He sat chatting for a while in Ronn's room, but not only was Ronn indifferent company, he also had a lot to do.

'Wonder how things are with Gunvald,' said Ronn. 'I wouldn't mind trading places with him. Bullfights and palm trees and expense-account dinners, boy oh boy!'

Ronn specialized in giving Martin Beck a guilty conscience. Why couldn't he have been offered that trip, he who certainly needed more encouragement than anyone else?

It was impossible to tell Ronn the truth - that he had actually been discriminated against simply because they considered it impossible to send out a runny-nosed northerner, a man with a notably unrepresentative appearance who could only with the greatest goodwill be said to speak pa.s.sable English.

But Ronn was a good detective. He had been nothing much to start with, but now he was undoubtedly one of the section's greatest a.s.sets.

As usual, Martin Beck tried but failed to find something encouraging to say, and shortly he left.

Now he was sitting with Rhea, and that in truth was quite a different matter. The only trouble was that she seemed sad.

"This trial,' she said. 'Christ, it's depressing! And the people who decide things! The prosecutor is just a buffoon. And the way he stared at me, as if he'd never seen a woman before.'

'Bulldozer,' said Martin Beck. 'He's seen lots of women and besides he's not your type.'

'And the defence lawyer doesn't even know his client's name! That girl hasn't a hope in heaven.'

'It's not over yet. Bulldozer wins almost all his cases, but if he does lose one occasionally, it's always to Braxen. Do you remember that Swrd business?'

'Do I remember!' said Rhea. She laughed hoa.r.s.ely. 'When you came and stayed at my place the first time. The locked room and all that. Two years ago almost. How could I not remember?'

She looked happy, and nothing could have made him happier. They had had good times since then, full of talk, jealousy, friendly quarrels and, not least, good spells of s.e.x, trust and companionship. Although he was over fifty and thought he had experienced most things, he had still opened up with her. Hopefully, she shared his feelings about the relationship, but on that point he was more uncertain. She was physically stronger and the more free-thinking of the two of them, presumably also more intelligent, or at any rate quicker-thinking. She had plenty of bad points, among others that she was often cross and irritable, but he loved them. Perhaps that expression was stupid or far too romantic, but he could find no better one.

He looked at her and became aware that he had stopped being jealous. Her large nipples were thrusting out beneath the material, her shirt was carelessly b.u.t.toned, she had taken off her sandals and was rubbing her naked feet against each other under the table. Now and again she bent down and scratched her ankles. But she was herself and not his; perhaps that was the best thing about her.

Her face became troubled at this moment, the irregular features set in an expression of anxiety and distaste. 'I don't understand much about the law,' she said, with little truth, 'but this case appears lost. Can't you say something to change it when you testify?'

'Hardly. I don't even know what he wants out of me.'

'The other defence witnesses seem useless. A bank director and a home economics teacher and a policeman. Were any of them even there?'

'Yes, Kristiansson. He was driving the patrol car.'

'Is he as dumb as the other cop?'

'Yes.'

'And I don't suppose the case can be won on the closing argument -the defence's, I mean?'

Martin Beck smiled. He should have known she would get this seriously involved.

'No, it doesn't seem likely. But are you sure the defence ought to win and that Rebecka isn't guilty?'

'The investigation is a load of rubbish. The whole case ought to be turned back over to the police - nothing's been properly investigated. I hate the police on that score alone. They hand over cases to the prosecutor's office that aren't even half completed. And then the prosecutor struts around like a turkey c.o.c.k on a rubbish tip and the people who are supposed to judge are only sitting there because they're politically useless and no good for anything else.'

In many ways she was right. The jury were sc.r.a.ped from the bottom of the political party barrels, they were often friends of the prosecutor, or let themselves be dominated by strong-willed judges who fundamentally despised them.

'It may sound odd, I know,' said Martin Beck, 'but I think you underestimate Braxen.'

On the short walk back to the courthouse, Rhea suddenly took his hand. That seldom happened and always meant that she was worried or in a state of great emotional tension. Her hand was like everything else about her, strong and reliable.

Bulldozer came into the foyer at the same time as they did, one minute before the court was to reconvene. 'That bank robbery on Vasagatan is all cleared up' he said breathlessly. 'But we've got two new ones instead, and one of them...'

