Maj Sjöwall, Per Wahlöö
The final novel in the Martin Beck mystery series by Maj Sjöwall and Per Wahlöö is a masterful, all consuming tale that rushes toward a thrilling, unexpected climax.
An American senator is visiting Stockholm and Martin Beck must lead a team to protect him from an international gang of terrorists. However, in the midst of the fervor created by the diplomatic visit, a young, peace-loving woman is accused of robbing a bank. Beck is determined to prove her innocence, but gets trapped in the maze of police bureaucracy. To complicate matters a millionaire pornographer has been bludgeoned to death in his own bathtub. Filled with the twists and turns and the pulse pounding excitement that are the hallmarks of the Martin Beck novels, The Terrorists is the stunning conclusion to the incredible series that changed crime fiction forever.
blow. The fat man’s feet slid backward on the slippery enamel and he fell facedown, his head thumping against the edge of the bath before his body came to rest with a smacking sound under the shower. The killer leaned over to turn off the faucets and saw how blood and brain tissue had mixed with the water and were swirling down the drain, which was half blocked by the dead man’s big toe. Revolted, he grabbed a towel and wiped the weapon, threw the towel over the corpse’s head and thrust the
only thing he regretted. With the weapon he had had available, he had been forced to take Petrus by surprise. If only he had had a gun to threaten him with, then he would have told him first that he was going to kill him, and why. Hellström had left the house by the back door, walked across the field, through some woods and an old overgrown garden, then out onto the Enköping road. Then he had walked back to the station, taken the train to Central Station, a bus to the East Station and returned
others, he had several times tried to get the National Commissioner to testify in cases that involved fighting between police and demonstrators, but naturally that had been unsuccessful. “You also called a witness who didn’t appear. A film director called Walter Petrus.” “Did I?” “Yes,” said Martin Beck, “you did.” “I remember now,” he said. “That’s quite right, but he was dead, I believe, or was prevented from coming in some other way.” “That’s not quite right,” said Martin Beck. “He was
in the chair in front of him a person who had killed someone. He had been in this situation many times; it was a part of his job. On the other hand, it was not often that an interrogation could be held less than an hour after the crime had been committed, or that a large number of other police had witnessed the crime, or that the perpetrator was a girl of eighteen, or that the questions how, where and when were already eliminated, leaving only the question why. During all his years as a
was of a private nature. “And where the hell is Heydt?” said Gunvald Larsson dejectedly. “Can’t you think about anything else?” said Rönn. “At least for the moment?” “What, for instance?” “Well, for instance, that I shot through that string. That was as good as impossible.” “How many points did you get at the last training competition?” “Nil,” said Einar Rönn, his neck reddening. “Goddamn strong, that one,” said Gunvald Larsson again, grasping the small of his back. Fifteen seconds later