The Man Who Went Up in Smoke: A Martin Beck Police Mystery (2) (Vintage Crime/Black Lizard)
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The masterful second novel in the Martin Beck series of mysteries by the internationally renowned crime writing duo Maj Sjöwall and Per Wahlöö, finds Beck searching for a well-known Swedish journalist who has disappeared without a trace.Inspector Martin Beck of the Stockholm Homicide Squad has his summer vacation abruptly terminated when the top brass at the foreign office pack him off to Budapest to search for Alf Matsson, a well-known Swedish journalist who has vanished. Beck investigates viperous Eastern European underworld figures and--at the risk of his life--stumbles upon the international racket in which Matsson was involved. With the coolly efficient local police on his side and a predatory nymphet on his tail, Beck pursues a case whose international implications grow with each new clue.
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
thank you,"' said Martin Beck. 'Personally, I usually bathe in the sulfur spring," said Szluka. "It is very relaxing." The spring ran from a stone cairn in the middle of an oval pool—the water was knee-deep there and its far end was shaded by the arcade. The pool was built tike a labyrinth, with walls that rose about ten inches above ground level. The walls formed back supports for molded armchairs in which one sat with the water up to one's chin. Szluka stepped down into the pool and began to
was five o'clock. They went down together. Backlund turned out to be an elderly man with a friendly, ordinary face. He shook hands and said: 'Oh, yes. VIP's from Stockholm, eh?" He put out two chairs for them and sat down, saying: 'Well, I am grateful. To what do I owe this honor?" 'You had a stabbing case on the eve of Twelfth Day," said Kollberg. "A guy called Matsson." 'Yes, that's quite correct. I remember the case. It's closed. No charge brought." 'What really happened?" said Martin
From the dismal block where Gunnarsson had lived, one at least had an open, country-like view, but now that, too, would be spoiled. In the middle of the field stood the charred remains of a burnt-out house. 'A fire?" he said, pointing. Kollberg leaned forward and peered through the rain. 'That's an old farm," he said. "I remember seeing it last summer. A fine old wooden house, but no one lived there. I think the fire department burned it down. You know—to practice. They set it alight and then
was in the bag, and left the plane in Copenhagen instead of taking the risk of rubbing things out in his passport…" He left the sentence unfinished. Martin Beck looked at him sideways. 'Then what? Do you mean he might have got away with it?" 'No," said Kollberg. "Of course not." Despite the debatable summer weather, there were crowds of people at Vanadis Baths. As they passed it, Kollberg cleared his throat and said, "I don't see why you should go on with this any longer. Why, you're supposed