by Jens Lapidus
“So either you give me his stuff now,” the guy continued, “or you’ll have serious problems, you get me?”
“But I don’t know what stuff you mean. You can look around. There’s nothing here.”
Z nodded.
The guy cocked his head, a vein pulsing in his forehead. “Do I look like some kind of junkie, or what?”
“No, no, we just don’t know what stuff you’re talking about,” said Roksana, but she could hear that her voice didn’t sound entirely convincing.
“You seem to be having trouble understanding me. We know you’ve been selling our shit. I don’t like hurting girls, but your friend, on the other hand…”
Z didn’t have time to react or pull back before the guy grabbed his hand.
“Let me go,” he moaned.
Roksana tried to grab ahold of the intruder’s arm. “Please, stop.”
The guy bent Z’s fingers.
By the time Roksana worked out what was happening, it was too late, even though she seemed to be watching it unfold in slow motion. The index and middle fingers on Z’s left hand were bent back, unnaturally. Eventually, there was a clicking sound, and Z screamed.
The guy dropped Z’s hand. He closed his eyes—as though he couldn’t bring himself to look at what he had just done.
Z whimpered, shouted, cried. Two of his fingers were flopping limply. They were broken.
“You cry like a whore,” said the guy. “But you’ve screwed over the wrong guy.”
TELEPHONE CONVERSATION 10
To: Hugo Pederson
From: Göran Blixt (boss)
Date: 6 November 2005
Time: 13:46
GÖRAN: Hugo, are you at the office?
HUGO: No, I’m just out for lunch.
GÖRAN: Do you think this is the public sector or something?
HUGO: Ha ha, I wasn’t planning on eating out, I’m just grabbing something for the office.
GÖRAN: That’s better. I just wanted to let you know, we’re pulling out of the Danfoss deal. I’ll give the same instructions to everyone else now.
HUGO: What, why?
GÖRAN: KKR doesn’t want us in as a major shareholder, so they’ve been buying A shares like idiots. We could fight them, like we did with Scania, but this time my judgment is that it’s just not worth it. The price has already gone up 4 percent, so we’re not doing a bad deal, it’s just a long way off what we had planned.
HUGO: I’m wondering if that’s the right call. We should wait a few days.
GÖRAN: Once you’ve made up your mind there’s no reason to wait, but of course we’ll offload the shares quietly, so the price doesn’t drop.
HUGO: But the timing’ll be better in a week. I’m convinced the Fed’s going to lower interest rates. That’ll get the market moving again.
GÖRAN: No, we can’t wait for macro measures. We’ll start selling today. See you at the office.
HUGO: Okay.
GÖRAN: Oh, Hugo, buy me some lunch, too. But be back here in ten minutes.
TELEPHONE CONVERSATION 11
To: Pierre Danielsson (co-suspect)
From: Hugo Pederson
Date: 6 November 2005
Time: 13:48
HUGO: Hey, call me on the burner.
PIERRE: What’s going on?
HUGO: Let’s do it on the burners.
TELEPHONE CONVERSATION 12
To: Hugo Pederson
From: Pierre Danielsson (co-suspect)
Date: 6 November 2005
Time: 13:49
PIERRE: So what’s going on?
HUGO: We’re calling off the Danish deal.
PIERRE: What’re you saying? Why?
HUGO: Göran doesn’t want to be involved anymore, I don’t know why but think it’s because KKR doesn’t want us in. I’ve got to dash now.
PIERRE: Hang on. You need to control this. You’ve been buying these shares yourself, so if you start panic selling now, there’s a damn good chance someone’s going to notice. I need you to take it easy.
HUGO: But we have to sell now, otherwise we’re looking at crazy losses.
PIERRE: I don’t care. If you’re in the game, you’ve got to take it up the ass sometimes. Now take it easy, you hear me?
HUGO: I’ll try. Maybe we can short it at the same time? But I’ve got to go now. Ciao.
