Anger Mode

by Stefan Tegenfalk

  “How inconvenient for you,” Jonna said, attempting to sound sympathetic.

  “Now let’s get to the reason I called you,” Walter said, lowering his voice. “It’s a well-known fact that private investigators have never been very successful at solving crimes.”

  “That’s probably true,” Jonna assented.

  “But if it’s police officers freelancing for an investigation, then it has a very different outcome.”

  “Really?” Jonna said, with mounting apprehension in her voice. She saw where he was going with this conversation.

  “Favours returned for favours given by former colleagues and so on,” Walter said. “You know what I mean.”

  Jonna murmured that she understood.

  “As things stand today, it’s not going to be possible to start a new investigation,” Walter continued. “I’ve spoken with Lilja, and nothing of any sense is coming out of that man at the moment. Apparently, I am well and truly tainted by the drug operation that went wrong. And the memo that Lilja forwarded to SÄPO was appreciated about as much as a North Korean propaganda film at the Oscars. Julén is not returning my calls, despite dozens of voicemail messages. She ought to be more appreciative; it’s the first time ever that I’ve left her a voicemail.”

  Jonna hesitated before responding. “I know where you’re going with this talk about freelancers. You want me to use the police databases and start digging up information on court cases, even though I am neither authorized nor involved in the investigation anymore,” she replied in a stern voice.

  “That’s one way of putting it,” Walter retorted. “You see, there have been some developments here at the hospital.”

  “Really, such as?”

  Walter lowered his voice to a whisper. “We need to talk, but not on the phone. The problem is that I share a room with a few patients. And, as I said before, I’m stuck in this bed for a week. You need to come here and wave your police badge so that we can talk undisturbed in another room. Say you need to question me, or something like that. My bed has wheels, so they just need to roll me out of here.”

  “Wait just a minute,” Jonna burst out, leaning back in her chair. “I have just been given an unambiguous reprimand from my superior. He apparently got complaints from SÄPO, the police and Åsa Julén about the memo. Not that I understand the reasons, but that’s how it is. If I want to end my career in the police force, then I only have to follow your suggestions. How long do you think it will be before Internal Affairs pays me a visit, and asks me to turn in my badge, if I do as you say?”

  “A few days, at the most,” Walter said.

  “Exactly. And what would be the point of that?” Jonna replied, irritated.

  “Two days under normal circumstances. But we’ll do this a little differently,” Walter whispered, barely audible.

  Jonna sighed so loudly that it sounded like a gust of wind over the phone line.

  “If Mademoiselle would be so kind as to get her well trained derrière over here, I will explain everything,” he said, trying to sound convincing.

  Jonna quickly reappraised her situation. Visiting Walter again could hardly do much damage. What she did on her own time was not anyone’s business and, as long as she did not break the rules, she had nothing to worry about. She would, however, have to be careful about waving her ID around. If somebody at the hospital called RSU to check up on her, she would be in trouble.

  “I’ll drop by to see how you’re doing. Nothing else,” Jonna finally resolved.

  Walter accepted her terms and she drank up the last of her latte and paid the bill. She could not help smiling a little in spite of herself. There was something childish and yet mischievous about him. You never knew what to expect with Walter Gröhn.

  MARGARETA FORS, DIRECTOR-GENERAL of the National Courts Administration, and the Chief Magistrate of Stockholm District Court and senior judge, Law Speaker Evert Kihlman, looked long and hard at Åsa Julén, who had, in broad terms, explained how the investigation into Bror Lantz and Karin Sjöstrand was progressing. She had informed them that the Security Service had taken over the investigation from the local police. Also that they had, on reasonable grounds, arrested a group of Muslims whom they suspected were not only behind the events surrounding Lantz and Sjöstrand, but had also precipitated District Prosecutor Lennart Ekwall’s tragedy. Since the Muslims were not very talkative, there was no news, except that which SÄPO had already reported. How and where the so-called Drug-X had been obtained was still unclear, but everything pointed towards a terrorist prince in Saudi Arabia. The motive behind this was fairly well established.

