After that she returned to the police track. Mission: Find someone who knew Waltin. Find someone tall enough to tally with the witness statements. Find someone capable of shooting a prime minister in public, with scores of witnesses right in the vicinity. Find someone capable enough to escape unscathed.
However you find someone like that, thought Mattei, looking at the binders with all the police officers sitting in front of her on the desk. A total of a hundred police officers. Seventy of whom had been identified, questioned, investigated, ruled out. Another thirty whose identity was not certain, several of whom had probably never been policemen. Had only said they had been.
First she tried to sort them by height. That didn’t go very well. Information about their height was missing in the majority of cases. Besides, almost all policemen in that generation would have been tall enough to shoot the prime minister.
With the help of their age, height, other information about physical features, and from those investigations that left no room for any remaining suspicions, she had nonetheless been able to cross out fifty or so of the seventy known colleagues who had been singled out. True, it had taken her almost the entire day, but she did it for lack of anything better to do, and she had to start somewhere.
Ordinary policemen had the peculiarity that they preferred to associate with other policemen, thought Mattei. Waltin on the other hand had not been an ordinary policeman. Which is why Lisa called her mother and asked whether she would have lunch with her. She was happy to. She had actually intended to call her daughter and ask the same thing. She would explain why when they met.
To save time they met in the police building restaurant, where they found a sufficiently isolated table. As soon as they sat down Linda Mattei revealed her intentions.
“Are you pregnant?” said Linda Mattei to her only daughter, Lisa.
“But mother. Of course I’m not.”
“But you’ve met someone,” she continued.
“The answer is yes,” said Lisa Mattei. “What do you think about trading question for question?”
“Is he nice?”
“Yes again.”
“Does he have a name?”
“Yes again. Johan.”
“Johan?”
“Yes again. Johan Eriksson.”
“So what does he do?”
“Studies at the university, in cinema studies, sublets a studio on Söder. Works on the side as a guard.” I’m sure you’ve seen him, she thought.
“Lisa, Lisa,” said her mother, shaking her head. Then she leaned over and stroked her across the cheek.
“Now it’s my turn,” said Lisa Mattei. “I have the right to six questions, and you’ll get two free answers because I’m so nice and because you should calm down. Yes, you’ll get to meet him. Yes, he’s a little like Dad. Although twice as big. At least.”
“I will get to meet him?” Linda Mattei repeated.
“The answer is yes. Seven questions. My turn.”
“Okay. Ask away,” said Linda Mattei, shaking her head and smiling.
“Claes Waltin,” said Lisa Mattei. “Tell me what he was like as a person.”
“Why are you asking about him?”
“Pull yourself together, Mom,” said Lisa Mattei. “This is about work, and now I’m the one who’s asking the questions.”
“Okay, okay, okay,” said Linda Mattei, making a deprecating hand gesture.
Then she told her daughter what she knew about Claes Waltin.
Already the first week after he had started at SePo he tried to make a pass at her.
“He made a pass at you. So what did you say?”
“I told him to go to hell,” said Linda Mattei. “Then I basically didn’t see a trace of him for the rest of his time with us. I was glad. Anything else you’re wondering about?”
“What type was he?”
“Not my type anyway,” said Linda Mattei, curling her upper lip. “According to what was whispered in the corridors he was a real creep. But I’m sure you’ve already heard that?”
“Ad nauseam,” said Lisa. “What I’m wondering is whether he associated with other police officers. With regular colleagues.”
“I have a really hard time imagining that,” said Linda Mattei, shaking her head.
“Explain,” said Lisa Mattei.
Waltin despised regular police officers. Waltin was very stuck-up. Regular policemen were much too simple for him. He never said that. He had shown it clearly enough without having to say it.
“So he didn’t even have a humble confidant?”
“Humble confidant,” said Linda Mattei, looking at her daughter with surprise. “Someone like me, you mean?”
“Some male colleague. One of those strong, silent types.”
“I have a really hard time imagining that,” said Linda Mattei. “Do you mean he’s supposed to have been homosexual too?”
“Okay,” said Lisa Mattei and sighed. “What do you think about actually eating lunch?”
Before she went home, for lack of anything better to do, she printed out a computer list on Berg and his associates on the riot squad, the dozen uniformed police who most often appeared in the Palme investigation’s police track. Despite the fact that none of them seemed particularly credible as henchman for someone like Claes Waltin. Besides, half of them had alibis for the time when the prime minister was shot. Real alibis, not the kind they’d given each other or gotten from other officers.
63
The following day Mattei opened the binders that dealt with the thirty or so policemen who could not be identified with certainty. At the top of the first binder was a lead file where serious attempts at least had been made. At the top of the file, the anonymous letter that was the origin of the matter.
A handwritten letter, cheap lined paper, ballpoint pen. Surprisingly flowing handwriting. No misspellings. Basically correct punctuation. On the other hand no envelope, even though the envelope might often say more to people like her than the message that was inside. Especially if the sender pasted the stamp with the king upside down. Barely ten lines of text.
Dear uncle blue. Saw on TV the other night that there were a lot of cops in the air when Olle called it quits. I myself saw an old acquaintance at the Chinese restaurant on Drottninggatan at the corner by Adolf Fredriks Kyrkogata. A real SOB who worked at the bureau out in Solna in the seventies. Then he became a fine fellow and got to go to SePo. Think what can happen when the hasp isn’t closed. He was sitting there sucking on a glass of water when I came but I kept my cool and my mouth shut and that was probably luck because otherwise I’m sure my ass would have been kicked again. Mostly he looked at his watch and right before eleven he paid up and left. Maybe to guard Olle? Or else perhaps to come up with something else with Olle? Anonymous from personal experience.
If people could just give their names, Mattei was thinking as Holt entered the room.
“Everything okay, Lisa?” said Holt. “I saw on the voice mail that you were looking for me.”
“Yes,” said Mattei. “Berg and his associates,” said Mattei, giving her the plastic sleeve with the information she’d produced.
“What do you want me to do with these?”
“Ask Berg if he or any of his associates knew Waltin,” said Mattei. “Berg with the uniformed police that is. The one who’s the nephew of the old SePo boss,” she clarified.
“Do you think that’s wise?” said Holt, weighing the papers. “Considering Johansson.”
“You know Berg, don’t you? You’ve talked with him at least. I think he trusts you. I’m pretty sure he likes you. The question is free. Pull a Johansson on him.”
“A Johansson?”
“Yes, if you’d been Johansson and he’d been you. And was always getting himself worked up about something. What do you think he would have done?”
“I understand exactly,” said Holt and nodded. “I’ll pull a Johansson.”