'The driver's name was Gustav Bengtsson. He was forty-eight, married, two children, lived at Inedalsgatan 5. His family has been notified. It was his last run for the day and when he had let off the passengers at the last stop he would have driven the bus to the Hornsberg depot at Lindhagensgatan. The money in his fare purse was untouched and in his wallet he had 120 kronor.'
He glanced at the others over his glasses.
'There's no more about him for the moment'
'Go on,' Melander said.
'I'll take them in the same order as on the sketch. The next is Ake Stenstrom. Five shots in the back. One in the right shoulder from the side, might have been a ricochet He was twenty-nine and lived -'
Gunvald Larsson interrupted him.
‘You can skip that We know where he lived.'
'I didn't,' Ronn said.
'Go on,' said Melander.
Ronn cleared his throat
'He lived on Tjarhovsgatan together with his fiancee ...' Gunvald Larsson interrupted him again. 'They were not engaged. I asked him not long ago.' Martin Beck cast an irritated glance at Gunvald Larsson and nodded to Ronn to continue.
'Together with Asa Torell, twenty-four. She works at a travel agency.'
He gave Gunvald Larsson a quick look and said, 'In sin. I don't know whether she's been told.'
Melander took his pipe out of his mouth and said, 'She has been told.'
None of the five men around the table looked at the pictures of Stenstrom's mutilated body. They had already seen them and preferred not to see them again.
'In his right hand he held his service pistol. It was cocked but he had not fired a shot In his pockets he had a wallet containing 37 kronor, identification card, a snapshot of Asa Torell, a letter from his mother and some receipts. Also, driving licence, notebook, pens and bunch of keys. It will all be sent up to us when the boys at the lab are through with it Can I go on?'
‘Yes, please,' said Kollberg.
'The girl in the seat next to Stenstrom was called Britt Danielsson. She was twenty-eight, unmarried and worked at Sabbatsberg Hospital. She was a registered nurse.'
'I wonder whether they were together,' Gunvald Larsson said. 'Perhaps he was having a bit of fun on the side.'
Ronn looked at him disapprovingly.
‘We'd better find out' Kollberg said.
'She shared a room at Karlbergsvagen 87 with another nurse from Sabbatsberg. According to her roommate, Monika Granholm by name, Britt Danielsson was coming straight from the hospital. She was hit by one shot. In the temple. She was the only one-in the bus to be struck by only one bullet. She had thirty-eight different things in her handbag. Shall I enumerate them?'
'Christ no,' said Gunvald Larsson.
'Number four on the list and on the sketch is Alfons Schwerin, the survivor. He was lying on his back on the floor between the two longitudinal seats at the rear. You already know his injuries. He was hit in the abdomen and one bullet lodged in the region of the heart. He lives alone at Norra Stationsgatan 117. He is forty-three and employed by the highway department of the city council. How is he, by the way?'
'Still in a coma,' Martin Beck said. 'The doctors say there's just a chance he'll regain consciousness. But if he does they don't know whether he'll be able to talk or even to remember anything.'
'Can't you talk with a bullet in your belly?' Gunvald Larsson asked.
'Shock,' said Martin Beck.
He pushed back his chair and stretched himself. Then he lit a cigarette and stood in front of the sketch.
‘What about this one in the corner?' he said. 'Number eight?'
He pointed to the seat at the very back of the bus in the right-hand corner. Ronn consulted his notes.
'He got eight bullets in him. In the chest and abdomen. He was an Arab and his name was Mohammed Boussie, Algerian subject, thirty-six, no relations in Sweden. He lived at a kind of boarding house on Norra Stationsgatan. Was obviously on his way home from work at the Zig-Zag, that grill restaurant on Vasagatan. There's nothing more to say about him at the moment'
'Arabia,' said Gunvald Larsson. 'Isn't that where there's usually an awful lot of shooting?'
'Your political knowledge is devastating,' Kollberg said. 'You should apply for a transfer to Sepo.'
'Its correct name is the Security Department of the National Police Board,' said Gunvald Larsson.
Ronn got up, fished one or two pictures out of the pile and lined them up on the table.
'This guy we haven't been able to identify,' he said. 'Number six. He was sitting on the outside seat immediately behind the middle doors and was hit by six shots. In his pockets he had the striking surface of a matchbox, a packet of Bill cigarettes, a bus ticket and 1,823 kroner in cash. That was all.'
'A lot of money,' Melander said thoughtfully.
They leaned over the table and studied the pictures of the unknown man. He had slithered down in the seat and lay sprawled against the back with arms hanging and his left leg stuck out in the aisle. The front of his coat was soaked in blood. He had no face.
'Hell, it would have to be
Martin Beck had resumed his study of the sketch on the wall. Holding his left hand in front of his face he said, 'I'm not so sure there weren't two of them after all.'
The others looked at him.
'Two what?'Gunvald Larsson asked.
'Two gunmen. Look at all the passengers, they never moved from their seats. Except the one who's still alive and he might have tumbled off afterwards.'
'Two madmen?' Gunvald Larsson said sceptically. 'At the same time?'
Kollberg went and stood beside Martin Beck.
'You mean that someone should have had time to react if there had been only one? Hm, maybe. But he simply mowed them down.
It happened rather fast, and when you think they were all caught napping ...'
'Shall we go on with the list? We'll find that out as soon as we know whether there was one weapon or two.'
'Sure,' said Martin Beck. 'Go on, Einar.'
'Number seven is a foreman called Johan Kallstrom. He was sitting beside the man who has not yet been identified. He was fifty-two, married and lived at Karlbergsvagen 89. According to his wife he was coming from the workshop on Sibyllegatan, where he'd been working overtime. Nothing startling about him.'
'Nothing except that he got a bellyful of lead on the way home from work,' said Gunvald Larsson.
'By the window immediately in front of the middle doors we have Gosta Assarsson, number eight. Forty-two. Half his head was shot away. He lived at Tegnergatan 40, where he also had his office and his business, an export and import firm that he ran together with his brother. His wife didn't known why he was on the bus. According to her, he should have been at a club meeting on Narvavagen.'
'A-ha,' said Gunvald Larsson. 'Out carousing.'
'Yes, there are signs that point to that In his briefcase he had a bottle of whisky. Johnnie Walker, Black Label.'
'A-ha,' said Kollberg, who was an epicure.
'In addition he was well supplied with condoms,' said Ronn. 'He had seven in an inside pocket. Plus a chequebook and over 800 kronor in cash.'
'Why seven?' Gunvald Larsson asked.
The door opened and Ek stuck his head in.
'Hammar says you're all to be in his office in fifteen minutes. Briefing. Quarter to eleven, that's to say.'
He disappeared.