  Evert Kihlman had a troubled frown between his eyes, and he stroked his hand pensively over his three chins.

  “Let’s rewind the tape a little,” he began, both calm and factual. “I must confess that I’m having difficulty understanding the motive. Why should these supposed Islamist terrorists be interested in Stockholm District Court?”

  Åsa Julén squirmed a little.

  “It may sound rather far-fetched, but the fact is that these individuals have clearly broadcast their contempt for Swedish society. First, they admit to not recognizing our courts or, for that matter, Swedish law. They want to introduce strict Islamic law, in the form of Sharia, and ultimately turn the country into an Islamic state when there are sufficient numbers of Muslims in Sweden. Therefore, SÄPO considers it probable that these individuals are in some way behind recent events. They have resources, money and, very likely, the technology.”

  Kihlman exchanged a pointed look with Fors.

  “Is that all you have to go on at the moment?” Fors asked.

  Chief Prosecutor Åsa Julén looked apprehensively at the Director-General. She wished Martin Borg were sitting beside her to explain the operational details, which was where the conversation was now heading.

  Julén shrugged unapologetically. “That’s all we have so far. There are no other leads today.”

  “SÄPO contacted me this morning to inform me that there’s no longer any threat towards Stockholm District Court,” Fors said pointedly. “The plan to place our staff under protection has therefore been withdrawn, which also affects you at the Prosecutor’s Office. Are you really sure about this?”

  “If SÄPO has made that assessment, then it’s probably also correct. I have no opinion on that.”

  “But what do you believe yourself?” Kihlman countered, leaning forwards on his elbows.

  Julén looked unsettled.

  “To recap, I don’t have any thoughts. Instead I have absolute confidence in what SÄPO says and recommends.”

  “Do you think that sounds reasonable?” he kept on.

  “You will have to expand on that a little,” Julén said, her tone changing.

  “I’m not sure I can explain my question much more, since it was relatively straightforward and unambiguous,” Kihlman replied and looked at her inquiringly.

  Julén sighed quietly.

  “To respond to your question, the answer is yes. I think that it sounds reasonable. And, as I said earlier, we have no other leads at this point.”

  Kihlman was not satisfied. “Are you investigating any other possibilities at all or are you completely fixated on these Islamist activists?” he asked.

  Julén silently swore to herself. This was Borg’s damned field of expertise.

  “As far as I know, they are ‘fixated’ on this group,” she replied.

  “As far as you know,” Kihlman said dryly, “but you should know for certain in this type of case. It’s still you, in your role as prosecutor, who’s in charge of this investigation.”

  Margareta Fors quickly realized that the conversation was getting out of control. Åsa Julén looked increasingly uncomfortable.

  “It all seems so absurd, with drugs here and terrorists there,” Fors interrupted. “As you can appreciate, Åsa, we are just concerned for our colleagues. My staff and I want to be assured that you will do everything in your power to ensure that these tr
agedies will not repeat themselves.”

  Åsa Julén nodded, relieved at Margareta’s intervention, and said, with a reassuring smile, that she fully understood their concerns.

  Evert Kihlman did not look reassured.

  WHEN JONNA OPENED the door to room thirteen, the last patient was finishing her evening coffee. She hastily greeted the other patients as she walked over to Walter, who was lying on his back with half-shut eyes and his hands resting on the blanket. The tray of food on his bedside table was untouched.

  “Can you help me to the toilet?” Walter began when he saw that Jonna had come.

  Jonna stared perplexed at Walter. “I will talk to the nurses.”

  “No, just fetch a wheelchair so that we can do it ourselves,” Walter said. “I can’t get any farther than the dayroom before they force me back to bed again. I am not allowed to leave the bed or the room, except to visit the toilet.”

  “Well, I’m not sure …”

  “Do as I say,” Walter ordered. “Spare a thought for what my brain has been through.”

