Camels?' Gunvald Larsson exclaimed incredulously.
'Yes,'Assarsson replied. "They used to greet each other by saying: "Hi, old camel," so they took to calling themselves the Camels.'
The widow looked critically at her brother-in-law.
'It's an idealistic association,' she said. 'It does a lot for charity.'
'Oh?' Gunvald Larsson said. 'Such as ... ?'
'It's a secret,' Mrs Assarsson replied. 'Not even we wives were allowed to know. Some societies do that Work subrosa so to speak.'
Feeling Gunvald Larsson's eyes on him, Martin Beck said, 'Mrs Assarsson, do you know when your husband left Narvavägen?'
‘Well, I couldn't get to sleep, so I got up about two o'clock in the morning to take a little nightcap, and when I saw that Gosta hadn't come home I called up the Screw - that's what they call Mr Sjöberg - and the Screw said that Gösta had left about half-past ten.'
She stubbed out her cigarette.
‘Where do you think he was going on the 47 bus?' Martin Beck asked.
Assarsson gave him an anxious look.
'He was on his way to some business acquaintance, of course. My husband was very energetic and worked very hard with his firm - that's to say, Ture here is also part-owner, of course - and it wasn't at all unusual for him to have business dealings at night For instance, when people came up from the provinces and were only in Stockholm overnight and then, er ...'
She seemed to lose the thread. She picked up her empty glass and twiddled it between her fingers.
Gunvald Larsson was busy writing on his scrap of paper. Martin Beck stretched one leg and massaged his knee.
'Have you any children, Mrs Assarsson?' he asked.
Mrs Assarsson put her glass in front of her brother-in-law to be refilled, but he immediately took it to the sideboard without looking at her. She gave him a resentful look, stood up with an effort and brushed some cigarette ash off her skirt
'No, Superintendent Peck, I haven't Unfortunately my husband couldn't give me any children.'
She stared vacantly at a point beyond Martin Beck's left ear. He could see now that she was pretty well stewed. She blinked slowly a couple of times and then looked at him.
'Are your parents American, Superintendent Peck?' she asked.
'No,' Martin Beck replied.
Gunvald Larsson was still scribbling. Martin Beck craned his neck and looked at the piece-of paper. It was covered with camels.
'If Superintendents Peck and Larsson will excuse me, I must retire,' Mrs Assarsson said, walking unsteadily towards the door.
'Good-bye, it's been so nice,' she said vaguely, and closed the door behind her.
Gunvald Larsson put away his pen and the paper with the camels and struggled out of the chair.
'Whom did he sleep with?' he asked, without looking at Assarsson.
Assarsson glanced at the closed door.
'Eivor Olsson,' he replied. 'A girl at the office.'
17
There was little to be said in favour of this repulsive Wednesday.
Not surprisingly, the evening papers had ferreted out the story of Schwerin, splashing it across the front pages and larding it with details and sarcastic gibes at the police.
The investigation was already at a deadlock. The police had smuggled away the only important witness. The police had lied to the press and the public.
If the press and the Great Detective the General Public were not given correct information, how could the police count on help?
The only thing the papers didn't say was that Schwerin had died, but that was probably only because they had been so early going to press.
They had also managed somehow to sniff out the dismal truth about the state in which the forensic laboratory technicians had found the scene of the crime.
Valuable time had been lost
Unhappily, too, the mass murder had coincided with a raid -decided on several weeks earlier - on kiosks and tobacco shops in an attempt to confiscate pornographic literature.
One of the newspapers was kind enough to point out in a prominent place that a maniac mass-murderer was running amok in town
'Yes,'Assarsson replied. "They used to greet each other by saying: "Hi, old camel," so they took to calling themselves the Camels.'
The widow looked critically at her brother-in-law.
'It's an idealistic association,' she said. 'It does a lot for charity.'
'Oh?' Gunvald Larsson said. 'Such as ... ?'
'It's a secret,' Mrs Assarsson replied. 'Not even we wives were allowed to know. Some societies do that Work subrosa so to speak.'
Feeling Gunvald Larsson's eyes on him, Martin Beck said, 'Mrs Assarsson, do you know when your husband left Narvavägen?'
‘Well, I couldn't get to sleep, so I got up about two o'clock in the morning to take a little nightcap, and when I saw that Gosta hadn't come home I called up the Screw - that's what they call Mr Sjöberg - and the Screw said that Gösta had left about half-past ten.'
She stubbed out her cigarette.
‘Where do you think he was going on the 47 bus?' Martin Beck asked.
Assarsson gave him an anxious look.
'He was on his way to some business acquaintance, of course. My husband was very energetic and worked very hard with his firm - that's to say, Ture here is also part-owner, of course - and it wasn't at all unusual for him to have business dealings at night For instance, when people came up from the provinces and were only in Stockholm overnight and then, er ...'
She seemed to lose the thread. She picked up her empty glass and twiddled it between her fingers.
Gunvald Larsson was busy writing on his scrap of paper. Martin Beck stretched one leg and massaged his knee.
'Have you any children, Mrs Assarsson?' he asked.
Mrs Assarsson put her glass in front of her brother-in-law to be refilled, but he immediately took it to the sideboard without looking at her. She gave him a resentful look, stood up with an effort and brushed some cigarette ash off her skirt
'No, Superintendent Peck, I haven't Unfortunately my husband couldn't give me any children.'
She stared vacantly at a point beyond Martin Beck's left ear. He could see now that she was pretty well stewed. She blinked slowly a couple of times and then looked at him.
'Are your parents American, Superintendent Peck?' she asked.
'No,' Martin Beck replied.
Gunvald Larsson was still scribbling. Martin Beck craned his neck and looked at the piece-of paper. It was covered with camels.
'If Superintendents Peck and Larsson will excuse me, I must retire,' Mrs Assarsson said, walking unsteadily towards the door.
'Good-bye, it's been so nice,' she said vaguely, and closed the door behind her.
Gunvald Larsson put away his pen and the paper with the camels and struggled out of the chair.
'Whom did he sleep with?' he asked, without looking at Assarsson.
Assarsson glanced at the closed door.
'Eivor Olsson,' he replied. 'A girl at the office.'
17
There was little to be said in favour of this repulsive Wednesday.
Not surprisingly, the evening papers had ferreted out the story of Schwerin, splashing it across the front pages and larding it with details and sarcastic gibes at the police.
The investigation was already at a deadlock. The police had smuggled away the only important witness. The police had lied to the press and the public.
If the press and the Great Detective the General Public were not given correct information, how could the police count on help?
The only thing the papers didn't say was that Schwerin had died, but that was probably only because they had been so early going to press.
They had also managed somehow to sniff out the dismal truth about the state in which the forensic laboratory technicians had found the scene of the crime.
Valuable time had been lost
Unhappily, too, the mass murder had coincided with a raid -decided on several weeks earlier - on kiosks and tobacco shops in an attempt to confiscate pornographic literature.
One of the newspapers was kind enough to point out in a prominent place that a maniac mass-murderer was running amok in town
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