Roseanna Read online

  K: Was she very temperamental?

  P: She had no temperament at all.

  K: What was the direct cause of your sudden break-up?

  P: You can try to figure that one out yourself. Even you ought to have enough imagination for that.

  K: A man?

  P: A slob she wanted to sleep with while I sat and waited for him in some hole about thirty miles from here. He had misunderstood in some way — he was pretty dumb too — and thought that he was to pick me up at home. When he got there I'd already left. Roseanna was home, naturally. She was always home. And so whatever happened, happened. Thank God that slob had left by the time I got back. Otherwise I would have been behind bars in Sioux City at this point.

  K: How did you find out what had happened?

  P: Roseanna. She always told the truth. I asked her why she had done it. She said, ‘Now, Mary Jane, I wanted to do it.’ And besides she was logical: ‘Now, Mary Jane, it only shows that he isn't worth putting stock in.’

  K: Would you still state that you and Miss McGraw were friends?

  P: Yes, oddly enough. If Roseanna ever had a friend it was I. It was better after she had moved and we didn't have to see each other day in and day out. When she first came here — from college — she was always alone. Her parents had just died in Denver at almost the same time. She didn't have any brothers or sisters or any other relatives or any friends. She was also short of money. There was something muddled about her inheritance and year after year went by without it being settled. Eventually she got the money, right after she took that apartment.

  K: What was her character like?

  P: I think that she suffered some kind of independence complex which had some unusual expressions. One of her attitudes was to dress sloppily. She took a certain pride in looking horrible. At best she went around in slacks and a large, baggy sweater. It was hard for her to force herself to put on a dress to go to work. She had a lot of strange ideas. She almost never wore a bra and she needed to more than most of us. She hated to wear shoes. In general, she said she didn't like clothing. When she was at home she often ran around naked the entire day. She never wore a nightgown or pyjamas. That irritated me terribly.

  K: Was she messy?

  P: Only with her appearance, but I am sure that was put on. She pretended that she never realized there were such things as cosmetics, hairdressers or nylon stockings. But with other things she was almost meticulous, above all with her books.

  K: What kind of interests did she have?

  P: She read a lot. Wrote a bit, but don't ask me what because I don't know. In the summer she was often out for hours. She said that she liked to walk. And then men. But she didn't have a lot of interests.

  K: Was Miss McGraw an attractive woman?

  P: Not at all. You ought to have understood that from what I've said. But she was man crazy and that goes a long way.

  K: Did she have any steady man in her life?

  P: When she moved out she did go around now and then with a man who worked for the Highway Department for half a year. I met him a few times. Lord knows how often she cheated on him, probably hundreds.

  K: While you were living together, did she often bring men to the apartment?

  P: Yes.

  K: What do you mean by often?

  P: What do you mean?

  K: Did it happen several times a week?

  P: Oh, no, there had to be some moderation.

  K: How often did it happen? Answer!

  P: Don't use that tone of voice.

  K: I'll use any tone of voice I want to. How often did she bring men home to the apartment?

  P: Once or twice a month.

  K: Was it always different men?

  P: I don't know. I didn't always see them. As a matter of fact I usually didn't see them. At times she kept pretty much to herself. Often she had people here when I was out dancing or someplace.

  K: Didn't Miss McGraw go out with you?

  P: Never. I don't even know if she could dance.

  K: Can you give me the names of any of the men she went around with?

  P: There was a German student whom we met at the library. I introduced them. I remember his name was Mildenberger. Uli Mildenberger. She brought him home three or four times.

  K: During how long a period?

  P: A month, possibly five weeks. But he telephoned her every day, and between times they certainly met somewhere else. He lived here in Lincoln for several years but went back to Europe last spring.

  K: What did he look like?

  P: Handsome. Tall, blond and broad-shouldered.

  K: Did you have intimate relations with this Mildenberger?

  P: What the hell business is that of yours?

  K: How many different men do you think she brought home during the time you lived together?

  P: Oh, six or seven.

  K: Was Miss McGraw attracted to a certain type of man?

  P: In this instance she was perfectly normal. She wanted to have good looking guys. The kind that at least looked like men.

  K: What do you know about her trip?

  P: Only that she had been planning it for a long time. She wanted to take the boat over and then travel around Europe for a month and see as much as possible. Then she thought she might stay in one place for the rest of the time, in Paris or Rome or someplace. Why are you asking about all this anyway? The police over there shot the man that murdered her.

  K: That information was unfortunately incorrect. Due to a misunderstanding.

  P: May I finally go now? I actually have work to do.

  K: How did you react when you learned what had happened to Miss McGraw?

  P: At first it was a real shock but I wasn't terribly surprised.

  K: Why not?