  “Well, that’s exactly what I’m doing,” she said sternly. Reluctantly, she fetched a wheelchair from the corridor and wheeled Walter into the toilet.

  “We have to talk quietly in here,” Walter whispered as soon as Jonna locked the door behind her. “It’s as soundproof as a cardboard box. The scumbag tested it.”

  “Who’s the scumbag?” Jonna asked, who was not very keen on the situation. Standing and whispering with Walter inside a hospital toilet was not something she found very satisfactory, even if it was a handicapped person’s toilet that was as large as her living room.

  “The one in the bed next to me. And that’s partly why we’re here,” Walter said, looking up at Jonna from his wheelchair.

  “Keep going,” she said grimly.

  “The scumbag is actually called Jörgen Blad and he is a journalist,” began Walter. “But he’s also a real shark. He has no scruples. Under normal circumstances, I would keep myself as far away from him as possible. Or give him a good beating. I feel a bit torn between the two alternatives. In any event, he’s prepared to trade information about a leak high up in the police force.”

  “Trade information?” Jonna said suspiciously.

  “Yes, he claims that a senior police official is leaking information to criminals. He wants to make a deal where we get the information about the mole if we give him everything on Sjöstrand. You see, a little information has already been leaked, from police headquarters or the Prosecutor’s Office, about a dangerous drug that makes people crazy.”

  Jonna looked at Walter as if she had not properly understood what he had just said. “I don’t understand what you’re saying,” she said. “First fact: you’re not on the force anymore. Second fact: we – or, rather, I – am no longer participating in the investigation. And third …”

  “Take it easy,” Walter said, interrupting her. “I’ve already figured out how we’re going to do this. And we must do it; it’s our goddamned duty. Besides, this will be my ticket back into the force. And if what Blad is saying is correct, it’s a very serious situation. The crooks have a mole inside police headquarters itself. Do you understand how much damage this person could do?”

  “Yes, I get it,” Jonna said. “But why can’t this Blad go to someone else? David Lilja, for example?”

  “He knows that I’m leading – or, rather, was leading – the investigation,” Walter corrected himself. “And from his own experience, he knows that I don’t work by the book all the time. He has seen that with his own eyes. I’m the only one he can do this type of deal with.”

  Walter smiled a wry smile.

  “Does he know you’re suspended?” Jonna asked.

  “No, I haven’t told him that yet.”

  “But he can find that out in a moment if he calls and asks who’s in charge of the investigation,” Jonna remarked.

  “Very possibly, but that’s a minor concern right now,” Walter declared. “You’ll have to take care of the operational role as my man – or, rather, woman – in the field while I run the investigation from the bed.”

  “What investigation?” Jonna’s eyes narrowed.

  “We follow our original theory and act on it. But relax; you’ll not be risking your job. There are other ways to run a freelance investigation. But before we talk more about that, I want you to go and fetch the scumbag.”

  “In here?” Jonna asked.

  “Yes, but hurry up. We can’t stay in the toilet for too long,” Walter said and waved at Jonna to get going.

  Jonna closed the door behind her with a bang. She glanced along the corridor and, for a brief moment, thought about leaving Walter to his fate. She had no obligation whatsoever to help him with a freelance investigation. Why care about someone she had only known a few weeks and who was not even her colleague or supervisor anymore?

  Some situations force a decision that can change a person for the rest of their life.

  This was similar to the situation in which she had decided not to work in the family business. Precisely the same feeling of foreboding hit Jonna now. She found herself at a crossroads and knew her decision could cast a permanent shadow over her future.

  But if there was no risk, then it could do no harm to at least tag along and listen. The man that she had briefly greeted earlier was lying down and doing a crossword puzzle.

  “Jörgen Blad?” she asked abruptly.

  Surprised, the man looked up from his newspaper. “Yes,” he answered.

  “Please follow me,” Jonna asked.

  Jörgen thought about saying something first, but changed his mind. Instead, he got out of bed and put his slippers on. The one-breasted woman and the girl looked at Jonna and Jörgen with great interest as they left the room.