TELEPHONE CONVERSATION 13
To: Jesper Ringblad (stockbroker, Nordea)
From: Hugo Pederson
Date: 6 November 2005
Time: 13:50
HUGO: Hey, Jeppe. I want to sell Danfoss.
JESPER: Already? It’s at 118. You’ve dropped almost five percent. I think it could recover next week.
HUGO: Yeah, but I’m telling you to sell. The whole lot. In blocks. Extremely important that it’s in blocks, even more important than before.
JESPER: You’re the boss. What limit?
HUGO: If you can shift them for 117, I’m happy. But I’ll go down to 116. Everything has to go.
JESPER: Okay…hold on…I think I can offload them right now, hold on…(inaudible)
(Note: Jesper Ringblad can be heard talking about the Danfoss B shares with someone in the background.)
JESPER: I’m back. You’re in luck, I’ve just sold them all in one lump. But it’s a loss of almost two million kronor.
HUGO: You’re a star, my man. A star.
JESPER: You almost sound happy?
HUGO: I’m so happy, I could suck you off right now.
TELEPHONE CONVERSATION 14
To: Hugo Pederson
From: Louise Pederson (wife)
Date: 6 November 2005
Time: 20:35
LOUISE: Hi, do you know how late you’ll be working today?
HUGO: Hey, Mousey. I have no idea, things’re pretty busy right now.
LOUISE: It was so nice when we went out to eat a few weeks ago. Can we try doing that again soon? Maybe on Thursday or Friday?
HUGO: Nah, no can do.
LOUISE: Why not?
HUGO: We’re so busy right now.
LOUISE: But you can sneak off for two hours, can’t you? I can book a table and everything, somewhere near you. You don’t even have to drink, I can drink your wine…
HUGO: I have to go now.
LOUISE: No, wait. I spoke to Premiform.
HUGO: Who?
LOUISE: The interior architects, you know.
HUGO: We’re having interior architects?
LOUISE: Yeees, of course. You have to. Anyway, they’ve put in all the orders now, but I swapped the limestone for the little bathroom for Kolmård marble. I think it could be really nice. I saw that the Oberlands have it at their place.
HUGO: How much extra is that?
LOUISE: I’m not really sure, but what I wanted to say was that I’ve also decided we should redo the floor. I want to get rid of the radiators. They’re so ugly. So now Premiform are drawing underfloor heating into all the rooms.
HUGO: Mousey…
LOUISE: It’ll be fantastic.
HUGO: I mean…
LOUISE: What?
HUGO: Ahh, nothing. See you later, if you’re still awake. Otherwise, see you tomorrow. Kisses.
TELEPHONE CONVERSATION 15
To: Carl Trolle (friend)
From: Hugo Pederson
Date: 6 November 2005
Time: 21:58
HUGO: Hey, man.
CARL: Hey hey, how’s it going?
HUGO: Ah, so-so.
CARL: What? What’s the problem?
HUGO: Ah, you know, sometimes you just feel a bit off.
CARL: I’ve got a tennis slot at lunch tomorrow, want to come and play?
HUGO: I don’t have tim
e.
CARL: But you do have time for whining?
HUGO: Nah, but you know what it’s like.
CARL: You’re still coming on Saturday, though?
HUGO: We’ll see. Do you never feel like you’ve lost all your energy?
CARL: What?
HUGO: I mean, like you can’t cope. Like you’re thinking about just dropping everything and running away?
CARL: Strip club in London, or what?
HUGO: I don’t mean it like that. I’ve been working tons lately, and I know that I’m in one of the country’s best places, but it’s like that’s not enough. Everyone always wants more, no one respects that I just need to be on my own sometimes. Louise is the worst. She thinks I should be delivering more and more every month, but sometimes there might be a lull, you know? Sometimes you just have to take a breather and consolidate everything, your finances, relationships. Not everything has to be so intense all the time. My head’s burning, sometimes it feels like I’m going to boil over, or explode somehow.