  P: And you ask that? After you know how she lived?

  K: That will be all now. Goodbye, Miss Peterson.

  P: And you won't forget what you've promised?

  K: I haven't promised anything. You can shut off the tape recorder now, Jack.

  Martin Beck swung back in his chair, put his left hand to his mouth and bit on the knuckle of his index finger. Then he took the last remaining paper that he had received from Lincoln, Nebraska, and read through Kafka's explanation absentmindedly.

  ‘Roseanna Beatrice McGraw. Born, 18 May, 1937 in Denver, Colorado. Father, small-scale farmer. The farm was about twenty miles from Denver. Education: college in Denver and three years at the University of Colorado. Both parents died in the fall of 1960. Inheritance, about $20,000, paid out in July, 1962. Miss McGraw has not left a will and as far as one knows has no heirs.

  ‘As far as the reliability of the witnesses: my impression was that in some way Mary Jane Peterson altered reality and that she held back certain details, obviously ones that might be disadvantageous to her. I have had a chance to check out Mulvaney's testimony on several points. The statement that R. McG. had only met one other man during the period from November 1962 to July 1963 seems to be correct. I got this from some kind of diary that I found in her apartment. The date was 22 March and the man's initials are U. M. (Uli Mildenberger?) She always made a note of her relationships in the same way, a sort of code with the date and the initials. I have not been able to find any untruths or direct lies in Mulvaney's story.

  ‘Regarding the witnesses: Mulvaney is about six feet two inches tall, quite strong, blue eyed and has dark blond hair. Seems straightforward but a little naive. Mary Jane Peterson is quite a girl, attractive, stylishly dressed, strikingly slender and well developed. Neither of them has a police record, other than the ridiculous story about the trouble in the girls' apartment in 1962.

  (signed)’

  Martin Beck put on his jacket and set the lock on the door. Then he went back to his desk. He spread Kafka's papers out in front of him and sat completely still with his elbows on the desk and his forehead in his hands.

  14

  Martin Beck looked up from the records of the examinations when Mel
ander opened the door to his office. This was something that didn't happen very often.

  ‘Karl-Åke Eriksson-Stolt,’ said Melander. ‘Do you remember him?’

  Martin Beck thought for a moment.

  ‘Do you mean the fireman on the Diana? Was that his name?’ ‘He calls himself Eriksson now. Two and a half years ago he was called Eriksson-Stolt. That's when he was sentenced to a year in prison because he had seduced a girl who was not yet thirteen years old. Don't you remember? A tough, long-haired, fresh guy.’ ‘Yes, I think I remember. Are you sure it's the same fellow?’ ‘I checked with the Seamen's Association. It's the same guy.’ ‘I don't remember very well how it happened. Didn't he live in Sundyberg?’

  ‘No, in Hagalund, with his mother. It happened one day when his mother was at work. He didn't go to work. He took the janitor's daughter home with him. She wasn't quite thirteen and it was later proven that she was a bit retarded. He managed to get her to drink alcohol, I think it was aquavit mixed with juice, and when she was drunk enough, he slept with her.’

  ‘Yes, and I went out to get him. During the examination he tried to play tough and stated that he had thought that the girl was of age and that she wanted to. She really didn't look a day over eleven and even then she seemed young for her age. The doctor who examined her said that she may have gone through shock, but I don't know. In any case, Eriksson was sentenced to a year of hard labour.’

  Martin Beck had a chill when he realized that this man had been on board the Diana at the same time as Roseanna.

  ‘Where is he now?’ he asked.

  ‘On a Finnish freighter. It's called the Kalajoki. I'll find out where she is. Notice that I said she’

  The same minute that Melander closed the door behind him, Martin Beck picked up the telephone and called Ahlberg.

  ‘We've got to get hold of him,’ said Ahlberg. ‘Call me as soon as you have talked to the shipping line. I want him here, even if I have to swim after him myself. The other fireman has also shipped out on another boat, but I'll find out where soon. In addition, I ought to talk with the chief engineer again. He's left the sea and is now working for Electrolux.’

  They hung up. Martin Beck sat unoccupied for a few minutes while he wondered what he should do. Suddenly, he became nervous, left his office, and walked upstairs.

  Melander had just finished a telephone conversation when he entered the room. Kollberg wasn't there.

  ‘That boat, the Kalajoki. It's just leaving Holmsund. It's tied up at Söderhamn for the night. The shipping line has confirmed the fact that he's on board.’

  Martin Beck returned to his office and called Ahlberg again.

  ‘I'll take one of my boys with me and drive up and get him,’ said Ahlberg. ‘I'll call you when we have got him.’

  They were silent for a moment. Then Ahlberg said: ‘Do you think it was him?’

