“I was working at National Crime at the time, where I too was involved in handling CIs. We even trained together, you and I, David. ‘The twelve-step model for source recruitment,’ I’m sure you remember,” Wallin said.
Sarac didn’t answer.
“One of my sources had told me something interesting,” Wallin went on. “There were rumors that the Stockholm Police had managed to place a top-secret infiltrator at the heart of the criminal community. A person with the code name Janus. The Roman god with two faces.”
Wallin threw his arms out. “Of course I didn’t believe him at first. CIs are one thing, but infiltrators, people expressly placed inside criminal organizations, are, as you know full well, not permitted here in Sweden. It all gets a bit too complicated from a purely legal perspective, seeing as an infiltrator sooner or later has to commit crimes in order to maintain his or her credibility. And of course the police mustn’t condone or, worse still, assist someone to commit crimes. Because how would that look?”
Wallin smiled even more broadly this time, but without the smile reaching his eyes. “But my source was insistent, told me that this Janus had caused a lot of damage. That it was down to him that a whole chapter of a biker gang had been broken up, and that the Russians had lost almost forty-five pounds of heroin. And even though they knew about the infiltrator, and there was a price on his head, and the bosses had even managed to find out his code name, they still didn’t know who it was. So we at National Crime decided to take a closer look. And we discovered that Peter Molnar and his special operations team were responsible for most of the best arrests in Stockholm. And of course Molnar himself used to run his own informants.” Wallin shook his head.
“I know Peter. He wouldn’t have any problems breaking a few rules, and he’s smart. But running such an advanced operation as this isn’t really his style. The person we were looking for had to be smart, talented, motivated, and definitely not risk-averse. In other words, not exactly your average police officer. And if you looked at the officers working with CIs in Stockholm at the time, there was really only one obvious candidate.” He held out his hands. “Top of the class, David Sarac. One of the few people who has ever got the better of me.”
Sarac didn’t answer, but it all sounded very familiar. Like an old story you’d suppressed but that came back the moment someone started to tell it.
“So we had an informal meeting, you and I,” Wallin went on. “I told you what I knew about Janus. That he was an infiltrator, and that you were breaking a whole load of rules. That you might even be guilty of misconduct in public office.”
“But that you weren’t about to give me away,” Sarac interrupted. “Not if I shared Janus with you. Giving you a chance of glory up at National Crime, to help build up your own reputation.”
Wallin sat there in silence, tapping his fingertips together in his lap as he carefully studied Sarac’s face. Sarac looked up, trying to keep his gaze steady.
Wallin was an asshole, a prime example. But he was smart as well. Sarac wondered where this conversation was heading.
“Memory is a remarkable thing, isn’t it, David?” Wallin said thoughtfully. “You didn’t remember our meeting, did you? Not until I told you about it just now. And then you had enough detail to find a path through the mist.”
Sarac said nothing, fighting to keep his appearance as neutral as possible. Wallin seemed to see right through him.
“You really have lost your memory,” he said. “I wasn’t actually entirely sure, I suspected that the whole thing might be a smoke screen. A way for you to get out of the mess you’d got yourself into.”
“You mean the fact that you were trying to blackmail me.” The sharpness in Sarac’s voice surprised even him. He saw Wallin squirm slightly in his chair.
“You wanted to share Janus,” Sarac went on. “Or rather, you wanted to share the information but leave me to take all the risks. If I didn’t agree to it, you’d uncover the whole operation. And make sure I was fired.”
Wallin’s mouth narrowed.
“And you were thinking of repeating your offer now, weren’t you? That’s why I’m here. Because you want to know who Janus is, and how to contact him? And what my hold on him is.”
Sarac straightened up.
“Listen very carefully, Wallin. I can’t actually remember anything about Janus, not a fucking thing. And even if I did, I wouldn’t hand him over to you. You said it yourself a short while ago. Our sources put their lives in our hands. Trust us to do the right thing.”
