Anger Mode (12 page)

Swedberg shook his head. “The Superman speaks,” he remarked, gloomily.

JÖRGEN BLAD HAD managed to get hold of most of the residents on the staircase. Märta Ekblom was the one who had been most voluble, despite the fact that she was still shocked. Jörgen had been told everything that was worth knowing about the Sjöstrand family. But the most important information had come from another source. He had wanted to publicize the murder of Malin Sjöstrand on the front page. There was a lot of newsworthiness in the girl who had died, most probably by the hand of her mother. That the mother was also a lay juror in the district court and a public official was of such interest that Jörgen thought it would make a huge story. This was no simple murder in the estates between rival immigrant gangs. This was a brutal family killing in the heart of a typical Swedish suburb, a suburb that had got out of control. He estimated that he had about five hours’ head start over the other newspapers.

He had been given access to read the interrogation file, as well as the comments that the leading interrogator had made. He had twenty minutes face to face with his informant, who was nervously looking about him. Jörgen also noted smugly that it was Walter Gröhn who was leading the investigation and the interview. If only he knew what I am holding in my hands now, Jörgen thought to himself. This was not just a great exclusive. It would even be payback to Walter for their previous dispute, which had caused Jörgen a great deal of trouble and almost lost him his job.

Jörgen gave the documents back to his invaluable informant and left the café.

THE NEWS EDITOR and his future father-in-law, Sven-Erik Dahlin, refused to allow Jörgen’s article to go to print. It described the mother as a cold-blooded murderer. Sven-Erik could not publish it because of certain ethical principles. This decision made Jörgen furious. Sven-Erik actually doubted the probability that the girl had been murdered and that it was at the hands of her mother. That the mother was also a lay juror at the district court, as well as a special adviser for the county council administration, did not help the argument. Sven-Erik demanded confirmation from two independent sources, which Jörgen was unable to produce in a trustworthy way.

Now that he finally had a really good story in the making, he was being totally sandbagged. Even though he asked his boyfriend Sebastian to try, by any and all means, to persuade his father, it was like trying to teach an elephant to ballet-dance. Jörgen’s copy was edited down to a news item in which no mention of the cause of death or the mother’s background was included. After a stormy discussion with Sven-Erik, who reiterated his position for the last time, Jörgen decided to take the rest of the day off. They would eventually see that he was right. When the information from the police and the Prosecutor’s Office became public knowledge, Jörgen would emerge as the victor, even though it would be too late.

For the first time, he had felt remorse. In some strange way, the girl had etched herself in his memory. She had spoken to him and said that he was no better than those he was punishing. So many innocents had to be sacrificed to satisfy his grief. But it was not he who had lit the fire. A blind system with an excessive tolerance towards the guilty had forced him to retaliate – not just to mitigate his own loss, but also to prevent more of the same madness. What he did was just and it was not only his obligation, but also his right, to finish what he had started. Never again would history repeat itself.

He blocked out the girl’s voice.

Cecilia was back with him now. Her soft scent filled him with resolve.

IT WAS NINE-THIRTY on Saturday morning when District Prosecutor Lennart Ekwall called the police. He sat listlessly in the wicker chair in front of the open fireplace, with the bent golf club resting between his knees. The massive head of the iron club was discoloured with blood.

His wife lay on the large sheepskin rug in the adjacent room. Her face was colourless and her light-blue eyes stared emptily at the ceiling. Her long, dark-red hair was loose and one of her arms was folded under her body. A broken glass lay a small distance from her unmoving body and the smell of sweet wine dominated the room. From a split in her forehead, blood had mixed with greyish brain matter. The rug, which had been white, was now a reddish-grey.

Ekwall got up from the chair and, dragging his feet, went up to the first floor. Tiredly, he removed his jeans and polo shirt in order to dress more appropriately. From the wardrobe, he selected light beige, smart trousers, a tweed jacket and a dark polo sweater, which he laid out on the bed. It would match the khaki yacht shoes that he had never used. He got dressed and inspected himself in the large wardrobe mirror before he went down to the hall to await the police.

