'But you finally did find a way out,' said Martin Beck after a moment of silence. 'Though not an especially good one.'
'I worried about it until I thought I'd lose my mind. In the end I was desperate. I just wanted to be rid of her and her nagging and her threats. Yes, I thought of a hundred different ways. And then I thought of that sex lunatic who lived next door, and I reckoned that if I make it look like a sex murder, everyone would think it was him.'
He looked at Martin Beck - a quick, fleeting glance - and there was something almost triumphant in his voice.
'And that is what you thought, isn't it?'
'Weren't you afraid that an innocent man would be convicted for something you'd done?'
'He wasn't innocent. He'd already killed one person, and they shouldn't have let him out anyway. No, I didn't worry about that.'
'How did you do it?'
I picked her up in my car as she was waiting for the bus. I knew her car was being serviced. Then I drove to this place I'd picked out earlier. She thought we were going to make love. We used to do that sometimes, outdoors, in the summer.'
He suddenly stared at Martin Beck, and his eyes went rigid. His whole face altered. His mouth fell open, his lips tightened across his teeth, and there was a rattling in his throat He raised his left hand, and Martin Beck took his wrist and stood up. The hand clasped his hand convulsively, and the man's eyes opened wide and stared fixedly at the spot where Martin Beck's face had been. Martin Beck glanced up and saw the bright green dot moving slowly across the screen in a straight line. The device was giving off a faint, steady whistling sound.
Martin Beck felt the hand he was holding relax, and he put
it on the cover and rang the buzzer before running out into the
corridor. -
Within a minute, the room was full of people in white coats. Before the door closed, he saw something that looked like a table top being shoved in under the lifeless body.
He waited outside the door. After a while it opened, and someone handed him the tape recorder.
He opened his mouth to say something, but the man in white shook his head.
'I don't think we're going to pull him through this time,' he said.
The door closed again, and Martin Beck was left standing there with his tape recorder. He rolled up the microphone cord and stuffed it into his pocket. The arrest warrant was in there already, neatly typed, folded, and unused.
Nor would he have any use for it. Forty-five minutes later, a doctor came in to him in the waiting room and informed him that they had not been able to save Clark Sundström's life. The second blood clot had entered the heart directly and stopped there.
Martin Beck went to the police building on Davidshall Square and left the tape for Per Månsson, along with instructions for closing the case.
Then he took a taxi to Anderslöv.
The fog lay thick and silver grey across the plain. Visibility was only a few yards, and to the side he could see nothing but the shoulder and the ditch, with dry clumps of yellow grass and occasional patches of snow. If he hadn't seen this countryside before in clear weather, he would have no idea what was hidden in the fog. But he had seen the plain and knew what it was like. Not flat and monotonous the way it looked from an aeroplane, but gently rolling, with fields of beets and hay, pastures with rows of naked, straggling willows, small whitewashed churches, and farms surrounded by enormous elms and beeches. He had also seen the sky over the plain on a clear day, as high and wide as he had otherwise seen it only above the sea, or with flying clouds that threw fleeting shadows across the bright, open landscape. But now the fog was like a wall on both sides of the road, and the journey through the grey mist had an element of timelessness and unreality.
They passed the side road to Domme, but he couldn't see the houses up on the hill.
Allwright was sitting at his desk in his office, drinking tea and glancing through a pile of stencilled notices. Timmy lay stretched out across his feet under the desk. Martin Beck sank down in the visitor's chair, and Timmy gave him his usual hearty welcome. Martin Beck pushed the dog away and wiped off his face. Allwright put the packet of papers to one side and looked at him.
'Tired?'he said.
'Yes.'
'Tea?'
'Yes, thanks.'
Allwright went out and came back with a porcelain mug, which he filled with tea from the pot. 'Are you going home now?' he asked. Martin Beck nodded.
'My plane leaves in two hours,' he said. 'If it takes off at all in this fog.'
'We'll call in an hour and find out. The fog may lift. Have you still got your room at the inn?'
'Yes,' said Martin Beck. 'I came directly here.'
'Why don't you go lie down and get some sleep. I'll wake you when it's time to leave.'
Martin Beck nodded. He was really very tired. He packed his few things and lay down on the bed and fell asleep almost instantly. Before he went to sleep it occurred to him that he ought to call Rhea.
He woke up as Herrgott Allwright banged on the door and came into his room. He looked at the clock and discovered to his amazement that he had slept for over three hours.
'The fog's lifting,' Allwright said. 'They think they can take off in forty-five minutes. I didn't want to wake you up unnecessarily. But we've got to go now.'
They got into the car and headed for Stump.
'Folke's back at home,' Allwright said. 'I drove by Domme half an hour ago, and he was hard at work fixing his hen house.'
'What will happen to Sigbrit Mård's house?' said Martin Beck. 'She didn't have any relatives, did she?'
'No. There'll be an auction, I suppose. You're not thinking of moving down here, are you?'
Allwright looked at Martin Beck and laughed.
'But you can't bring the Murder Squad with you,' he said.
The sun was beginning to break through the fog, and at the airport they were assured that the plane would take off soon. Martin Beck checked his bag and walked back out to the car with Allwright. He leaned into the back seat and scratched Timmy behind one ear. Then he clapped Allwright on the shoulder.
'Thanks for everything,' he said.
'You'll be back, I hope,' said Allwright. 'Unofficially, I mean. I'm not going to put up with any more murders in this district. Why don't you come down for a holiday?'
'Maybe I will,' said Martin Beck. 'So long.'
Allwright climbed into his car.
'We could go pheasant hunting’ he said and winked.
Martin Beck stood and watched the red car drive away. Then he walked into the airport building and called Rhea Nielsen.
'I'll be home in a couple of hours,' he said.
'Then I'll go over to your place now,' she said. 'And fix dinner. You'll want to eat?'
'I certainly will.'
'I've invented something new,' she said. 'Sort of a stew. And I'll pick up some wine on the way.' 'Good. I've missed you.' 'And I've missed you. Hurry.' A little while later he was in the air.
The plane made a wide sweep, and the plains of Skåne lay beneath him in the sunshine, while off to the south he could see the ocean, blue and sparkling. Then his view disappeared as the plane climbed into a bank of clouds and headed north.
He was on his way home.
And there was someone waiting for him.