'And what does she do?'

'She's studying Scandinavian languages at the university.'

Gunvald Larsson mistrusted many things in this world, and one of them was a university education. But now he was beginning to look slightly thoughtful.

'Go on,' he said.

'Today I looked into the aliens register and checked. The name isn't there either.'

'What did you say his name was?' 'Reinhard Jorgensen.'

Gunvald Larsson rose and went over to Melander's desk. 'And what did he look like?'

'Much like you, though twenty years younger. And he had sideburns.'

'Was he as tall as I am, for instance?' 'Almost But he certainly weighed less.' 'Not many people are as tall as I am.' 'He may have been a few inches shorter.' 'And he said his name was Reinhard?' 'Yes.'

'Had he any special identifying marks?'

'No. That is, he was very sunburnt, except...'

'Except?'

'Except in places where men aren't usually sunburnt'

'And he spoke Danish?'

'Yes. I thought it sounded pretty authentic Until my friend brought it up.'

Gunvald Larsson had taken a brown envelope out of one of Melander's letter trays. He weighed it in his hand for a moment and then took out a seven-by-ten photograph. He handed it to Ruth Salomonsson.

'Did he look like this?'

'Yes, that's him, but that's about two years old, I'd say. At least' She peered more closely at the photograph. 'Bad quality,' she said.

'It's an enlargement extracted from a group photograph on a small negative.'

'Anyway, that's him all right I'm certain of it. What's his real name?'

'Reinhard Heydt He seems to be South African. What did he say he was doing here?'

'Business. Buying and selling complicated machinery of some kind.'

'And you met him on the fourth in the evening?' 'Yes.'

'Was he alone?'

'Yes.'

"When did you last see him?'

'The next morning,, at about six o'clock.'

'Did he have a car?'

"Not with him, at any rate.'

'Where did he say he was staying?'

'The Grand.'

'Do you know anything else?'

'No, nothing whatsoever.'

'Okay. Thanks for coming,' said Larsson, more kindly now.

'Don't mention it'

'I said one or two ill-considered things before.' 'All that about free totty and so on?' she said, smiling. 'No,' said Gunvald Larsson. 'About policewomen. We need a lot more.'

'My coffee break is definitely over now,' she said, turning to go. 'Just a moment,' said Gunvald Larsson. He tapped the photograph with his knuckles. 'This guy's dangerous.'

'To whom?'

'Everyone. Anyone. You should let us know if you ever catch sight of him again.' 'Has he killed anyone?'

'Many people,' said Gunvald Larsson. 'Far too many.'

In the end, Martin Beck had quite a pleasant evening. There were already seven or eight people around the kitchen table when he arrived, and he had met some of them before.

Among them was a young man named Kent, who a few years ago had said that he was thinking of joining the police. Martin Beck had not seen him since and asked him how he'd made out 'At the Police College?'

'Yes.'

'I got in, but halfway through the term I had to leave. It was an absolute madhouse.' 'What are you doing now?'

'Refuse collection. A dustman. It's a h.e.l.l of an improvement' As was usual around Rhea's kitchen table, the conversation was lively and fluent, moving from one subject to another. Martin Beck sat relaxing in silence, now and again sipping at his wine. He had decided to have no more than one gla.s.s. Only once was the notorious Senator mentioned. Some were thinking of demonstrating, others satisfied with grumbling at the government Then Rhea began talking about Gascony fish soup and lobsters and Brittany, thus putting an end to political arguments.

She was to go away on Sunday, to a sister who was constantly in need of help of one kind or another.

At one o'clock she shooed out all her guests, except Martin Beck, of course, who hardly counted as a guest any longer.

"You'll be absolutely shattered tomorrow if you don't go to bed at once,' she said.

She also went to bed at once, but half an hour later she had to get up again and go out to the kitchen. Martin Beck heard her clattering about at the cooker, but was too tired to be able to think about au gratin ham sandwiches with parmesan, so he stayed where he was.

She came back a little later, thumped about in the bed for a while and then snuggled up dose to him. She was warm, her skin soft and covered with almost invisible short fair hairs.

'Martin?' she said softly, testing to see if he was awake.

'Mmm.'

'I have to tell you something.' 'Mmm.'

'When you were here last Thursday, you were very tired and went to bed before me. I read for an hour or two. But you know how d.a.m.ned inquisitive I am, so I opened your briefcase and looked through your papers.'

'Mmm.'

'There was a file with a photograph in it of someone named Reinhard Heydt.'

'Mmm.'

'I thought of something that might be important.'

'Mmm.'

'I saw that guy about three weeks ago. A large, blond man about thirty. We b.u.mped into each other by chance when I was up at your place in Kopmangatan. Then we walked through Bollhus Alley. He was only two steps behind me, so I let him pa.s.s. He was a Nordic-European type and I thought he was a tourist, because he had a map of Stockholm in one hand. He had sideburns. Blond ones.'

Martin Beck was immediately wide awake. 'Did he say anything?'

