The Steel Spring by Per Wahlöö Read Free Book Online Page B

He skipped forward to the day he had left the country and then went quickly through, glancing at every page. To begin with he found nothing unusual or startling. The six policemen who used the car had worked in pairs in three shifts, and signed the notes with their service numbers. These were the same numbers as were embossed on their police badges, which they were obliged to wear on the left-hand side of their uniform jackets, where they would be fully visible. This rule applied to all uniformed officers with the exception of those in positions of command. The six constables’ numbers were: 80, 315, 104, 405, 103 and 601. As was customary, they were divided up so that a younger officer, with a higher service number, was paired with an older and more experienced colleague. There were basically only three types of entry in the log. The arrest of drunks, traffic accidents, and suicides or attempted suicides.
    Jensen found the first alarming entry on the page dated 30 September. Number eighty who had been keeping the log between 4 p.m. and midnight had noted the following:
    16.46 ordr km 9 s mwy dem 2 arr tkn 9 dist 19.05 pce rstrd rtn stn
    So at fourteen minutes to five that day, the patrol car had been ordered to kilometre marker number nine on the southern motorway to police a demonstration. Two people had been arrested and taken to the Ninth District police station. It had taken until 19.05, that is to say over two hours from the timethe order was given, for peace to be restored and the car to return to its base.
    Kilometre marker nine was very close to the city centre. It was extremely surprising for a police car to be sent there all the way from the airport.
    Jensen began scrutinising the log more carefully and with greater interest. Over the week that followed there were two similar entries, and after that the frequency increased sharply, while entries about the arrest of drunks became fewer and fewer. They clearly hadn’t had any spare time for dealing with alcoholics.
    Suicide cases, which at the start of the log had featured at a rate of two or three a week, appeared only sporadically.
    As the patrol’s duties became more sensational in nature, the officers had abandoned the usual cryptic abbreviations in their reports and went over to short entries in more or less standard prose. The log entries started getting more slapdash and less precise. Words like disturbances, scuffles and riots appeared on every page. They had clearly been summoned to the city centre and its environs on a daily basis. On the page for 2 November there was an entry of just six words:
    Serious disturbances. Shots fired. Military assistance
.
    Exactly three weeks before, the phrase
patient transport
, later shortened to
pt trs
, was used for the first time. That meant the regular ambulance service could no longer cope with serious cases of illness and had had to ask the police to step in. After that, there were several patient transports every day.
    Then the phrase suddenly disappeared. Others appeared in its place. The centre, the district hospital, the main hospital. Time after time. From the twenty-fifth onwards, officer 405had kept the log single-handed. Jensen studied the remaining pages. The twenty-fifth had been a Monday.
    Monday. Central Unit. Main hosp. Nos. 104 and 405 did not report for work
.
    Tuesday: No. 80 died in car. Drove him to unit
.
    Wednesday: State of emergency. Ordered to stay at airport
.
    Thursday: Sent to assist blockading of runway
.
    Friday: Police radio not functioning. 81st district unmanned
.
    Saturday: Sent to main hosp. section C. Bus
.
    That was the last entry in the car’s logbook. It was five days old. Jensen went back and read the entries for the previous month through again. Then he shut the log and laid it aside.
    There was the distant wail of a siren. The sound came nearer. He went over to the window, put the binoculars to his eyes and trained them on the motorway. The visibility was as poor as ever; the