Anger Mode

by Stefan Tegenfalk

  “Forgets her mobile?”

  “She’s, like, forgetful, you know. Like, sometimes, she remembers the mobile, but forgets to charge it. She’s not really into mobiles, she says.”

  “I see,” Jonna said. “Do you know when the ship leaves and which one it is?”

  “I think she said the ship would leave at, like, six or something like that.”

  “And the ship?” Jonna continued. “Do you know the name of the ship?”

  The girl was silent.

  THEY WERE AMONG the first passengers to board the vessel. Tuva Sahlin lived according to the motto “one hour early is better than one minute late.” Over the years, those around her had adjusted to this quirk and her fellow travellers were therefore among the first to arrive. The cabins were not yet cleaned and the party was asked to wait in the huge, deserted bar. Tuva looked around and wondered what it would look like at midnight. How many of the passengers would be screeching into the karaoke microphone or lying half-asleep over the tables, overdosed on refreshments and the lavish dinner buffet.

  This was the high point of the year. This was the day when everyone in the small Beekeepers’ Society left their inhibitions at the quay and adventured out to sea, far away from husbands, home and children. The cruise with her girlfriends made them feel at least twenty years younger. Even Gittan, with her one-hundred-kilo body, would be boogieing on the dance floor after a sufficient number of drinks.

  The bar quickly filled with expectant guests, and her party was just about to order their first drinks of the trip when a man in a lumberjack shirt and black leather waistcoat approached. He belonged to a four-man group from Värmland province that had drunk a little too much booze even before they came on board. The women around the table watched with amusement as the man introduced himself and his companions, all of them wearing leather waistcoats and lumberjack shirts. The man, Björn, who seemed to be the leader of the pack and also had the biggest gut, offered to buy drinks, but when he got to the bar, he was distracted by a much younger woman.

  Tuva had to organize the opening round of drinks herself. This was how it would be for the rest of the trip. The young ones always took first place with the guys. A very predictable pattern that did not bother Tuva as she had been happily married for thirty years. She pushed her way to the bar, which had quickly become crowded with thirsty travellers.

  “Can I have five margaritas?” she shouted to the bartenders, who seemed more interested in juggling beer glasses than serving Tuva. After some futile attempts to get the bartender duo to listen, Tuva was beginning to lose her patience.

  “Let me help you,” a voice said, behind her. Tuva turned around and saw a man, a head taller than her, who waved the juggler of glasses over towards them.

  “The lady will have five margaritas,” he said, taking out two five-hundred-crown notes and putting them on the counter. “Actually, make it six,” he added.

  The bartender nodded.

  “May I pay?” the man asked and moved next to Tuva with his elbow on the bar. He had a deep voice and piercing eyes that made Tuva both nervous and intrigued. There was something pleasant, yet also contrived, about this man.

  “If you insist,” she said and shrugged her shoulders.

  “I’ll bring the tray over,” the man replied and smiled behind his well-trimmed beard.

  Tuva smiled back.

  AFTER GIVING THE question some thought, the girl’s voice was back.

  “I think it was, like, Birka-something,” she said.

  “Is she travelling with a party?”

  “Yes.”

  “What party?”

  “Beats me what they are called,” Elina said. “It’s, like, some friends from that beekeeper society.”

  “Beekeeper society?” Jonna repeated, as if she had misheard.

  “Yes, she does all that beekeeping with the honey down by the boat shed. She really thinks those bugs are awesome.” Elina’s voice sounded a little bit envious.

  “Do you have the number of anyone in the party she is travelling with?”

  “No.”

  “Do you know their names?”

  “No.”

  “You don’t know their names?”

  “No. Don’t care either. Honey is, like, her thing – not mine.”

  “Have …”

  “Why do you want to talk to Mum?” Elina interrupted.

  Jonna heard fear rising in the girl’s voice. “Don’t worry, Elina,” she said. “We just want to talk to your mother. It’s about her work. She hasn’t done anything. And nothing has happened to her. You don’t need to worry. We just want to ask her some simple questions.”

