tomorrow.' 'Full strength?'
'Reinforcements. From outside.'
Hammar made a short pause. Then he added ambiguously, 'It's considered necessary.'
Martin Beck blew his nose with great care.
'Who is it?' Kollberg asked. 'Or shall I say who are they?'
'A man called Mansson is coming up from Malmo tomorrow. Do you know him?'
'I've met him,' Martin Beck replied without the faintest trace of enthusiasm.
'So have I,' said Kollberg.
'And they're trying to get Gunnar Ahlberg free from Motala.' 'He's OK,' Kollberg said listlessly.
'That's all I know,' Hammar said. 'Someone from Sundersvall, too, I think. Don't know who.'
'I see,' said Martin Beck.
'Unless you solve it before then,' Hammar said bleakly. 'Of course,' Kollberg agreed. 'Facts seem to point to ...'
Hammar broke off and gave Martin Beck a searching look. 'What's wrong with you?' 'I've got a cold.'
Hammar went on staring at him. Kollberg followed his look and said, by way of diverting his attention, 'All we know is that someone shot nine people in a bus last night And that he followed the internationally familiar pattern of sensational mass murders by not leaving any traces and by not getting caught He might of course, have committed suicide, but in that case we know nothing about it We have two substantial clues. The bullets and the fired cartridges, which may possibly lead us to the weapon, and the man in the hospital, who might regain consciousness and tell us who fired the shots. As he was sitting at the rear of the bus he must have seen the murderer.'
'Hunh,' Hammar grunted.
'It's not very much, I grant you,' said Kollberg. 'Especially if this Schwerin dies or turns out to have lost his memory - he's seriously injured. We've no motive, for instance. And no witnesses that are any use.'
'They may turn up,' Hammar said. 'And the motive needn't be a problem. Mass murderers are psychopaths and the reasons for their actions are often an element in the pathological picture.'
'Oh,' Kollberg said. 'Melander's looking after the scientific relations. I expect he'll be along with a memorandum one of these days.'
'Our best chance ...' Hammar said, looking at the clock.
'Is the inside investigations,' Kollberg added.
'Exactly. In nine cases out of ten it leads to the murderer. Don't stay on here too long to no purpose. Better for you to be rested tomorrow. Good night'
He left the room, and there was silence. After a few seconds Kollberg sighed and said, 'What
Kollberg nodded to himself and said philosophically, 'To think of the dressing downs I've given him. Over the years. And then he goes and gets murdered.'
'This Mansson,' Martin Beck said. 'Do you remember him?'
Kollberg nodded.
'The bloke with the toothpicks. I don't believe in roping in every available man like this. It would be for better if they let us get on with this by ourselves. You and I and Melander.'
'Well, Ahlberg's OK, at any rate.'
'Sure,' Kollberg replied. 'But how many murder investigations has he had down there in Motala during the last ten years?' 'One.'
'Exactly. Besides, I don't care for Hammar's habit of standing there and slinging cliches and truisms in our feces. 'Psychopaths', 'an element in the pathological picture', 'up to full strength'. Yuk.'
Another silence. Then Martin Beck looked at Kollberg and said, 'Well?'
'Well what?'
‘What was Stenstrom doing on that bus?' 'That's just it,' said Kollberg. 'What the devil was he doing there? That girl, maybe. The nurse.'
‘Would he go about armed if he was out with a girl?' 'He might. So as to seem tough.'
'He wasn't that kind,' Martin Beck said. 'You know that as well as I do.'
'Well, in any case, he often had his pistol on him. More often than you. And a hell of a lot more often than I.' 'Yes - when he was on duty.'
'I only met him when he was on duty,' Kollberg said drily. 'So did I. But it's a fact that he was one of the first to die in that horrible bus. Even so, he had time to undo two buttons of his overcoat and get out his pistol.'
'Which means that he had already unbuttoned his coat,' Kollberg said thoughtfully. 'One more thing.'
'Yes?'
'Hammar said something today at the reconstruction.'
'Yes,' Martin Beck murmured. 'He said something along the lines: 'It doesn't hold water. A mentally deranged mass murderer doesn't plan so carefully.''
'Do you think he was right?'
'Yes, in principle.'
'Which would mean?'
'That the man who did the shooting is no mentally deranged mass murderer. Or rather that he didn't do it merely to cause a sensation.'
Kollberg wiped the sweat off his brow with a folded handkerchief, regarded it thoughtfully and said, 'Mr Larsson said -' 'Gunvald?'
He and no other. Before going home to spray his armpits he said from the loftiness of his wisdom that he didn't understand a thing. He didn't understand, for instance, why the madman didn't take his own life or stay there to be arrested.'
'I think you underestimate Gunvald,' Martin Beck said.
'Do you?'
Kollberg gave an irritated shrug.
'Aingh. The whole thing is just nonsense. There's no doubt whatever that this is a mass murder. And that the murderer is mad. For all we know he may be sitting at home at this very moment in front of the TV, enjoying the effect Or else he might very well have committed suicide. The fact that Stenstrom was armed means nothing at all, since we don't know his habits. Presumably he was together with that nurse. Or he was on his way to a whore. Or to a pal of his. He may even have quarrelled with his girl or been given a telling off by his mother and sat sulking on a bus because it was too late to go to the cinema and he had nowhere else to go.'
'We can find that out, anyway,' Martin Beck said.
'Yes. Tomorrow. But there's one thing we can do this very moment. Before anyone else does it'
'Go through his desk out at Vastberga,' Martin Beck said.
'Your power of deduction is admirable,' Kollberg declared.
He stuffed his tie into his trouser pocket and started climbing into his jacket.
The air was raw and misty, and the night frost lay like a shroud over trees and streets and rooftops. Kollberg had difficulty in seeing through the windscreen and muttered dismal curses when the car skidded on the bends. All the way out to the southern police headquarters they spoke only once.
'Do mass murderers usually have a hereditary criminal streak?' Kollberg wondered.
And Martin Beck answered, 'Yes, usually. But by no means always.'
The building out at Vastberga was silent and deserted. They crossed the vestibule and went up the stairs, pressed the buttons of the numerical code on the round dial beside the glass doors on the third floor, and went on into Stenstrom's office.
Kollberg hesitated a moment, then sat down at the desk and tried the drawers. They were not locked.
The room was neat and tidy but quite impersonal. Stenstrom had not even had a photograph of his fiancee on the desk.
On the other hand, two photos of himself lay on the pen tray. Martin Beck knew why. For the first time in several years Stenstrom had been lucky enough to be off duty over Christmas and New Year. He had already booked seats on a charter flight to the Canary Islands. He had had the pictures taken because he had to get a new passport.
