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

walked toward the entrance hall. Just as he was passing, Martin Beck said, "Mr. Molin?"
    The man stopped. "Just a moment," he said, and went on out.
    A short while later, he returned, breathed heavily all over Martin Beck, and said, "Do we know each other?"
    'No, not yet. But perhaps you'd like to sit down a moment and have a beer with me. There's something I'd like to ask you about."
    He himself could hear that it didn't sound especially good. Smelled of police business a mile away. But it worked any" how. Molin sat down. He had fair, rather thin hair, combed forward onto his forehead. His beard was reddish and neat. He looked about thirty-five and was quite plump. He waved a waitress over to him.
    'Say Stina, get me a round, will you?"
    The waitress nodded and looked at Martin Beck.
    'The same," he said.
    A "round" turned out to be a bulbous and considerably larger stein than the cylindrical though quite large one he himself had drunk with his sandwich.
    Molin took a large gulp and wiped his mustache with his handkerchief.
    'Uh-huh," he said. "What was it you wanted to talk to me about? Hangovers?"
    'About Alf Matsson," said Martin Beck. "You're good friends, aren't you?"
    It still didn't sound quite right and he tried to improve on it by saying, "Buddies, aren't you?"
    'Of course. What's up with him? Does he owe you money?"
    Molin looked suspiciously and haughtily at Martin Beck.
    'Well then, I'd first like to point out that I'm not any kind of collection agency."
    Clearly, he would have to watch his tongue. Moreover, the man was a journalist.
    'No, nothing like that at all," said Martin Beck.
    'Then what do you want Alfie for?"
    'Alfie and I've known each other for a long time. We worked on the same… well, we were on the same job together a number of years ago. I met him quite by chance a few weeks ago and he promised to do a job for me, and then I never heard another word from him. He talked about you quite a bit, so I thought perhaps you'd know where he was."
    Somewhat exhausted by this strenuous oratorical effort, * Martin Beck took a deep gulp of his beer. The other man followed suit.
    'Oh, hell. You're an old pal of Alfie's, are you? The fact is that I've been wondering where he was too. But I suppose he's stayed on in Hungary. He's not in town, anyhow. Or we'd have seen him here."
    'In Hungary? What's he doing there?"
    'On some trip for that gossip sheet he works for. But he should really be home by now. When he left, he said be was only going to be away for two or three days."
    'Did you see him before he left?"
    'Yes indeed. The night before. We were here in the daytime and then went to a couple of other places in the evening."
    'You and him?"
    'Yes, and some of the others. I don't really remember who. Per Kronkvist and Stig Lund were there, I think. We got really stoned. Yes, Åke and Pia were there too. Don't you know Åke, by the way?"
    Martin Beck thought. It seemed somewhat pointless.
    'Åke? I don't know. Which Åke?"
    'Åke Gunnarsson," said Molin, turning around toward the table where he had been sitting before. Two of the men had left during their conversation. The two remaining were sitting silently over their beers.
    'He's sitting over there," said Molin. "The guy with the beard.'"
    One of the beards had gone, so there was no doubt which of them was Gunnarsson. The man looked quite pleasant.
    'No," said Martin Beck. "I don't think I know him. Where does he work?"
    Molin gave the name of a publication that Martin Beck had never heard of, but it sounded like some kind of auto magazine.
    'Åke's all right. He got pretty high that night too, if I remember rightly. Otherwise, he doesn't get really drunk very often. No matter how much he pours into himself."
    'Haven't you seen Alfie since then?"
    'That's a hell of a lot of questions you're asking. Aren't you going to ask me how I am too?"
    'Of course. How are you?"
    'Absolutely god-damned awful. Hangover. Damned bad one, too."
    Molin's fat face grew gloomy.