MemoRandom: A Thriller (21 page)

“Everything has a price,” the voice down there whispered. “A secret wish, a fear, or a desire so strong that we’re prepared to betray absolutely everything we hold sacred. If someone confides their deepest secret to you, you can make them do almost anything.”

The room was spinning faster now, and the floor and ceiling had swapped places. He grabbed hold of the edge of the mattress, trying to cling on. Part of him wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and spare his brain all these impressions. The music came back.

But he went on struggling, trying as hard as he could. He knew there was more. If only he listened hard enough.

“Like a spiderweb,” the voice went on. “Tiny silken threads, each one a work of art in itself. Together they make up something incredibly beautiful. And deadly. But you need to be careful, David. Sometimes you can get too far into the web and forget who you are.”

The room was rotating faster and faster, the movement so violent that he felt his legs lift from the mattress. Then his
stomach, and his chest, until in the end he was sticking straight out from the bed. Ceiling, walls, window, everything was spinning wildly, making him lose sight of the air vent. He felt his grip on the mattress loosening and screwed his eyes tightly, tightly shut. He was thrown out into the darkness.

I owe everything

Debts I can’t escape till the day I die.

Far away he could hear Bergh’s voice. “I can protect him, protect you . . .” Then the man in the hospital, whose gold tooth was glinting in the darkness. “An agreement is an agreement, David,” the man said, as the smell of cigar smoke spread through the room. “You know what the consequences will be if you break your side. Your job, your career, your whole life, everything will be taken from you. You won’t be able to hide forever.”

The darkness turned into images, showing him the whiteboard covered in photographs, the hardened faces, the lines forming a spiderweb. The symbol of the conjoined
J
s.

Then suddenly something completely different. Swaying trees, rows of snow-covered gravestones. Beside them a skinny little man with a downy mustache, wearing shiny tracksuit trousers and a padded yellow jacket that was far too big for him. The man opened his mouth to say something but was interrupted by a phone ringing. He smiled apologetically and pulled his cell phone from his pocket.

“Hello, Selim here,” the man said. He paused while the person on the other end said something. Then his face cracked into a broad smile.

“Hey, Erik J., long time no see!”

They had to use a net to get the body out of the water. One of the firemen was new and made the mistake of trying to pull the corpse by its arms, with the result that one of the arms came detached from the shoulder joint and bobbed around loose inside the yellow padded jacket.

Two of his colleagues laughed and made fun of the color his face had turned until their commanding officer told them to shut up.

“This man has been in the water for about a month, maybe two,” he explained to the new fireman. “You can tell from the color and swelling.”

He pointed at the dead man’s swollen, gray-blue face, where a downy little mustache had turned into a stiff, black brush.

“They can almost double in size if the water’s warm, like Michelin Men.” The officer inserted a dose of chewing tobacco before going on. “The water loosens the skin and other tissues. That’s why we use the net and never pull on any of their limbs, if you see what I mean?”

The new man nodded and gulped a couple of times. He glanced down into the net at the padded yellow jacket and shiny tracksuit bottoms straining against their jellylike contents. Then they both helped the two men in the police van to transfer the swollen body into an extra-large body bag.

“Well, the winter darkness is already starting to show in the suicide figures. Third body in the water this month,” one of the men said, sighing. “There’ll be more after Christmas.”

It wasn’t until much later, when the bloated body was on a table in the Forensic Medical Center and the pathologist had stretched out the skin, that anyone noticed the thin metal wire that had been noosed around the man’s neck.

•  •  •

“Hello?” Stenberg said.

“Good afternoon, Minister, and Happy Christmas!” the dry voice said down the line.

“Is this line secure?” Stenberg asked.

“Of course! How can I help you, Minister?”

“It’s about that service you provided.”

“Yes, Minister?”

“You didn’t keep your part of the bargain.”

“How do you mean, Minister?”

“I’m not going to go into details, all I can say is that you didn’t do the job properly. You were sloppy. You assured me there wouldn’t be any loose ends. Nothing that could link me to the scene.” Stenberg bit his lip. He was making an effort to sound professional rather than worried.

