Project Nirvana

by Stefan Tegenfalk

  “We’d like to see proof of the mobile-phone calls first.”

  “Naturally,” Walter said and handed over lists from the mobile-phone operator, together with maps with the GPS co-ordinates written on them.

  The lawyer went through the material quickly. “This proves nothing,” he said.

  “I think it does,” Walter said, letting Jonna take over.

  Jonna reached over the table. “This is your client’s phone number,” she said, pointing at one of the columns. “And this is Martin Borg’s mobile number. We know this by matching the location of the GPS co-ordinates with the route that your client used to escape. We already know that Borg was in Märsta at that time, because he took part in the raid.”

  “It’s possible, but there’s no proof that these two numbers have called each other,” the lawyer objected.

  “Correct,” Jonna said. “But both these numbers were active. Perhaps to a third party who acted as a go-between.”

  “This could be pure coincidence.”

  “Even you don’t believe that,” Walter muttered loudly.

  The young lawyer straightened his tie and gave Walter a sullen look. “Why are you giving us this information?” he asked. “Where is Martin Borg’s counsel?”

  “There is none – yet,” Walter said. “He’s not under investigation here, for the simple reason that he works for the Security Service. SÄPO are running their own investigation.”

  “The Security Service?” the lawyer repeated.

  “We have enough evidence to put your client away for at least eight years.”

  “What is your point?” the lawyer asked.

  Jonna thought the lawyer was doing a good job for someone so young. He was certainly about her age and probably just as new to the job as herself.

  “We can’t promise any reduction of prison sentence,” said Walter, with a troubled frown.

  “Obviously not.”

  “However, we can recommend to the court that Hedman serves his sentence in Holland.”

  “In exchange for what?”

  “In exchange for everything he knows about Martin Borg.”

  The lawyer looked at his client, whose eyes were flickering anxiously.

  “I’ll have to make a phone call first,” the lawyer said.

  Walter put a document on the table.

  “You are bound to keep this strictly confidential. As you can see, the gagging order is signed by Chief Prosecutor Åsa Julén.”

  The young lawyer inspected the document bearing the logo of the Prosecutor’s Office.

  “I need to consult with my client in private,” he said, after putting the paper down.

  “Take your time,” Walter suggested and got up from his seat. “Perhaps you would like something to eat or drink?”

  “A cheese roll,” Tor quickly answered. “Get two. And a large Fanta.”

  Walter turned to Jonna, who was already on her way out of the door in the direction of the cafeteria.

  Chapter 19

  Alice McDaniel was woken by a young policewoman. She introduced herself as an assistant with the Stockholm County CID.

  Alice looked sleepily at the dark-haired woman and decided she was about twenty-five. She had alert, brown eyes, spoke almost perfect English, had beautiful manners and, unlike the guards with their rattling key chains and blank expressions, she also seemed to know what she was talking about.

  “We apologize for making you sleep on a bunk in a detention cell,” Jonna began, “but we didn’t want you to leave the station – for two reasons.”

  “What could they be? You can hardly be accused of giving me too much information.”

  “Partly because my boss, Walter Gröhn, wanted to take your statement personally. Partly because we are worried about your personal safety.”

  “Safety?”

  “As you know, Leo Brageler is wanted for murder.”

  “What does that have to do with a threat to my safety?”

  “That’s something we investigate now,” Walter answered, entering the room. He shook Alice’s hand and introduced himself in a thick Swedish accent.

  Jonna smiled at Walter’s shaky English. But as long as Alice McDaniel understood what he meant, she didn’t need to act as a interpreter – only to clarify any misunderstandings.

  “Have you had breakfast?” Walter said.

  “No.”

  Walter looked at Jonna. Not again, Jonna thought. Not more sandwiches. Ten minutes later, Jonna came back with a breakfast tray.

  “So your company keeps the envelope for Leo, but you are having no idea what the envelope contains,” Walter said, taking a mouthful of coffee.

  “That’s correct,” Alice replied. “We hold lots of things for our clients. Wills and other valuable documents.”

  “Are you laundering money too?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You know what I mean,” Walter smiled.

  Alice dried her mouth with a paper napkin. “Shouldn’t you be asking a bank that question?”

  “Possibly,” said Walter. “Still, it is right to ask you. Are you holding money for Leo Brageler?”

  “No. We don’t do that for any clients.”

  “Just an envelope with secret contents then?”

  “As I stated, there was a CD and a sheaf of documents, with something that looked like research results. Diagrams and graphs, mixed with equations and other stuff that I honestly have little interest in.”

  “Why is Brageler wanting to meet you?” Walter asked, eyeing one of the untouched sandwiches.

  “You would have to ask Leo Brageler,” Alice sighed.

  “That can be a bit difficult,” Walter said, taking a sandwich.

  “How did he get in touch with you?” Jonna asked while Walter was busy eating.

  “As I told your colleagues, the first conversation was on my home phone which is, or rather was, an ex-directory number. All the other calls were made to my mobile phone.”

  “You didn’t give your home number to Brageler by mistake?”

  “By mistake?” Alice exclaimed. “Why would I mistakenly give away the telephone number of my private address?