His gaze fell on Kvastmo and he set off without even finishing the sentence. 'You can go home,' he told Kvastmo. 'Or back on duty. I would take it as a personal favour.'

This was Bulldozer's way of bawling someone put 'What?' said Kvastmo.

'You can go back on duty,' said Bulldozer. 'Every man is needed at his post.'

'My evidence took care of that gangster chick, didn't it?' said Kvastmo.

'Yes,' said Bulldozer. 'It was brilliant'

Kvastmo left to carry on his struggle against the gangster community in other arenas.

The court reconvened and the case continued.

Braxen called his first witness, Rumford Bondesson, bank director. After the formalities, Braxen suddenly pointed at the witness with his unlit cigar and said inquisitorially, 'Have you ever met Rebecka Lind?'

'Yes.'

'When?'

'About a month ago. The young lady came to the head office of the bank. She was dressed in the same clothes as now, but she was carrying an infant in some kind of harness on her chest'

'And you received her?'

'Yes. I had a few moments to spare, as it happened, and I am also interested in modern young people.' " 'Especially the female kind?'

'Yes. I don't mind admitting it'

'How old are you, Mr Bondesson?'

'Fifty-nine.'

'What did Rebecka Lind want?'

'To borrow money. Clearly she had no idea whatsoever about the simplest financial matters. Someone had told her that banks lend money, so she went to the nearest big bank and asked to speak to the manager.'

'And what did you reply?'

"That banks were commercial enterprises which didn't lend money without interest and security. She replied that she had a goat and three cats'

'Why did she want to borrow money?'

'To go to America. Just where in America she didn't know and neither did she know what she was going to do when she got there. But she had an address, she said.'

'What else did she say?'

'She asked if there was a bank that was not so commercial, that was owned by the people and to which ordinary people could go when they needed money. I replied, mostly in fun, that the Credit Bank, or the PK Bank as it is called nowadays, was at least officially owned by the state, and so by the people. She appeared to be satisfied with that answer.'

Crasher went up to the witness, jabbed the cigar against his chest and asked, 'Was anything else said?'

Mr Bondesson did not reply, and finally the judge said, 'You're under oath, Mr Bondesson. But you do not have to answer questions which reveal criminal activities on your part.'

'Yes,' said Bondesson, with obvious reluctance. 'Young girls are interested in me and I in them. I offered to solve her short-term problems'

He looked around and caught an annihilating look from Rhea Nielsen and the glint of a bald head from Bulldozer Olsson, who was deep in his papers.

'And what did Rebecka Lind say to that?'

'I don't remember. Nothing came of it.'

Crasher had returned to his table. He rummaged around in his papers and said, 'At the police interrogation, Rebecka said that she had made the following remarks: "I loathe dirty old men" and "I think you're disgusting."' Crasher repeated in a loud voice: 'Dirty old men.' With a gesture of his cigar, he implied that as far as he was concerned the interrogation was over.

'I do not understand at all what this has to do with the case,' said Bulldozer without even looking up.

The witness stepped down with an injured air.

Then it was Martin Beck's turn. The formalities were as usual, but Bulldozer was now more attentive and followed the defence's questions with obvious interest 'Yesterday,' said Crasher when the preliminaries were over, 'I received word that a certain Filip Trofast Mauritzon had been refused the right to appeal to the High Court. As you may remember, Chief Inspector Beck, Mauritzon was convicted over eighteen months ago of murder in connection with armed robbery of a bank. The prosecutor in the case was my perhaps not-all-that-learned friend, Sten Robert Olsson, who at that time went under the t.i.tle of Royal Prosecutor. I myself had the thankless and for my profession often morally burdensome task of defending Mauritzon, who undoubtedly was what we call in everyday speech a "criminal". I would now like to ask one single question: Do you, Chief Inspector Beck, consider that Mauritzon was guilty of the bank robbery and the murder connected with it, and that the investigation presented by present counsel for the prosecution, Mr Olsson, was satisfactory from a police viewpoint?'

'No,' said Martin Beck.

Although Bulldozer's cheeks had suddenly taken on a pink hue which matched his shirt and enhanced even further his monstrous tie with its golden mermaids and hula-hula dancers, he smiled happily and said, 'I, too, would like to ask a question. Did you, Chief Inspector Beck, take any part in the investigation of the murder at the bank?'

'No,' said Martin Beck.

