“I was just about to call Julén,” Walter interrupted.
“Don’t forget to actually do it, too,” Lilja said sharply.
“I promise,” said Walter and ended the call.
The ringtone from Jonna’s mobile phone slowly brought her back to consciousness. She suddenly sat up on the sofa. She stared at the table and the phone. Her confusion lasted for a few seconds. Then she remembered. She quickly stood up and her head started to spin. It was almost eight o’clock.
Walter’s number lit up the display. She was just about to redial the number when she saw the note on the table.
Hi,
Sorry that I won’t be at home when you wake up, but I
needed to finish some errands for the trip. Breakfast in
fridge if you are hungry. Lock door when you leave and put
key in letter box. Call me if you feel like it.
A
Jonna tossed the note on the table and then picked it up again. She scrolled to Alexander’s mobile phone number. After seven rings, she got his voicemail. She felt stupid, or more accurately, utterly pathetic, to have fallen asleep on the sofa. Great. When Sandra found out, she could guess what she was going to say. Sandra would probably declare her certifiable. And justifiably so.
Why hadn’t he woken her up? She should have left with the taxi. Or even better, she should have slept in his bed. If that really was what she wanted.
Sandra used to call her socially inept when it came to men. It always started well, but then went off the rails just before sex. For a while, Sandra thought that Jonna was a lesbian. Then again, Sandra’s psychological analyses were not based on scientific fact, but on her avowedly infallible gut feeling.
Jonna abandoned the thought of Sandra’s insightful analyses and went into the kitchen. It appeared tidy. The sink was gleaming and the small kitchen table was free of crumbs and other debris. An empty tea mug was in the sink. She felt foolish as she poked around another person’s flat, despite it being part of her work description. She was not on duty now, although Walter seemed to think otherwise. She looked at the display and deleted his calls. He would have to be patient. What was the phrase he used? Patience is a virtue.
A little curiosity couldn’t do any harm. She could not for the life of her understand why he had left her alone in the flat. Perhaps the fact that she was in law enforcement made her more trustworthy.
She peeked into one of the bedrooms. Pale curtains and a poster on the wall depicting a snow-clad mountain. The bed was neatly made and on the small bedside table there was a travel guide on South America. She left the bedroom and stopped in the hall, outside the bathroom. At first she hesitated, but then walked right up to the bathroom door. A quick sweep of the bathroom would conclude her inspection. Just as she was about to grasp the door handle, she froze. She took a few steps back as her mind started to work overtime. The bathroom lock indicator was red. Was she not alone? Hadn’t Alexander left the flat yet?
Then she remembered his flatmate. Carefully she looked at the crack in the door and saw that the lock cylinder was still inside its housing. False alarm. The lock was probably not working. Better to leave the bathroom until another day, she thought, as her mobile rang again.
The phone was still ringing as she placed the keys in the letter box. The ringtone angrily echoed around the stairwell.
“Phone on mute again?” Walter began wryly, when Jonna eventually answered.
“The time is . . .”
“We’re relieving Cederberg and Jonsson,” Walter interrupted. “Time to get to work on Hedman. He seems rather pig-headed and Cederberg is not the most diplomatic interrogator we have.”
Jonna could not disagree with his last statement.
“I’ll be there in thirty minutes,” she said, wondering if she should take a taxi home and change her clothes. She immediately rejected the idea. It would take too much time.
“I’ll be at your place in ten,” Walter said. “I’ll pick you up on the way.”
“Thanks, but I’m not at home.”
“Not at home?”
“No,” Jonna answered, not volunteering any further details.
“But you are rested and ready to go?” Walter asked.
“Apart from a slightly stiff neck, yes. What do you have in mind?”
“After Hedman, we have a witness who has recently spoken with Leo Brageler.”
“Who?”
“A solicitor.”
“Can you pick me up on Birger Jarlsgatan at the Kungsgatan intersection?”
Walter laughed. “I should’ve guessed.”
Jonna stopped outside the one-way window of Interview Room Two in the detention centre. She saw the back of Cederberg’s corpulent neck bent over Tor Hedman’s lanky silhouette. Cederberg was red-faced and looked as if he was about to have a stroke.
“What business did you have with the bedroom smoker?” she heard Cederberg’s voice blaring from the loudspeakers.
Tor stared defiantly at Cederberg. “Which bedroom smoker?”
“The geezer who went up in flames in Gnesta, of course. Don’t play stupid with me.”
“I wasn’t at Gnesta,” Tor said coolly.
“We know that you were there,” Cederberg yelled, slamming one of his melon-sized fists on the table. “Jerry Salminen also went up in flames like a sparkler. You and the Finnish idiot were like gonads. Wherever he was, so were you.”
“Give it a rest,” Tor jeered, turning away. “Got any evidence? Get me a lawyer, like I told you.”
“You’ll get your lawyer and enough evidence to shut both of you up,” Cederberg answered truiumphantly, sitting down in his chair. He leaned backwards while Jonsson nodded in agreement.
Tor did not like the beefcake’s ranting voice. He was acting like a smartarse, as if he already knew all the answers.