  “Do you have any idea how Leo got hold of your private number?”

  “You should be telling me!” Alice said.

  “Well, he could have called some of your relatives and perhaps tricked them into revealing the number.”

  “I was raised in a family of tight-lipped solicitors, where we barely reveal family secrets to each other. It’s highly unlikely that my telephone number could be obtained from them without using coercion. Even then, I doubt it would be possible. We’re a stubborn family of Irish descent.”

  “What about the money?” Jonna asked. “Who sent you the money?”

  “I don’t know, but you are of course welcome to have the sender’s account number.”

  “Yes, please,” Walter interjected between bites.

  “What mobile number did he call from?” Jonna continued.

  “We have already checked out,” Walter said. “Of course, it was a damned pre-paid number.”

  Jonna flipped through the earlier statement. She stopped on the page where Alice McDaniel had given the telephone number. Something rang a bell. The telephone number. The last four digits reminded her of . . . her social security number. Her heart skipped a beat. “This number has been used for calls between Hedman and Borg,” she said to Walter excitedly.

  “What did you say?” Walter exclaimed, putting his cup down so hard that it splashed onto the table.

  “I remember this mobile number. The last four digits are the same as my birthday. Two, eight, zero, eight. My birthday is the twenty-eighth of August.”

  Walter snatched the
statement. “Are you certain?”

  “One hundred per cent,” she said, her pulse racing.

  Walter was studying the phone number when the door was opened suddenly by Detective Inspector Wilhelmsson. He was a well-toned, middle-aged man with a regulation crew cut.

  “I need to talk to you,” he said, motioning to Walter and Jonna.

  “Can’t it wait?” asked Walter, looking up from the document.

  “No, it really can’t,” Wilhelmsson said emphatically.

  With some irritation, Walter left his seat and closed the door to the interview room behind them all.

  “Jerry Salminen’s accomplice in Gnesta has been found dead,” Wilhelmsson began. “Shot twice in full public view in Malmö. Probably a drive-by shooting.”

  “His accomplice?” Walter exclaimed. “He’s bloody well sitting in the room next door.”

  “It’s not Hedman,” Wilhelmsson said. “The description from Gnesta fits this man and Martin Borg at SÄPO has confirmed his identity as the man who escaped in Omar’s car.”

  Walter didn’t understand anything. Within the space of sixty seconds, two events had turned the investigation on its head. “It’s not possible.”

  “What’s not possible?” Jonna asked. “Were we wrong about Hedman?”

  Walter shook his head.

  “Who’s the victim?”

  “Vecdi Gönül, aged thirty-six. A restaurant owner from Malmö. Has run a small pizzeria for a few years. He has a few misdemeanours.”

  “Such as?” Jonna asked.

  “Well, speeding to start with,” Wilhelmsson said, “and smuggling. He had packed too much wine and beer in his car boot. Although it was for his own consumption, according to the report.”

  “And his connection to Jerry Salminen?” Walter asked.

  “Borg’s statement,” Wilhelmsson replied.

  “Exactly,” Walter said. “Borg’s statement.”

  “That’s all it takes,” said Jonna. “Julén will be satisfied.”

  “Unfortunately, that’s correct.”

  “But what’s the problem?” Wilhelmsson asked, surprised. “That Borg’s statement is the connection?”

  “Time will tell,” Walter said. “It is just a matter of time before SÄPO takes over the case. Not even Julén can stop that.”

  “What shall we do now?” Jonna asked.

  “Get Hedman to spill his guts before he and the shyster find out about Borg’s dead suspect,” Walter said. “When that happens, the door will be slammed in our faces.”

  “Is there a suspect for the shooting in Malmö?” Jonna asked.

  “Our colleagues in Malmö have a few leads, which are linked to the restaurant business.”

  “Ask them to check if he has an alibi for the day he and Salminen supposedly were in Gnesta. Borg could have identified the wrong corpse,” Walter said.

  “Already checked,” Wilhelmsson said. “According to one person in Vecdi Gönül’s circle of acquaintances, he was in Stockholm that week. A few others say that he was working in the restaurant as usual, but SÄPO believes that it’s a lie to cover up any risk of shame on the family. Apparently, that’s the custom among Turks.”

  “There’s the first hole in their case,” Walter thought aloud, looking amused. “I want the names of the witnesses that say he was in Stockholm.”

  “Sorry. SÄPO has already put a lid on the investigation.”

  “Already?”

  Wilhelmsson nodded.

  Walter looked at the floor with a blank stare. There were too many loose ends in his head right now. He needed to gather his thoughts. What was the connection between Leo Brageler, Tor Hedman and Martin Borg? Was the information on the CD the secret of Drug-X?

  His mobile phone rang. He squinted at the display and answered eagerly when he saw who the caller was. He listened intently for about a minute before he ended the call with a “Well done!”

  “Carlinder has crunched tons of transaction records for pre-paid SIM cards that have been activated recently and has managed to triangulate a position where lots of new cards have been logged into a base station for the first time,” Walter said.

  “What’s the location?” Jonna asked impatiently.

  “It’s in the middle of nowhere outside Örebro,” he said.