'No, nothing. He just walked past. But a few minutes later I saw him again. He was getting into a green car with Swedish plates. I'm bad on cars and don't know what make it was. I must have studied the registration though, because I remember the letters were GOZ, but I forgot the numbers. I'm not sure I even saw them. I've got a bad memory for figures, anyway'

Martin Beck was at the phone dialling Larsson s number in Bollmora before Rhea even got her legs out of bed.

'New world speed record out of beloved's bed,' she said.

Martin Beck waited impatiently while the number rang twelve times. No one answered.

He hung up and dialled the central exchange.

'Do you know if Gunvald Larsson's in the building?'

'He was here ten minutes ago.'

Martin Beck asked to be connected to the Violent Crimes Squad. The phone was answered immediately. 'Larsson here.'

'Heydt's in town.'

'Yes,' said Gunvald Larsson, 'I just heard. A woman police a.s.sistant in the Investigation Bureau had the good taste to sleep with him on the night of the fourth. She seems certain it was him. He made out he was Danish. Nice guy, she said. Spoke a kind of Scandinavian.'

'I've got a witness, too,' said Martin Beck, 'a woman who saw him in Kopmangatan in the Old City about three weeks ago. She saw him getting into a car with Swedish plates in Slottsbacken and she thinks he drove south.'

'Your witness,' said Gunvald Larsson, 'does she seem reliable?'

'The most reliable person I know.'

'Oh-ho, yes.' Gunvald Larsson was silent for a moment. 'The b.a.s.t.a.r.d,' he said. 'He's beaten us and we don't have any time. What do we do?'

'We have to think,' said Martin Beck. 'If you'll send a patrol car, I'll be with you in twenty minutes.' 'Shall I alert Skacke and Melander?'

'No, let them sleep. Someone has to be rested tomorrow. How are you feeling yourself?'

'I was dead beat a moment ago, but I'm ready to go again now: 'Same here.'

'Mmm,' said Gunvald Larsson. 'I don't think we're going to get much sleep tonight.'

'It can't be helped. If we can get Heydt, a lot of risks will be eliminated.'

Martin Beck hung up and began to get dressed. 'He's that important?' asked Rhea.

'Vital. Bye, and thanks for this and that. See you tomorrow evening? At my place?'

'Okay,' she said cheerfully. She had planned to go there in any case to watch the news coverage of the event on Martin Beck's colour television.

After he'd gone, she lay there thinking for a long time. She had been in a good mood a minute or two before, but now she was feeling depressed.

Rhea was exceptionally intuitive, and she did not like the situation.

19.

Gunvald Larsson and Martin Beck spent the early hours of the morning thinking intensely, but unfortunately they were handicapped by self-reproach, humiliation and deadly fatigue. Both realized that they were no longer young.

Heydt had entered the country despite all their rigorous precautionary measures. It seemed logical that the rest of the terrorist cell were also in Stockholm and had been there for quite some time, since it was highly unlikely that Heydt would be alone.

They knew quite a lot about Reinhard Heydt, but they had no idea where he was and could only guess at what he was going to do. Worst of all, they had no time to find out.

He had at his disposal a green car of unknown make with Swedish plates, possibly with the letters GOZ. Where had he got the car? Stolen it? That seemed an unnecessary risk to have taken, and Heydt was probably not a man to take unnecessary risks. Nevertheless, as soon as possible they checked up on all reports of stolen cars. None matched.

He might also have bought or rented it, but to check all those possibilities would take days, perhaps weeks. They had only a few hours, and during those hours, their quiet offices were to be transformed into a scene of sheer chaos.

Skacke and Melander arrived at seven, listened with gloomy faces to this new development, then set to work on their telephones. But it was all much too late, because in the tracks of messengers came a veritable torrent of people who now suddenly considered their presence highly necessary. The National Commissioner arrived followed closely by Stig Malm, the chief of the Stockholm Police and the chief of the regular police. Soon after that Bulldozer Olsson brought his beaming visage into the office, and then came a representative of the Fire Brigade, whom no one had invited; two police superintendents, who as far as could be made out were simply curious; and to crown everything, a government secretary sent by the cabinet, apparently as some kind of observer.

For a brief moment, Eric Moller's unique wreath of hair could be glimpsed in the crowd, but by then everyone had given up hope of being able to do anything properly at all.

Gunvald Larsson realized quite early on that he would never get back home to Bollmora to shower and change. And if Martin Beck had similar plans, they were soon spiked by the feet that from half-past eight on he was forced to talk on the telephone without a break, mostly to people who had extremely peripheral connections with the Senator's visit In the general uproar, a couple of accredited crime reporters also managed to get into headquarters, where they were trying to collect some tidbits of news. These journalists were considered to have a favourable att.i.tude towards the police, and everyone shied away from the very thought of offending them in any way. With one of the reporters no more than a few feet away, the Commissioner turned to Martin Beck and asked, 'Where's Einar Ronn?'

'Don't know,' lied Martin Beck. 'What's he doing?'

'Don't know that, either,' said Martin Beck, if possible even less truthfully.

As he tried to elbow his way away, he heard the Commissioner muttering to himself: 'Remarkable. Remarkable way of a.s.suming command.'