The lawyer would soon make him shut up. Tor needed to get his story right. No matter how good the public defender was, he would still need some ammunition to shoot with, and only Tor could give him that. To flatly deny all knowledge would just lead to even more endless questioning, something he wanted to avoid at any cost. Cops were persistent buggers and, in a moment of weakness, either from tiredness or lack of attention, his tongue could loosen. Telling convincing lies required a lot of focus, Jerry used to say. Most important was not to get caught in contradicting himself. Perhaps he should make Jerry the scapegoat; he was dead after all.
“OK,” Tor said, defeated.
“All right then,” Cederberg replied impatiently. “Let’s hear what you have to say.”
Tor tried to rehearse the sentences in his head before he spoke them. It was difficult and he faltered a few times. The cop was glaring at him all the time. It was as if he was trying to punch holes in Tor’s story to test its truth.
“Jerry found a cop to work with,” he managed to blurt out. Not the best opening statement, but at least the cat was out of the bag; now he had to be careful not to give the whole story away. “What they were up to, I don’t know. But they seemed to be onto a good thing,” he continued.
“A cop?” Cederberg asked sceptically, as he exchanged a glance with Jonsson. “And you expect us to believe you?”
“Believe what you will, but it’s the bloody truth.”
“Listen, you bloody pothead,” Cederberg thundered. “Don’t lie to me, or I’ll arrange forged papers for child molestation as soon as you are sent down. With that reputation, you’ll be a dead man walking in the nick. Neither you nor your fucking lawyer can do anything to stop that happening.”
Tor said nothing and just stared blankly at Cederberg. He had heard rumours of papers being forged to protect rapists and paedophiles when they got sent to prison, but never the other way round.
“Do you want your arsehole stretche
d to five times its normal size just for being a wise guy?” Cederberg threatened him.
Tor did not answer.
“You’ll go straight to the top of the pussy chart with the big boys at the Kumla nick.”
Tor shook his head, unimpressed. “If you’re trying to scare me, you can stop wasting your breath. I’ve done too much prison time to believe your bullshit. I’m not worried about your fake papers talk either; it’s just a load of shit.”
“We’ll see about that,” Cederberg leered. “The news that Tor Hedman is a paedophile will get more attention than a topless blonde in a prison full of Yugos and jungle bunnies. Especially if it also comes out that you are a member of the ‘Keep Sweden Swedish’ party. You know, the skinheads who want to send all the refugees back. Imagine if a copy of their members’ list appears in the cell block where you’re serving your sentence. Sit and think about that.”
Hedman’s poker face briefly folded. Cederberg realized he had kicked in the right door. Hedman had mashed potatoes between his ears and this was how to handle such idiots. Use their own subculture against them. Soon an ambulance-chaser would be facing him across the table and he would have to stay within the blue-eyed boundaries of the law. If he could have just a little more time, he would break Headcase without any assistance from Walter or his RSU sidekick. He just needed a little more time.
“The world outside these walls is not for scumbags like you,” Cederberg tried again, intent on striking while the iron was still hot. “You’re better off inside jail; most people would agree on that.”
“Don’t you want to know what Jerry and the cop were working on?” Tor asked meekly. He was on the verge of begging.
“No,” said Cederberg, glimpsing the promised land starting to come into view. “The only thing that can save your arse is if you tell the truth about what happened in Gnesta.”
“I was never there,” Tor repeated.
For a brief moment, there was silence. Cederberg glared at Jonsson.
“Well, then,” he concluded and stood up. “I’ll send you a jar of Vaseline when you get sent down. I’m not totally heartless, no matter what people say.”
“Wait,” Tor pleaded.
Cederberg continued to tie up the interview as if he hadn’t heard Tor speak. He now knew that it was a question of mere seconds before the prospective jailbird started to sing. When he began, it would be difficult to shut him up. Even scum like Hedman had a need to confess their sins sometimes. Even if it meant serving a long jail sentence.
“It’s just fascinating to witness Cederberg in action,” Walter said, standing by Jonna’s side. He had his hands in his pockets and was watching the events on the other side of the glass like a parent watching their children at play.
“Indeed, he’s a never-ending source of philosophical gems,” Jonna agreed.
“Real life doesn’t always follow the rule books,” Walter said, leaning against the glass. “Cederberg has a certain touch when he is interrogating. Sometimes it works, but mostly the result is as satisfying as a ten-crown hamburger. You can’t intimidate hardened villains like Tor Hedman. Cederberg should know that, but he’s so wrapped up in his own self-importance that it would be easier getting a nun to do a lap dance than to convince him to change his approach.”
Jonna looked at Walter. She was expected to proffer some sort of clever image. She thought for a moment as Walter watched Hedman.
“Is it possible that Cederberg is sexually inadequate?” she asked coyly.
Jonna got Walter’s attention.
“A side effect of impotence is frustration, which is taken out on others,” she continued. “It’s a well known fact that a man’s virility dramatically declines like a . . .” She paused, searching for a suitable metaphor.
