The Man Who Went Up In Smoke (11 page)

The cleaning woman had been into his room and switched off the light and closed the shutters. He did not bother to open them again. Now he knew that there would be no tall, dark man ouside looking up at his window.

Martin Beck switched on the overhead light and undressed. His head and left arm ached. He looked in the long mirror in the wardrobe. He had a large bruise above his right knee, and his left shoulder was swollen and black and blue. He ran his hand over his head and felt a large bump at the back of it. He could not find any more injuries.

The bed looked soft and cool and inviting. He switched off the light and crept down between the sheets. He lay on his back for a while and tried to think as he stared out into the half-light. Then he turned over on his side and fell asleep.

It was nearly two o'clock when he woke to the sound of the telephone ringing. It was Szluka.

'Have you slept?"

'Yes."

'Good. Can you come over?"

'Yes. Now?"

'I'll send a car. It'll be there in half an hour. Is that all right?"

'Yes. I'll be down in half an hour."

He showered and dressed and opened the shutters. The sun was blazing and the sharp light stung his eyes. He looked toward the quay on the other side of the river. The past night seemed unreal and remote to him.

The car, with the same driver as before, was waiting. He found his way to Szluka's room by himself and knocked before opening the door and going in.

Szluka was alone. He was sitting behind his desk with a sheaf of papers and the indispensable coffee cup in front of him. He nodded and motioned toward the chair Fröbe had sat in. Then he lifted the receiver, said something and put it back again.

'How are you feeling?" he said, looking at Martin Beck.

'Fine. I've slept. And you? How's it going?"

A policeman came in and placed two cups of coffee on the table. Then he took Szluka's empty cup and left.

'It's all finished now. I've got everything here," said Szluka, picking up the sheaf of papers.

'And Alf Matsson?" said Martin Beck.

'Well," said Szluka. "That's the only point that's not clear yet. I haven't managed to get anything there. They insist that they don't know where he is."

'But he was one of the gang?"

'Yes, in a way. He was their middleman. The whole thing was organised by Frobe and Radeberger. The girl was just used as a sort of clearinghouse for the whole business. Boeck, whatever her first name is."

Szluka fumbled in his papers.

'Ari," said Martin Beck. "Aranka."

'Yes, Ari Boeck. Frobe and Radeberger had already been smuggling hashish from Turkey some time before they met her. Both of them seem to have had relations with her. After a while, they realized they could use her in another way and told her about the narcotics smuggling. She had no objections to joining in on it. Then they both lived with her when she moved to Újpest. She seems to be a fairly loose sort of creature."

'Yes," said Martin Beck. "I suppose so."

'Radeberger and Frobe went to Turkey as travel guides. In Turkey they got hold of the hashish, which is quite cheap and easily obtainable there, and then smuggled it into Hun gary. It was fairly easy, especially since they were group guides and had to deal with all the luggage belonging to the party. Ari Boeck made contact with the middlemen and helped sell the drugs here in Budapest. Radeberger and Fröbe also traveled to other countries such as Poland, Czechoslovakia, Rumania and Bulgaria with hashish for their pushers."

'And Alf Matsson was one of them?" said Martin Beck.

'Alf Matsson was one of the pushers," said Szluka. "They had some others who came from England, Germany and Holland, either here or to some other East European country where they met Radeberger and Fröbe. They paid in Western currencies—pounds, dollars or marks—and got their hashish, which they then took back home with them and sold there."

'So everyone profited a good deal from the business, except the people who in the end bought the junk to use," said Martin Beck. "It's odd that they've managed to get away with this for so long without being discovered."

Szluka rose and went across to the window. He stood there for a while, his hands behind his back, looking out onto the street. Then he went back and sat down again.

'No," he said. "It's not really that strange. So long as none of the stuff was sold here or in any other socialist country, except to the middlemen, then they had every chance of getting away with it. In the capitalist countries concerned, they don't think there's anything worth smuggling out of Eastern Bloc countries, so customs control hardly exists for travelers from these countries. On the other hand, if they'd tried to find a market for their goods here, they'd have soon been caught. But that wouldn't have been worth their while, either. It's Western currencies they want."

