Читать книгу The Man on the Balcony - Maj Sjowall, Per Wahloeoe - Страница 15

There are moments and situations that one would like to avoid at all costs but which cannot be put off. Police are probably faced with such situations more often than other people, and without a doubt they occur more often for some policemen than for others.

One of these situations is to question a woman called Karin Carlsson less than twenty-four hours after she has learned that her eight-year-old daughter has been strangled by a sex maniac. A lone woman who, despite injections and pills, is still suffering from shock and is so apathetic that she is still wearing the same brown cotton housecoat and the same sandals she had on when a corpulent policeman she had never seen before and would never see again had rung her doorbell the day before. Moments such as that immediately before the questioning begins.

A detective superintendent in the homicide squad knows that this questioning cannot be put off, still less avoided, because apart from this one witness there is not a single clue to go on. Because there is not yet a report on the autopsy and because the contents of that report are more or less already known.

Twenty-four hours earlier Martin Beck had been sitting in the stern of a rowboat taking up the nets that he and Ahlberg had put down early the same morning. Now he was standing in a room at investigation headquarters at Kungsholmsgatan with his right elbow propped on a filing cabinet, far too ill at ease even to sit down.

It had been thought suitable for this questioning to be conducted by a woman, a detective inspector of the vice squad. She was about forty-five and her name was Sylvia Granberg. In some ways the choice was a very good one. Sitting at the desk opposite the woman in the brown housecoat she looked as unmoved as the tape recorder she had just started.

When she switched off the apparatus forty minutes later she had undergone no apparent change, nor had she once faltered. Martin Beck noticed this again when, a little later, he played back the tape together with Kollberg and a couple of others.

GRANBERG: I know it's hard for you, Mrs Carlsson, but unfortunately there are certain questions we must put to you. WITNESS: Yes.

G: Your name is Karin Elisabet Carlsson?

W: Yes.

G: When were you born?

W: Sev … nineteenthir …

G: Can you try and keep your head turned towards the microphone when you answer?

W: Seventh of April 1937.

G: And your civil status?

W: What … I …

G: I mean are you single, married or divorced?

W: Divorced.

G: Since when?

W: Six years. Nearly seven.

G: And what is your ex-husband's name?

W: Sigvard Erik Bertil Carlsson.

G: Where does he live?

W: In Malmö … I mean he's registered there … I think.

G: Think? Don't you know?

MARTIN BECK: He's a seaman. We haven't been able to locate him yet.

G: Wasn't the husband liable for support of his daughter?

MB: Yes, of course, but he doesn't seem to have paid up for several years.

W: He … never really cared for Eva.

G: And your daughter's name was Eva Carlsson? No other first name?

W: No.

G: And she was born on the fifth of February 1959?

W: Yes.

G: Would you be good enough to tell us as exactly as possible what happened on Friday evening?

W: Happened … nothing happened. Eva … went out.

G: At what time?

W: Soon after seven. She'd been watching TV and we'd had our dinner.

G: What time was that?

W: At six o'clock. We always had dinner at six, when I got home. I work at a factory that makes lampshades … and I call for Eva at the afternoon nursery on the way home. She goes there herself after school … then we do the shopping on our way …

G: What did she have for dinner?

W: Meatballs … could I have a little water?

G: Of course. Here you are.

W: Thank you. Meatballs and mashed potatoes. And we had ice cream afterwards.

G: What did she drink?

W: Milk.

G: What did you do then?

W: We watched TV for a while … it was a children's programme.

G: And at seven o'clock or just after she went out?

W: Yes, it had stopped raining then. And the news had started on TV. She's not very interested in the news.

G: Did she go out alone?

W: Yes. Do you … you see it was quite light and the school holidays had begun. I told her she could stay out and play until eight. Do you think it … was careless of me?

G: Certainly not. By no means. Then you didn't see her again?

W: No … not until … no, I can't …

G: The identification? We needn't talk about that. When did you start getting worried?

