The staff of the morgue were prepared and the superintendent showed them into the cold-storage room.
A cloth had been laid over the corpse's bullet-shattered face, but the hair had been left free.
Blonde Malin gripped Nordin's arm and whispered, 'Jesus Christ'
Nordin laid his arm around her broad back and led her closer.
'Take a good look,' he said quietly. 'See if you recognize him.'
She put her hand to her mouth and looked at the naked body.
'What's wrong with his face?' she asked. 'Can't I see his face?'
'You can be glad you're spared it,' Martin Beck said. ‘You should be able to recognize him just the same.'
Blonde Malin nodded. Then she took her hand away from her mouth and nodded again.
'Yes,' she said. 'Yes, that's Nisse. Them scars and... yes, it's him all right'
'Thank you, Miss Rosen,' Martin Beck said. 'Now what about a cup of coffee with us at police headquarters?'
Blonde Malin, pale and quiet, sat beside Nordin in the back of the taxi. Now and then she mumbled, 'Jesus Christ, how awful.'
Martin Beck and Ulf Nordin treated her to coffee and sweet rolls and after a while Kollberg and Melander and Ronn joined them.
She soon recovered and it was obvious that not only the coffee, but also the attention shown her, cheered her up. She answered their questions obligingly and before leaving she pressed their hands and said, 'Imagine, I never would have thought that co-police could be such sweethearts.'
When the door had closed behind her they considered this for a moment Then Kollberg said, 'Well, sweethearts? Shall we sum up?'
They summed up: Nils Erik Goransson. Age: 38 or 39.
Since 1965 or earlier, no permanent employment
March 1967-August 1967, lived with Magdalena Rosen (Blonde Malin), Arbetargatan 3, Stockholm K.
Thereafter and until some time in October lived with Sune Bjork on the South Side.
The weeks prior to his death whereabouts unknown.
Drug addict, smoking, swallowing and mainlining whatever he could get hold of.
Possibly also a pusher.
Had gonorrhea.
Last seen by Magdalena Rosen 3 or 4 November outside Restaurant Damberg. Then in same suit and coat as 13 November. Usually had plenty of money.
23
Of all the men who were working on the bus murders, Nordin was thus the first to show something which, with a little good will, could be called a constructive result. But even on this point, opinions were divided.
'Well,' Gunvald Larsson said. 'Now we know the name of that vagrant So what?'
'Mmm... er... mnyaa...' Melander murmured thoughtfully.
'What are you mumbling about?'
'He was never picked up for anything, that Goransson. But I seem to remember the name.' 'Oh?'
‘I think he cropped up in connection with an investigation at some time.'
'You mean you once interrogated him?'
'No. I would remember that I have never spoken to him and doubt if I've seen him either. But the name. Nils Erik Goransson. I've come across it at some time or other.'
Melander stared abstractly out into the room, puffing at his pipe.
Gunvald Larsson waved his big hands in front of his face. He was opposed to people using tobacco and was irritated by the smoke.
‘I’m more interested in that swine Assarsson’ he said.
'I expect I'll think of it,' Melander said.
'Not a doubt. If you don't die of lung cancer first'
Gunvald Larsson got up and went in to Martin Beck's office.
'Where did this Assarsson get his money from?' he asked.
'Don't know.'
'What does the firm do?'
'Imports a lot of junk. Presumably anything that pays. From cranes to plastic Christmas trees.' 'Plastic Christmas trees?'
'Yes, they sell a lot of them nowadays. Unfortunately.' 'I took the trouble to find out what these gentlemen and their firm have paid in taxes during the last few years.' 'And?'
'About one third of what you or I fork out And when I think of what it looked like at the widow's place ...' 'Yes?'
'I've a damn good mind to ask for permission to raid their office.'
'On what grounds?' 'Don't know.'
Martin Beck shrugged. Gunvald Larsson walked towards the door. Stopped in the doorway and said, 'An ugly customer, that Assarsson. And his brother is probably no better.'
Shortly afterward Kollberg appeared in the doorway. He looked tired and dejected, and his eyes were bloodshot
'What are you busy at?' Martin Beck asked.
'I've been playing back the tapes from Stenstrom's interrogation with Birgersson. The guy who killed his wife. It took all night'
'And?'
‘Nothing. Nothing at all, Unless I've overlooked something.' 'It's always possible.'
'Kind of you to say so,' Kollberg snapped, slamming the door behind him.
Martin Beck propped his elbows on the edge of the desk and put his head in his hands.
It was already Friday and the eighth of December. Twenty-five days had passed and the investigation was getting nowhere. In fact, it showed signs of falling to pieces. Everyone was clinging to his own particular straw.
Melander was puzzling over where and when he had seen or heard the name of Nils Erik Goransson.
Gunvald Larsson was wondering how the Assarsson brothers had made their money.
Kollberg was trying to make out how a mentally unbalanced wife-killer by the name of Birgersson could conceivably have cheered up Stenstrom.
Nordin was trying to establish a connection between Goransson, the mass murder and the garage in Hagersten.
Ek had made such a technical study of the red doubledecker bus that nowadays it was practically impossible to talk to him about anything except electric circuits and windscreen-wiper controls.
Mansson had taken over Gunvald Larsson's diffuse ideas that Mohammed Boussie must have played some sort of leading role because he was Algerian; he had systematically interrogated the entire Arab colony in Stockholm.
Martin Beck himself could think only of Stenstrom, what he had been working on, whether he had been shadowing someone and whether this someone had shot him. The argument seemed far from convincing. Would a comparatively experienced policeman really let himself get shot by the man he was shadowing? On a bus?
Ronn could not tear his thoughts away from what Schwerin had said at the hospital during the few seconds before he died.
On this very Friday afternoon he had a talk with the sound expert at the Swedish Broadcasting Corporation who had tried to analyse what was said on the tape.
The man had taken his time, but now he seemed ready with his report.
'Not very copious material to work with,' he said. 'But I've come to certain conclusions. Like to hear them?' 'Yes, please,' Ronn said.
He transferred the receiver to his left hand and reached for the notepad.
‘You're from the North yourself, aren't you?' Yes.'
