'Jonsson denies intentional assault, but admits that at one fifteen he gave Matsson a shove, at which the latter may have fallen over and cut himself on a glass which he had been holding in his hand.'
'But had he been stabbed?'
'Well, that question is dealt with in an earlier section. I'll have a look. Here it is. Matsson states that some time before eleven P.M. he had a scuffle with Bengt Jonsson and thus, probably from a knife he had previously seen in Jonsson's home, he received an injury to his left arm. You can see for yourselves. Just before eleven P.M.! A quarter past one! A difference of two hours and twenty minutes! We also received a certificate from the doctor at the General Hospital. He describes the injury as a two-inch flesh wound, which was bleeding freely. The edges of the wound—'
Kollberg leaned forward and stared hard at the man with the report.
'We're not so interested in all that. What do you think yourself? Something happened, anyway. Why? And how did it come about?'
The other man could now conceal his irritation no longer. He removed his glasses and cleaned them feverishly.
'Oh now, please—please,' he said. ' 'Happened.' Hm-mph. Everything is examined thoroughly here in these preliminary investigations. If I can't present an account of it all, then I don't see how I can clearly explain the case for you. You can go through the material for yourselves if you like.'
He put the report down on the edge of the desk. Martin Beck leafed through it listlessly and looked at the photographs of the scene of the crime attached at the back. The photos showed a kitchen, a living room and some stone stairs. Everything was clean and tidy. On the stairs there were a few dark spots, hardly bigger than a one-ore piece. If they had not been marked with white arrows, they would have been scarcely visible. He handed the document over to Koll-berg, drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair and said, 'Was Matsson questioned here?'
'Yes, here in this room.'
'You must have talked for a long time.'
'Yes, he had to give a detailed statement.'
'What sort of impression did he make—as a person, I mean?'
Backlund was now so irritated that he could not sit still. He kept moving the objects on the bare varnished surface of his desk and putting them back in exactly the same places.
'Impression!' he said. 'Everything is covered thoroughly in the preliminary investigation. I've already told you that. Anyhow, the incident occurred on private property and when it came down to it, Matsson did not wish to bring a charge. I cannot understand what it is you want to know.'
Kollberg put down the report without even having opened it. Then he made one last attempt.
'We want to know your personal opinion of Alf Matsson.'
'I haven't got one,' said the man.
When they left him, he was sitting at his desk reading the report of the preliminary investigation, his expression stiff and disapproving.
'Some people,' said Kollberg in the elevator.
24
Bengt Jonsson's house was a rather small bungalow with an open veranda and a garden. The gate was open and on the gravel path inside was a blond, suntanned man, poised on his haunches in front of a tricycle. His hands were covered with grease and he was trying to repair the chain, which had come off. A boy of about five was standing watching him, a Wench in his hand.
When Kollberg and Martin Beck came through the gate, the man rose and wiped his hands on the back of his trousers. He was about thirty and wearing a checked shirt, dirty khaki trousers and wooden-soled shoes.
'Bengt Jonsson?' said Kollberg.
'Yes, that's me.' f he man looked at them suspiciously.
We're from the Stockholm police,' said Martin Beck. 'We've come to ask for some information about a friend of yours—Alf Matsson.'
'Friend,' said the man. 'I'd hardly call him that. Is it about what happened last winter? I thought that was all dead and buried a long time ago.'
'Yes, it is. The case is closed and won't be taken up again. It's not your part in the affair we're interested in, but Alf Matsson's,' said Martin Beck.
'I saw in the papers that he's disappeared,' said Bengt Jonsson. 'He was in on some kind of narcotics ring, it said. I didn't know he used drugs.'
'Perhaps he didn't, either. He sold them.'
'Oh, Christ,' said Bengt Jonsson. 'What sort of information do you want? I don't know anything about that drug business.'
'You can help us get a general picture of him,' said Martin Beck.
'What do you want to know?' asked the fair-haired man.
'Everything you know about Alf Matsson,' said Kollberg.
'That's not much,' said Jonsson. 'I hardly knew him, although we'd been acquainted for three years. I'd only met him a few times before that time last winter. I'm a journalist too, and we met when we were on a job together.'
'Would you tell us what really happened last winter?' said Martin Beck.
'We might as well sit down,' said Jonsson, going up onto the veranda. Martin Beck and Kollberg followed him. There were a table and four basket chairs, and Martin Beck sat down and offered Jonsson a cigarette. Kollberg looked at his chair suspiciously before cautiously sitting down in it. The chair creaked precariously beneath his weight.
'You'll understand that what you tell us is of no interest to us except as a testimony on Alf Matsson's character. Neither we nor the Malmo police have any reason to take up the case again,' said Martin Beck. 'What happened?'
'I met Alf Matsson by chance in the street. He was staying at a hotel in Malmo and I invited him home to dinner. I didn't really like him much, but he was on his own in town and wanted me to go out drinking with him, so I thought it'd be better if he came out to our place. He came in a taxi and I think he was sober then. Almost, anyhow. Then we ate and I offered him schnapps with the food and both of us drank quite a bit. After the meal we listened to records and drank whisky and sat talking. He got drunk pretty quickly and then he was unpleasant. My wife had a friend in at the same time and suddenly Alfie said to her, 'Say, d'you mind if I fuck you?'
Bengt Jonsson fell silent, and Martin Beck nodded and said, 'Go on.'
'Well, that's what he said. My wife's friend was very upset, because she's not at all used to being spoken to like that. And my wife got angry and told Alfie he was a boor, and then he called my wife a whore and was damned rude. Then I got angry and told him to watch his mouth and the girls went into another room.'
He fell silent again and Kollberg asked, 'Was he usually unpleasant like that when he was drunk?'
'I don't know. I'd never seen him drunk before.'
'What happened then?' said Martin Beck.
'Well, then we went on drinking. I didn't drink all that much myself, in fact, and didn't feel high at all. But Alfie got drunker and drunker, sitting there, hiccuping and belching and singing, and then suddenly he vomited all over the floor. I got him out to the bathroom and after a while he was all right again and appeared a bit more sober. When I said we should try to wipe up the mess, he said, That whore you're married to can do that.' That made me really mad and I told him he'd have to go, that I didn't want him in the house. But he just laughed and sat belching in the chair. When I said I was going to phone for a taxi for him, he said he was going to stay and sleep with my wife. Then I hit him and when he got up and said something dirty about my wife again, I hit him one more time so that he fell over the table and broke two glasses. Then I went on trying to get him out of the house, but he refused to go. Finally my wife called the police—it seemed the only way to get rid of him.'
'He injured his hand, I understand,' said Kollberg. 'How did that happen?'
'I saw he was bleeding, but I didn't think it was serious. I was so angry, anyway, I didn't care. He cut himself on a glass when he fell. Then he claimed I'd stabbed him, which was a lie. I didn't have a knife. Then I was questioned at the police station for the rest of the night. A hellish business all around.''
'Have you met Alf Matsson since that night?' said Kollberg.
