Colin Dexter - The Fire Engine That Disappeared

‘Of that I’m certain,’ said Kollberg. ‘It’s just a question of for whom.’

Kollberg’s bad temper was reflected very clearly in his appearance. His dark blue trench coat was flapping in the wind, he had not bothered to button up his collar, his tie hung out of his right-hand jacket pocket and his battered old hat was perched on the back of his head. The two policemen glanced at each other meaningfully. One of them took a step nearer. Both had rosy cheeks and round blue eyes. Martin Beck saw that they had decided that Kollberg was intoxicated and were just about to lay hands on him. He knew Kollberg was in a state to make mincemeat of them, both physically and mentally, in less than sixty seconds and that their chances of waking up next morning without a job were very great. He wished no one ill that day, so he swiftly drew out his identity card and thrust it under the nose of the more aggressive of the two policemen.

‘You shouldn’t have done that,’ said Kollberg, angrily. Martin Beck looked at the two policemen and said placidly:

‘You’ve got a lot to learn. Come on, now, Lennart.’

The ruins of the fire looked melancholy. Superficially, all that was left of the house were the foundations, one chimney stack and a huge heap of charred boards, blackened bricks and fallen tiles. Over everything hung the acrid smell of smoke and burned matter. Half a dozen experts in grey overalls were crawling about, carefully poking in the ashes with sticks and short spades. Two great sieves had been set up in the back yard. Hoses still snaked their way along the ground, and down on the road there was a fire engine. In the front seat sat two firemen playing paper, scissors, stone.

Ten yards away stood a lone dismal figure, a pipe in his mouth and his hands thrust deep down in his coat pockets. This was Fredrik Melander of the Murder Squad in Stockholm and a veteran of hundreds of difficult investigations. He was generally known for his logical mind, his excellent memory and unshakeable calm. Within a smaller circle, he was most famous for his remarkable capacity for always being in the toilet when anyone wanted to get hold of him. His sense of humour was not nonexistent, but very modest; he was parsimonious and dull and never had brilliant ideas or sudden inspiration. Briefly, he was a first-class policeman.

‘Hi,’ he said, without taking his pipe out of his mouth.

‘How’s it going?’ said Martin Beck.

‘Slow.’

‘Any results?’

‘Not exactly. We’re being very careful. It’ll take time.’

‘Why?’ asked Kollberg.

‘By the time the fire engine got here, the house had collapsed and before the extinguishing work got going, it was almost burned out. They poured on gallons of water and put the fire out pretty quickly. Then it got colder later on in the night and it all froze together into one great slab.’

‘Sounds jolly cheerful,’ said Kollberg.

‘If I’ve got it right, then they have to sort of peel off that heap, layer by layer.’

Martin Beck coughed and said:

‘And the bodies? Have they found any yet?’

‘One,’ said Melander.

He took his pipe out of his mouth and pointed with the stem towards the right-hand part of the burned-out house.

‘Over there,’ he said. ‘The fourteen-year-old girl, I think. The one who slept in the attic.’

‘Kristina Modig?’

‘Yes, that’s her name. They’re leaving her there overnight. It’ll soon be dark and they don’t want to work except in daylight.’

Melander took out his tobacco pouch, carefully filled his pipe and lit it. Then he said:

‘How’re things going with you, then?’

‘Marvellously,’ said Kollberg.

‘Yes,’ said Martin Beck. ‘Especially for Lennart. First he almost had a fight with Rönn …’

‘Really,’ said Melander, raising his eyebrows slightly.

‘Yes. And then he almost got taken in for drunkenness by two policemen.’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Melander tranquilly. ‘How’s Gunvald?’

‘In the hospital. Concussion.’

‘He did a good job last night,’ said Melander.

Kollberg regarded the remains of the house, shook himself and said:

‘Yes, I have to admit that. Damn, it’s cold.’

‘He didn’t have much time,’ said Melander.

‘No, exactly,’ said Martin Beck. ‘How could the house burn out at such a rate in such a short time?’

‘The fire department reckon it’s inexplicable.’

‘Mmm,’ said Kollberg.

He glanced over at the parked fire engine and picked up another train of thought.

‘Why are those guys still here? The only thing that could burn here now is the fire engine, isn’t it?’

‘Extinguishing the embers,’ said Melander. ‘Routine.’

‘When I was small, a funny thing happened once,’ said Kollberg. ‘The fire station caught fire and burned down and all the fire engines were destroyed inside, while the firemen all stood outside staring. I don’t remember where it was.’

‘Well, it wasn’t quite like that. It happened in Uddevalla,’ said Melander. ‘To be more exact on the tenth of—’

‘Oh, can’t one even have one’s childhood memories left in peace,’ said Kollberg irritably.

‘How do they explain the fire, then?’ Martin Beck asked.

‘They don’t explain it at all,’ said Melander. ‘Waiting for the results from the technical investigation. Just like us.’

Kollberg looked around despondently.

‘Damn, it’s cold,’ he said again. ‘And this place stinks like an open grave.’

‘It is an open grave,’ said Melander solemnly.

‘Come on, let’s go,’ said Kollberg to Martin Beck.

‘Where to?’

‘Home. What are we doing here, anyway?’

Five minutes later they were sitting in the car on their way south.

‘Didn’t that clod really know why he was tailing Malm?’ asked Kollberg, as they passed Skanstull Bridge.

‘Gunvald, d’you mean?’

‘Yes, who else?’

‘I don’t think he knew. But one can never be certain.’

‘Mr Larsson is not what you’d call a great brain, but…’

‘He’s a man of action,’ said Martin Beck. ‘That has its advantages, too.’

‘Yes, of course, but it’s a bit much to stomach that he had no idea what he was up to.’

‘He knew he was watching a man and perhaps that was enough for him.’

‘How did it come about?’

‘It’s quite simple. This Göran Malm had nothing to do with the Murder Squad. Someone else had caught him and had him up for something. They tried to get him remanded in custody and it didn’t work. So he was released, but they didn’t want him to vanish. As they were up to their necks with work, they asked Hammar for help. And he let Gunvald organize the surveillance, as an extra duty.’

‘Why just him?’

‘Since Stenström died, Gunvald has been considered the best at that sort of job. Anyhow, it turned out to be a stroke of genius.’

‘Insofar as?’

‘Insofar as it saved eight people’s lives. How many do you think Rönn would have got out of that death-trap? Or Melander?’

‘You’re right, of course,’ said Kollberg heavily. ‘Perhaps I ought to apologize to Rönn.’

‘I think you ought to.’

The lines of cars going south were moving very slowly. After a while, Kollberg said:

‘Who was it wanted him shadowed?’

‘Don’t know. Burglary division, I suppose. With three hundred thousand breaking-and-entering and theft cases a year, or whatever it is, those boys hardly have time to run downstairs to eat their lunch. We’ll have to find out all that on Monday. That’s easily done.’

Kollberg nodded and let the car creep forward another ten yards or so. Then they had to stop again.