  “How can you know nothing has happened if you don’t know where she is?” Elina argued.

  The girl actually had a point, Jonna thought. “I can’t say anymore, unfortunately,” she apologized with a white lie. “It concerns her work at the district court and, as you know, that’s confidential.”

  “Is it about all that stuff on the internet?”

  “No,” Jonna lied instinctively. “It has nothing to do with it.”

  “There was someone else who called and asked about Mum a while ago. He asked why I was always at home.”

  “Really?” Jonna said, confused. “How did you answer?”

  “With the truth; that I was sick with a chest infection. He said his name, but Mum didn’t know who he was.”

  “Was his name Leo?” Jonna asked, feeling her pulse quicken.

  “No, it was like Lars or Leif. He called one more time.”

  “What did he say then?”

  “Mum said she’s going to quit …”

  “Do you think your father knows the number of any of your mum’s beekeeper friends?” Jonna interrupted politely but firmly.

  “Maybe,” she said after a little hesitation. “But he’s in Canada for some business meeting. Called him a little while ago, but just got voicemail. It’s night-time over there, I guess.”

  “Probably is,” Jonna said.

  She finished the conversation with Elina by giving her telephone number in case her mother got in touch. She felt sorry for the girl. Obviously, the various doomsday stories in the newspapers had worried her. By whatever means necessary, she had to get hold of Tuva Sahlin before it was too late.

  What could be better than a cruise ship full of partying people, constantly filling their plates from the buffet table and drinking large numbers of alcoholic drinks? How easy it would be to drug someone by slipping the compound into a drink or into the food. Towards the early hours of the morning when the intoxication of the guests was at its strongest.

  A packed cruise ferry was perfect.

  The catch was that no one from Tuva’s family was on board. The aim of killing a family member would be lost, unless one of the beekeepers was dearer to her than her family, which did not seem probable. But then Jonna realized that because the daughter was home all the time, he would not be able to get into the house to poison the food. It must have been Leo Brageler who called and pretended to be someone else.

  Jonna looked at the clock. Quarter to six. She could call the shipping company and ask the staff to look for Tuva before she boarded. But the shipowners would want to call her back at the police station in case it was a hoax call. Jonna’s mobile-phone number would not be good enough.

  “TIME BOMB!” WALTER cried, looking at Jonna, who was about to leave the room with Jörgen.

  Jonna turned round. “Time bomb?” she repeated, looking at Walter.

  At first, she understood nothing, and then she realized what he meant.

  “The compound has a delayed effect,” she said, gazing absently around the room. “What if he can control when the process starts? Like a time bomb?” She looked right through Walter, as if he was transparent.

  “Exactly,” he said. “Definitely a possibility. She gets poisoned on the ship and comes home after a twenty-four-hour cruise just in time to have a fit of rage. If her husband is not at home,
her daughter is in real danger. Leo Brageler knows precisely when the ship arrives and how much time it takes for Tuva to get home. If that is his plan. It could also be to start a massacre on board the ship.” Walter checked himself when he saw Jonna’s distraught expression. “But don’t get bogged down in that now. Remember to lock the woman in her cabin until you’ve got back. Don’t let her out of your sight and don’t let her eat or drink anything.”

  “But then what?” Jörgen said, agitated. Things were starting to speed up now. He felt the adrenaline pumping round his body. “What happens when we’ve got hold of her? We can’t call the real police?”

  “The real police?” Walter snorted. “Mind your language. Madame Chief Prosecutor, who owns the investigation, is my next task,” he said, smiling mischieviously. “In the next few hours, I’ll be using a great quantity of brain cells to create a happy ending to this story. Or, at least, a less unhappy one.”

  Jonna did not hear the last comment. She had already rushed out of the room, with Jörgen close behind her.

