Ultimatum

by Anders de la Motte

  Wallin was completely pale by now.

  “Naturally, I’ll recommend you to whoever gets appointed, and I’ll make sure you get a suitable position with the National Police Committee, where your abilities can be used to best advantage,” Stenberg went on. “Everyone’s already aware of the work you’ve done with the reorganization. And I don’t think there’s anyone who could question your loyalty.”

  Stenberg paused for a few seconds. This conversation was immensely satisfying, and he wasn’t in any hurry.

  Wallin sucked his lips in. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down.

  “So there’d be no job for me here in Justice? An inquiry or something like that?”

  Stenberg enjoyed the moment. He waited just long enough for a spark of hope to ignite in the other man.

  “I’ve thought about it, Oscar. And we simply don’t have a position that would do you justice.”

  • • •

  Oscar Wallin stared at the screen in front of him. He had called the duty officer and found out as much as he could. But nothing he had learned had done anything to improve his own position.

  John Thorning had been found by his daughter-in-law shortly after two o’clock on Sunday. His wife, who was at their home in Spain, had tried to call him a number of times that morning, and because their daughter-in-law happened to be closest, she was the one who ended up going out to the summer cottage. John was lying in bed with his eyes open, and his daughter-in-law, who was evidently a sensible woman, realized at once that he was dead. The police patrol that was dispatched reached the same conclusion, and the doctor on call simply had to fill in the necessary paperwork and sign a death certificate.

  There was nothing to indicate that Thorning’s death was anything but natural, and there was no sign that anyone else might have been in the house. In all likelihood there would be no further police investigation and no autopsy. Unless the family, in the midst of their grief, insisted upon one, which Wallin doubted.

  John Thorning was dead. Just as dead as his own future career. Stenberg had been crystal clear on that point.

  He had been hoping that, over time, Stenberg would come to realize the importance of keeping him by his side. That every­thing he had done thus far had actually been for the good of them both. To promote their mutual agenda. Even the meetings he had had with John Thorning. Naturally, it had been a way to gain a degree of political protection until Jesper came to his senses. But once that happened, they would have been able to use his new friendship with John as a way of approaching their adversary and obtaining inside information. But he had never had the chance to explain that to Jesper. And now it was too late.

  The sound of his cell phone buzzing made Wallin jump. His mother’s picture appeared on the screen but he decided not to take the call. His voice mail took over and the ringtone stopped, then started again almost immediately. Just as well to get it over and done with.

  “This isn’t a good time, Mom. I’ll call you later,” he said as soon as he pressed the green button.

  “Don’t use that tone with me, Oscar. This is important.” Her voice was harder than usual.

  Wallin took a deep breath. “What’s happened?”

  “I’ve just had a phone call from the bank. The woman who rang was very nice, but she told me that forty thousand kronor have been withdrawn from a brand-new credit card that’s been issued in my name, and she wanted to check if everything is okay.”

  Wallin pinched the bridge of his nose.

  “In our family we never have credit card debt,” his mother went on. “Your father was very particular about that. I explained that it must be fraud. The woman at the bank said that we’d have to report it to the police and then contest the debt. I tried to explain that my son is a police officer, one of the most important in the country, but I could tell from her voice that she didn’t believe me. Not even when I told her your name.”

  “No?” Wallin pressed his fingertips against his forehead. His pulse was drumming in his temples. He knew exactly who was behind this, and why. Fucking little bitch!

  “I want you to sort this out, Oscar. At once, before we get a bad reputation at the bank. Surely it ought to be easy for someone working directly for the minister of justice. Or perhaps you’d rather I ask your father for help. He’s got plenty of contacts. Important people . . .”

  A strong smell of smoke, presumably from the steamboats over by the City Hall, suddenly drifted into the room, and Wallin glanced over at the window. It was closed, but he could definitely smell it, and imagined he could even hear the rumble and crackle of the fire consuming the dry wood deep inside the bowels of the boat.

  “Mom,” he said, noting that his voice sounded very different now. “There’s no need for you to worry. I’ll sort it out.”

  Thirty

  Natalie felt her heart start to beat faster. Oscar Wallin was standing in her doorway. On the threshold of her home, for fuck’s sake. His face was completely white, and his words were accompanied by a fine spray of saliva.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said. “Has something happened to your mother?”

  Wallin took a step forward and ended up closer to her than felt strictly comfortable.

  “A forged credit card, almost forty thousand withdrawn on it,” he repeated. “Do you understand what that means for her? For me?”

  Natalie shrugged her shoulders and tried to hide the fear that was getting steadily stronger. “What’s that got to do with me?”

  “Don’t play stupid, you little bitch!”

  “Think about what you’re saying . . .” Natalie heard the quiver in her voice. Her heartbeat moved up into her throat.

  Wallin took another step forward, forcing her to retreat farther into the hall. Obviously she should have left the security chain on before she opened the door, but she hadn’t anticipated this particular scenario. The bills wouldn’t start descending on Mrs. Wallin for several weeks, and by then Natalie would be long gone.