  “What is there?”

  “Nothing. That’s what makes it interesting.”

  “What’s interesting about that?” asked Wilhelmsson.

  “Well, why would twenty different people activate their new numbers for the first time in the middle of nowhere?”

  “Granted. But the data from the operator could be inaccurate,” Wilhelmsson suggested.

  “Unlikely – because the data comes from different operators using different base stations and masts.”

  Wilhelmsson looked at Jonna, unconvinced.

  “Are Hedman and his lawyer waiting for us?” Walter asked.

  “For the last fifteen minutes,” Wilhelmsson said. “His lawyer is not happy about being kept waiting.”

  “No, I guess not. He gets a fixed fee and probably wants to get back to his office and start charging time to the next client.”

  “What do we do with Alice McDaniel?” Jonna asked. “We’ll have to let her go soon.”

  “Yes, we can’t hold a witness locked up against her will. But we need to keep her a bit longer. I’m not quite finished with her yet.”

  “So what do we do with her?”

  “Call Julén and say that McDaniel may be laundering money for Brageler and even protecting a fugitive, or something similar.”

  “You want me to lie? To Julén?” Jonna felt her pulse race again.

  “Yes, she’s not going to cry over it. I need to hold the English woman for another twenty-four hours. We can always say we got the facts wrong, if there is any protest from her later. It won’t be the first time. She’ll get two thousand crowns in compensation from the Prosecutor’s Office for illegal detention and a letter of apology from Julén.”

  “But . . .”

  “We have some important matters to clear up,” Walter cut her short in a resolute voice. “How was Leo Brageler able to get Alice’s ex-directory number? What is the significance of the mobile number containing your birth date? We’ll need the NBI’s intelligence specialists to ask their British counterparts for the caller’s number that was used to call her at home. Then we need to find out who is the owner of the bank account. The specialists can even untie that knot for us.”

  “SÄPO has taken over,” Jonna remarked.

  “Yes, but for the time being only the investigation into the pizzeria owner in Malmö. I’m calling Cederberg and Jonsson to take care of the NBI and the English woman. You and Wilhelmsson will take a SWAT team to that place in the woods outside Örebro. Turn over every stone if necessary, but don’t tell the local police where you’re going. If the SWAT team ask about the destination, tell them the Kumla prison. I’ll tell them that we need a special escort from Kumla to the detention-cell block here.”

  Wilhelmsson protested. “Why must we lie to other police officers?”

  “Because we have a leak, perhaps several, within the police department.

  Wilhelmsson looked at Walter, still unconvinced.

  “I take full responsibility,” Walter said. “I’m still in charge, and you will follow my orders regardless of what you think. Get moving. I have to break Hedman before SÄPO take him.”

  Wilhelmsson wanted to protest further, but Walter ignored him.

  Fifteen minutes later, Jonna sat in an unmarked police car, with her Kevlar bulletproof vest chafing her neck. Her Sig Sauer was loaded with a full magazine and she had two spare magazines strapped to her vest. Both she and Wilhelmsson were silent for the most part during the dri
ve to Örebro. Ten kilometres before the exit to Route 50, Wilhelmsson broke the silence.

  “I’ve only been with the department for three years,” he said. “This is my first time leading an operation.”

  Jonna noticed the nervousness in his voice. She didn’t blame him. Her own mouth was dry for the same reason. “The SWAT-team leader will take charge of the actual operation,” she answered, trying to convey a calm confidence, but realizing her voice was also tense.

  “I know that, but I’m the highest-ranking police officer on the scene. That’s why I will have to tell our colleagues in the vehicles behind us about the change in plans. That the routine escort from Kumla prison has now become a raid in the middle of nowhere.”

  “I’m sure they will understand,” said Jonna, forcing a smile. She didn’t actually believe it herself.

  “We’ll soon find out,” Wilhelmsson sighed. He announced a brief stop over the police radio and pulled over to the side of the road. Three unmarked vans stopped behind him.

  “What’s going on?” the SWAT-team leader asked.

  “Change of plans,” Wilhelmsson said. “We have to search a forested area to the north.” He pointed along Route 50, which they had just turned onto.

  The team leader looked at Wilhelmsson, curiously.

  “We’re just conducting a search of the area,” continued Wilhelmsson.

  “What about the special transport?”

  “We have been ordered to abort the escorted transfer and go to this location in the woods,” Jonna interrupted. “I’ve just received a tip from a confidential informant that there may be an escape attempt and that the suspects are in this area of the woods. Haven’t Gröhn or Lilja informed you?”

  “No,” the team leader said. “More importantly, the communications centre has not been informed.”

  “Communications don’t always work as planned,” Jonna smiled, weakly. Wilhelmsson backed up her statement with a concerned expression. The team leader shook his head and walked back to his van.

  “I want a briefing five kilometres from the target location,” he yelled, before slamming the van door shut.

  Jonna gave a thumbs-up and realized that she was sweating heavily inside her bulletproof vest. Working with Walter required lots of nerve and a sack of lies for his schemes. Wilhelmsson was more exposed than she, which was a small comfort. If they were just following orders, then surely there was no reason for concern? She hoped she was right.