“No,” said Johansson. How would I know that? he thought.
“We’re going through old parking violations and suicides and hotel bookings since last summer,” said Jarnebring. “Fucking academics. If you killed yourself last summer you can’t God help me have shot the prime minister, can you?”
“They don’t seem to know what to do,” said Johansson. For that matter, how could they? he thought. Then they concluded their conversation and each returned to his own business. Johansson sorted his dirty laundry and threw out old papers. Then he went to bed and fell asleep more or less as usual.
When the chief constable strode into his office they came rushing like a flock of sheep, all bleating at the same time. But he only needed to stop and raise his hand with a commanding movement to silence them.
“Gentlemen,” he said, “I’m taking command and hereby call the investigation force to its first meeting at fourteen zero zero hours in the large auditorium in the Kronoberg block. Proceed, carry out.”
It takes so little, he thought as he strode into his office and closed the large double doors behind him.
At about the same time as the Stockholm chief constable was withdrawing in order to commune with himself in private, Police Superintendent Waltin sat down across from Berg on the other side of his large desk.
Good Lord, thought Waltin with delight when he saw him. He seems in a state of complete dissolution.
“How are you doing, Erik?” said Waltin with a worried expression.
“I’m sure I’ve had better days,” sighed Berg. “The only consolation just now is that his wife made it.”
“Yes, he clearly spared her,” said Waltin with a pastoral expression. Must talk with Hedberg when we meet, he thought.
“Spared,” snorted Berg. “He missed, the bastard, the bullet grazed her back and she’s alive only by God’s providence.”
Perhaps I ought to send him to an eye doctor too, thought Waltin.
“You wanted to talk with me,” said Waltin, adjusting the crease in his trousers. In honor of the day he’d chosen a simply cut dark-gray suit with matching monochrome tie. Dark gray, almost black, very appropriate considering the circumstances.
“I was thinking that you can manage the liaison with the investigation down in Stockholm,” said Berg. “You’ll have that as your only assignment for the time being.” Then I’ll have to try to see to it that we’re still here when this is over, he thought.
“Fine with me,” said Waltin. “How did you intend to organize this?” This is almost too good to be true, he thought.
“We’ll have to start by giving them the material on threats to the prime minister,” said Berg.
“Of course,” said Waltin, making a note in his little black book that he’d taken out. I’ll see to it that it gets thoroughly sorted first, he thought with delight.
“Yes, they’ve already gotten the Kurdish material, as I understand it, for Kudo and Bülling have no doubt already arranged that,” sighed Berg.
“Nice to hear,” said Waltin diplomatically. This really is too good to be true, thought Waltin.
“Yes, I guess that’s all,” said Berg, barely suppressing a sigh.
“What should we do about the oversight of the external operation?” asked Waltin with an expression of appropriate interest. Perhaps high time to close it down, he thought.
“It might as well continue as usual, the operation that is,” Berg clarified. “I can’t imagine that anyone is interested in any oversight whatsoever at this point.” Don’t show off, he thought wearily.
“And the Krassner case is probably history too, if I’ve understood correctly?”
“Yes, really,” said Berg. Whatever that matter could possibly have to do with this, he thought.
“Yes, we may as well take the good with the bad,” said Waltin sanguinely.
Where does he get all this from? thought Berg. What’s wrong with this guy? Or is there something wrong with me? “Although we’re hardly likely to escape a parliamentary investigation when this affair is finally cleared up,” he said.
Especially if they clear it up, thought Waltin, on the verge of starting to giggle out loud. Although it doesn’t need to go that badly, he thought.
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” said Waltin consolingly.
Between Sala and Stockholm the chief constable had already worked out the completely new investigative organization that he intended to set up. It was both logical and self-evident and took the form of a rather flat pyramid. At the bottom he had the investigation force itself, and according to his preliminary calculations he would need at least six hundred men if he were to be able to create a sufficient reserve just in case. Then he obviously needed a staff of all the heads of the various departments and the various observers from the ministry of justice and the remaining authorities within the legal system that he’d thought of calling in. Plus the secret police and the National Bureau of Criminal Investigation, obviously, and just so they wouldn’t get any ideas in their little heads he now made a small notation about “observer status” in the margins. At the most, forty-some people in the investigation command itself, he thought contentedly.
Then remained the most important part of his organization: his secret brain trust, to which he only intended to invite his best friend along with his good friend the former diplomat (considering possible connections to foreign countries), a wide domain for himself, along with that first-rate spokesman at the National Police Board whom his best friend’s good friend the diplomat had tipped him off about and whom he’d actually already met at the introductory seminar on the scientific detective. And if the need arose then it surely ought to suffice if representatives of the main track at any given moment were called in? It’s logical to start by calling in Kudo and Bülling, thought the chief constable, making yet another notation in the margin in his neat handwriting.
Well, I guess that’s all, he thought contentedly, and Grevlinge would have to take care of the purely practical aspects as usual. Organizational questions were really rather boring, he thought, especially for an artistic soul like his, so he quickly moved on to more exciting ones.
Because this was a historic event, by the time he had passed Morgongåva he had already been clear about the need for a historian. Or more correctly stated, a female historian, because he immediately, and for essentially different reasons, happened to think of a female journalist at the large morning newspaper whom he’d known for a while. Considering who had been taking notes while he drove, however, not much had been said about this during the ride itself.
Someone who continuously chronicles my thoughts and other reflections, thought the chief constable, nodding to himself. A kind of silent conversation partner, quite simply.
Someone should begin sketching out a large group portrait of the investigation leadership. Most indications argued for a rather imminent arrest. Considering that it was already known who the victim was and when, where, and how the crime had been committed, the only thing that remained was the perpetrator himself, so in a purely intellectual sense the whole thing was already eighty percent cleared up, thought the chief constable, and because those group portraits certainly took a good amount of time, it was perhaps just as well if Grevlinge were to make the first moves now. The chief constable made another notation.
This left the most important question of all, namely his personal security during the work of the investigation. Already in the car he’d sketched out the renovations of the office that would have to be made: bulletproof glass in all the windows, secure locations, strategically placed caches of weapons, and a few other little goodies, but the most pressing thing would be to build up a personal bodyguard unit. Making use of the guys in the secret police’s bodyguard unit was naturally completely out of the question considering what had happened to the prime minister, the chief constable thought, and at the same time he congratulated himself on having already set them up as one of his many secondary tracks. Fortunately he also had access to competent and reliable people closer at hand. In his own riot squad there were certainly plenty of loyal officers who stood ready to take their daily allotted shower of bullets with chests bared in order to protect their boss.