‘Don’t worry,’ Holt said. ‘One question, though, out of curiosity. What do you want me to do this time?’
‘Anna, Anna,’ Johansson said with a sigh. ‘I want you to have dinner with your boss. I hope you’ll have a nice time. In answer to your question, no, I’m not going to ask a favor of you. But I am thinking of telling you a secret. And it’s not about anyone apart from me, so you don’t have to worry.’
‘I’m not worried,’ Holt assured him. ‘It’ll be nice to see you.’ He’d make a good salesman too, she thought, as soon as she had hung up.
I wonder what he really wants, she thought, as she got into the taxi to go and meet him. In spite of his assurances to the contrary, she couldn’t quite let go of the idea that this was about something else other than his telling her a secret about himself. Johansson simply wasn’t the type to tell secrets. He had no problems at all keeping them, particularly if they related to him.
Some six months before, he had got her and a growing number of her colleagues to secretly go through the findings of the Palme Inquiry to see if they could find anything that everyone else had missed.
Considering that the amount of material was immense and that the whole project should have been declared dead from the outset, something that could only be described as a miracle had occurred. They had discovered two previously unknown but highly likely suspects. One who had planned the murder and one who had held the weapon. The former had been dead for many years, but the second seemed to be alive still. His whereabouts were unknown, since he had seemed to be lying low. But they had suddenly come up with a narrative of what had really happened.
They had found a number of troubling circumstances that counted against their two suspects. They had even found witnesses and technical evidence that supported their suspicions. And eventually they had located the suspect who was still alive. During the hours before they were going to arrest him he had suffered an inexplicable accident. He had been blown to pieces on his boat in northern Majorca, and everything that Holt and her colleagues had deduced had followed him into the depths. In the real world where Anna Holt, her colleagues, and her boss actually lived, the investigation of the murder of the prime minister was now a closed chapter.
If this was what Johansson intended to talk about, then it was a secret that he shared with other people. The belief that had become their truth but which could never be proved with the evidence at their disposal. And even if they were wrong, they would still never be able to let anyone know.
Reveal a secret about himself? My ass, Anna Holt thought, as she climbed out of the taxi outside the restaurant.
They had met in Johansson’s own neighborhood restaurant. A small Italian place that lay just a few blocks from his home on Södermalm. Excellent food, even better wine, and a Johansson who was in his most amiable mood. And staff who treated him like the king he presumably was in that place, and her as if she had been his crowned escort.
He must have told them in advance, Holt thought. That they were colleagues and that it wasn’t ‘some damn lover’ that he was taking there.
‘I told them before you arrived that we work together,’ Johansson said with a smile. ‘So they didn’t get any ideas in their little heads.’
‘I thought as much,’ Holt said, smiling back. The man who can see around corners, she thought.
‘Yes, it’s odd, isn’t it, Holt?’ Johansson said. ‘That I can see around corners, I mean.’
‘It’s a bit creepy, actually,’ Holt said. ‘But right now I’m having a lovely time,’ she added. Besides, it isn’t always true, she thought.
‘A wanderer and seer,’ Johansson said, and nodded. ‘But it isn’t always true, you know. Sometimes I get things wrong.’
‘Was that the secret you were going to tell me?’
‘Definitely not,’ Johansson said with a hurt expression. ‘I wouldn’t dream of telling you anything like that. Then all my northern Swedish credibility would vanish in a flash.’ Johansson smiled again and raised his glass.
‘You’re very entertaining, Lars. When you’re in this mood. But because I’m dying with curiosity—’
‘I’m leaving,’ Johansson interrupted. ‘I’m leaving in a week. I’ve handed in my notice, with immediate effect.’
‘I hope nothing’s happened?’ Holt said. What’s he up to now? she thought. What’s he saying?
Nothing, according to Johansson. Nothing had happened and he wasn’t up to anything. He had simply come to a realization. A purely personal insight.
‘I’ve done my bit,’ Johansson said. ‘Really, I should be going in eighteen months, but because I’ve done my bit, after forty years or so I’m done with my life as a police officer, and there’s no point in hanging around just marking time.
‘I’ve spoken to my wife,’ he went on. ‘She thinks it’s an excellent idea. I’ve spoken to the government and the national head of police. They tried to persuade me to see out my time. I thanked them for the vote of confidence but declined politely. I’ve also turned down a number of offers of other jobs and projects.’
‘When were you thinking of mentioning it at work?’ Holt asked.
‘It’ll be public knowledge on Thursday after the cabinet meeting.’
‘What are you going to do instead?’ Holt asked.
‘I’m going to grow cabbages and try to grow old gracefully,’ Johansson said, nodding thoughtfully.
‘Why are you telling me this? Before everyone else at work, I mean.’
‘Because I’ve got a question as well,’ Johansson said.
I knew it, Holt thought. I knew it.
‘But because you look the way you look right now, I thought I might start by reassuring you. I haven’t asked you here in order to propose to you. Definitely not. By the way, how is your colleague, Jan Lewin?’
‘Fine,’ Holt said. ‘How is your dear wife, Pia?’
‘The best of me, you mean?’ Johansson said, suddenly dead serious. ‘She’s like a pearl of gold.’
‘The question, then,’ Holt said. ‘You had a question.’
‘Ah, yes, that,’ Johansson said. ‘I must have some sort of short circuit in my head these days, because as soon as I change the subject...’
‘Be serious for a minute, Lars. Try to be serious.’
‘Do you want to be police chief of the Western District?’ Johansson said.
Police chief of the Western District? She already had a job. A job that she was happy with. Colleagues she liked, one of whom she had started a relationship with a month previously. This latter fact actually the only reason to change jobs, Holt thought. Workplace relationships took their toll on love, she thought. Took their toll in other ways too, come to that.
Twenty thousand more each month in salary. Walking distance to her new workplace from her home. A well-run police district. One of the best in the county. The challenge would be the chance to lead hundreds of police, some of whom were reckoned among the smartest in the country. But apart from all this, there was just one reason why Johansson was asking her in particular.
‘There’s only one reason why I’m asking you,’ Johansson said. ‘One,’ he said, holding up his long index finger.
‘And what’s that?’
‘You’re the best,’ Johansson said. ‘It’s no more complicated than that.’
‘One practical question,’ Holt said. ‘Are you really in a position to make this kind of offer? Isn’t it the higher-ups in Stockholm Police who decide this sort of thing?’
‘These days it’s the government,’ Johansson said. ‘In conjunction with the National Police Board and, in this case, police officials in Stockholm. The Stockholm County police chief will be contacting you, by the way. Completely independently of anything you say to me here and now. Think about it.’