The Man Who Went Up In Smoke Read Online Free PDF Page A

he spent a lot of money on himself. In restaurants and on taxis and so on. Now I've got a job, so I earn a little myself."
    'How long have you been divorced?"
    'We're not divorced. It's not been granted yet. But he moved out of here almost eight months ago now. He got hold of a flat then. But even before that, he was away from home so much that it hardly made any difference."
    'But I suppose you're familiar with his habits—who he sees and where he usually goes?"
    'Not any longer. To be quite frank, I don't know what he's up to. Before, he used to hang around mostly with people from work. Journalists and the like. They used to sit around in a restaurant called the Tankard. But I don't know now. Maybe he's found some other place. Anyhow, that restaurant's moved or has been torn down, hasn't it?"
    She put out her cigarette and went over to the door to listen. Then she opened it cautiously and went in. A moment later she came out and shut the door just as carefully behind her.
    'He's asleep," she said.
    'Nice little boy," said Martin Beck.
    'Yes, he's nice."
    They sat silent for a moment, and then she said, "But All was on an assignment in Budapest, wasn't he? At least, I heard that somewhere. Mightn't he have stayed there? Or have gone somewhere else?"
    'Did he used to do that? When he was away on assignments?"
    'No," she said hesitantly. "No, actually he didn't. He's not especially conscientious and he drinks a lot, but while we were together he certainly didn't neglect his work. For instance, he was awfully particular about getting his manuscripts in at the time he'd promised. When he lived here, he often sat up late at night writing to get things finished in time."
    She looked at Martin Beck. For the first time during their conversation he noticed a vague anxiety in her eyes.
    'It does seem peculiar, doesn't it? That he's never got in touch with the magazine. Supposing something really has happened to him."
    'Have you any idea what might have happened to him?"
    She shook her head.
    'No, none at all."
    'You said before that he drinks. Does he drink a lot?"
    'Yes—sometimes, at least. Toward the end, when he lived here, he often came home drunk. If he generally ever came home at all."
    The bitter lines around her mouth had returned.
    'But didn't that affect his work?"
    'No, it didn't really. Anyhow not much. When he began working for this weekly magazine, he often got special assignments. Abroad and that kind of thing. In between, he didn't have much to do and was often free. He didn't have to be at the office much. That was when he drank. Sometimes he sat around that café for days on end."
    'I see," said Martin Beck. "Can you give me the names of anyone he used to go around with?"
    She gave Martin Beck the names of three journalists who were unknown to him, and he wrote them down on a taxi receipt he found in his inside pocket. She looked at him and said:
    'I thought the police always had little notebooks with black covers that they wrote everything down in. But maybe that's just in books and at the movies."
    Martin Beck got up.
    'If you hear anything from him, perhaps you'd be good enough to call me," she said. "Would you?"
    'Naturally," said Martin Beck.
    In the hall, he asked, "Where did you say he was living now?"
    'On Fleminggatan. Number 34. But I didn't say." "Have you got a key to the apartment?" "Oh, no. I haven't even been there."

Chapter 6

    On the door was a piece of cardboard with MATSSON lettered on it in India ink. The lock was an ordinary one and caused Martin Beck no difficulties. Aware that he was overstepping his authority, he made his way into the flat. On the doormat was some mail—a few advertisements, a postcard from Madrid signed by someone called Bibban, a sports car magazine in English and an electricity bill amounting to 28:45 kronor.
    The flat consisted of two large rooms, a kitchen, hall and toilet. There was no washroom, but two large wardrobes. The air in the flat was heavy and musty.
    In