Think of all the good-looking women he could meet, said Ignacio, winking at him. A man like him. In his prime and with a beautiful boat like Esperanza. All the beautiful women, practically naked, dressed for swimming and diving. And then the sun, the warm sea. Security, freedom, perhaps love too. Love. There was never anything wrong with a little love, was there?
71
Wednesday, September 26 and exactly two weeks left until October 10.
Headquarters of the National Bureau of Criminal Investigation on Kungsholmen in Stockholm
Half an hour before the usual Wednesday meeting would begin, Lisa Mattei’s mother stepped into Johansson’s office. She closed the door behind her, sat down in the visitor’s chair, and fixed her eyes on Lars Martin Johansson.
“No time for frills,” said Johansson. “You’re more beautiful than ever, Linda. Although that’s probably not something any of your sallow colleagues have dared say to you.”
“No time for bullshit either, Lars,” said Linda Mattei. “Quick question. What are you up to with my daughter?”
“Nothing,” said Johansson, shaking his head. “True, she’s just as gorgeous as her mother, but as I’m sure you know, I’ve been a happily married man for many years.”
“She’s asking a lot of strange questions,” said Linda Mattei. “I’m getting worried about her.”
“I don’t think you need to be,” said Johansson. “If you ask me I’m convinced things will go very well for her. Things are already going well for her, and she can go as far as she wants. I’m sure she will too.”
“Last week she wanted me to reveal the identity of one of my former colleagues. Is that something you’ve asked her to do?”
“Actually, no,” said Johansson. “She came up with that all on her own, and I’m very grateful that she did.”
“So it’s not something that you’re behind,” said Linda Mattei.
“I helped her of course when she asked.”
“You helped her?”
“Kjell Göran Hedberg,” said Johansson. “How could I have ever forgotten someone like him?”
“So you knew,” said Linda Mattei.
“It struck me suddenly when your gorgeous daughter was kind enough to describe him to me. The bureau in Solna in the seventies. Then bodyguard at SePo. Quit in 1982. Kjell Göran Hedberg. Same Hedberg who never should have become a policeman.”
“Did you know he was called the Perfume Man? After that horrid German eau de cologne Kölnisch Wasser 4711 that my husband used to give me as a present,” said Linda Mattei.
“Not a clue,” said Johansson. “Must have been before my time. That wasn’t what you were wearing those far too few times when I had the pleasure,” said Johansson.
“Come, come now,” said Linda Mattei. “You’ve never heard the story about the Perfume Man?”
“No,” said Johansson. “Tell me.”
Hedberg had started with SePo in the summer of 1976. He had been recruited from the detective division at the Solna police and was one of three who had been brought over from Solna and placed in SePo’s bodyguard squad. First training, then service as a bodyguard. In addition, a service code to protect his identity from the outside world.
“He got the code 4711,” said Linda Mattei. “There were no ulterior motives in that. At least not as far as I know. It was simply the code that was available, I guess. After a while he discovered that his colleagues were calling him the Perfume Man. After that German eau de cologne. He came to me and complained. I was office manager at the squad back then.”
“I can barely contain myself,” said Johansson.
“I told him not to be so damned childish,” said Linda Mattei. “If any of his little classmates were being mean to him, he could always tattle on them to the teacher who would take them by the ear. Because he was evidently not man enough to rise above such childishness.”
“So what did he say?” said Johansson.
“He slunk off,” said Linda Mattei. “Didn’t come back the whole time I was sitting at the counter, and that was at least a couple of years.”
“He must have been occupied with other things,” said Johansson. “First running off to rob the post office on Dalagatan and then killing two witnesses who happened to recognize him.”
“I’ve heard that story before,” said Linda Mattei. “Show me an indictment or even a preliminary investigation, then I promise to listen to you.”
“Forget about that now,” said Johansson. “Continue.”
“My successor was evidently more sensitive than I was. It was Björn Söderström, whom you no doubt know. The one who later became head of the whole squad. In any event he liberated Perfume Man from his suffering. Gave him a new service code and saw to it that 4711 became inactive. For the same reasons you avoid having DIK on the license plate on your car.”
“What would a real man do with a license plate like that?” said Johansson, shrugging his shoulders.
“No, maybe not you. But certainly one or two of your brethren,” said Linda Mattei.
“That particular code I’m talking about, 4711 that is, has actually never been used since then. Not since the autumn of 1977 as far as I know. Although the story was well known, and that was certainly why our personnel department sent the reply they did.”
“Although Hedberg was still there. Even after having robbed the post office and eliminated two witnesses,” said Johansson.
“He was allowed to stay. Though he had left the bodyguards by 1978. For one thing, there was a lot of talk about what you just mentioned. For another, the boss at the time, it was Berg as I’m sure you remember, transferred him. Internal service for almost four years before he resigned.”
“I’ve thought a good deal about that,” said Johansson. “Why did Berg let him stay?”
“Well, it certainly wasn’t out of consideration for Hedberg,” said Linda Mattei.
“I understand exactly,” said Johansson. “If it was concern for your daughter that got you to look me up, then you don’t need to worry yourself in the slightest.”
“Good,” said Linda Mattei, getting up. “And if you were to get tired of your young wife you know who you can call.”
All these women who love you, thought Lars Martin Johansson. In his conference room there were probably two more who were longing to meet him.
Not both however, as it appeared. When he showed up Anna Holt looked pointedly at the clock, even though he was only fifteen minutes late. Lisa on the other hand was energetic and happy as always, while Jan Lewin seemed almost absent. Although he was a guy of course. Not much of a guy, to be sure, thought Johansson, but who cared about such things?
“Read this,” he said, giving them copies of the summary he had devoted the entire evening to while his wife sulked and finally disappeared to go to the movies with a girlfriend. Not with her husband, even though he had promised her.
“Kjell Göran Hedberg,” said Holt. “Where have I heard that name?”
“Read,” said Johansson.
72
Kjell Göran Hedberg was born on the fifteenth of August 1944, in Vaxholm parish due north of Stockholm. His father worked as a harbor pilot. He was stationed in Sandhamn and lived in Vaxholm, when he wasn’t out piloting vessels through the Stockholm archipelago. He and his family lived in a single-family house. Hedberg’s mother was a housewife. Besides Kjell, the Hedbergs had a daughter three years younger named Birgitta.