Per Wahloo – The Abominable Man (страница 10)

By the time he stepped out of the taxi in front of the Klara police station on Regeringsgatan, it had begun to get light. The sun would come up, there was still not a cloud in the sky, and it promised to be a pretty though rather chilly day.

He walked up the stone steps and pushed open the door. To the right was the switchboard, for the moment unmanned, and a counter behind which stood an older, grey-haired policeman. He had spread out the morning paper and was resting on his elbows as he read. When Martin Beck came in he straightened up and took off his glasses.

‘Why it's Inspector Beck, up and about at this time of the morning,’ he said. ‘I was just looking to see if the morning papers had anything about Inspector Nyman. It sounds like a very nasty business.’

He put on his glasses again, licked his thumb and turned a page in the paper.

‘It doesn't look as if they had time to get it in,’ he went on.

‘No,’ said Martin Beck. ‘I don't suppose they did.’

The Stockholm morning papers went to press early these days and had probably been ready for distribution even before Nyman was murdered.

He walked past the desk and into the duty room. It was empty. The morning papers lay on a table along with a couple of overflowing ashtrays and some coffee mugs. Through a window into one of the interrogation rooms he could see the officer in charge sitting talking to a young woman with long blonde hair. When he caught sight of Martin Beck he stood up, said something to the woman and came out of the glass cubicle. He closed the door behind him.

‘Hi,’ he said. ‘Is it me you're looking for?’

Martin Beck sat down at the short end of the table, pulled an ashtray towards him and lit a cigarette.

‘I'm not looking for anyone in particular,’ he said. ‘But have you got a minute?’

‘Can you wait just a moment?’ the other man said. ‘I just want to get this woman sent over to Criminal.’

He disappeared and returned a few minutes later with a constable, picked up an envelope from the desk and handed it to him. The woman stood up, hung her purse on her shoulder and walked quickly towards the door.

‘Come on, big boy,’ she said without turning her head. ‘Let's go for a ride.’

The constable looked at the officer, who shrugged his shoulders, amused. Then he put on his cap and followed her out.

‘She seemed right at home,’ said Martin Beck.

‘Oh yeah, this isn't the first time. And certainly not the last.’

He sat down at the table and started cleaning his pipe into an ashtray.

‘That was nasty, that business with Nyman,’ he said. ‘How did it happen, exactly?’

Martin Beck told him briefly what had happened.

‘Ugh,’ the officer said. ‘Whoever did it must be a raving lunatic. But why Nyman?’

‘You knew Nyman, didn't you?’ Martin Beck asked him.

‘Not very well. He wasn't the sort of person you knew well.’

‘He was here on special assignment of course. When did he come here to the Fourth?’

‘They gave him an office here three years ago. February '68.’

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.