  “You’ve crossed the line,” Wallin hissed. “I’ll crush you like a fucking insect.” His eyes were wide-open, his teeth bared, as if he were thinking of biting her.

  “For God’s sake, calm down . . .” Natalie didn’t sound anywhere near as cool as she hoped.

  Wallin closed the door behind him. Felt for something in his jacket pocket.

  “I’m not alone . . .” she said, a bit too quickly.

  Wallin stopped for a moment, then craned his neck as if he were listening for sounds within the apartment. But all he could hear was the noise of the television.

  “You’re lying,” he said. “Who the hell would you have here?”

  Natalie gasped. Wallin had pulled his hand out of his pocket. He was holding a black oblong object that looked a bit like an electric razor. A tiny blue spark glistened between the electrodes at the end.

  Fear squeezed all the air out of her. She held her hands up in front of her. “Oscar, for fuck’s sake . . .”

  A sudden clatter inside the apartment made Wallin start. The sound of a dishwasher being opened. Wallin blinked a couple of times and looked like he’d just woken up. He closed his mouth and looked around. And saw Atif’s big running shoes on the mat beside his feet.

  “Like I said”—this time Natalie managed to keep her voice steady—“I’m not alone. I have no idea what’s happened to your mom or who’s ripped her off. Have you got any proof? Anything that leads you to suspect me? Because you wouldn’t just show up here and start yelling accusations at me, would you?”

  Wallin didn’t answer. He quickly put the Taser back in his pocket, his eyes darting between Natalie and the running shoes. The color of his face slowly returned to normal. More noise from the kitchen, a bit louder this time.

  “I’ll interpret your silence as a no,” Natalie said. “You have no proof whatsoever that I’m behind the attempt t
o defraud your mother.”

  Wallin went on glaring at her. His jaw was clenched, his lips barely visible. Then he turned on his heel and left the apartment without a word.

  Natalie closed the door behind him and slowly locked it. She put the safety chain on, leaned against the doorframe, and breathed out.

  “What was that about?” Atif asked, peering out into the hall. To judge by the expression on his face, he hadn’t heard much of the conversation. The television must have drowned it out.

  “Nothing,” Natalie mumbled. “Just an old acquaintance.”

  • • •

  Oscar Wallin was sitting completely still inside his car. The key was in the ignition and the radio was on, playing a piece of classical music he recognized. Mozart, his father’s favorite composer. Sometimes he could still conjure up the image of the professor as he sat in his armchair in front of the record player. “Mozart was a genius, Oscar. But he’d be nothing without his father, Leopold. Just another child prodigy without goals or direction. That shows how important it is to have role models, doesn’t it?” The professor put one hand on his son’s head. Patted him absentmindedly, as if he were a dog.

  But the memory always became distorted toward the end. The professor grew older and lost his hair, and now there was a different boy next to his armchair. A fire burning in the hearth. The flames reflected in the windows, so that it looked like the fire was actually in the garden. Tall flames reaching for the night sky.

  Wallin changed stations in the middle of the piece and took a GPS tracker out of the glove compartment. He turned a switch and a small green diode flashed a couple of times. Then he pulled the sun visor down and caught his own reflection in the little mirror.

  They thought they could trample all over him, treat him like a dog. That was partly his own fault. He had been too kind, too forgiving. Had thought there were still rules and that everyone was sticking to them. But he knew better now, knew what it was going to take for a man who wanted to win. Who was prepared to fail badly in order to achieve great success.

  He opened the door and started to walk down the street. It took less than two minutes to find Natalie’s car. And even less time to attach the GPS tracker under the mud flap.

  Thirty-One

  Natalie looked out across the parking lot in front of the gates of the preschool. Half the places were taken, but none of the vehicles were any of the cop cars she had seen at the gas station or during her discreet little walks around the residential area where Cassandra and Tindra lived. By now she knew their routines. Knew that the police car that picked Cassandra up from work would stop outside the small gate to the preschool and the two cops would accompany her into the square building on the other side of the play area.

  The men were on their guard, but they were looking out for Atif, a two-meter-tall thug with half an ear missing. She was about as far from that description as it was possible to get.

  In other words, this job ought to be pretty straightforward, no harder than walking around the area where Cassandra lived with Nordic walking poles and pretending to exercise, the way she’d spent most of the past weekend. Even so, she could feel her hands shaking slightly. Wallin’s visit the previous evening had unsettled her. He’d threatened her before, but he’d never previously visited her home. And he’d never waved a fucking Taser in her face before either.

  She should really be delighted. Aside from filling her travel kitty, she’d managed to do exactly what she’d set out to. She had kicked Wallin right where he was most sensitive. But his rage scared her. What would have happened if Atif hadn’t been in the apartment? As luck would have it, she wasn’t planning on staying in the country long enough to find out, and until it was time to leave, she wouldn’t be opening her front door for anyone.

