to Sweden tomorrow.'

'Oh, yes. Have a good trip.'

'You'll get our report eventually.'

'And you'll get ours. We've still not found Matsson.'

'Are you surprised?'

'Very. Frankly, I've never seen anything like it. But we'll get him soon.'

'Have you checked the camping sites?'

'We're doing that. Takes a little time. Frobe's tried to kill himself, by the way.'

'And?'

'Didn't succeed, of course. He threw himself at the wall head first. Got a bump on his skull. I've had him transferred to the psychiatric department. The doctor says he's a manic-depressive. The question is whether we'll have to let the girl go the same way.'

'And Radeberger?'

'All right. Asking whether there's a gymnasium in the prison. There is.'

'Could I ask you something?'

'Go ahead.'

'We know that Matsson had contact with five people here in Budapest from Friday evening until Saturday morning.'

'Two hotel receptionists and two taxi drivers. Where do we get the fifth from?'

'The passport control officer.'

'My only excuse is that I haven't been home for thirty-six hours. So you want him questioned?'

'Yes. Everything he can remember. What he said, how he behaved, what he was wearing.'

'I see.'

'Can you get the report done in German or English and airmail it to Stockholm?'

'Telex is better. Anyhow, perhaps there'll be time to get it to you before you leave.'

'Hardly. I'll probably be going about eleven.'

'We're famous for our speed. The wife of the Minister of Trade had her bag snatched at Nep Stadium last autumn. She took a taxi here to report it. When she got here, she was handed back her bag at the desk downstairs. That kept us in good shape for a long time. Well, we'll see.'

'Thanks then. And good-bye.'

'Good-bye. Pity there wasn't time to meet a little more informally.'

Martin Beck paused briefly to think. Then he set up a call to Stockholm. The call came through in ten minutes.

'Lennart's away,' said Kollberg's wife. 'As usual, he didn't say where he was going. 'Duty calls, be back on Sunday, take care of yourself.' He took the car with him. To hell with policemen.'

Melander next. This time it took only five minutes.

'Hi! Did I disturb you?'

'I'd just gone to bed.'