WALTER AWOKE IN a bad mood. A big meeting with the National Security Service, known as SÄPO, was not a common occurrence on a Saturday morning. Presumably, it had something to do with the discovery at SKL. Lilja had woken him up with a telephone call. It was getting to be a bad habit. He informed Walter that SÄPO wanted to get in on the act regarding Karin Sjöstrand. It was anything but good news, Walter thought, as he walked along Sankt Eriksgatan towards the police station. Someone at SÄPO obviously had a light workload.

The National Security Service had the top floor on the east wing, so Walter chose the east entrance instead of the one he usually used. After the customary procedures at SÄPO involving visitor badges, security clearance and security escorts, he was led to the designated room. The guard knocked on the door while moving to one side for Walter to enter. To his surprise, Walter saw the room was full of people. It was as packed as a Bruce Springsteen concert. At least fifteen people sat around a large conference table, and more stood lining the walls. At a whiteboard, County Police Commissioner Folke Uddestad stood and brandished a pointer.

All eyes turned towards Walter as he apologized for being slightly late. To his side stood a suited man who was either a model for some clothing brand or an agent from SÄPO. The difference was minimal. Walter greeted the suit with a nod and the man returned the greeting with a wink.

“Don’t overdo it,” Walter muttered.

On the whiteboard, someone had drawn squares that were linked to each other with lines. In each square, there were two letters that probably were acronyms for different names. Walter’s eyes wandered over the gathering and he concluded that most of the faces were unknown to him. He noticed Lilja looking at him with a morose expression and that his trainee Jonna was sitting at Lilja’s side and was also anxious to get Walter’s attention. Unlike Lilja, she was at least smiling slightly at Walter.

Walter did not return the smile. Instead, he gently winked, not knowing if that was any better.

“Right then, the last person has finally arrived,” Folke Uddestad said, looking at the big clock above Walter’s head.

“My apologies for being five minutes late,” Walter reiterated. “There was wind resistance on the way here.”

A low chuckle broke out in the room.

Uddestad cleared his throat. “The reason we are all here is that the Prosecutor’s Office and SÄPO have decided to take over the investigation into the presumed new drug. We can, for simplicity’s sake, call it Drug-X. The reason that SÄPO is taking over the investigation from County CID is that there is a possibility that a foreign power is in some way involved. It could also be the case that certain terrorist groups in the country, either with backing or of their own volition, have gained access to this sophisticated compound. Why a fifteen-year-old had Drug-X in her body is, as we know, unclear. But SÄPO has concluded that the ulterior motive is more complex than is apparent from an initial analysis. According to SKL, they need a number of weeks with their finest experts, as well as outside help, to create a clear profile of the substance. Any questions so far?” Uddestad asked and looked around the room.

It was deathly quiet in the room.

The Commissioner continued. “Until we have an answer from SKL, we are shooting in the dark with regards to Drug-X. In any event, SÄPO has divided the investigation team as follows.” Uddestad pointed to a suit, who appeared to be a boss at SÄPO. “The team at SÄPO will shake down potential terrorist cells to extract some form of information. The Drug Squad will work in their area to find a probable supply chain for Drug-X. They’ll focus their search on the dealers and addicts. The Drug Squad will also be working with the Customs Intelligence section. RSU will support SÄPO with a handful of analysts, who will scan the internet for information.”

Uddestad finished by asking if anyone had questions about the briefing. Nobody had any further questions. The Commissioner was just about to close the meeting when Walter coughed.

“Well, how shall we handle the media?” he asked. “This is going to start to leak as soon as we leave the room.”

