The Father: Made in Sweden Part I (56 page)

‘OK.’

And the voice on the telephone grew deeper, articulated more clearly.

‘A week. May the eleventh. The
Daily News
. If you don’t want to date Anna-Karin any more after that … all hell will break loose.’

Then it truly was quiet. Whoever had called had hung up.

JOHN BRONCKS YAWNED
. He hadn’t gone back to bed. Instead he’d had a cup of tea in his kitchen, bare feet on the cold wood floor, before going for a walk along the northern shore of Södermalm and around the island of Långholmen.

He’d made the right decision in not sending a personal ad telling Anna-Karin how much he longed for her, treating her as he’d once treated Sanna. It had worked. Better than he hoped. He had forced out a voice – for the first time he’d made direct contact.

Now he had seven days to make the next decision.

That was why he was now in the police station’s huge, dank underground garage, waiting for Karlström. He didn’t want to disturb him at home again, or wait until he was sitting in his office, and he knew his boss’s routines. Every weekday Karlström drove his younger daughter to nursery school, then his older daughter to school, and finally his wife to work, a slow farewell to the family he’d return to a few hours later. He arrived at his designated parking place never earlier than eight fifteen, never later than eight forty-five.

Broncks wasn’t hiding, but Karlström didn’t notice him waiting by a rough pillar, and jumped when, the moment the car stopped, the detective opened the rear door and climbed in.

‘I’ve made contact with Big Brother. He called me early this morning.’

It took Broncks ten minutes to walk his boss through the story, and it was another minute before Karlström spoke.

‘When
exactly
did you dig up these five weapons?’

‘Eight days ago.’

‘And
now
you jump into my car and decide to tell me everything?’

‘I wanted to be completely sure how he would react. If I’d told you before, more investigators would been called in, and there would have been more agendas in play. We wouldn’t have reached this point. Do you understand? Now he’s made contact with me personally. It’s just us two.’

Chief Superintendent Karlström stared at the grey wall and the sign that bore his name.

‘OK. So why do you feel you need me now? What can I do for you that you can’t do by yourself?’

Twenty-five million kronor.

‘John, did you hear what I said?’

Pay. Leave Big Brother without any weapons. Make sure Sweden’s most violent bank robber of all time never robs again. And at the same time – be the kind of police service that after months of hunting, gives them the chance to pull back, disappear for ever, to become a faceless chapter in the history of Nordic crime.

‘John. What do you need from me?’

Or don’t pay. Force Big Brother to keep going, robbing more banks, hurting more people. But also have the opportunity of capturing him someday.

‘I need something that only people with their own parking spaces have access to.’

‘I’m not sure I follow.’

‘Twenty-five million in cash.’

‘
YOU’RE NOT MY
dad.’

Trapped as he was between sleeping and waking, Leo’s reaction started as disbelief, but quickly transformed into the most recognisable emotion
– fear. The words burrowed inside and took over, like the shrieking whistle of a runaway train or an air-raid siren.

But what he heard, deep within, was no whistle. No siren. It was a voice, calling out across the distance of time, yet still so clear.

‘You’re not my dad.’

He shouldn’t have said it. It wasn’t right. But the words came again, this time seeming to fill his own mouth, causing disgust to well up from his stomach, forcing him back to the present, to realise that what he’d experienced had been and gone.

This isn’t Felix, and the words are not his.

Far from having Felix’s dark hair, this figure is blond and dishevelled, almost angelic, his tone playful rather than accusative.

‘You’re not my dad!’

Sebastian.

And the feelings of disgust and fear turn into annoyance. He’s spent five days in the woods planning escape routes and placing his homemade landmines – just three hours of sleep a night all week, and now he has been woken by this teasing.

‘You’re not my dad.’

‘No … but I could be your extra dad,’ said Leo, raising himself up groggily.

‘No!’

‘Yes! That’s what you call someone you see once every six months, you little hoodlum!’