Wallin studied Sarac.
“You don’t get it, do you?” he eventually said.
“What?”
“That if I can work out who’s working Janus, so can other people. You just have to be smart enough to want to get to the bottom of the problem. You bribe an amenable police officer to get hold of the name of the best handler in Stockholm, and voilà!”
Sarac gulped unconsciously.
“We’ve been keeping our eyes and ears open, David,” Wallin went on. “And a few weeks ago we got confirmation. Just days before your crash, in fact.”
“What?” Sarac repeated. But this time he had already guessed the answer.
“Someone’s looking for you, David. Someone’s reached the same conclusion I did. That the only way to find Janus is through you.”
• • •
The little room suddenly felt airless. The air-conditioning was probably switched off to stop it from spreading dust and paint fumes to the rest of the building. Sarac took his jacket off. The front was covered in Sabatini’s blood.
“As you might have heard, I’ve changed jobs,” Wallin said. “On paper I’m running an inquiry for the Ministry of Justice. Looking at the potential savings to be made from pooling resources among public bodies. But in practice I’m working under the direct orders of Minister of Justice Stenberg. Jesper has asked me to identify the best police officers in the country. The ones worth investing in for the future.” He paused to let his words sink in.
“It would be very easy to add your name to the list, David. You could be responsible for the way CIs are handled throughout the country. You wouldn’t have to deal with tired old fossils like Bergh, or ass-lickers like Kollander. But you’re not the sort of man who can be bought, David, I’ve worked that much out. That’s why I’m not going to offer any enticement. But the fact remains.” He pulled a face that was difficult to read. “As long as you are the only link to Janus, you’re in danger. Regional Crime has already washed its hands of you, so you’re pretty much on your own, without backup. But if, on the other hand, you were to start working for me . . .” Wallin threw his arms out.
“You’ll see to it that I get protection,” Sarac muttered.
Outside they could suddenly hear voices. Then there was a knock at the door and the woman who had given Sarac his water popped her head in.
“Bergh is here,” she said curtly. “He’s got Molnar with him. They’re demanding to be allowed to see Sarac.”
Wallin looked at Sarac.
“Show the gentlemen in.”
But before the woman had time to turn around the door was thrown open and Peter Molnar pushed into the room. Bergh followed behind him.
“Peter, how nice.” Wallin smiled. “And the head of the Intelligence Unit as well, my word! I was almost starting to wonder when you were going to appear.”
Molnar seemed slightly taken aback by Wallin’s reaction but quickly recovered.
“What the hell are you up to, Oscar?” he growled.
“Sarac and I have just been having a little chat, between old friends. Isn’t that right, David?” Wallin nodded toward Sarac.
“Come on, David,” Bergh said. “You don’t have to sit here, we’ll take you home so you can have a wash and change your clothes. I’ve spoken to the duty desk, and they’re happy to take a statement from you over the phone.”
He gestured to Sarac to stand up.
“Stay where you are, David,” Wallin said. “
We didn’t have time to finish our discussion before these two gentlemen barged in.”
“It doesn’t matter what rank you are, Oscar, you’re not David’s boss,” Molnar said. “The way I see it, you have absolutely no authority to give any orders here.”
Wallin met Molnar’s gaze. Then he threw his arms out.
“How typical of you, Peter. You turn every situation into a cock-measuring contest.” Wallin shook his head. “The truth, David, is that both Bergh and Peter here want to get hold of Janus just as much as I do. Maybe even more. You see . . .” Wallin leaned closer to Sarac. “If it turns out that either of them knew that Janus is an illegal infiltrator, then they’ll be in a very difficult situation. Bergh is your boss and, at a guess, also your controller. He shouldn’t have authorized an operation of this sort.”
Wallin gestured vaguely toward Bergh, and Sarac saw him look away.
“And as far as Peter and his specialist team are concerned . . . well, perhaps you remember how sensitive the district commissioner is about subgroups that don’t follow the rules, particularly very male groups?”