“Yes,” the man at the other end of the line said.

“But now there’s a loose end,” Stenberg said.

“I thought the police investigation had been dropped, Minister?”

“It has. Well, I mean . . . the police took another look and found some inconsistencies. And I have to say, that damn e-mail to her father was quite unnecessary. It only made him suspicious. Sophie wasn’t exactly the letter-writing type, you should have asked me . . .”

“You weren’t exactly talkative, Minister,” the man said. “We made the best of the situation. How come the police are looking at the case again? If it’s already been closed, I mean?”

“That’s irrelevant!” Stenberg said sharply. “The problem is that despite your guarantees there was still evidence there. Evidence that could lead—”

“Let me stop you there, Minister,” the man said. “If I can summarize the matter, you’re unhappy with the result of our services?”

“To put it mildly,” Stenberg growled.

“In spite of the fact that you haven’t actually done anything in return?”

“As I explained, it isn’t that simple.” Stenberg immediately recognized the defensive tone in his voice and cursed silently to himself.

“Of course not, Minister. I wouldn’t have had to ask you for the favor if it had been a simple matter. Just get hold of the name and you’ll see that everything sorts itself out.”

The conversation came to an abrupt end. Stenberg switched off the cheap pay-as-you-go cell phone and fought an impulse to throw it into the lake. This whole situation was at risk of slipping out of his control. All because Wallin’s “reliable” colleague hadn’t understood what was being asked of her. All she had to do was take a look at the apartment and confirm that the original report was accurate. Just as Wallin and he had agreed. So he could pull out the trump card that would make John Thorning dance to his tune.

Instead she’d played at being Sherlock Holmes, even sending samples to the National Forensics Lab. Oscar Wallin had taken his eye off the ball, thereby exposing Stenberg to an unacceptable risk. Perhaps Wallin was getting a bit too comfortable in his role, taking things too much for granted? In which case it was high time to turn up the temperature. Stenberg waited for his dog to pee, then walked a thousand feet along the path before getting out his own cell phone.

“Wallin, Stenberg here.” He had been aiming for a suitably irritable tone but overshot the mark badly. “How are we doing with Regional Crime in Stockholm?” he went on, slightly more reasonably.

“Good morning, Minister! Well, we’re making progress. We’ve been there a week now and expect to have it under
control by early January. The head of Regional Crime, Kollander, has been largely cooperative.”

“Good! And what about that handler, what was his name?” Stenberg paused on purpose so as not to seem too keen. Wallin took the bait at once.

“Do you mean David Sarac, Minister? I’m afraid he’s disappeared from view at the moment.” Stenberg noticed a slight shift in nuance in Wallin’s voice, as if he were trying to sound more composed than he really was.

“And what are you doing to find him?” Stenberg made sure his own voice remained measured.

“We’ve got his apartment under surveillance, and we’ve got people up at his office,” Wallin said. “Dreyer has instigated an internal investigation up there, and he’s also very keen to get hold of Sarac. As you know, Minister, Dreyer investigated the whole issue of how CIs are handled once before, after that unfortunate business with Eugene von Katzow, or the Duke, as he’s also known.”

Stenberg didn’t reply; he had only a vague memory of what Wallin was talking about, and it really wasn’t relevant right now.

“Bergh is claiming that Sarac was moved to the property store the week before the accident, because his competence was under question,” Wallin went on. “If you ask me, that’s a bit of retroactive tidying up. A way of them distancing themselves from Sarac and his working methods, probably ordered by Kollander or someone even higher up.”

“Okay, Wallin, listen very carefully now.” Stenberg paused. Time to raise the temperature to “grill.”

“I had lunch with the district commissioner of Stockholm the other day,” he went on. “Eva Swensk made it abundantly clear that she’s aiming for the post of National Head of Police. There are plenty of people within the party who’d like to see a woman in that position, instead of yet another man. There may even be enough of them for me to have to listen to them, in spite of my earlier reservations.”

Stenberg paused once more as he let Wallin absorb what he had said. He nodded as another dog walker passed him on the path.

