Скачать книгу

tion id="u3cf9cc6f-272f-5a34-a769-f61d1e2004c2">

      

      MAJ SJÖWALL

       AND PER WAHLÖÖ

       The Man on the Balcony

      Translated from the Swedish by Alan Blair

       Copyright

      4th Estate

       An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd. 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF

       www.4thEstate.co.uk

      This ebook first published by Harper Perennial in 2007

      This 4th Estate edition published in 2016

      This translation first published by Random House Inc, New York, in 1968

      Originally published in Sweden by P. A. Norstedt & Soners Forlag

      Copyright text © Maj Sjöwall and Per Wahlöö 1967

      Cover photograph © Shutterstock

      PS Section © Richard Shephard 2007

      PS™ is a trademark of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

      Maj Sjöwall and Per Wahlöö assert the moral right to be identified as the authors of this work.

      A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

      This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the authors’ imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

      All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

      Source ISBN: 9780007439133

      Ebook Edition © APRIL 2009 ISBN: 9780007323531

      Version: 2018-05-18

      From the reviews of the Martin Beck series:

      ‘First class’

       Daily Telegraph

      ‘One of the most authentic, gripping and profound collections of police procedural ever accomplished’

      MICHAEL CONNELLY

      ‘Hauntingly effective storytelling’

       New York Times

      ‘There's just no question about it: the reigning King and Queen of mystery fiction are Maj Sjöwall and her husband Per Wahlöö’

       The National Observer

      ‘Sjöwall/Wahlöö are the best writers of police procedural in the world’

       Birmingham Post

       This is for Barbara and Newton

      Contents

       Cover

       Title Page

      Copyright

      Praise

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

       Chapter 10

       Chapter 11

       Chapter 12

       Chapter 13

       Chapter 14

       Chapter 15

       Chapter 16

       Chapter 17

       Chapter 18

       Chapter 19

       Chapter 20

       Chapter 21

       Chapter 22

       Chapter 23

       Chapter 24

       Chapter 25

       Chapter 26

       Chapter 27

       Chapter 28

       Chapter 29

       Chapter 30

       About the Authors

       Also by Maj Sjöwall and Per Wahlöö

       About the Publisher

       1

      At a quarter to three the sun rose.

      An hour and a half earlier the traffic had thinned out and died away, together with the noise of the last night revellers on their way home. The street-sweeping machines had passed, leaving dark wet strips here and there on the asphalt. An ambulance had wailed down the long, straight street. A black car with white mudguards, radio antenna on the roof and the word POLICE in white block letters on the sides had glided past, silently and slowly. Five minutes later the tinkle of broken glass had been heard as someone drove a gloved hand through a shop window; then came the sound of running footsteps and a car tearing off down a sidestreet.

      The man on the balcony had observed all this. The balcony was the ordinary kind with tubular iron rail and sides of corrugated metal. He had stood leaning on the rail, and the glow of his cigarette had been a tiny dark-red spot in the dark. At regular intervals he had stubbed out a cigarette, carefully picked the butt – barely a third of an inch long – out of the wooden holder and placed it beside the others. Ten of these butts were already neatly lined up along the edge of the saucer on the little garden table.

      It was quiet now, as quiet as it could be on a mild early summer's night in a big city. A couple of hours still remained before the women who delivered the newspapers appeared, pushing their converted prams, and before the first office cleaner went to work.

      The bleak half-light of dawn was dispersed slowly; the first hesitant sunbeams groped over the five-storeyed and six-storeyed blocks of flats and were reflected in the television aerials and the round chimney pots above the roofs on the other side of the street. Then the light fell on the metal roofs themselves, slid quickly down and crept over the eaves along plastered brick walls with rows of unseeing windows, most of which were screened by drawn curtains or lowered Venetian blinds.

      The man

Скачать книгу