Molnar’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he said nothing.
“As long as the results keep coming in she doesn’t care,” Wallin went on. “She’s more than happy to hold a press conference and present their results as her own. But if the slightest little difficulty occurs, something that might put a spoke in the wheel of her plans to become our next National Head of Police, then . . .”
Wallin smiled again, the same cold, impersonal smile as before.
“Well.” He nodded to Bergh and Molnar. “These two gentlemen want to make sure there are no loose ends, at any cost. No unnecessary risk factors.”
Wallin paused, then looked directly at Sarac. “Such as you, David.”
THIRTY-SIX
“Wallin’s a slippery bastard,” Bergh muttered as he maneuvered the car through the traffic. “Seriously ambitious, almost certainly aiming to become National Head of Police. This inquiry for the Ministry of Justice has given him the perfect platform. A chance to keep an eye on the competition.”
“You mean the district commissioner in Stockholm?” Sarac said.
Bergh nodded.
“There are plenty of people who’d like to see a woman in the top job. Eva Swensk is a strong candidate, and she’s strengthening her grip on the largest police district in the country. Which simultaneously means there’s less room for mistakes, to put it politely.”
Sarac said nothing for a while. Wallin’s words were still bouncing around inside his head. He had broken the rules, he knew that already. He had actually known all along that Janus wasn’t just an ordinary informant but an infiltrator. Someone he controlled, gave orders to, missions. Someone who even committed crimes with his tacit consent, as well as that of the police authority, indirectly.
But the feelings of guilt Sarac had been having trouble shaking off weren’t the result of professional misconduct. An infiltrator who was managed well was an excellent asset. The question was rather: How well had he handled Janus? Or himself, for that matter? He still couldn’t explain why his apartment had looked as if it belonged to a junkie, and he had no desire at all to go back there. Bergh seemed almost to have read his mind.
“The apartment’s been cleaned up,” Bergh said. “Must have been that girl, your care assistant, who did it. I think you’ve got a bit of new furniture as well, and the locks have been changed, but Peter knows more about that.”
Sarac nodded, then suddenly remembered that Natalie had said she’d cleared up. He wondered where she was. And whether she was still sitting and waiting in the car over at Högbergsgatan.
“Listen, David.” Bergh turned toward Sarac, and both his expression and tone of voice told Sarac what was coming.
“I know, I know,” he said. “Obviously I should have called you or Peter rather than just going off to see Sabatini.”
Bergh shook his head. “That wasn’t actually what I was going to say, David, even if you’re right. No, I actually wanted to apologize to you.”
Sarac was taken aback and tried to work out which way the conversation was heading now. He failed completely.
“I shouldn’t have put pressure on you the way I did up at the hospital,” Bergh went on. “Not to mention the whole business of pretending to transfer you to the property store.” He shook his head.
“Wallin’s well informed. I’m not just your boss but also your controller, the one who should have been keeping an eye on you. But I allowed myself to be persuaded to ignore the rules. Janus insisted that only one police officer knew his true identity, otherwise he wasn’t going to cooperate. So I wrote my own name on the form, even though you were actually entirely on your own. Kollander gave the whole thing his unofficial blessing. We let the possibilities blind us and didn’t realize the risk we were exposing you to.” Bergh shook his bald head.
“After your accident I panicked. Forty years in the force, mortgage on the house and the country cottage, Jonas’s course fees, everything. I’d promised myself that I wouldn’t end up like the Duke. Bribed and dishonored.”
The name brought Sarac up short. A memory appeared but disappeared before he managed to grab hold of it. Eugene von Katzow, that was the name of Bergh’s predecessor, although he was usually known as the Duke. He was long gone by the time Sarac joined the department, after a lengthy internal investigation and a lot of media attention. But there was something else there, something that involved him personally. Another piece of the puzzle for his growing collection.
Bergh pulled into a parking space a thousand feet from Sarac’s building. Then turned to face him.