Bulldozer slapped his hands together in front of his face and nodded in a self-satisfied way.

Martin Beck stepped down and went to sit beside Rhea. He rumpled her blonde hair, which won him a cross look. 'I thought there'd be more than that,' she said.

'I didn't,' said Martin Beck.

Watching them, Bulldozer Olsson's eyes were almost insane with curiosity. Crasher, however, appeared quite unaware of the situation. With his limping walk he had moved over to the window behind Bulldozer. In the dust on the pane he wrote the word IDIOT.

Then he said, 'As my next witness I call Police Constable Karl Kristiansson.'

Kristiansson was shown in. He was an uncertain man who had lately come to the conclusion that the police force const.i.tuted a cla.s.s system of its own, in which superiors behaved as they did, not to exploit anyone, but quite simply to make the lives of their subordinates h.e.l.l.

After a long wait, Crasher turned around and began to walk back and forth across the room. Bulldozer did the same, but at quite a different pace, so that they looked like two somewhat peculiar sentries on duty. Finally, with a colossal sigh, Crasher began the interrogation.

'According to my information, you've been a policeman for fifteen years.'

'Yes.'

'Your superior officers consider you lazy, unintelligent, but honest and generally as suitable - or unsuitable - as your other colleagues on the Stockholm Police Force.'

'Objection! Objection!' cried Bulldozer. 'Counsel is insulting the witness.'

'Am I?' said Crasher. 'If I were to say that the counsel for the prosecution, like a zeppelin, is one of the country's, yes even the world's most interesting and eloquent gasbags, there'd be nothing insulting about that, would there? Now I'm not saying that about the counsel for the prosecution, and as far as the witness is concerned, I am merely pointing out that he is an experienced policeman, as capable and intelligent as the other policemen who adorn our city. I'm just trying to bring out his excellent qualifications and good judgement'

Rhea Nielsen laughed out loud. Martin Beck placed his right hand over her left one. She laughed even more loudly. The judge pointed out that spectators were expected to keep quiet, then turned to look irritably at the two lawyers. Bulldozer gazed so intently at Rhea that he almost missed the beginning of the interrogation.

Crasher, on the other hand, showed no reaction. He asked, 'Were you first into the bank?' 'No.'

'Did you seize this girl, Rebecka Olsson?' 'No.'

'Rebecka Lind, I mean,' said Crasher, after a few sn.i.g.g.e.rs. 'No.'

'What did you do?'

'I grabbed the other one.'

'Were there two girls present at the robbery?'

'Yes.'

'Why?'

Kristiansson pondered a moment. 'So she wouldn't fall.' 'How old was this other girl?' 'About four months.'

'And so it was Kvastmo who seized Rebecka Lind?' 'Yes.'

'Do you think you might say that he employed violence or excessive force in doing so?'

'I don't understand what counsel for the defence is trying to get at,' said Bulldozer banteringly.

'I mean that Kvastmo, whom we all saw earlier today...'

Crasher rummaged for a long time among his papers. 'Here it is,' he said. 'Kvastmo weighs over fourteen stone. He is, among other things, a specialist in karate and wrestling. He is regarded by his superiors as a keen and zealous man. Inspector Norman Hanson, who submitted the evidence, says however that Kvastmo is all too often overzealous on duty and that many of those taken into custody complain that Kvastmo used violence against them. The evidence also says that Kenneth Kvastmo has received various reprimands and that his ability to express himself leaves much to be desired.'

Crasher put down the doc.u.ment and said, 'Would the witness now answer the question as to whether Kvastmo used violence.'

'Yes,' said Kristiansson. 'You could say that.' Experience had taught him not to lie where duty was concerned, at least not too much or too often. Also, he disliked Kvastmo.

'And you took custody of the child?'

'Yes, I had to. She was carrying it in a sort of harness, and when Kvastmo was taking the knife away from her, she almost dropped the child.'

'Did Rebecka offer any resistance?'

'No. When I took the kid, she just said, "Careful you don't drop her!'"

'That all seems clear enough,' said Crasher. 'I will return to the possible continued use of force later. Instead, I should now like to ask you about another matter - 'Yes,' said Kristiansson.

'Since no one from the special unit concerned with protecting the banks' money visited the scene of the crime,' said Crasher and stopped short with an imperious look at the prosecutor.