“This Sarac,” Stenberg continued before Wallin had time to say anything. “I’ve got a feeling that there’s a reason why he’s disappeared. That he’s sitting on something big that could well end up staining the district commissioner’s lily-white blouse. Do you understand what I’m getting at, Wallin?”

“Absolutely, Minister, I’ll see that the matter is given top priority.” Wallin cleared his throat before going on, but Stenberg had already stopped listening. The tone of Wallin’s voice was enough to tell him the message had hit home. He found himself smiling happily.

•  •  •

Natalie had gone through the whole of the old wooden villa. She had spent several hours each day searching while Sarac slept off his migraine attack. She started with the building materials on the upper floor of the veranda, then worked her way down to the damp cellar, just as Rickard had told her to do. But, just as in the apartment, she hadn’t found anything of interest. Sarac’s permanent home had already been methodically searched. The furniture pulled apart, drawers pulled out of chests and kitchen units. Whoever had searched the apartment had been in a hurry, or had been in a fucking bad mood. Both, perhaps.

Out here there was no sign of anything of that sort. But she had found little traces in the dust on the shelves and windowsills. As if things had been moved and then put back, in almost the same place. Of course it could have been Sarac poking about, but she couldn’t quite shake the feeling that someone had got there ahead of her again. Unless it was just her own frustration trying to make excuses.

Rickard hadn’t been happy. A month had passed since they agreed on their deal, and so far she hadn’t managed to come up
with anything of interest. His happy tone in their early conversations had been replaced by something considerably more uptight. He sounded stressed but also something far worse—he sounded disappointed.

Rickard had hit the nail on the head the first time they spoke. He had found her sore point, the wound that wouldn’t heal because she kept picking at it. He had offered her an opportunity that she didn’t think existed. Clearing her record and giving her the chance to rehabilitate herself in the eyes of her parents, family, friends. But, perhaps most of all, in her own eyes. She wanted to become a doctor, wanted to be someone who saved lives. Working with Sarac had actually only strengthened that ambition. For the first time since she had been forced to break off her medical training, she had a patient. If she hadn’t turned up with his medication, Sarac would have passed out sooner or later, and may even have suffered another hemorrhage.

She pulled her ChapStick out of her jeans pocket and ran it over her lips.

The fact was that she had no idea whether Rickard would keep his part of the bargain. They didn’t exactly have a written contract, and he never said anything about himself or his working methods. Despite that, she had still allowed herself to be convinced that he could be trusted. Rickard seemed to be the sort who could achieve pretty much anything. She wasn’t about to disappoint him.

•  •  •

Sarac managed to get out of bed halfway through Christmas Eve. His migraine had subsided, along with the nausea. His thoughts were slowly getting clearer; it was as if he were adjusting the focus on a pair of binoculars.

Natalie had put up Christmas decorations. She had found a couple of electric candelabra that she must have got from the boxes in the cellar, and had even managed to sort out a ragged
little Christmas tree that, to judge by the strong smell, must have come straight from the forest outside the house.

“Good morning,” she said as he stumbled into the living room. “There’s rice pudding in the kitchen if you’d like some. Ham too. Happy Christmas, by the way.” She held out a small, flat parcel.

“Thanks.” The Christmas present made him feel stupid. Obviously he didn’t have anything for her.

“Open it.” She nodded eagerly.

He fiddled with the paper, feeling her watching him. A DVD. The cover showed five men standing in a lineup. His eyes slid away, toward the old fruit trees at the edge of the forest.

“My favorite film,” Natalie said. “I found it in the bargain bin in the Co-op, of all places. Cost about as much as three liters of milk.”

He forced himself to look away, trying to get his brain and mouth to cooperate.

“Thank you, Natalie,” he said with as much emphasis as he could muster. “I really appreciate it. I mean, not the film. Well . . . not just the film,” he mumbled.

“No problem, just doing my job.” Natalie shrugged her shoulders. “Look, I was thinking of heading off to see my family now, I just wanted to make sure you take these.”