Leo lifted him up, threw him over his shoulder. Sebastian shook his head and laughed until his curls got tangled.

‘Didn’t your mum tell you it’d be only porridge for you, if you wake King Leo without his permission!’

‘I hate porridge!’

Down the stairs and into the kitchen, and Sebastian laughed and screamed that he didn’t want, didn’t want, didn’t want any porridge, until Leo dropped him and he ran out into the hall and hid in one of Leo’s jackets, pretending to be afraid of being served porridge.

‘Sebastian?’

Anneli was already sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee and a cigarette.

‘Now listen to your mum, little one – it’s time for you to get dressed. If you do that, we’ll soon be going.’

She stubbed out her cigarette in an almost full ashtray, lit another and looked at Leo.

‘What is it?’

‘Nothing,’ he replied.

‘Leo – I can see something’s wrong.’

‘I just need a cup of coffee, and I’ll be fine.’

There was just one cup left in the coffee pot. The last drops ran along the porcelain rim.

‘We’re in a hurry, get dressed.’

‘Is that why you sent the hooligan to wake me up?’

‘I don’t like it when you call him that.’

‘And I don’t like it when you smoke indoors.’

He snatched the cigarette from her mouth, walked over to the open window, and threw it out.

‘Especially right now – do you really need to smoke when Sebastian’s here so little?’

He opened the other window, wide.

‘I probably can’t go with you today.’

Anneli looked as disappointed as he’d guessed she would, and she glanced towards the hall and whispered.

‘We had an agreement. And now he’s getting ready.’

‘Sorry.’

‘Has something happened? You came home late last night. Again. Where were you? What are you up to?’

‘I was working.’

‘And why can’t you come with me now?’

‘Because I have to keep working.’

‘Work? Do you understand how disappointed he’ll be?’

‘Damn it … he’s your son, he doesn’t care about me.’

Leo searched through his pocket and pulled out a 1000-kronor note – from the Savings Bank in Ullared, the one he’d taken alone.

‘I can’t go with you.’

Sebastian waited at the front door, fully dressed, his eyes shining with expectation. Leo opened his little hand and put the money in it.

‘But have fun today.’

Anneli did not look happy. And she wasn’t trying to hide it. What Leo had just done was on the verge of insulting, and he rarely made her feel that way.

‘That’s enough for every ride, little fella!’

Leo ruffled his blond curly hair, and Sebastian looked at the 1000-kronor note lying in his palm.

‘Ride them … all?’

‘Fun, right? You can do whatever you want all day without any boring grown-ups stopping you.’

Anneli’s gaze burned into Leo’s neck, while Sebastian nodded without really understanding. She whispered again.

‘We’d decided.’

‘But I have some complications. A job.’

‘What “job”?’ she said, miming air quotes.

Leo hated it when she did that, and she knew it. Idiots used it when they were unsure of what they wanted to say and felt the need to reinforce it with some sort of theatrics.

‘The “job” that’s going to pay for the “house” you “want”,’ he mimicked her. He was still as annoyed as he had been before and last night and every other day since that phone call.

‘If your name is Anna-Karin …’

That bastard had known. He’d known something he shouldn’t know.

‘… what do you call your brother?’

And even though Leo hadn’t actually said one word too many, Broncks had got him to say too much. He’d informed on his brothers, confirmed something that fucking cop couldn’t have known, and if they ever got hold of him, they’d arrest his brothers too.

Leo heard her close the door without saying goodbye. He changed into his carpenter’s clothes, it was important that everything should appear normal.

One more cup of coffee and he felt himself slowly becoming less irritated. That fucking detective, he was just like the fat cop who’d once sat at the kitchen table. You drive a lead pencil through the hand of a man like that – not even a child has to sit quietly and be controlled.

Because what you don’t get, you have to take.

Reclaim it.

And never, ever let go again.