  Jonna knocked on the toilet door and nodded at Jörgen to enter.

  “Well, then,” Walter welcomed them.

  Jörgen forced a smile. “An unusual place for a rendezvous,” he said and looked down at Walter in the wheelchair.

  “We don’t have time for your bullshit,” Walter ordered, in a low, forceful voice. “The only room I can visit is the toilet. And talking in the ward with the other two and their flapping ears is not an option. This, by the way, is my colleague, Jonna de Brugge,” he continued, pointing at Jonna, who looked anything but amused.

  “Nice to meet you,” Jörgen greeted her, his grin widening.

  Jonna did not move a muscle.

  “You understand why we’re here, surely,” Walter said and looked inquiringly at Jörgen.

  “Do I look as if I fell off the banana boat, perhaps?” Jörgen answered and shrugged.

  “More like you were hit by an express train.”

  “I’ll be completely honest about it,” Jörgen started cautiously. “But that depends on you being equally as honest with me in return.”

  Walter’s eyes narrowed. “It was you who started talking about a win-win deal and exchanging information. If what we hear sounds interesting, we’re open to a discussion on the subject. If it’s bullshit and lies, we’ll close up your other eye instead.”

  Jörgen scratched his head. “I want all the information on Karin Sjöstrand,” he said. “And I mean everything. Stuff that will give me an exclusive. From what I’ve heard, there’s a drug on the market that drives people crazy. I want to know what the connection with Sjöstrand is, and everything about the Security Service raid against that terrorist cell which also has something to do with the case. There are unconfirmed rumours circulating that suggest a connection. I want to know the truth.”

  “We’ll decide that after you’ve told us what you have to share with us,” Walter said.

  “How do I know you won’t blow me off?”

  “You don’t. But unlike you, we still have a code of honour.”

  Jörgen’s expression became suspicious. His grin gave way to his misgivings. He turned around and looked down at his slippers while he slowly traced his foot along a crack
in the tiled floor.

  Walter watched Jörgen with increasing irritation.

  “Do I have your word that you will help me?” Jörgen asked once he had finished thinking and traced his slippers over several tiles.

  “Help? What are you talking about? We’re just exchanging information, on my terms,” Walter said.

  “It’s a little more complicated than that,” Jörgen explained in a miserable voice. He described from beginning to end how he had blackmailed the police mole for information, using a secret movie in which he himself had a role. He described everything in detail up to his beating and the shootout. Finally, Jörgen explained how he had cleverly stashed the video and how the thugs had taken the key from him.

  When he thought about it, he had nothing to lose by telling the truth. He could perhaps have gone to someone else in the police, but then he wouldn’t get the added bonus of the trade in information, which, after all, was worth a great deal to a journalist. Gröhn was nothing if not pragmatic, something that could not be said about the majority of his colleagues.

  “Him, of all the people in the police force!” Walter cried out, disillusioned. “You mean he’s a closet transvestite who sells himself like a prostitute to both you and the crooks?”

  “I have him on film,” Jörgen repeated.

  “If what you say is true, then we have a big problem,” Walter continued.

  “Where do the crooks fit into the picture?” Jonna asked. She had listened to Jörgen’s story with mounting interest. “What has the police mole leaked to them?”

  “I don’t know that, but obviously he has dealings with criminals. Just look at my face. He hired thugs to get hold of the video,” Jörgen replied.

  “And now you want protection?” Jonna said.

  Jörgen nodded. “A new identity and secret address.”

  “We can assist you with that, but neither I nor Walter is involved in the investigation anymore. SÄPO has taken over.” Jonna dropped the bombshell in a dispassionate voice.

  Jörgen looked at Jonna uncomprehendingly. Walter gave her a disappointed look and muttered something, but Jonna did not pay any attention to Walter and instead explained why the Security Service had taken over the Sjöstrand investigation and why Jonna and Walter believed that the terrorist theory was a dead end.