  THOMAS KOKK AND Agency Director Anders Holmberg had – together with Chief Prosecutor Åsa Julén, the Prosecutor-General, and the National Chief of Police – met a bunch of ministers from the government.

  All the ministers, including the Prime Minister, insisted that SÄPO continued with the investigation into Drug-X. Apparently, SÄPO had had a pep talk with some of them before the meeting. Hardly unexpected, Julén thought to herself, and started thinking about a counter move.

  Holmberg and Kokk raised the question of whether it was still the best solution to allow the investigation into Drug-X remain with SÄPO, even though it seemed to be highly unlikely that the Swedish Islamist group was behind it. That a foreign power was the brain behind such an advanced compound was, however, more plausible. Therefore, it would set a dangerous precedent to allow the local police to investigate something that concerned national security. What would be the next step? To allow patrolmen to handle counter-espionage? Or let the Traffic Police to plan bugging operations?

  The ministers unanimously decided that it was most appropriate to let SÄPO continue the investigation, and they made this “recommendation” to the Prosecutor-General and the Chief Prosecutor. One was forced, under current circumstances, to consider the best interests of the nation, as the Minister for Justice put it.

  For a moment, the Prosecutor-General was about to fold. Julén saw the doubt in his eyes. He fidgeted and was obviously uncomfortable with the situation. Without the Prosecutor-General’s support, she would be out in the cold before she could blink. She needed to act straightaway. What she feared the most was the media, not the politicians on the other side of the table. The media had the real power, and sharp teeth too; she was not going to end up as the idiot prosecutor with no future.

  Julén took command, making the Prosecutor-General very relieved.

  She diplomatically pointed out that the general public would not accept more scandals in the current situation, and definitely not ministerial interference. Nor would abuse of power by any authority be tolerated – definitely not by SÄPO, who were already up to their necks in problems, the biggest being an internal investigation.

  Furthermore, she could not guarantee that “details” would stay in the Prosecutor’s Office if they were forced to do something “unconstitutional”. The word “unconstitutional” was open to interpretation by the gathering in the room.

  Julén’s colleagues at the Prosecutor’s Office suffered from an incurable sense of justice and would, in the event of coercion from outside sources, be difficult adversaries. An open conflict between law agencies could hardly be of benefit to anyone. Least of all to the politicians responsible for those agencies. They were normally the first casualties in such situations. She finished and closed her file with its Prosecutor’s Office logo. The Prosecutor-General also got ready to leave the meeting.

  By distancing herself from SÄPO, Julén could save herself. She did not trust politicians. They changed opinions as often as she brushed her teeth, and SÄPO was so contaminated that everything they touched literally was fatal. If she was successful with the investigation using another approach, she could turn personal defeat into success. Turning her back on SÄPO now would give her problems in the future; she knew that. They would not forget a defiant prosecutor and losing her good name with them was a heavy loss. But the way things looked now, she had no future if SÄPO were still involved in the investigation. If nothing else, the media would see to that. So she had simply to choose the lesser of two evils: to get rid of SÄPO.

  Before Julén left the meeting, the Minister for Defence, with a sheepish smile, took her to one side. He explained in a low voice that she was welcome to come and give a lecture to his generals, at a suitable occasion. She seemed to understand the art of warfare as well as did the military leaders. Perhaps, even better than most.

  Julén left the meeting with a sense of victory. She had shown the nation’s foremost leadership how a true democracy should be run, as well as saved herself from a career disaster.

  Now she just had to arrange for that lucky mascot Walter Gröhn to start working for her in the new investigation. To succeed, she would have to undertake a few “unconstitutional” errands that were, however, worth the risk. She started to go through the list of numbers she had written down.

  IT APPEARED THAT things would, for once, be a little easier than Walter had believed. With eerie timing, Åsa Julén called Walter’s mobile phone just as Jonna and Jörgen were hastening through the door. Walter was not the type who believed in miracles. After Julén’s call, it was perhaps time to reconsider.

