It was raining. Drop by drop, the knock became more and more annoying but no one seemed to notice that.

There was an interesting fact about noises. Researchers say, if you spend enough time hearing it, your mind will take it for granted and won't really pay attention. It could be a screechy woman's voice or a working drill behind the wall. The same thing could be addressed to raindrops falling sound.

But not for those who still were on Kungsholmsgatan, sitting and staring at the papers or a bunch of arrested citizens. Some of them haven't been here once and won't stay out for long; the others were not really citizens but people who were falling apart. There were many reports on such people but no one really paid attention. Stockholm was large enough for that.

This autumn was without any doubts nasty. Rain didn't stop for third day already and wouldn't mind to keep it up. Most of people already finished complaining and agreed that it was bearable overall. Other people decided to spend the nasty days at home, taking compensatory holidays or sick leaves.

Lennart Kollberg related himself to the second group. He would most certainly like to stay at home with his wife and son but Swedish police never seemed to be complete without him; that was how he explained Gun his compensatory holidays on Kungsholmsgatan. She was a clever woman and only gave him a meaningful looks before closing the doors behind him. That happened on Monday, just as the week started.

Today was Wednesday and the day was almost over. The clock said it was 7 p.m. but behind the rain there was no sign of time changes. Even if someone wanted to go home after the day ends, they would need a great luck just to open an umbrella and cross the road. The rain was followed by a wild storm and everyone who was at home or at work stayed there, waiting.

So Kollberg stayed at work. Well, at the end of Monday he tried to get on the street but lost the courage after losing his umbrella to the storm. The alternatives were lousy – taking a car would end up with a car accident.

There was not only Kollberg who ended up at the police management on Monday. Those few people got to organize some kind of a hotel by using camp-cots and sleeping bags; some others managed to sleep sitting at their working tables. In short, the police management on Kungsholmsgatan turned into a temporary surviving station. Four detectives, including Lennart Kollberg, were there, looking through weather forecasts and shaking their heads, taking distasteful coffee out of lobby coffee-machine, exchanging a word or two between each other; one of them even was able to work but didn't succeed. That one was Benny Skacke who believed that working hard in any situation is the only way to move on. He tried to stay quiet and unnoticed so he wouldn't be reprehended for something like his last biggest wrongdoing – that one that ended up with Kollberg getting stabbed. Since Lennart Kollberg was stuck at the police station too, the only thing Skacke could do was working and working and working.

Kollberg himself was rarely leaving his office. The coffee wouldn't help him at all so he put it beside. Staying at one place once was his dream, but when it came true, he wasn't delighted in any way. "Man proposes, god disposes", he remembered suddenly. He could hear Rönn sniffing behind the wall, calling somewhere one or two times in an hour and whistling. Rönn couldn't be called a good whistler and he never claimed to be one but the third day in a row without leaving Kungsholmsgatan would affect him in some way.

Next detective, unfortunate enough to end up here, was Ingemar Branström, a tempered thirty-eight years old son of Östhammar. He arrived in Stockholm on Monday morning and couldn't leave the town because of the storm. Actually, he couldn't even leave the building. But Branström turned out to be the most optimistic out of all 'survivours' and even was trying to make jokes about their unfortunate state. Not much people were responding, though. Most of them were somewhat envying Martin Beck and some other detectives that had a day off at Monday and were now at homes or somewhere else but not outwaiting the storm at a police management.

The worst fact in the situation was that some of the most sensational crimes happened when it was raining. For example, the case which carried away Åke Stenström's life. Lennart Kollberg tended not to remember that case usually but now it popped up in his mind. "Good things never happen during such awful weather", he thought. And he was right.

Suddenly, the doors at the fourth floor flew open as a tall figure approached the lobby. The man was wearing a long grey autumn coat, soaking wet, and a newspaper he used as some kind of an umbrella was sticked to his wet face and blond hair. His eyes couldn't be seen from under the newspaper. Perhaps, that was even better for those who looked at him, stunned.

Einar Rönn was finishing third cup of coffee when the man arrived. To his surprise, the man wasn't angry – he looked rather exhausted and wretched than angry.

- Good heavens, Gunvald, - Rönn said as the man approached him. – How did you manage to pass the storm?

Gunvald Larsson didn't respond and moved forward to his office. At the door he stood, turned around and said, pulling the newspaper off his head:

- Phone Martin Beck. Tell him that Swedish police can't stand his absence.

Then he threw the newspaper into a trash bin and entered his office, slamming the door behind him. Two policemen and Einar Rönn were standing frozen as Kollberg looked out of his office, finally interested in something.

Just as I thought, Lennart said to himself.