Read Online The Abominable Man by Maj Sjöwall, Per Wahlöö - Free Book Online
Authors: Maj Sjöwall, Per Wahlöö
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welcome, Martin Beck thought. In spite of everything, he loved this city, and right at this place and at this time of day it was perhaps at its most beautiful. The morning sun was shining across Strömmen, and the surface of the water was smooth and calm and didn’t reveal the terrible pollution that was unfortunately a fact. In his youth—in fact a lot more recently than that—you could go swimming here.
Down along the city quay lay an old cargo steamer with a tall straight stack and a black spar on the mainmast. You rarely saw them any more these days. An early Djurgård ferry was cutting through the water with a crisp little wave along its bows. He noticed that the smokestack was completely black and the name on the side was covered with white paint. But he recognized it anyway. The
Djurgård
5.
“Do you want a receipt?” asked the driver in a stifled voice outside the doors to the police building.
“Yes, thanks.”
Martin Beck went up to the offices of the Violence Division, studied some documents, made a few phone calls and did a little writing.
At the end of an hour he’d managed to put together a brief and very superficial summary of a human life. It began like this:
Stig Oscar Emil Nyman.
Born November 6, 1911, in Säffle.
Parents: Oscar Abraham Nyman, logging foreman, and Karin Maria Nyman, née Rutgersson.
Schooling: Two years elementary school in Säffle, two years grade school in Säffle, five years secondary school in Åmål.
Joined professional infantry 1928, lance corporal 1930, corporal 1931, sergeant 1933, Noncommissioned Officer’s School.
And then Stig Oscar Emil Nyman had become a policeman. First as a deputy sheriff in Värmland, then as a regular police constable in Stockholm. During the depression in the thirties. His military experience was counted in his favor and led to quick promotions.
At the beginning of the Second World War he resumed his military career, was promoted and given a number of obscure special assignments. During the latter part of the war he was transferred to Karlsborg, but in 1946 he went into the reserve and one year later reappeared on the personnel roster of the Stockholm police, this time as a sergeant.
When Martin Beck went through the inspector’s course in 1949, Nyman was already a deputy chief inspector and was given his first precinct command a few years later.
As a chief inspector, Nyman had at different timesbeen chief of several precincts in the inner city. From time to time he’d been back at the old police headquarters on Agnegatan, again on assignments of a special nature.
He had spent the greater part of his life in uniform, but in spite of that was one of the men who had long been in the good graces of the highest police command.
Only circumstances had kept him from advancing even further and becoming chief for the regular metropolitan police in its entirety.
What circumstances?
Martin Beck knew the answer to that question.
At the end of the fifties, the Stockholm police department had undergone a substantial shake-up. There had been an infusion of fresh leadership and fresh air. Military thinking ceased to be so popular, and reactionary ideas were no longer necessarily an asset. The changes at headquarters spread to a certain extent out into the precincts, automatic promotion became less routine, and certain phenomena, among them the Prussian spit-and-polish of the regular police, died in the wake of the move toward greater democracy. Nyman was one of many who had watched his bridges burn before him.
It seemed to Martin Beck that the first half of the sixties had been an auspicious period in the history of the Stockholm police. Everything had seemed to be improving, common sense had been about to conquer rigidity and cliquishness, the recruiting base had been broadened, and even relations with the public had seemed to be getting better. But nationalization in 1965 had broken the positive trend. Since then, all the good prospects had
Down along the city quay lay an old cargo steamer with a tall straight stack and a black spar on the mainmast. You rarely saw them any more these days. An early Djurgård ferry was cutting through the water with a crisp little wave along its bows. He noticed that the smokestack was completely black and the name on the side was covered with white paint. But he recognized it anyway. The
Djurgård
5.
“Do you want a receipt?” asked the driver in a stifled voice outside the doors to the police building.
“Yes, thanks.”
Martin Beck went up to the offices of the Violence Division, studied some documents, made a few phone calls and did a little writing.
At the end of an hour he’d managed to put together a brief and very superficial summary of a human life. It began like this:
Stig Oscar Emil Nyman.
Born November 6, 1911, in Säffle.
Parents: Oscar Abraham Nyman, logging foreman, and Karin Maria Nyman, née Rutgersson.
Schooling: Two years elementary school in Säffle, two years grade school in Säffle, five years secondary school in Åmål.
Joined professional infantry 1928, lance corporal 1930, corporal 1931, sergeant 1933, Noncommissioned Officer’s School.
And then Stig Oscar Emil Nyman had become a policeman. First as a deputy sheriff in Värmland, then as a regular police constable in Stockholm. During the depression in the thirties. His military experience was counted in his favor and led to quick promotions.
At the beginning of the Second World War he resumed his military career, was promoted and given a number of obscure special assignments. During the latter part of the war he was transferred to Karlsborg, but in 1946 he went into the reserve and one year later reappeared on the personnel roster of the Stockholm police, this time as a sergeant.
When Martin Beck went through the inspector’s course in 1949, Nyman was already a deputy chief inspector and was given his first precinct command a few years later.
As a chief inspector, Nyman had at different timesbeen chief of several precincts in the inner city. From time to time he’d been back at the old police headquarters on Agnegatan, again on assignments of a special nature.
He had spent the greater part of his life in uniform, but in spite of that was one of the men who had long been in the good graces of the highest police command.
Only circumstances had kept him from advancing even further and becoming chief for the regular metropolitan police in its entirety.
What circumstances?
Martin Beck knew the answer to that question.
At the end of the fifties, the Stockholm police department had undergone a substantial shake-up. There had been an infusion of fresh leadership and fresh air. Military thinking ceased to be so popular, and reactionary ideas were no longer necessarily an asset. The changes at headquarters spread to a certain extent out into the precincts, automatic promotion became less routine, and certain phenomena, among them the Prussian spit-and-polish of the regular police, died in the wake of the move toward greater democracy. Nyman was one of many who had watched his bridges burn before him.
It seemed to Martin Beck that the first half of the sixties had been an auspicious period in the history of the Stockholm police. Everything had seemed to be improving, common sense had been about to conquer rigidity and cliquishness, the recruiting base had been broadened, and even relations with the public had seemed to be getting better. But nationalization in 1965 had broken the positive trend. Since then, all the good prospects had
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