W: I don't know. I was worried the whole time. I'm always worried when she's not at home. You see, she's all …

G: But when did you start looking for her?

W: Not until after half past eight. She's careless sometimes. Stays late with a playmate and forgets to look at the time. You know, children playing …

G: Yes. I see. When did you start searching?

W: About a quarter to nine. I knew she had two playmates the same age she used to go to. I called up the parents of one of them but got no answer.

MB: The family's away. Gone out to their summer cottage over the weekend.

W: I didn't know that. I don't think Eva did either.

G: What did you do then?

W: The other girl's parents have no telephone. So I went there.

G: What time?

W: I can't have got there until after nine, because the street door was locked and it took a while before I got in. I had to stand and wait until someone came. Eva had been there just after seven, but the other girl hadn't been allowed out. Her father said he thought it was too late for little girls to be out alone at that hour. (Pause)

W: Dear God if only I'd … But it was broad daylight and there were people everywhere. If only I hadn't…

G: Had your daughter left there at once?

W: Yes, she said she'd go to the playground.

G: Which playground do you think she meant?

W: The one in Vanadis Park, at Sveavägen. She always went there.

G: She can't have meant the other playground, the one up by the water tower?

W: I don't think so. She never went there. And certainly not alone.

G: Do you think she might have met some other playmates?

W: None that I know of. She always used to play with those two.

G: Well, when you didn't find her at this other place, what did you do then?

W: I … I went to the playground at Sveavägen. It was empty.

G: And then?

W: I didn't know what to do. I went home and waited. I stood in the window watching for her.

G: When did you call the police?

W: Not until later. At five or ten past ten I saw a police car stop by the park and then an ambulance came. It had started raining again by then. I put on my coat and ran there. I … I spoke to a policeman standing there, but he said it was an elderly woman who had hurt herself.

G: Did you go home again after that?

W: Yes. And I saw the light was on in the flat. I was so happy because I thought she had come home. But it was myself who had forgotten to put it out.

G: At what time did you call the police?

W: By half past ten I couldn't stand it any longer. I called up a friend, a woman I know at work. She lives at Hökarängen. She told me to call the police at once.

G: According to the information we have you called at ten minutes to eleven.

W: Yes. And then I went to the police station. The one in Surbrunnsgatan. They were awfully nice and kind. They asked me to tell them what Eva looks … looked like and what she had on. And I'd taken a snapshot with me so they could see what she looked like. They were so kind. The policeman who wrote everything down said that a lot of children got lost or stayed too long at the home of some playmate but that they all usually turned up safely after an hour or two. And …

G: Yes?

W: And he said that if anything had happened, an accident or something, they'd have known about it by that time.

G: What time did you get home again?

W: It was after twelve by then. I sat up waiting … all night. I waited for someone to ring. The police. They had my telephone number, you see, but no one called. I called them up once more anyway. But the man who answered said he had my number written down and that he'd call up at once if … (Pause)

W: But no one called. No one at all. Not in the morning either. And then a plainclothes policeman came and … and said … said that …

G: I don't think we need go on with this.

W: Oh, I see. No.

MB: Your daughter has been accosted by so-called molesters once or twice before, hasn't she?

W: Yes, last autumn. Twice. She thought she knew who it was. Someone who lived in the same block as Eivor, that's the friend who has no telephone.

MB: The one who lives in Hagagatan?

W: Yes. I reported it to the police. We were up here, in this building, and they got Eva to tell a lady all about it. They gave her a whole lot of pictures to look at too, in a big album.

G: There's a record of all that. We got the material out of the files.

MB: I know. But what I was going to ask is whether Eva was molested by this man later. After you reported him to the police?

W: No … not as far as I know. She didn't say anything … and she always tells me …

G: Well, that's about all, Mrs Carlsson.

W: Oh. I see.

MB: Forgive my asking, but where are you going now?

W: I don't know. Not home to …

G: I'll come down with you and we can talk about it. We'll think of something.

W: Thank you. You're very kind.