CARL: Uhhh?
HUGO: Do you know what I mean? Do you never feel trapped like that?
CARL: No, not really.
HUGO: Plus, I’ve been having trouble sleeping at night.
CARL: You’re just worked up, keeping at it the way you are. You’re probably thinking about your deals.
HUGO: You bet.
CARL: Maybe thinking about them too much?
HUGO: Impossible. All I really want is to be filthy rich.
CARL: That’s what everyone wants.
HUGO: Sure, but it’s like I want it more. Not even so I can buy a load of crap, consume and all that. I just want to be rich. I want to own a lot. Full stop.
CARL: Mmm. So you’re not coming tomorrow? Me and Gustaf. If you two double up, we’ll have ourselves a match.
HUGO: I don’t think I have time, sorry.
CARL: Okay, but listen, I have to go now. Speak later.
HUGO: Yeah, okay.
17
“I like it when chicks pretend to come,” said Dejan. They were in his car, on the way to meet a middleman. “Like, they want me to feel like a man, no matter what they’re feeling. You know?”
“Nah.”
“You getting any these days?”
For once, Teddy could have answered the question that Dejan asked at least once a week. But he kept quiet. He didn’t know why he had followed Emelie up to her apartment that night after they went out to eat, even less why they hadn’t spoken since. At the same time, the image of her on top of him was practically tattooed on the inside of his eyelids. There had been something about her there, in bed; it was like she had lowered her defenses for a moment and let him in, like she had been willing to meet him for a short period of time. But he still hadn’t had the nerve to get in touch—plus, it felt like Emelie’s request that they work together had collapsed after Katja’s murder.
They climbed out of Dejan’s car. Necks craned, heads turned. Södermalm—this was somewhere a Model X stuck out more than a Formula 1 car on a cycle path. The exchange office was fifty feet down the road. Dejan’s various construction firms meant that he had hordes of carpenters, cement guys, prefab people, electricians, and HVAC guys all waiting to be paid. The setup he used was classic: Dejan’s firms were invoiced by companies that had been set up by the launderers, often recruitment agencies on paper. They paid these invoices and could therefore deduct the costs—including VAT. The launderers’ companies then passed the money out into the world: there was no art to withdrawing or depositing large sums of cash in Turkey or Hong Kong, for example—the checks there were nonexistent. The money was sent back to the exchange offices scattered around Stockholm, and was paid out, in cash, to the tradesmen. It was a system in which everyone involved gained.
Teddy was with him today for the same reason as at the car garage: so Dejan didn’t appear alone. Everyone had to be able to show that they could put some force behind their words, that they had backup. He thought about what Isa at the employment service would have said if she’d had to write his job application. Teddy has plenty of previous experience working as a gorilla.
The man who came toward them from the exchange bureau had probably already split the cash into two envelopes, one for Dejan and one for his people—and he also had someone waiting in the background. Teddy’s counterpart was sitting in an X6 parked just over the road, he was sure of it.
He thought back to the past few weeks. He’d spent his nights lying awake, seeing things. Mats Emanuelsson’s kidnapping redux—being arrested, sentenced to prison. He imagined he was back in the cell in Håga prison, where the corrupt police officer, Sundén, doing the network’s dirty work, had kept him prisoner last year. A blurry face: Sundén’s accomplice, who had never been caught. A demon in Teddy’s head. He heard noises, explosions, over and over again: the blast that had echoed through the darkness as someone shot Sundén. That crap had started up again. Katja’s murder had brought it all back.
Maybe Emelie had decided to give up when her client was murdered; maybe she didn’t want to follow through. But Teddy had no such plans—he had spent the past month trying to find out as much as he could about Adam Tagrin. He had to be able to find the guy.
After a week or so, he had met Loke Odensson over a mead, as Loke called the beer they drank. They had talked about the old days, when they were both in the slammer, and about Loke’s family life. Loke had written a summary, which he handed over.
