The telephone call was put through from the switchboard to the duty officer only minutes before he was due to be relieved.
In fact, he ought to have been relieved several hours previously, but Widmar Krause’s young wife had started to feel labor pains in the early hours of the morning, and it was her first pregnancy. Erich Klempje had no alternative but to stay on duty. He’d started his shift as early as nine p.m. the previous night, but isn’t that what colleagues are for?
He was only staying on until the emergency was over.
There was no question of her giving birth already, but getting to the hospital and waiting and then the examination followed by getting back home again all took time.
He noted it down automatically in the black folder.
11:56 Incoming call from Majorna.
“Police. Sergeant Klempje. How can I help you?”
At that very moment the doors were flung open and in marched two constables, Joensuu and Kellerman, dragging with them a whore from V-Square high on drugs.
“You can only have me one at a time!” she yelled. “And it’s double price for bleeding police bastards!”
Although the whore was small, and the combined weight of Joensuu and Kellerman must have been upwards of 450 pounds, they were obviously having trouble in propelling her to the cells. Blood was pouring from scratches on one of Kellerman’s cheeks, and Klempje suspected that the whore would not be totally unmarked if they could get her into a dark corner.
“Kiss my ass! But brush your teeth first!” she screeched, landing a well-directed knee between Joensuu’s legs.
Joensuu cursed and bent double. Klempje sighed and put his hand over the receiver.
Two probationers who had been writing reports came to assist, and before long the whole group was out of earshot.
For Christ’s sake, Klempje thought. If I don’t get some sleep soon I shall start crying.
He returned to the telephone call.
“Yes, what do you want?”
“This is J.M. from Majorna. This is J.M. from Majorna.”
Oh no! Klempje thought.
“Yes, I’ve made a note of that. What’s it about?”
“I’d like to speak to. . I’d like to speak to. .”
Silence. Klempje shook his head. The voice was monotonous, but tense. It sounded as if he was reading out something he’d learned by heart.
“Yes?”
“I’d like to speak to. .”
“Who do you want to speak to? This is the police here.”
“I know that,” said the voice. “I want to talk to the unpleasant one.”
“The unpleasant one?”
“Yes.”
“Who is the unpleasant one? This place is teeming with unpleasant police officers,” said Klempje, suffering from an attack of disloyalty to his colleagues.
“The worst of them all. . He’s big and his face is purple and he swears. I want to speak to him.”
“Okay, I’ll make a note of that.”
“Is he there now?”
“No.”
“Thank you.”
The caller hung up. Klempje sat for a few seconds with the receiver in his hand. Then he also hung up and went back to his crossword.
Two minutes later Krause appeared.
“Thank God for that,” groaned Klempje. “Well?”
“Nothing,” said Krause. “False alarm.”
“If it hurts, it hurts, I suppose.”
“Klempje, when it comes to pregnant women you are a greenhorn.”
“You can call me a buffalo if you like, as long as I can get some sleep now.”
“Anything special?”
Klempje thought for a moment.
“No. Some madman or other rang from Majorna just a
couple of minutes ago and wanted to talk to what he called the unpleasant one. Funny, eh? Who do you think he could have meant?”
“V.V.?”
“Who else?”
“What was it about?”
“No idea. He hung up. And Joensuu and Kellerman are down in the cells wrestling with a whore on cloud nine. Holy shit, but what a glamorous life we lead!”
Klempje staggered out and Krause took his place in the glass booth.
The unpleasant one? he thought. Majorna?
He thought for a moment, then called the fourth floor.
No answer.
He tried Munster.
No answer there either.
Oh, what the hell? he thought and took a paperback out of his inside pocket. Parenting.