'They must have made a good deal of money," said Martin Beck.

'Yes," said Szluka. "But the pushers made a lot out of it too. The whole thing was quite cleverly organized, actually. If you hadn't come out here looking for Alf Matsson, it might have been a long time before we'd found all this out."

'What do they say about Alf Matsson?"

'They've admitted he was their pusher in Sweden. Over a period of a year he'd bought quite a lot of hashish from them. But they maintain they haven't seen him since May, when he was here to pick up a consignment. He didn't get as much as he wanted at that time, so he'd communicated with Ari Boeck again fairly soon. They say that they'd agreed to meet him here in Budapest almost three weeks ago, but he never turned up. They claim that the stuff bidden in the car was put aside for him."

Martin Beck sat in silence for a moment. Then he said:

'He might have quarreled with them for one reason or another and threatened to report them. Then they might have got scared and done away with him. The way they tried to get rid of me last night."

Szluka sat in silence. After a while Martin Beck went on, quietly, as if talking to himself, "That's what must have happened."

Szluka got up and paced the floor for a bit. Then he said, "That's what I thought had happened too."

He fell silent again and stopped in front of the map.

'What do you think now?" said Martin Beck.

Szluka turned and looked at him.

'I don't know," he said. "I thought perhaps you'd like to talk to one of them yourself. This Radeberger. The one you fought with last night. He's talkative and I have an impression that he's too stupid to be able to lie well. Would you like to question him? Perhaps you'd do better than I did."

'Yes, please," said Martin Beck. "I'd very much like to question him."

Tetz Radeberger came into the room. He was dressed as he had been the previous night, in a snug pullover, thin Dacron trousers with elastic at the waist and light, rubber-soled cloth shoes. Dressed to kill. He stopped inside the door and bowed. The policeman escorting him prodded him lightly in the back.

Martin Beck gestured toward the chair on the other side of the desk, and the German sat down. There was an expectant and uncertain look in his deep-blue eyes. He had a bandage on his forehead and there was a blue swelling at his hairline. Otherwise he looked well and strong and fairly intact.

'We're going to talk about Alf Matsson," said Martin Beck.

'I don't know where he is," said Radeberger immediately.

'Possibly. But we're going to talk about him all the same."

Szluka had got out a tape recorder. It was standing on the right of the desk and Martin Beck stretched out his hand and switched it on. The German kept a close watch on his movements.

'When did you meet Alf Matsson for the first time?"

'Two years ago."

'Where?"

'Here in Budapest. At a place called the Ifjusåg. A sort of young people's hotel."

'How did you meet him?"

'Through Ari Boeck. She worked there. That was long before she moved to Újpest."

'What happened then?"

'Nothing special. Theo and I had just come back from Turkey. We arranged trips there for tourists. From resorts in Rumania and Bulgaria. We brought a little stuff back with us from Istanbul."

'Had you already begun to smuggle drugs then?"

'Only a little. For our own use, so to speak. But we didn't use it all that often. We never use it now." He paused briefly, and then said, "It's not good for you."

'What did you want it for then?"

'Well, for broads and all that. It's good for broads. They get… more… inclined…"

'Matsson, then? Where does he come into the picture?"

'We offered him some to smoke. He wasn't all that interested either. Drank liquor mostly."

He thought for a moment, then said foolishly, "That's not good for your body either."

'Did you sell narcotics to Matsson that time?"

'No, but he got a little. We hadn't got all that much. He grew interested when he heard how easy it was to buy in Istanbul."

'Had you yourselves already thought about smuggling on a large scale at that time?"

'We'd talked about it. The difficulty was getting the stuff into the countries where it paid you to sell it"

'Where, for instance?"

'Scandinavia, Holland, at home in Germany. The customs and the police are on the alert there, especially when they know you come from countries like Turkey. Or North Africa and Spain too, for that matter."

'Did Matsson offer to become a pusher?"