Walter looked at her as if she had cursed in church. “I think we should go in now,” he said, opening the door to the interview room. Jonna smiled and followed after him.
Cederberg turned and froze when he saw Walter and his sidekick enter the interview room. He was in the process of breaking one of Sweden’s most wanted villains, with a text-book approach that would be used by the police academy to teach tactical interview methods. Five more minutes was all he needed. With two more cooks in the kitchen, there was a risk that Hedman would wriggle off the hook. Female interrogators, especially the ones that looked like schoolgirls, made the toughest villains clam up tighter than a virgin crossing her legs. No one was going to spill their guts for Pippi Longstocking, even if she did have a nine-millimetre in her side holster.
Cederberg firmly held up five fingers, indicating that he wanted Jonna and Walter to wait.
They turned in the doorway and left.
Tor was thinking about his last day with Jerry and their disastrous visit to Omar. It felt like such a long time ago, almost as if it had never happened. He had been dependent on Jerry and had let him do all the thinking. Tor took care of the practical stuff. In an instant, everything had been snatched from their grasp. A few months later, Tor had been arrested by the cops and was facing a life sentence. Not exactly a brilliant start to his solo career. Perhaps it was best to keep quiet until his lawyer arrived.
“So, where were we?” Cederberg began, sitting in his chair again.
“Nowhere. I’m not saying another word until my lawyer gets here,” said Tor decisively.
Cederberg felt his temper rising. He was tired and his patience had evaporated. He cast a quick glance at the mirror. He knew that Walter and his sidekick were standing behind the one-way glass, waiting to take over.
“You have a very short memory,” said Cederberg, in a softer voice. “Didn’t we just discuss what consequences your bullshit would have?”
“I want my lawyer!” Tor shouted.
Cederberg let out a deep breath and leaned over Tor. “I’m going to see that you get a warm welcome in the nick,” he whispered. “By the way, you can forget about the jar of Vaseline.”
“My lawyer,” repeated Tor.
Cederberg was on the brink of exploding. Suddenly, the door opened and Walter and Jonna entered. Cederberg knew his time was up. He glared angrily at Tor before leaving the room, together with Jonsson.
“It’s your lucky day,” Walter said, sitting down opposite Tor. “Your counsel will be here in a few minutes.”
“Good.”
“Do you want something to eat?”
“Is it your turn to be the bad cop?” Tor asked, looking at Jonna with tired eyes.
Walter grinned. “Who should I be? The good cop?”
“Who gives a shit?” Tor said.
The door opened once more and a suited young man with a sideswept fringe entered, escorted by a uniformed officer.
“Stein Devant, from Rosdahl Law Firm,” the stressed young man introduced himself.
He shook hands with Jonna and Walter. Then he sat next to his client and asked for them to be given some privacy, with the microphones turned off.
Walter closed the door.
Five minutes later, they were summoned by the lawyer.
“No prosecutor?” the lawyer asked.
“Of course,” Walter said. “She’ll be here after lunch.”
“We have no objections to that,” said the lawyer, looking at his client, who did not seem the slightest bit interested in what was going on around him.
“I didn’t think you would,” Walter said and began the formal statement about who was present at the interview.
“Let’s get started, shall we?” Walter put a shoe on the table. “This is your shoe? Correct?”
“Yes, so what?” Tor replied. “You took it off me just a while ago. Got a bad memory?”
“An unusual shoe with regards to the size, which is 48.”
The lawyer looked puzzledly at Walter.
“Tor i
s just one of many people with size-48 shoes.”
“Not many, but there are a few,” Walter said. “Actually, about a dozen pairs of this style have been sold in Sweden.”
“Where are you going with this?” the lawyer asked.
“Well, an identical footprint was recovered last year in Färingsö forest, in connection with the kidnapping of the journalist Jörgen Blad.”
Tor stared at the shoes. They were the same trainers that he had been wearing when he had made his escape from the psycho cop. He had been forced to leg it over clay ground. Why hadn’t he disposed of them? That damned Ricki had insisted on cleaning them up instead of buying new ones. Stupid, fucking, cheapo slag.
“But my client is not suspected of the kidnapping of Jörgen Blad?” asked the lawyer.
“It seems that the hostage-taking and last year’s incident in Gnesta are linked to the Jörgen Blad kidnapping.”
“In what way?”
“I’ll return to that in due course,” Walter said. “First, I want to ask if your client recognizes this man.”
Walter held up a grainy photograph of Martin Borg.
Tor shook his head and said nothing.
“Who is that?” the lawyer inquired.
“Isn’t this the man who helped you to escape?” Walter continued.
“Who is the person in the photograph?” the lawyer insisted.
“Ask your client.”
“He said he doesn’t know who that is,” the lawyer rebuffed him.
“I think he does,” said Walter. “He was in fact the person who tipped off Tor about our raid.”
“On what do you base your assumption?”
“Mobile-phone traffic. The man in the picture is in fact a police officer called Martin Borg. He’s the same policeman who was involved in the kidnapping and the incident in Gnesta last year.”
Project Nirvana Page 27
