need for money is great. I like things that money can buy. And it isn’t easy for a woman of forty with no particular education to get money any other way than through a man. If I’m a whore, then so are most married women.”
Martin Beck got up. “Thank you for talking to me, and for being so honest.”
“You needn’t thank me for that. I’m always honest. May I go to my friend now? I’m tired.”
“Of course. Just tell Inspector Pärsson where we can get in touch with you first, all right?”
Maud Lundin got up and picked up a small white leather bag that had been lying at the end of the bed. Martin Beck watched her leave the room. She held herself very erect and seemed calm and collected. Her long, powerful body was well built and strong, and she must have been a whole head taller than the fat little film director.
He thought about what she had said about money and what you could get with it. Walter Petrus had gotten a pretty good woman with his.
6
The definitive medical report fixed Walter Petrus’s death as having occurred between six and nine in the morning. There was no reason to doubt Maud Lundin’s statement that he had been alive when she left home at half-past six. Neither Åsa Torell nor Martin Beck thought she had anything to do with the murder.
The fact that the front door had been unlocked had made it easy for someone to get into the house and surprise Petrus as he stood in the shower, but how the killer got there without being seen was more of a puzzle. Either he had come by car, which seemed the most likely, or by train, but it was strange that no one living nearby had noticed him. In an area where everyone knew one another, or at least knew their nearest neighbors and their cars, the chances of being seen ought to have been greatest during just that period between half-past six and nine in the morning. That was everyone’s most active time—the men were on their way to work, the children were walking to school and the housewives were at home starting their cleaning or gardening.
Nevertheless, though the knocking on nearby doors went on for several days, until practically every inhabitant in that part of Rotebro had been questioned, it was established that no one had noticed anyone or anything that could be linked with the murder. Pärsson and his “men,” in fact mostly Åsa Torell, had begun working on the theory that the killer lived in the neighborhood, but they had not yet come across anyone who either knew Petrus or could have had a motive for killing him.
Martin Beck and Benny Skacke devoted their time to trying to clarify Walter Petrus’s private life, professional activities and financial circumstances. The last of these was particularly difficult to shed any light on. Petrus appeared to have been involved in tax evasion on a major scale. His films were sold abroad, andhe could be presumed to have fat accounts in Swiss banks. There was no doubt that he had juggled his accounts and tax declarations, or that he had used skilled legal advisers. Martin Beck knew nothing about the intricacies of such financial finagling and he was only too happy to let the experts in that field try to clarify the picture.
Petrus Films, Inc., had its office on Nybrogatan. The office, which had once been a residential apartment, had been lovingly renovated and consisted of six rooms and a kitchen. The three employees had an office each, and their modern office furniture looked strangely out of place surrounded by tiled stoves, oak panels and plasterwork ceilings. Walter Petrus himself had presided from behind an enormous desk of jacaranda wood in a large, beautiful corner room with high windows. There was also a screening room with seats for ten people, and another room which appeared to be used as an archive and storeroom.
Martin Beck and Skacke spent a couple of mornings in the screening room trying to assess the results of Walter Petrus’s cinematic activities. They watched one film
Martin Beck got up. “Thank you for talking to me, and for being so honest.”
“You needn’t thank me for that. I’m always honest. May I go to my friend now? I’m tired.”
“Of course. Just tell Inspector Pärsson where we can get in touch with you first, all right?”
Maud Lundin got up and picked up a small white leather bag that had been lying at the end of the bed. Martin Beck watched her leave the room. She held herself very erect and seemed calm and collected. Her long, powerful body was well built and strong, and she must have been a whole head taller than the fat little film director.
He thought about what she had said about money and what you could get with it. Walter Petrus had gotten a pretty good woman with his.
6
The definitive medical report fixed Walter Petrus’s death as having occurred between six and nine in the morning. There was no reason to doubt Maud Lundin’s statement that he had been alive when she left home at half-past six. Neither Åsa Torell nor Martin Beck thought she had anything to do with the murder.
The fact that the front door had been unlocked had made it easy for someone to get into the house and surprise Petrus as he stood in the shower, but how the killer got there without being seen was more of a puzzle. Either he had come by car, which seemed the most likely, or by train, but it was strange that no one living nearby had noticed him. In an area where everyone knew one another, or at least knew their nearest neighbors and their cars, the chances of being seen ought to have been greatest during just that period between half-past six and nine in the morning. That was everyone’s most active time—the men were on their way to work, the children were walking to school and the housewives were at home starting their cleaning or gardening.
Nevertheless, though the knocking on nearby doors went on for several days, until practically every inhabitant in that part of Rotebro had been questioned, it was established that no one had noticed anyone or anything that could be linked with the murder. Pärsson and his “men,” in fact mostly Åsa Torell, had begun working on the theory that the killer lived in the neighborhood, but they had not yet come across anyone who either knew Petrus or could have had a motive for killing him.
Martin Beck and Benny Skacke devoted their time to trying to clarify Walter Petrus’s private life, professional activities and financial circumstances. The last of these was particularly difficult to shed any light on. Petrus appeared to have been involved in tax evasion on a major scale. His films were sold abroad, andhe could be presumed to have fat accounts in Swiss banks. There was no doubt that he had juggled his accounts and tax declarations, or that he had used skilled legal advisers. Martin Beck knew nothing about the intricacies of such financial finagling and he was only too happy to let the experts in that field try to clarify the picture.
Petrus Films, Inc., had its office on Nybrogatan. The office, which had once been a residential apartment, had been lovingly renovated and consisted of six rooms and a kitchen. The three employees had an office each, and their modern office furniture looked strangely out of place surrounded by tiled stoves, oak panels and plasterwork ceilings. Walter Petrus himself had presided from behind an enormous desk of jacaranda wood in a large, beautiful corner room with high windows. There was also a screening room with seats for ten people, and another room which appeared to be used as an archive and storeroom.
Martin Beck and Skacke spent a couple of mornings in the screening room trying to assess the results of Walter Petrus’s cinematic activities. They watched one film
Similar Books
