She opened the door another few inches, gave him a quick glance and said graspingly, 'Is there any reward?' 'For what?' 'Er ... I don't know.' 'Good-bye.'
He trudged off in the direction she had indicated. It felt as if someone had put a poultice on his head. The woman had shut the door at once and had now presumably taken up her post at the bedroom window.
The garage, a small building standing by itself, had fibrous cement walls and a corrugated-iron roof. There was room for two cars at the most. Above the doors was an electric light
He opened one half of the double doors and went in.
The car standing inside was a green Skoda Octavia, 1959 model. It might fetch 400 kronor if the engine wasn't too worn out, thought Nordin, who had spent a great deal of his time as a policeman on stolen vehicles and shady car deals. It was propped up on low trestles and the bonnet was open. A man lay on his back under the chassis, quite still. All that could be seen of him was a pair of legs in blue overalls.
Dead, thought Nordin, going up to the car and poking the man with his right foot
The figure under the car started as though at an electric shock, crawled out and got to his feet. Stood with the hand lamp in his right hand staring in amazement at the visitor.
'The police,' Nordin said.
'My papers are in order,' the man said quickly.
'I don't doubt it,' Nordin retorted.
The garage owner was about thirty, a slender man with brown eyes, wavy dark hair and well-combed sideburns.
'Are you Italian?' Nordin asked. He was not much of an expert at foreign accents except Finnish.
'Swiss. From German Switzerland. The canton of Graubtinden.'
'You speak good Swedish.'
'I've lived here for six years. What is it you want?'
'We're trying to get in touch with a mate of yours.'
‘Who?'
'We don't know his name.'
Eyeing the man in the dungarees Nordin said, 'He's not quite as tall as you but a bit fatter. Dark hair, rather long, and brown eyes. About thirty-five.The other shook his head.
'I've no mate that looks like that. I don't meet much people.' 'Many people,' Nordin corrected amiably. 'Yes, of course. 'Many people'.'
'But I've heard there are usually a lot of people out here at the garage.'
'Guys come with cars. They want me to fix when there is something wrong.'
He thought hard, then said by way of information:
'I am a mechanic. Work at a garage in Ringweg... Ringvagen. Now only in the mornings. All these Germans and Austrians know that I have this garage. So they come out and want repair free. Many I do not know at all. There are many in Stockholm.'
'Well,' Nordin said, 'this man we want to get hold of might have been dressed in a black nylon coat and a beige suit'
'That tells me nothing. I do not remember anyone like that That’s certain.'
'Who are your chums?'
'Friends? A few Germans and Austrians.'
'Have any of them been here today?'
'No. They know all I am busy. I work day and night on this.'
He pointed to the car with an oily thumb and said, 'I get it fixed up by Christmas, so I can drive home and see my parents.'
'To Switzerland?'
'Yes’
'Some drive.'
'Yes. I pay only one hundred kronor for this car. But I get it ready. I good mechanic' ‘What's your name?' 'Horst Horst Dieke.' 'Mine's Ulf. Ulf Nordin.'
The Swiss smiled, showing perfect white teeth. He seemed a pleasant, steady-going young man.
'Well, Horst, so you don't know who I mean?' Dieke shook his head. 'No. I'm sorry.'
Nordin was in no way disappointed. He had simply drawn the blank that everyone expected. If there hadn't been such a scarcity of dues, this tip would never have been followed up at all. But he was not prepared to give in yet, and besides he didn't fancy the underground with its horde of unfriendly people in damp clothes. The Swiss was evidently trying to be helpful. He said, 'There is nothing else? About that guy, I mean?'
Nordin considered. At last he said, 'He laughed. Loud.'
The man's face brightened at once.
'Ah, I think I know. He laughs like this.'
Dieke opened his mouth and emitted a bleating sound, shrill and harsh as the cry of a snipe.
It came as an utter surprise and about ten seconds passed before Nordin could say, 'Yes, perhaps.'
'Yes, yes,' Dieke said. 'I know now who you mean. Little dark guy.'
Nordin waited expectantly.
'He has been here four or five times. Maybe more. But his name, I do not know it. He came with a Spaniard who wanted to sell me spare parts. He came several times. But I did not buy.'
‘Why not?'
'Cheap. I think stolen.'
'What was this Spaniard's name?'
Dieke shrugged.
'Don't know. Paco. Pablo. Paquito. Something like that.' 'What sort of car did he have?' 'Good car. Volvo Amazon. White.' 'And this man who laughed?'
'Don't know at all. He was just in the car. He'd had a few drinks, I think. But of course he didn't drive.' 'Was he Spanish too?'
'I think not. I think Swedish. But I don't know.' 'How long ago he came here?'
That didn't sound right. Nordin pulled himself together. 'How long since he was here last?' 'Three weeks ago. Perhaps two. Exactly I do not know.' 'Have you seen this Spaniard since then? Paco or whatever his name is?'
'No. I think he was going back to Spain. Needed money, that why he wanted to sell. So he said anyway.' Nordin paused to consider.
'You said he seemed a bit drunk, this guy. Do you think he might have had a fix?' A shrug.
'Don't know. I think he had been drinking. But - dope? Well, why not? Nearly everybody here gets high. Lie in their junkie dens when they're not out stealing. No?'
'You've no idea what his name is or what they call him?'
'No. But a couple of times a girl was in the car. With him, I think. A big girl. Long fair hair.'
‘What's her name?'
'I don't know. But they call her -'
'Yes? What?'
'Blonde Malin, I think.'
'How do you know?'
'I have seen her before. In town.'
‘Whereabouts in town?'
'At a cafe on Tegnergatan. Near Sveavagen. Where all foreigners go. She is Swedish.' 'Blonde Malin?' 'Yes.'
Nordin couldn't think of anything more to ask. He looked doubtfully at the green car and said, 'I hope you get home all right.
Dieke gave his infectious smile. 'Oh yes.'
'When are you coming back?'
'Never.'
'Never?'
'No. Sweden bad country. Stockholm bad city. Only violence, narcotics, thieves, alcohol.'
