“Forget about that now, Flykt,” said Johansson. “It would be inconceivable for me to try to find out which of your many associates let his tongue run ahead of his feeble intelligence. I’ve understood from the start it wasn’t you personally.”
“Yes, I really hope you don’t think so, boss,” said Flykt.
No, thought Johansson. I’m sure you just ran off at the mouth as usual.
“You’ve seen the press release?” asked Johansson. “No objections if I’ve understood things correctly?”
“No,” said Flykt, shaking his head to make it seem more convincing.
“Good,” said Johansson. “Then it’s high time you and I took off to talk with the TV people,” said Johansson. “We’ll have to grab a bite to eat between channels.”
“But I’m not prepared to be part of any TV interview,” Flykt objected.
“You won’t be either,” said Johansson. “You’re just coming along so the vultures can learn what a united front looks like.” Even though you probably already put your golf bag in the car, he thought.
It was almost eleven o’clock before Johansson could step into his own abode on Wollmar Yxkullsgatan. First there were the two interviews for three different TV channels, and then his chauffeur let Flykt off outside the office because he needed to get his car in the police headquarters garage.
The lights were off and it was quiet in the apartment. His wife was at a kickoff meeting for the bank at a conference center hotel out in the archipelago and wouldn’t be home until the next day. Johansson was looking forward to a few hours of peace and quiet after a hard day, which could have ended badly but he hoped had ended well. In the basket under the mail slot was a CD with his TV appearances that his secretary had recorded and one of his many associates had then delivered to him.
“Home at last,” said Johansson, who was satisfied with himself and the evening.
First he arranged a tray with a suitable selection of yesterday’s leftovers and a cold beer. After a quick deliberation he also poured an ample shot. It’s Thursday after all and almost the weekend, thought Johansson.
Then he carried the tray to his study, poured the beer, and prepared an old-fashioned open-faced sandwich, put in the CD, and took a seat in his large armchair in front of the TV.
Let’s see now, said blind Sarah, thought Johansson, taking a substantial bite. He swallowed half the shot chased with pilsner and switched on the TV.
Basically it was the same feature in the early and late news programs on the two public television stations. There hadn’t been enough time to cut and paste very much. The essential difference was that the story was shorter in the later program. A good sign that the whole thing would soon blow over.
A correct male news anchor asked the expected questions, but toward the end he had trouble concealing his amusement at Johansson’s categorical denial of the information that had appeared in the country’s largest morning newspaper. Most of all at the way Johansson did it, which is probably also why he was content with the concluding routine attempts.
“But surely someone in your position must have wondered how such a rumor can arise?” the male news anchor asked.
“Of course I have,” said Johansson. “Spreading rumors is just as big a problem at my place of employment as at yours, and the reasons are probably the same. But most of what the media reports is actually true, and most of what we talk about at my job is true too. Things that are only speculations or that someone’s got turned around or just plain wrong are the price we pay for being able to carry on a dialogue with one another.”
“And this time it was completely upside down,” the interviewer suggested.
“Yes, it was,” said Johansson. “But let’s not forget that ultimately this is about the assassination of our country’s prime minister, and personally I would be seriously worried if I were to discover one day that the media was completely uninterested in talking about that.”
“Since you’re here anyway…are you ever going to solve the murder of Olof Palme?”
This is it, thought Johansson. Time to move into silver-tongue mode.
“When you’re a police officer working on a murder investigation, there’s only one thing that matters. Liking the situation,” said Johansson.
“But what do you think personally?”
“During all my years as a policeman, I’ve been involved in investigating far too many murders,” said Johansson, whose thoughts suddenly seemed elsewhere. “But I’ve never been involved in this investigation.” Time for heavy, brooding old cop, he thought. Plus that inward-gazing murder investigator look he had never really succeeded in teaching his best friend.
“But you must still-”
“You’re asking the wrong person,” Johansson interrupted. “That question should go to the chief prosecutor in Stockholm, who is the leader of the investigation, or to the investigators at the Palme group who manage the practical aspects of the case.”
“But you have great confidence in them?”
“Obviously,” said Johansson. “They’re good people.”
That was that, thought Johansson contentedly. He hit the pause button, finished his good sandwich and the last half of the shot, chased it with beer, and turned on the TV again. Time for somewhat harder moves, he thought. Female reporter, considerably younger than him, almost as good-looking as his wife, and he hoped she was a little too sly for her own good.
First he got to speak his piece. Summarize the message in his own press release. Then suddenly it got serious.
“What I don’t really understand is that you appointed three of the country’s most experienced murder investigators to do something that sounds to me like a routine task for computer experts,” she said with a smile so friendly it certainly portended something else.
“To me it’s pretty obvious,” said Johansson. “If this sort of material is going to be sorted out, it’s necessary for the work to be done, as you yourself say, by a very experienced murder investigator.”
“But computers and data processing are not really their field, are they?”
“I’m afraid you underestimate my co-workers,” said Johansson. “All have extensive academic backgrounds, alongside purely police-related training, and one of them is a PhD. If you ask me she may be the police officer in this country with the greatest combined experience in these issues. She has considerable experience as a murder investigator. As a police officer she has unique expertise in science and statistics and, when it comes to computer issues, she knows how large quantities of investigative material are best handled.”
“But you yourself,” she asked suddenly. “You’re a legendary murder investigator. You’ve never felt tempted to solve the murder of the prime minister?”
“Where computers and a lot of data and that sort of thing are concerned, I’m an old geezer,” said Johansson. “I’m overjoyed every day I manage to log on to my own computer.”
“So you’ve never felt tempted?”
“Of course I have,” said Johansson. “But fortunately I’m old now and wise enough to leave it to those who have better understanding about that than I do. I have good people working on the Palme case. My job is to see that they don’t drown in all the paper they’ve collected.”
“You make it sound like a simple work environment issue.”
“Yes,” said Johansson. “Those are exactly the sort of issues someone like me should be concerned with. Creating a good work environment so my people can function. I’m sure you remember how things went earlier in this case when a lot of old bosses got the notion they should run around playing murder investigator.”
Anna Holt, Jan Lewin, and Lisa Mattei had also devoted a good portion of the evening to following Johansson’s TV appearances.
The man defies all description, thought Anna Holt as she turned on the late news on TV4. Time after time he manages to get completely normal people to lose the thread and suddenly start talking about something completely different, just because he’s decided to talk about it. It was time she went to bed if she was going to be able to crawl out from under the mountain of papers under which Johansson had buried her.