“Thanks for taking the time,” said Teddy. “You write like a FBI agent or something, do you know that?”
Loke had twisted his fingers in his plaited beard. “An, my darling, it’s an FBI agent. Eff bee eye, you understand? And I hate those fuckers.”
Adam Tagrin was forty-two, born in Belarus, and had come to Sweden with his mother during the eighties. He had grown up in Skogås, just outside of Stockholm, and he’d had a number of dealings with social services and the police during the early nineties. Suspicions of alcohol addiction, neglect, abuse. On one occasion, fifteen-year-old Adam had been forced to spend the night on a cold porch after his stepfather threw him out. On another, it was reported that the stepfather had tried to force sixteen-year-old Adam and his friend to act in a pornographic film. Adam himself had no prior convictions, aside from a couple of traffic violations and one instance of violent resistance when he got into trouble with a couple of guards in a metro station. He didn’t seem to have any physical ailments. Thirteen years ago, he had become a father, to Oliver, but had never lived with the boy’s mother. These days, he spent his time editing porn films, running websites, and, every now and then, organizing so-called shows—Loke had been unable to find out exactly what that involved.
Teddy had staked out the apartment on Gösta Ekmans väg for several days to see if Adam would show up, but no one had set foot in there, not even the police. He had tried to get ahold of the man’s mother and stepfather, but they had apparently moved to Thailand ten years earlier. He had spoken to Adam’s old friends from Skogås, but none of them had any idea where he was these days. Then his thoughts had turned to Adam’s business: K Tagrin Import AB had an office in Farsta Strand. He decided to head out there.
* * *
—
A man with glossy gray hair and a pierced eyebrow had opened the office door and studied Teddy with curiosity. He was wearing a Houdini fleece and what looked like walking pants, with side pockets and reinforced knees. Teddy had wondered whether he had accidentally come to a gathering for the Outdoor Association.
“Can I help you, sir?” The old man’s mountain style ended at his feet: he was wearing Crocs and tube socks.
“I’m looking for Adam Tagrin,” Teddy had said. There was no reason not to tell the truth.
“He’s not here, I’m afraid,” the man had replied, moving to close the door.
Teddy jammed his foot
in the gap. “I don’t want to hurt him. I know the police suspect him of what happened, because I’m involved, too.”
The man seemed even more curious then. “Ach soo. What did you say your name was?” He had a lisp.
“Teddy. And you?”
“Jesús, strictly speaking, but the majority don’t seem to think that name suits what we do, so they call me John. Come in, we can talk.”
The office was small and smelled of dust and stale coffee. In the room they entered, there were two desks covered in computers and screens. The curtains were closed. John had sat down at one of the desks, rolled back in his chair, and sneezed: he seemed to have a bad cold. “Do you want lunch? I just ordered some pizza.”
Teddy had peered at one of the computer screens in front of Jesús aka John: two men and a woman were having sex, she had both of their members inside her.
John followed his gaze. “We do the cutting here, you see. Can’t have too much talking, you need to get straight down to it, but everyone has to follow the script.”
“I’ll skip lunch, but do you have time to talk?” Teddy had asked.
“Okay, while I wait for lunch.”
Teddy sat down. “How long have you and Adam been working together?”
“About three years. I was doing instruction videos before this. You know, for installing AC and that kind of thing.”
“Did you know Adam before?”
“No.”
“Have you met Katja?”
“It’s sick, what happened. Katja was a really good girl.”
“Has she been here, to the office?”
“Yes, she met Adam here sometimes.”
“Did she know what Adam did?”
“What do you mean?”
“That you edit and distribute this kind of film?”
“Of course she knew. Adam’s not exactly a secretive person, let’s put it like that. He told me they were going traveling, for example. He even kept a packed suitcase here for a while.”
Teddy wanted to understand. Whether Adam had been off balance lately, whether he had been angry at Katja for any reason. If he had told John anything that sounded unusual. If he was using drugs.