Walter was met by a lot of surprised faces. Uddestad nodded in agreement and explained that the official press spokesman from SÄPO would from now on handle all contacts with the media, in conjunction with Chief Prosecutor Åsa Julén. As a result of SÄPO taking over the investigation, the risk of leaks would also decrease. This applied even to people from the regular police forces currently working on the investigation, because they would be subject to SÄPO’s security restrictions and lose the immunity from prosecution given to them by the Free Press legislation. It would therefore be possible to pursue any police informers, which should make any potential whistleblowers stay as quiet as mice.

“A LENNART EKWALL has called in and confessed to beating his wife to death,” Lilja said, walking into Walter’s office. “He’s sitting in the holding cells and, since you’re on call this weekend, I suggest you take your trainee to Djursholm and the murder scene before you interrogate him.”

Walter looked puzzledly at Lilja. “But she’s surely going to go and play with SÄPO and Drug-Y, or was it Z?”

“Yes, she will do. But since Jonsson and Cederberg are on loan, I’ve borrowed her for the team. In any case, she was the only one available who could come at such short notice,” Lilja said.

“I don’t need a part-timer as an assistant,” Walter explained. “Either …”

“She is working with you from now on,” Lilja declared. “Make sure she is coming with you to Djursholm. Forensics is already there.”

AS SOON AS Lilja left the room, Walter reluctantly picked up the telephone.

“Lennart Ekwall apparently finished off his significant other at home in Djursholm and, since I’m stuck with you again, it would be appropriate for you to accompany me there,” Walter began as soon as Jonna answered her mobile phone.

“Yes, that’s right,” Jonna said. “I’ll be working with you, but it’s Saturday and I was on my way home after our meeting …”

“You’re on stand-by from now on, so you can forget whatever plans you’ve made,” Walter interrupted. “Are you still in the building?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have the crotch rocket with you?”

“What’s a crotch rocket?”

“The Porsche.”

“No, I left it at home.”

“You did the right thing. Sign out a vehicle, and I’ll meet you at the east entrance,” Walter said and hung up the phone.

Just at that moment, Walter felt all the energy run out of him. He was tired of this environment and all these people. Maybe Lilja was right, at least when he had said that it was possibly time for Walter to throw in the towel. Three decades perhaps was enough. For each murder that Walter investigated, he felt an increasing indifference. So why not take an early retirement? He could take the boat out during the summer. But the rest of the time? Work, in fact, constituted the largest part of his miserable, workaholic life – a life with no other real purpose than putting the dregs of humanity behind bars.

He could perhaps become a consultant. Work as little as he pleased. Some discarded investigators could occasionally be called in after retirement as experts in certain activities, and bill a thousand crowns an hour just to state the obvious to up-and-coming bright sparks in police headquarters. That did not appeal to him at all. Walter tried to shake off his mood. As usual, it was pointless to bury himself in thoughts about the future. Jonna looked at Walter with a faint smile as he got into the car.

“Is everything okay?” she asked, almost as if she meant it. At the same time, she let out the clutch of the unmarked police car.

Walter returned her smile. “No, not really. But one has to make it through the day. The best way to succeed in life is to always keep on your toes. Preferably on other people’s toes. And I consider myself to be quite good at that.”

Jonna laughed and Walter noticed for the first time that she had dimples – like Martine.

“Or to strike while the corpse is still warm,” she retorted and turned onto Fleminggatan.

Walter chuckled. She almost had a sense of humour.

“You have reached your destination,” the car’s sat-nav proclaimed as Jonna drove towards the address from which Lennart Ekwall had called the police. The white-rendered, minimalist, detached house stood in one of Stockholm’s most affluent suburbs, with a view over the Stora Värtan river estuary. Large glass panels and straight lines characterized the three-hundred-square-metre, two-storey house. An oversized balcony framed the house from corner to corner. Jonna parked the car on the gravelled driveway directly outside the entrance. Walter found it amusing that she positioned the car so that it obstructed both incoming and outgoing access for bulky equipment. If nothing else, she was making a reputation with Forensics.