'Yes. He said that when you traveled from Eastern Europe, the customs people were hardly ever interested in your luggage, especially if you were flying. It wasn't difficult for us to get the stuff out of Turkey, to here, for instance. We were travel guides, after all. But then we couldn't get much farther with it. The risks were too great. And you can't sell it here. You'd get caught, and anyhow, it isn't worth it." He thought about this for a moment. "We didn't want to get caught," he said. "I can see that. Did you make an agreement with Matsson then?"

'Yes. He had a good idea. We were to meet at different places—ones that suited Theo and me. We let him know and then he went there for his magazine. It was a good cover-up. Looked innocent."

'How did he pay you?"

'In dollars—cash. It was a fine plan, and we built up our organization that summer. Got hold of more pushers—a Dutchman we met in Prague and—"

This was Szluka's department. Martin Beck said, "Where did you and Matsson meet next time?"

'In Constanta, in Rumania, three weeks later. Everything went very smoothly."

'Was Miss Boeck in on it then too?" "Ari? No, what use would she have been?" "But she knew what you were doing?" "Yes, part of it anyhow."

'How many times did you and Matsson meet altogether?" "Ten, maybe fifteen. It worked beautifully. He always paid what we asked and must have earned a lot himself." "How much, do you think?" "Don't know, but he always had plenty of money." "Where is he now?" "I don't know." "Really?"

'Yes, it's true. We met here in May, when Ari had moved to Újpest. He stayed at that young people's hotel. He got a shipment at that point. He said he had a big market, and we decided that we should meet here again on the twenty-third of July." "And?"

'We came here on the twenty-first. That was a Thursday. But he never turned up."

'He was here in Budapest. He came on the twenty-second in the evening. He left his hotel on the twenty-third, in the morning. Where were you going to meet?"

'In Újpest. At Ari's place."

'So he went there on the twenty-third in the morning."

'No, I tell you. He never turned up. We waited, but he didn't come. Then we phoned the hotel, but he wasn't there."

'Who called?"

'Theo and I did, and Ari. We took turns."

'Did you call from Újpest?"

'No. From different places. He didn't come, I tell you. We sat there waiting."

'You claim you haven't seen him since he came here, in other words?"

'Yes."

'Let's pretend that I believe you. You haven't met Matsson. But that doesn't stop Fröbe or Miss Boeck from having contacted him, does it?"

'No, I know they haven't."

'How do you know that?"

Radeberger's expression began to grow slightly desperate. He was sweating freely. It was very hot in the room.

'Now listen," he said. "I don't know what you think, but that other man seems to believe we got rid of him. But why should we do that? We made money off him, a lot of money."

'Did you give Miss Boeck money too?"

'Oh, yes. She helped and got her share. Enough so that she didn't have to work."

Martin Beck stared at the man for a long time. Finally he said, "Did you kill him?"

'No, I keep telling you. Would we have stayed on here for three weeks with nearly that whole supply of stuff if we'd done that?"

His voice had grown shrill and tense.

'Did you like Alf Matsson?"

The man's eyes flickered.

'Please answer when I ask you something," said Martin Beck seriously.

'Of course."

'Miss Boeck appears to have said at her interrogation that neither you nor Theo Fröbe liked Matsson."

'He was nasty when he drank. He… despised us because we were Germans."

He turned an appealing blue look upon Martin Beck and said, "And that's not fair, is it?"

There was a silent pause. Tetz Radeberger did not like it. He fidgeted and pulled nervously at the joints of his fingers.

'We haven't killed anyone," he said. "We're not that kind."

'You tried to kill me last night"

'That was different."

The man said this in such a low voice that his words were almost inaudible.

'In what way?"

'It was our only chance."

'Chance to what? To be hanged? Or to get a life sentence in prison?"

The German gave him a shattered look.

'You'll probably get that anyway," said Martin Beck, in a friendly way. "Have you been to prison before?"

'Yes. At home."

'Well, what did you mean by your only chance being to try to kill me?"

'Don't you see? When you came to trjpest and had his—Matsson's—passport with you, we thought at first that he hadn't been able to come and had sent you instead. But you didn't say anything, and besides you weren't the right type. So Matsson must have been caught and spilled the beans. But we didn't know who you were. We'd already been here twenty days, and we had the whole consignment lying around, and we were getting nervous about it. And after three weeks we'd have to get our visas extended. So Theo followed you when you went and…"

'Yes, go on."