THE POLICE STATION’S
cafeteria was half full. People sitting together during their free time, without much to talk about besides the one thing they had in common – work. John Broncks usually avoided eating here, conversations that felt natural during an investigation became strained at the long identical tables. He filled a cup of warm water from the machine without paying.

Karlström sat at a small table close to the window overlooking the courtyard. A fork in his right hand, his left hand leafing through the pile of documents. Broncks had never seen that before. His boss usually gave all his attention to his food.

‘Hello.’

A plate of overcooked chips surrounding a tough piece of meat. Not really Karlström’s style either. But he looked up from the stack of papers, took a drink of iced water and swallowed – at least that fitted, he never talked with food in his mouth.

‘John. I’m glad you could come.’

Broncks sat down while Karlström wiped his hands with a paper napkin.

‘It’s done. There’s a black bag on the floor behind my desk. Twenty-five million kronor. Cash. Used notes.’

Shared laughter from a group a couple of tables away. Staff from the Emergency Call Centre. They seemed relieved to not be answering the phone.

‘You now have everything you need to make the exchange. Weapons for cash. But it’s not enough.’

‘Enough?’

‘I had to run this past both the national police and the minister for justice. They aren’t content with just taking the guns off the market. They want to see an arrest.’

‘And what the hell do they think I want?’

‘Weapons.
And
an arrest. Do you understand? And I need to be informed about everything that happens.’

‘Of course. Everything.’

‘So I want to know when, where and how the exchange will take place.’

‘We’re not there yet. Just communicating.’

‘And when they make their demands and tell you what they want you to do, then you should give them
your
demands. So we can plan our countermove.’

‘I’m not sure it’ll work like that.’

Broncks studied Karlström. After ten years of working together they knew each other well, at least here, inside the walls of the police station. And he could see that Karlström knew they might be heading in different directions.

‘It will, John. If we plan properly.’

‘These guys have bombs and guns. They never shy away from violence. Their actions are always well planned. A single mistake during the exchange and … people could die.’

‘That’s exactly why they need to be apprehended.’

‘If they butcher our colleagues, and then escape, then we won’t know a damn thing more about who they are –
nobody
knows who they are! They’re invisible. And willing to do anything to stay that way.’

Now it was Karlström who studied Broncks. And his face changed colour. Broncks’s boss was rarely angry, he wasn’t the type. But he was losing the self-control he’d nurtured until it became part of his personality.

‘John?’

‘Yes?’

‘You
know
how this fucking works. Only time earns trust. The kind of trust that gives you the possibility of asking for favours. But you only get so many. So you have to choose when to use them up. I’ve done that now. Getting hold of twenty-five million without any guarantee of anything in return, taking the risk that some shitty criminals might manage to blackmail the government, which could become common knowledge later … our country’s highest officials went along with it, because I’ve earned it. Because I used up one of my few opportunities and demanded it. John, damn it, make sure it’s not in vain!’

Broncks leaned across the table, over the plate of leftovers.

‘Karlström – they
have
no contacts. I know it. They
have
no criminal history, and if they try to approach someone out there to sell those guns … our informants will know it. So they won’t. Not because they’re afraid, but because they’re smart.’

‘And you’re absolutely sure of that?’

‘The only thing I’m sure of is that if we force them to keep robbing banks then our chance of catching them increases. So if we don’t contact them, don’t come back and explain that we want to buy back … Karlström, they’ll get desperate. They’ll have to do another robbery. And if you’re desperate, you expose yourself.’

Karlström rearranged the silverware on his plate. First the bad food. And then this.

‘How long …
damn it, John
, how long have you … been heading in that direction? To that decision? To this approach?
Not
paying?’

‘Since the first letter.’

‘And you let me run around begging for money for nothing!’

‘Not for nothing. I need to know that it really exists, I don’t want to stand there and lie – Big Brother can’t have any doubts, he should hear in my voice that there’s twenty-five million kronor on my desk, see pictures of it if that’s what he wants.’

Broncks pushed back his chair, about to stand up.