Roseanna. Henning Mankell

tomorrow,’ Martin Beck said.

      ‘Great,’ said Kollberg and yawned.

      Martin Beck took a step towards the door and then turned and looked at the man at the typewriter.

      ‘Are you coming along to the hotel?’ he asked.

      Ahlberg put his head back and looked at the ceiling. Then he got up and began to straighten his tie.

      In the hotel lobby they separated from Melander.

      ‘I've already eaten,’ he said. ‘Good night.’

      Melander was a clean-living man. In addition he was economical with his expense account and subsisted mainly on hot dogs and soft drinks when he was out on a job.

      The other three went into the dining room and sat down.

      ‘A gin and tonic,’ said Kollberg. ‘Schweppes.’

      The others ordered beef, aquavit and beer. Kollberg took his drink and finished it in three swallows. Martin Beck took out a copy of the material which had been given to the reporters and read through it.

      ‘Will you do me a favour,’ said Martin Beck looking at Kollberg.

      ‘Always ready to,’ answered Kollberg.

      ‘I want you to write a new description, write it for me personally. Not a report but a real description. Not a description of a corpse but of a human being. Details. How she might have looked when she was alive. There's no hurry about it.’

      Kollberg sat quietly for a while.

      ‘I understand what you mean,’ he said. ‘By the way, our friend Ahlberg supplied the world press with an untruth today. She actually did have a birthmark, on the inside of her left thigh. Brown. It looked like a pig.’

      ‘We didn't see it,’ said Ahlberg.

      ‘I saw it,’ Kollberg said.

      Before he left he said:

      ‘Don't worry about it. No one can see everything. Anyway, it's your murder now. Forget that you've seen me. It was only an illusion. So long.’

      ‘So long,’ said Ahlberg.

      They ate and drank silently. A lot later and without looking up from his drink, Ahlberg said:

      ‘Are you planning to let this one go now?’

      ‘No,’ replied Martin Beck.

      ‘I'm not either,’ said Ahlberg. ‘Never.’

      Half an hour later they separated.

      When Martin Beck went up to his room he found some folded papers under his door. He opened them and immediately recognized Kollberg's orderly, easy-to-read, handwriting. Because he had known Kollberg well for a long time he wasn't at all surprised.

      He undressed, washed the top of his body in cold water and put on his pyjamas. Then he put his shoes out in the corridor, laid his trousers under the mattress, turned on the night table lamp, turned off the ceiling light and got into bed.

      Kollberg had written:

      The following can be said about the woman who is occupying your thoughts:

      1 She was (as you already know) 5 feet, 6 1/2 inches tall, had grey-blue eyes and dark brown hair. Her teeth were good and she had no scars from operations or other marks on her body with the exception of a birthmark, high up on the inside of her left thigh about an inch and a half from her groin. It was brown and about as large as a dime, but uneven and looked like a little pig. She was, according to the man who performed the autopsy (and I had to press him to tell me this on the telephone), 27 or 28 years old. She weighed about 123 pounds.

      2 She was built in the following manner: Small shoulders and a very small waist, broad hips and a well developed rear end. Her measurements ought to have been approximately: 32-23-37. Thighs: heavy and long. Legs: muscular with relatively heavy calves but not fat. Her feet were in good condition with long, straight toes. No corns but heavy calluses on the soles of her feet, as if she had gone barefoot a lot and worn sandals or rubber boots a great deal of the time. She had a lot of hair on her legs, and must have been bare-legged most of the time. Condition of her legs: some defects. She was somewhat knock-kneed and seems to have walked with her toes pointed outward. She had a good deal of flesh on her body but was not fat. Slender arms. Small hands but long fingers. Shoe size was 7.

      3 The suntan on her body showed: she had sunbathed in a two-piece bathing suit and worn sunglasses. She had worn thong sandals on her feet.

      4 Her sex organ was well developed with a heavy growth of dark hair. Her breasts were small and slack. The nipples were large and dark brown.

      5 Rather short neck. Strong features. A large mouth with full lips. Straight, thick, dark eyebrows and lighter eyelashes. Not long. Straight, short nose which was rather broad. No traces of cosmetics on her face. Fingernails and toenails hard and clipped short. No traces of nail polish.

      6 In the record of the autopsy (which you have read) I place special attention on the following: She had not had a child and had never had an abortion. The murder had not been committed in connection with any conventional act (no trace of sperm). She had eaten three to five hours before she died: meat, potatoes, strawberries and milk. No traces of sickness or any organic changes. She did not smoke.

      I've left a call to be awakened at six o'clock. So long.

      Martin Beck read through Kollberg's observations twice before he folded the papers and laid them on his night table. Then he turned off the light and rolled over towards the wall.

      It had begun to get light before he fell asleep.

       6

      The heat was already trembling over the asphalt when they drove away from Motala. It was early in the morning and the road lay flat and empty ahead of them. Kollberg and Melander sat in the front and Martin Beck sat in the back seat with the window down and let the breeze blow on his face. He didn't feel well and it was probably due to the coffee that he had gulped down while he was getting dressed.

      ‘Kollberg was driving, poorly and unevenly,’ Martin Beck thought, but for once he remained silent. Melander looked blankly out the window and bit hard on the stem of his pipe.

      After they had driven silently for about three-quarters of an hour Kollberg nodded his head to the left where a lake could be seen between the trees.

      ‘Lake Roxen,’ he said. ‘Boren, Roxen and Glan. Believe it or not that's one of the few things I remember from school.’

      The others said nothing.

      They stopped at a coffee house in Linköping. Martin Beck still didn't feel well and remained in the car while the others had something to eat.

      The food had put Melander in a better mood and the two men in the front seat exchanged remarks during the rest of the trip. Martin Beck still remained silent. He didn't want to talk.

      When they reached Stockholm he went directly home. His wife was sitting on the balcony sunbathing. She had shorts on and when she heard the front door open she took her brassiere from the balcony railing and got up.

      ‘Hi,’ she said. ‘How are you?’

      ‘Terrible. Where are the children?’

      ‘They took their bikes and went off to swim. You look pale. You haven't eaten properly of course. I'll fix some breakfast for you.’

      ‘I'm tired,’ said Martin Beck. ‘I don't want anything to eat.’

      ‘But it will be ready in a second. Sit down and …’

      ‘I don't want any breakfast. I think I'll sleep for a while. Wake me up in an hour.’

      It was a quarter past ten.

      He