  “I’ve been meeting with the Prosecutor-General, the National Chief of Police, ministers for Justice and Defence and even the Prime Minister,” Julén began, sounding upset, “as well as the Agency Director of SÄPO, and they all …”

  “You seem to have your hands full,” Walter interrupted, finding it hard not to laugh. He was imagining Julén’s skinny body hanging on a cross.

  “I’m starting a new investigation based on the memos from you and RSU. The Prosecutor-General is backing me up. What do you say to that?”

  “Say … who me?” Walter played dumb. He knew very well what she was about to suggest, but feigned ignorance.

  “If Lilja gives his approval, I want you, as soon as you’re able, to be my Chief of Operations in a new investigation.”

  “I see,” Walter said, playing hard to get. “But what if Lilja says no, for whatever reason? I’m suspended because of misconduct. Internal Affairs and a bunch of bureaucrats have to change their minds before I can go back on active duty. That’s not going to happen with a simple press of the Enter key.”

  “In this case, it’s an advantage when the police investigate the police,” Julén answered. “I’ve begun to investigate the possibility of commuting some of the charges.”

  “Good luck with that,” Walter said. “And I really mean it.”

  “I’m fully aware of what needs to be done to reinstate you to the force again. Furthermore, I’ve been around too long not to know how to make my way in the corridors of power, even if it’s against my nature to exploit that despicable system. But the situation demands that we use the most experienced investigators. And, unfortunately, you are one of them – even though I hate to admit it,” Julén explained in a serious voice. “We’re talking about confidence in the Swedish justice system. In particular, the agencies of law and order,” she concluded, with some irony.

  “It’s up to you to decide what level of experience is necessary,” Walter added, without any sarcasm. “Why don’t you just let SÄPO investigate our theory?”

  “Let’s just say that their credibility is exhausted,” Julén said.

  Walter was silent.

  “SÄPO is also fully occupied with sorting out their own problems,” she continued and tried again. “Of course, there’s a certain prestige involved too. I’m not naive. SÄPO will do all they can to prevent th
e investigation moving to the CID. They have already made this clear. I’m certain that the National Crime Squad will also try to get in on the game, especially if the investigation is thrown back to the local police. But it’s we at the Prosecutor’s Office who decide who runs the operational side of our investigation. If the subject of the investigation is important to national security, then we are forced to include SÄPO. If a crime crosses over county borders, then usually the National Police are involved. In this case, however, everything has occurred in Stockholm and therefore it should be in the hands of the County CID. I have the support of the Prosecutor-General in this matter. That is sufficient to move the investigation legally, now that the Swedish Islamist group is no longer suspected and it isn’t a national security concern. David Lilja and Internal Affairs just have to be convinced of your worthiness. But, as I said, I know which buttons to press,” Julén finished her long monologue.

  Walter sank onto his bed and looked at the ceiling, deep in thought. Should he share what he and Jonna were doing? How would she react? And what would Lilja and Internal Affairs say about his discreet private investigation involving computer hacking?

  It would probably not make his re-entry into the police stratosphere any easier, but he thought that Åsa Julén’s sudden humility made it worth taking a risk. At least, this time. When he did the maths, he realized that it was his only chance at a comeback.

  CHAPTER 29

  “WE, OR RATHER I, am pretty certain who’s responsible,” Walter said and opened the floodgates.

  The phone line was silent. Walter could almost hear the cogs turning in Julén’s brain.

  “How can you know that?” she said, after a short pause. “There was nothing in the memo about that.”

  “Because I’ve started my own private investigation,” he said, as if it was a normal way of doing things. That was partly accurate. It was his normal way of doing things. Following the rules was not high on Walter’s list of priorities.

  “Private investigation?” Julén echoed.

  “Due to a lack of anything to do while being laid up in hospital – where I’m doing fine, in case you wanted to know – I started my own investigation, since the idiots at SÄPO jumped in and messed it up and you turned a blind eye to our memos.”