MemoRandom: A Thriller (30 page)

The police were already cordoning off the area, stretching out their blue and white plastic tape and sealing off almost the entire block. Two officers were talking to the argumentative couple, who now had their arms around each other. More police had managed to open the door to Sabatini’s building and were heading inside, weapons drawn.

Sarac got slowly to his feet, brushing the grit and slush from his trousers as best he could. Jesus! He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

Someone took hold of his arm.

“You saw the whole thing, didn’t you?” A female police officer, she couldn’t have been more than twenty-five. No one he recognized. He saw her looking at the bloodstains on his trousers and coat. “We’d like you to accompany us to the station.”

•  •  •

Sarac’s been arrested, what should I do? /Natalie

Natalie was standing by the cordon, watching as Sarac was put in the back of a police car. He seemed okay, which was at least of some comfort. But what did the rest of it mean?

She received a reply to her text less than a minute later.

Hold back for now! /R

Okay, so what did that mean? How long was
for now
? His texts were even more abrupt than his phone conversations. She hated people who couldn’t even be bothered to write their whole name.

So what was she supposed to do now? If Sarac could just look at the pictures and confirm that they were of the man he was looking for, she could complete her mission. But instead she watched him being driven away in a police car.

•  •  •

The car journey only took a couple of minutes; the nearest police station was just a few blocks away. While they were waiting for the gate to the custody unit to open, the female officer’s phone rang.

“Nineteen forty-seven, Andrén,” she said curtly. Then listened to the person at the other end.

“Okay,” she said. The gate was now open, but she gestured to her colleague to wait.

“Understood, we’re on our way.” She ended the call.

“We’ve been outbid,” she said to her colleague. “We’re to take him straight to headquarters in Kronoberg.”

The driver put the car in reverse and pulled back into the street. He did a U-turn and set off into traffic.

“Who was it who called?” the male officer said when they had reached Hornsgatan. “The duty officer at Crime?”

“I’ll tell you later.” The female officer gave Sarac a quick sidelong glance.

The drive to Police Headquarters took barely ten minutes.

Sabatini’s blood was still all over Sarac’s hands and clothes. He couldn’t stop crying, and each time he sniffed, the female officer looked at him in a way he didn’t much like. As if she thought he was pathetic for crying over a stranger. But Sabatini hadn’t been a stranger.

They drove into the underground garage and stopped by the elevator leading up to the custody unit. They were met by two people, a man and a woman, both wearing suits.

“We’ll take it from here,” the woman said.

“Okay,” one of the uniformed officers replied. “You’ll sign him in as well?” She took her notebook out from her trouser pocket.

“We already have all the details,” the woman in the suit interrupted. “Thanks for your help, 1947.”

She took Sarac lightly by the arm and led him over toward the elevators. But instead of getting the elevator that went straight up to the custody unit, they carried on, toward a smaller elevator further inside the garage.

“Where are we going?” Sarac asked, hearing how flat his voice sounded.

“You’ll see,” the woman said, pressing the button for the top floor.

The corridor they emerged into looked deserted. Only half the lights in the ceiling were lit, there were rolls of paper and plastic piled up along the corridor, and the whole place smelled of paint.

They led him into one of the small rooms. Two office chairs facing each other, one window, blinds drawn. Nothing else.

“Would you like something to drink?” the woman asked.

Sarac nodded. He suddenly noticed that he was terribly thirsty. The woman left the room while her colleague stayed behind. In the distance Sarac heard the sound of running water. Then the woman came back and handed him a glass.

“T-thanks.” He raised the glass, shut his eyes, and took some big mouthfuls. He tried to erase the image of the dying Sabatini from his mind’s eye. When he opened his eyes again the pair who had escorted him were gone. Instead there was a man was sitting on the chair opposite him. A fair-haired, well-dressed man with a boyish appearance. Sarac recognized him at once.

“Hello, David,” the man said. “My name’s Oscar Wallin, but you already know that. We’re old acquaintances.”

“Shame about Sabatini.” Wallin leaned forward toward Sarac. “I’ve had CIs who’ve died. It gets to you, doesn’t it? It makes no difference what they put in the handbooks or teach in courses. All that stuff about not getting too close, not getting involved.” Wallin shook his head.

“CIs put their lives in our hands. We persuade them to cooperate, use all sorts of psychological tricks to snare them. And once they’ve taken the bait, as you know, there’s—”

“No way back,” Sarac muttered.

Wallin nodded slowly.

“You look awful, David. I almost wouldn’t have recognized you. The last time we met was when I approached you with a proposal, if you remember?” Wallin leaned back in his chair.

Sarac shook his head slowly. “I’ve had a stroke, in case you haven’t heard. I basically can’t remember anything.”

“From the past few years, yes, so I heard.” Wallin smiled, a boyish smile that made him look even younger, if that was actually possible.

“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.”