papers,' said Åke Boman.
'Yes, but they'll have to be responsible for their own speculations,' Kollberg said. 'You seem to work for a decent newspaper, in any case.'
'We're thinking of holding a press conference by and by,' said Martin Beck. 'It would be pointless at the moment, because there still isn't anything to say. But if you can take it easy for a while, I'll call and let you know as soon as there's anything new. Is that okay?'
'Okay,' said Åke Boman.
They both had the feeling they owed him something. What it was, and why, they didn't know.
9
Martin Beck couldn't stop thinking about Bertil Mård's hands, and after lunch he decided to go down to Trelleborg and send a telex query on Mård to Interpol in Paris.
Most people, even most policemen, are under the impression that Interpol is a rather ineffective international agency, unwieldy and bureaucratic, primarily a facade, behind which there is essentially nothing to be found.
The case of Bertil Mård gave the lie to all such notions. Martin Beck had not been able to think up any clever questions. He merely asked if Mård had ever been booked anywhere, and if so, what for.
He had his answer within six hours, a fairly detailed answer at that
They sat in Allwright's flat that same evening and pondered the document, not without a certain astonishment
They were having sandwiches and beer.
At Allwright's they still had a chance of being left more or less in peace, since the police station was, as usual, closed at this time of day.
An automatic answering machine referred all telephone calls to the police in Trelleborg, where switchboard duty was no longer much of a pleasure.
The inn was full of reporters.
For safety's sake, Allwright had pulled the jack on his private phone.
They studied the telex tape.
The police in Trinidad-Tobago reported that Bertil Mård had been arrested on 6 February 1965, for beating to death an oiler of Brazilian nationality. He was brought before a police court that same day and found guilty of disturbing the peace and of what the report called 'justifiable homicide', which was not a punishable offence in Trinidad-Tobago. For disturbing the peace, however, he was fined four pounds. The oiler had made advances to a woman in Mård's company and was thus considered to have caused the incident himself. Mård had left the country the following day.
'Fifty kronor,' Kollberg said. 'That's pretty cheap for killing a man.'
'"Justifiable homicide",' Allwright said. 'How do you say that in Swedish? Of course, we have the plea of self-defence. That's the same thing in principle. But it's not a translation.'
'It's untranslatable,' said Martin Beck.
'There is no such concept,' Kollberg said.
'You're wrong about that,' Allwright said, and laughed. 'They've got it in the States, believe you me. Just let a policeman shoot somebody, and it's always "justifiable homicide". Legitimate murder, or whatever we'd call it in Swedish. It happens every day.'
There was a dead silence in the room.
Kollberg pushed away the plate with his half-eaten sandwich in distaste.
His eyes were vacant, and he sank down on his chair with his forearms resting on his thighs and his hands hanging between his knees.
'What happened?' Allwright said.
'You laughed in the wrong place,' said Martin Beck.
Allwright didn't understand what he had done wrong, but he did realize that he shouldn't say anything more. Not right away, in any case.
Martin Beck kept a close and anxious eye on his old friend, but he too was silent.
Allwright finished his cigarette. He lit another one and smoked it too. Then he did nothing at all for a while.
Martin Beck continued to look at Kollberg.
At long last, Kollberg shrugged his fleshy shoulders and straightened up.
'Sorry, Herrgott,' he said. 'I get like that sometimes. It's a little bit like epilepsy. I just can't help it.'
He took a big drink from his glass of beer and wiped away the froth with the back of his hand.
'Now where were
'Yes, but they'll have to be responsible for their own speculations,' Kollberg said. 'You seem to work for a decent newspaper, in any case.'
'We're thinking of holding a press conference by and by,' said Martin Beck. 'It would be pointless at the moment, because there still isn't anything to say. But if you can take it easy for a while, I'll call and let you know as soon as there's anything new. Is that okay?'
'Okay,' said Åke Boman.
They both had the feeling they owed him something. What it was, and why, they didn't know.
9
Martin Beck couldn't stop thinking about Bertil Mård's hands, and after lunch he decided to go down to Trelleborg and send a telex query on Mård to Interpol in Paris.
Most people, even most policemen, are under the impression that Interpol is a rather ineffective international agency, unwieldy and bureaucratic, primarily a facade, behind which there is essentially nothing to be found.
The case of Bertil Mård gave the lie to all such notions. Martin Beck had not been able to think up any clever questions. He merely asked if Mård had ever been booked anywhere, and if so, what for.
He had his answer within six hours, a fairly detailed answer at that
They sat in Allwright's flat that same evening and pondered the document, not without a certain astonishment
They were having sandwiches and beer.
At Allwright's they still had a chance of being left more or less in peace, since the police station was, as usual, closed at this time of day.
An automatic answering machine referred all telephone calls to the police in Trelleborg, where switchboard duty was no longer much of a pleasure.
The inn was full of reporters.
For safety's sake, Allwright had pulled the jack on his private phone.
They studied the telex tape.
The police in Trinidad-Tobago reported that Bertil Mård had been arrested on 6 February 1965, for beating to death an oiler of Brazilian nationality. He was brought before a police court that same day and found guilty of disturbing the peace and of what the report called 'justifiable homicide', which was not a punishable offence in Trinidad-Tobago. For disturbing the peace, however, he was fined four pounds. The oiler had made advances to a woman in Mård's company and was thus considered to have caused the incident himself. Mård had left the country the following day.
'Fifty kronor,' Kollberg said. 'That's pretty cheap for killing a man.'
'"Justifiable homicide",' Allwright said. 'How do you say that in Swedish? Of course, we have the plea of self-defence. That's the same thing in principle. But it's not a translation.'
'It's untranslatable,' said Martin Beck.
'There is no such concept,' Kollberg said.
'You're wrong about that,' Allwright said, and laughed. 'They've got it in the States, believe you me. Just let a policeman shoot somebody, and it's always "justifiable homicide". Legitimate murder, or whatever we'd call it in Swedish. It happens every day.'
There was a dead silence in the room.
Kollberg pushed away the plate with his half-eaten sandwich in distaste.
His eyes were vacant, and he sank down on his chair with his forearms resting on his thighs and his hands hanging between his knees.
'What happened?' Allwright said.
'You laughed in the wrong place,' said Martin Beck.
Allwright didn't understand what he had done wrong, but he did realize that he shouldn't say anything more. Not right away, in any case.
Martin Beck kept a close and anxious eye on his old friend, but he too was silent.
Allwright finished his cigarette. He lit another one and smoked it too. Then he did nothing at all for a while.
Martin Beck continued to look at Kollberg.
At long last, Kollberg shrugged his fleshy shoulders and straightened up.
'Sorry, Herrgott,' he said. 'I get like that sometimes. It's a little bit like epilepsy. I just can't help it.'
He took a big drink from his glass of beer and wiped away the froth with the back of his hand.
'Now where were
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