'And I took the car apart and hid the stuff. Theo couldn't figure out who you were, so we agreed that Ari should find out. The next day, Theo followed you to those baths. He phoned Ari from there and she went and watched for you outside. Then Theo saw you together with that guy in the pool. Afterward he followed the other guy and saw him go into the police station. So it was obvious. All that afternoon and evening we waited and nothing happened. We figured you hadn't said anything yet or else the police would already have been there. Then Ari came back during the night."

'What had she found out?"

'I don't know, but it was something. She just said, 'Fix that bastard, and quick.' She was in a bad mood. Then she went into her room and slammed the door behind her."

'Oh?"

'Next day we watched you all the time. We were in a hell of a situation. We had to keep you quiet before you went to the police. We didn't get a chance and had almost given up hope when you went out in the night. Theo followed you across the bridge and I drove around with the car across the other bridge, Lane-hid. Then we changed over. Theo didn't dare do it. And I'm the strongest. I've always looked after my body."

He fell silent for a moment then said appealingly, as if this were some excuse, "We didn't know you were the police."

Martin Beck did not reply.

'Are you a policeman?"

'Yes, I'm a policeman. Let's go back to Alf Matsson. You said that you met Mm through Miss Boeck. Had they known each other long?"

'Awhile. Ari had been on some athletic team in Sweden, swimming, and she met him there. Then she wasn't allowed to swim any more, but he looked her up when he came here."

'Are Matsson and Miss Boeck good friends?"

'Fairly."

'Do they often have intimate relations with each other?"

'Do you mean do they sleep together? Of course."

'Do you sleep with Miss Boeck too?"

'Of course. When I feel like it. Theo too. Ari is a nymphomaniac. There's not much you can do about it. Obviously Matsson slept with her when he was here. Once we all three had a go at her, in the same room. Ari does anything in that line. Otherwise she's a good girl."

'Good?"

'Yes, she does what you tell her. As long as you fuck her now and then. I don't do it so much now. It's not really very good for you to do it too much. But Theo is always at it. So he's got no energy for anything."

'Have you never quarreled with Matsson?"

'About Ari? She's nothing to fight over."

'But about other things?"

'Not about business. He was good at the business."

'Otherwise then?"

'Once he kicked up such a fuss I had to smack him. He was drunk at the time, of course. Then Ari took him in hand and calmed him down. That was a long time ago."

'Where do you think Matsson is now?"

Radeberger shook his head helplessly.

'I don't know. Here somewhere." "Didn't he associate with other people here?" "He just came, collected his consignment and paid. And then he did some kind of magazine article to make it all watertight. Three or four days later he went back."

Martin Beck sat silently for a while, looking at the man who had tried to kill him.

'I think that'll do now," he said, switching off the tape recorder.

Evidently the German still had something on his mind.

'Say, that business yesterday… Can you forgive me?" "No. I can't. Good-bye."

He made a sign to the policeman, who rose, took Radeberger by the arm and led him toward the door. Martin Beck watched the blond Teuton thoughtfully. Then he said, "One moment, Herr Radeberger. This is nothing to do with me personally. Yesterday you tried to murder a person to save your own skin. You had planned the murder as best you could and it was no thanks to you that it didn't succeed. That's not only illegal, but it's also a breach of a basic rule of life and an important principle. That's why it's unforgivable. That's all. Think about it."

Martin Beck rewound the tape, put it into the cassette and returned to Szluka.

'I think you're probably right. Perhaps they haven't killed him."

'No," said Szluka. "It doesn't seem like it. We've got all the stops out now, looking for him."

'So have we."

'Has your assignment become official yet?"

'Not so far as I know."

Szluka scratched the back of his neck.

'Peculiar," he said.

'What?"

'That we can't locate him."

Half an hour later, Martin Beck returned to his hotel. It was already time for dinner. Dusk fell over the Danube, and on the other side of the river he saw the quay and the stone wall and the steps.