Kollberg switched off the tape recorder, stared gloomily at Martin Beck and said:

‘That bastard who molested her last autumn…’

‘Yes?’

‘It's the same one Rönn's busy with downstairs. We went and fetched him straight off at midday yesterday.’

‘And?’

‘So far it's merely a triumph for computer technique. He only grins and says it wasn't him.’

‘Which proves?’

‘Nothing, of course. He has no alibi either. Says he was at home asleep in his one-room flat at Hagagatan. Can't quite remember, he says.’

‘Can't remember?’

‘He's a complete alcoholic,’ Kollberg said. ‘At any rate we know that he sat drinking at the Röda Berget restaurant until he was chucked out at about six o'clock. It doesn't look too good for him.’

‘What did he do last time?’

‘Exposed himself. He's an ordinary exhibitionist, as far as I can make out. I have the tape of the interview with the girl here. Yet another triumph for technology.’

The door opened and Rönn came in.

‘Well?’ Kollberg asked.

‘Nothing so far. We'll have to let him come round a bit. Seems done in.’

‘So do you,’ Kollberg said.

He was right; Rönn looked unnaturally pale and his eyes were swollen and red-rimmed.

‘What do you think?’ Martin Beck asked.

‘I don't know what to think,’ Rönn replied. ‘I think I'm sickening for something.’

‘You can do that later,’ Kollberg said. ‘Not now. Let's listen to this tape.’

Martin Beck nodded. The spool of the recorder started turning again. A pleasant female voice said:

‘Questioning of schoolgirl Eva Carlsson born fifth of February 1959. Examining officer Detective Inspector Sonja Hansson.’

Both Martin Beck and Kollberg frowned and missed the next few sentences. They recognized the name and voice all too well. Sonja Hansson was a girl whose death they had very nearly brought about two and a half years earlier when they used her as decoy in a police trap.

‘A miracle she stayed on in the force,’ Kollberg said.

‘Yes,’ Martin Beck agreed.

‘Quiet, I can't hear,’ Rönn said.

He had not been mixed up in it that time.

‘ … so then this man came up to you?’

‘Yes. Eivor and I were standing at the bus stop.’

‘What did he do?’

‘He smelled nasty and he had a funny walk, and he said … it was so funny what he said.’

‘Can you remember what it was?’

‘Yes, he said, “Hello, little girlies, will you jerk me off if I give you five kronor?”’

‘Do you know what he meant by that, Eva?’

‘No, it was so funny. I know what jerk is, because sometimes the girl sitting next to me at school jerks my elbow. But why did the man want us to jerk his elbow? He wasn't sitting down and writing or anything, and anyway…’

‘What did you do then? After he had said that?’

‘He said it several times. Then he walked off and we crept after him.’

‘Crept after him?’

‘Yes, shadowed him. Like on the movies or TV.’

‘Did you dare to?’

‘Humph, there was no harm in it.’

‘Oh yes, Eva, you should watch out for men like that.’

‘Humph, he wasn't dangerous.’

‘Did you see which way he went?’

‘Yes, he went into the flats where Eivor lives and two floors above hers he took out a key and went inside.’

‘Did you both go home then?’

‘Oh no. We crept up and looked at the door. It had his name on it, see.’

‘Yes, I see. And what was his name?’

‘Eriksson, I think. We listened through the letter box too. We could hear him mumbling.’

‘Did you tell your mother about it?’

‘Humph, it was nothing. But it was funny.’

‘But you did tell your mother about what happened yesterday?’

‘About the cows, yes.’

‘Was it the same man?’

‘Ye-es.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Almost.’

‘How old do you think this man is?’

‘Oh, about twenty at least.’

‘How old do you think I am?’

‘Oh, about forty. Or fifty.’

‘Is this man older or younger than I am, do you think?’

‘Oh, much older. Much, much older. How old are you?’

‘Twenty-eight. Well, can you tell me what happened yesterday?’

‘Well, Eivor and I were playing hopscotch in the doorway and he came up and stood there and said, “Come along with me, girlies, and you can watch me milking my cows.”’