Project Nirvana (34 page)

“So, where were we?” Cederberg began, sitting in his chair again.

“Nowhere. I’m not saying another word until my lawyer gets here,” said Tor decisively.

Cederberg felt his temper rising. He was tired and his patience had evaporated. He cast a quick glance at the mirror. He knew that Walter and his sidekick were standing behind the one-way glass, waiting to take over.

“You have a very short memory,” said Cederberg, in a softer voice. “Didn’t we just discuss what consequences your bullshit would have?”

“I want my lawyer!” Tor shouted.

Cederberg let out a deep breath and leaned over Tor. “I’m going to see that you get a warm welcome in the nick,” he whispered. “By the way, you can forget about the jar of Vaseline.”

“My lawyer,” repeated Tor.

Cederberg was on the brink of exploding. Suddenly, the door opened and Walter and Jonna entered. Cederberg knew his time was up. He glared angrily at Tor before leaving the room, together with Jonsson.

“It’s your lucky day,” Walter said, sitting down opposite Tor. “Your counsel will be here in a few minutes.”

“Good.”

“Do you want something to eat?”

“Is it your turn to be the bad cop?” Tor asked, looking at Jonna with tired eyes.

Walter grinned. “Who should I be? The good cop?”

“Who gives a shit?” Tor said.

The door opened once more and a suited young man with a sideswept fringe entered, escorted by a uniformed officer.

“Stein Devant, from Rosdahl Law Firm,” the stressed young man introduced himself.

He shook hands with Jonna and Walter. Then he sat next to his client and asked for them to be given some privacy, with the microphones turned off.

Walter closed the door.

Five minutes later, they were summoned by the lawyer.

“No prosecutor?” the lawyer asked.

“Of course,” Walter said. “She’ll be here after lunch.”

“We have no objections to that,” said the lawyer, looking at his client, who did not seem the slightest bit interested in what was going on around him.

“I didn’t think you would,” Walter said and began the formal statement about who was present at the interview.

“Let’s get started, shall we?” Walter put a shoe on the table. “This is your shoe? Correct?”

“Yes, so what?” Tor replied. “You took it off me just a while ago. Got a bad memory?”

“An unusual shoe with regards to the size, which is 48.”

The lawyer looked puzzledly at Walter.

“Tor is just one of many people with size-48 shoes.”

“Not many, but there are a few,” Walter said. “Actually, about a dozen pairs of this style have been sold in Sweden.”

“Where are you going with this?” the lawyer asked.

“Well, an identical footprint was recovered last year in Färingsö forest, in connection with the kidnapping of the journalist Jörgen Blad.”

Tor stared at the shoes. They were the same trainers that he had been wearing when he had made his escape from the psycho cop. He had been forced to leg it over clay ground. Why hadn’t he disposed of them? That damned Ricki had insisted on cleaning them up instead of buying new ones. Stupid, fucking, cheapo slag.

“But my client is not suspected of the kidnapping of Jörgen Blad?” asked the lawyer.

“It seems that the hostage-taking and last year’s incident in Gnesta are linked to the Jörgen Blad kidnapping.”

“In what way?”

“I’ll return to that in due course,” Walter said. “First, I want to ask if your client recognizes this man.”

Walter held up a grainy photograph of Martin Borg.

Tor shook his head and said nothing.

“Who is that?” the lawyer inquired.

“Isn’t this the man who helped you to escape?” Walter continued.

“Who is the person in the photograph?” the lawyer insisted.

“Ask your client.”

“He said he doesn’t know who that is,” the lawyer rebuffed him.

“I think he does,” said Walter. “He was in fact the person who tipped off Tor about our raid.”

“On what do you base your assumption?”

“Mobile-phone traffic. The man in the picture is in fact a police officer called Martin Borg. He’s the same policeman who was involved in the kidnapping and the incident in Gnesta last year.”

“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.