  ‘I don't know. It could be a possibility of course. I have only seen him once, and that was more than two years ago, just before he was sentenced. A pretty twisted type.’

  Martin Beck spent the rest of the afternoon in his office. He wasn't in the mood to work but he managed to get a number of routine things done. He kept thinking about the Finnish freighter that was on its way to Söderhamn. And about Roseanna McGraw.

  When he went home he tried to work on his model ship but after a while he merely sat there with his elbows on the table and his hands clasped in front of him. He could hardly expect to hear anything from Ahlberg before the next morning and finally he went to bed. He slept fitfully and awakened at five o'clock in the morning.

  By the time the morning newspaper hit the floor with a thump he was already shaved and dressed. He had read through the sports pages by the time Ahlberg called.

  ‘We have him here now. He's playing hard-boiled. Not saying anything. I can't exactly say that I like him. By the way, I've spoken to the Prosecutor. He says that we need an expert examiner and that I should ask you to come down. I think it's necessary.’

  Martin Beck looked at his wristwatch. By now he knew the time-table by heart.

  ‘Okay. I can make the seven-thirty train. See you. So long.’

  He asked the taxi to drive past Kristineberg where he stopped for his file containing the examination records. At twenty-five minutes after seven he was sitting on the train.

  Karl-Åke Eriksson-Stolt was born in Katarina parish twenty-two years ago. His father died when he was six years old and the following year his mother had moved to Hagalund. He was an only child. His mother, who was a seamstress, had supported him until he had finished school. The only teacher who had remembered him said that he had been of average intelligence, noisy and insubordinate. After he left school, he had held several different jobs, mostly as a messenger boy or a construction worker. When he was eighteen years old he went to sea, first as an ordinary seaman and then as a fireman. The Seamen's Association had nothing particular to say about him. One year later he moved back to his mother's and let her support him for a year until the State took over that detail. A year and a half ago he was released from the penitentiary.

  Martin Beck had studied this record the day before but read through it carefully one more time. There was also a statement from the examining psychiatrist in the folder. It was rather short and mainly spoke about libido, lethargy and frigidity. In addition it stated that Karl-Åke Eriksson-Stolt had psychopathic tendencies and a strongly developed sex drive, a combination that could lead to abnormal expressions.

  Martin Beck went directly to the police station from the railway station and knocked on Ahlberg's door at ten minutes to eleven. Superintendent Larsson was in Ahlberg's office. They looked tired and worried and seemed relieved to pass the ball to someone else. Neither of them had succeeded in getting a word out of Eriksson with the exception of a number of swear words.

  Ahlberg looked through the file quickly. When he closed it Martin Beck said: ‘Did you get hold of the other fireman?’

  ‘Yes, in a way. He's working on a German boat that is in the Hook of Holland right now. I telephoned Amsterdam this morning and spoke with the police superintendent there who knew a little German. You ought to hear my German. If I understood him correctly there is someone in The Hague who speaks Danish who could take care of the official examination. Now if he understood me correctly, we ought to hear something from there tomorrow.’

  Ahlberg sent out for coffee and after Martin Beck had two cups, he said: ‘Okay. We might as well start now. Where shall we work?’

  ‘In the next room. There's a tape recorder and whatever else you need there.’

  Eriksson looked just about the way Martin Beck had remembered him. About five feet, eleven inches tall, thin and gangly. A long, thin face with close-set blue eyes under long, curly eyelashes and straight, heavy eyebrows. A straight nose, a small mouth with thin lips and a weak chin. Long whiskers and a little dark moustache which Martin Beck could not remember having seen before. He had bad posture and was round-shouldered. He was dressed in a pair of old blue-jeans, a blue workshirt, black leather vest and black shoes with pointed toes.

  ‘Sit down,’ said Martin Beck and nodded towards a chair on the other side of the desk. ‘Cigarette?’

  Eriksson took the cigarette, lit it and sat down. He placed the cigarette in the corner of his mouth, slunk down in his chair and raised his right foot on his left knee. Then he put his thumbs inside his belt and tapped his left foot while he looked at the wall above Martin Beck's head.

  Martin Beck looked at him for a moment, turned on the tape recorder which was placed on a low table beside him, and began to read some of the papers in his file.

  ‘Eriksson, Karl-Åke. Born 23 November, 1941. Seaman, currently employed on the Finnish freighter Kalajoki. Home address, Hagalund, Solna. Is that right?’

  Eriksson made a small motion with his head.

  ‘I asked you a question. Is that right? Is the information correct? Answer. Yes or no.’

  E: Yes, damn it.

  B
: When did you sign on the Kalajoki?

  E: Three or four weeks ago.

  B: What did you do before that?

  E: Nothing particular.

  B: Where did you do nothing particular?