“But then I spoke to the wife. And realized that it really wasn’t the end of the world. To be honest, I’m sick of all the crap. I’m sick of arguing with officious assholes like Kollander who don’t understand police work and kick up a fuss every time we have to pay a source more than the embarrassingly low standard fee. He doesn’t give a damn about the benefit to society or how many crooks we catch, as long as the budget balances. Not to mention men like Wallin, only interested in their own careers.” Bergh shook his head again.
“As you already know, the backup list of your CIs was missing from the safe. An internal investigation is under way up in the department, under the leadership of our old friend Superintendent Dreyer. I could probably have ridden out the Janus problem, but a serious security breach in my own department is another matter.”
Bergh made a resigned gesture.
Sarac frowned. The name Dreyer felt familiar as well. Molnar had mentioned him before, but he hadn’t reacted then. Now the name filled him with anxiety.
“Management has to make a show of force,” Bergh said. “Kollander has already come up with one proposal, full salary up to retirement if I cooperate. Stick to the script and make sure nothing lands on him or the district commissioner. My lawyer says it’s a good offer, and in the end it always comes down to money, doesn’t it, David?”
Bergh shrugged and leaned closer to Sarac.
“You’re a good police officer. A damn good one. But I’ve been involved in several cases where a handler has got too close to his contact, almost forgot who he was and where his loyalties lay. It’s not really so strange. The job is all about dissemblance, assuming a role and making truth and lies sound exactly the same. But if you carry on for too long, in the end no one knows what the truth is—not even you yourself. We all have to calibrate our own moral compass, keep things tidy, if you know what I mean? Keep our own house in order.”
Sarac’s mouth had gone dry and he swallowed a couple of times.
“Right now the internal investigators are focusing on me,” Bergh went on. “But it’s only a matter of time before Dreyer comes knocking on your door, and you need to be prepared.”
He reached into the backseat and pulled out an old blue bag.
“I’ve been going through my old things. Getting rid of stuff I no longer need. Maybe you should do the same.” H
e passed the bag to Sarac. “There’s some things in here that I think you might need. But don’t open it until you’re on your own, okay?”
He leaned across Sarac and opened the passenger door.
“Once again, David, I really am very sorry.”
THIRTY-SEVEN
The apartment still smelled strongly of disinfectant. All the blinds were open and the wrecked sofa had been replaced with a new one.
“The boys sorted that out,” Molnar said. “They took a trip to Ikea. We thought it made sense to change the locks as well and get you a proper security chain, so you can stay here for a couple of nights if you don’t feel up to going back to the island. The internal investigators seem to be taking time off over the holidays; it’s been pretty quiet for the past few days. What have you got there?” He pointed at the bag Sarac was holding in his hand.
“From Bergh,” Sarac mumbled. “Some personal belongings of mine he managed to salvage down in the property store.” Lying came surprisingly easily.
Sarac went into the bathroom and shoved the bag into the cupboard under the basin. For a moment he was tempted to open it, but he could hear Molnar’s footsteps outside the door. So he took off his bloodstained jacket instead and threw it in the bath. He sat down on the toilet seat and began to fumble with his trousers. He realized that he’d left his stick somewhere, either in Högbergsgatan or in the police car. No matter, he seemed to be able to manage fine without it.
“David,” Molnar said on the other side of the bathroom door. “What Wallin said is pretty much true.” His voice sounded strained. “The whole Janus affair is a gray area, we were all aware of that.” Then silence.
“But the possibilities outweighed the risks,” Sarac said.
Molnar’s sigh was audible through the door.
“Janus was something quite unique, a chance to change the game completely. We got fantastic results, in total almost seventy pounds of narcotics. Doping drugs worth millions, stolen luxury cars, weapons,” Molnar said.
“But if anything went wrong, the damage would be limited to me. One single police officer who had exceeded his authority.” Sarac could feel himself getting angry.
MemoRandom: A Thriller Page 24