  She looked at her watch. Five minutes to five. High time to go in. She got out of the car. The heels of her low pumps echoed against the asphalt of the little parking lot. Jacket and dress. Dark-framed glasses, makeup, hair loose. No one who had seen her in the various exercise outfits she had worn on her reconnaissance circuits would recognize her.

  In the playground she walked around some Hula-Hoops that were lying in the middle of the path. In the distance she could hear children laughing and yelling. She opened the door and found herself in a corridor. For a moment she was unsure of which way to go, then turned left. She reached several rows of hangers and tiny lockers with little photographs and name badges above them. She found Tindra Nygren’s sign and beneath it her mother’s name. Her jacket and backpack were hanging from the hooks beneath the locker. So now she just had to wait.

  There was a chair a short distance away in the corridor, and she got out a pen and some papers from her briefcase. She sat down and pretended to fill them in.

  Cassandra appeared exactly six minutes later. A slim, toned cop came in a meter or so behind her but luckily stopped by the door. The cop glanced briefly at Natalie and quickly dismissed her as just another mom picking up her snotty little darling.

  Natalie stood up. She went over to the locker next to Tindra’s and pretended to sort out the clothes inside.

  “Cassandra,” she said quietly without looking up.

  The other woman stopped and for a moment looked frightened. But Natalie’s appearance seemed to calm her down.

  “H-Hi,” she said. “You’re Linnea’s mom, aren’t you?”

  Natalie shook her head.

  “Of course not, how silly of me. Elin’s mom, I mean.” Cassandra smiled weakly and Natalie couldn’t help noticing how exhausted she looked. Her eyes seemed simultaneously tired and wary.

  Natalie shook her head again, then took a quick look at the cop by the door.

  “I’m a friend of Atif’s. He asked me to talk to you.”

  The name made Cassandra start. The fear was back in her eyes.

  “Here.” Natalie carefully handed over an envelope. She kept her hand too low for the cop to see. Cassandra looked at her outstretched hand as if there were a bomb in it.

  “Take it,” Natalie said. “This is just to tide you over, to make sure you’re okay.”

  She waved the envelope and thought how ironic it was that she was giving away Oscar Wallin’s mother’s money.

  “Atif wants to help the two of you,” she went on. “Get you out of the country. Start again somewhere else.” She saw movement from the corner of her eye. But it was just one of the teachers saying hello to the cop before smiling at them as she passed.

  “Iraq?” Cassandra shook her head. “Forget it. I’m not going to go around in a burka.”

  “You’re probably thinking of Saudi Arabia. But I don’t think either of those countries is very likely.”

  “Doesn’t matter.” Cassandra snatched the envelope and dropped it in her handbag. “Who are you, anyway? His girlfriend?”

  Natalie recognized the mocking tone all too well. Attractive girl talking to plain girl. Treating her as an object of pity because she hadn’t done too well in the looks lottery.

  “A friend, like I said,” Natalie said.

  “Oh, okay. A friend who happens to be a girl.” Cassandra smiled in a way that did nothing to reduce Natalie’s irritation. “Tell Atif that if he cares about us, he’d give Susanna and Eldar what they want. Then everything will be all right.”

  Cassandra’s confidence seemed to be growing with every sentence. Her smile revealed a perfect row of white Hollywood teeth.

  Natalie forced herself to smile back. She held her breath for a couple of seconds.

  “Now listen. This is how it is. Atif escaped from one of Sweden’s most secure prisons and managed to get hold of a pretty big bundle of money along the way. The first thing he should have done is get away from here. That’s what I would have done, and no doubt you as well.”

  Her voice was tense with dislike, and she had to pause before going on.

  “
Do you know why they blew Abu Hamsa’s head off?” She studied the other woman’s reaction with satisfaction. “No? Well, because he was stealing money from other criminals, and he spent that money on you. At least, that’s what some people will think. Nasty bastards who are already in a bad mood and are now wondering how much you knew—and if you might be sitting on a nice little stash as thanks for all the blow jobs you gave the old man. So guess what’s going to happen ten minutes after the police stop watching you?”

  Natalie could see the other woman shrink as she followed her reasoning to its conclusion. All her self-confidence drained away and fear came back with full force. Natalie almost felt sorry for her, and felt ashamed of herself for kicking someone who was already on the ground. But Cassandra had been asking for it.

  “Everything Atif has done is for your sakes,” Natalie said quietly. She waited until the other woman looked up at her. “For you and Tindra. So if you’re even half as smart as Atif says, you need to listen really fucking hard now.”

  Thirty-Two

  This time the Thorning family had pulled out all the stops, in marked contrast to their response when Sophie died. They’d used all the contacts they had to pull together a memorial service for four hundred guests in Gustaf Adolf Church in just a few days. This would then be followed by coffee for a select number of guests in the cavalry mess at K1, the Östermalm barracks. John Thorning had been a romantic militarist, just like Karl-Erik, so a color guard was a pretty safe bet. Maybe even a military band, considering the amount of money John had donated to the Royal Guards over the years. A fitting farewell to the Great Lawyer.