‘Couldn’t it have been a fake ID?’ Hultin asked.
‘Sure it could. But he was the only Swede in the gang. And the only Swede waved the police ID. Also, he seemed to be pretty familiar with police procedure. He didn’t want to get stuck in Kvarnen when the interrogations around the Kvarnen Killer started up.’
‘Well then, it’s time to ask what all of this is about,’ said Hultin. ‘If we accept all these rash hypotheses that have been flying around your rusty detective superintendent for the past half-hour. What’s it all about? Rajko Nedic has to be at the heart of it. He’s going to deliver something in a briefcase to a man who may be a Swedish policeman. What high-value object fits in a briefcase? Presumably money, since every policeman knows how difficult it is to dispose of drugs without being noticed at some point. It’s obviously not a question of routine payment either, so it must be a handover. That means the “policeman” must be scared, which means it must be a one-off payment. Why? Is a Swedish policeman on his way to breaking through into the drugs branch? That doesn’t sound good. Blackmail? Mmm, why not? But about what? And how did this criminal, probably Nazi-tinged, gang find out that the delivery was going to happen? They’ve known it was going to happen for a while, the six of them were ready as soon as Niklas Lindberg got out of jail, but they don’t know exactly where and when it’s going to happen. That’s what they find out, in two different ways, the night before. But how did they find out to begin with?’
‘It seems likely that it happened earlier, via Vukotic,’ said Söderstedt. ‘Lindberg and Bergwall are in Kumla, listening to a secret conversation. They know that a delivery is going to happen, but where, when, how? Maybe Lindberg found out that the Kvarnen meeting was going to take place while he was still in prison.’
‘Lots of questions,’ said Paul Hjelm.
‘Yes,’ Hultin conceded, looking up. ‘But lots of answers, too. Considerably more than I could’ve hoped for when I glanced through the anaemic information in Waldemar Mörner’s air-conditioned Saab.’
‘So what have we got, then?’ Chavez asked, summing up over by the whiteboard; he seemed slightly overwhelmed. ‘We’ve probably got three of the six men from Gang Two. 2A is Eskil Carlstedt. 2B is the Nazi, Sven Joakim Bergwall. These two are dead. 2D is the leader, Niklas Lindberg. Missing are the injured 2C, as well as 2E and 2F. As far as Gang One is concerned, we’ll send the fingerprints from the bodies of 1A, 1B and 1C to Interpol – maybe to the ex-Yugoslav authorities too, if that’s possible.’
‘And then the explosives,’ said Norlander. ‘What kind of highly volatile, liquid explosive is it? One that’s set off by an electronic detonator? No one seems to have the answer, but it’s probably important.’
‘Probably,’ said Hultin. ‘We’ll keep working on it. Interpol again. Lots needs to be confirmed, too. We should take some fingerprints from Eskil Carlstedt’s flat and compare them with the body of 2A, for example. And then we should think about how to handle Rajko Nedic. He’s made a point of operating in the open, after all. Honest businessman. Restaurant owner.’
‘We should probably talk to him,’ said Hjelm, ‘though the question is, when? When should we reveal what we know? What do we stand to lose or gain by talking to him? Etc., etc.’
Hultin nodded, glancing out over the room.
‘And I suppose you want to know what’s going on, don’t you? Staffwise. You know what they said on TV yesterday. Police staff shortages are acute in the summer. The Justice Minister is openly talking about bad holiday planning. People have already set up vigilante groups in several places, to keep on top of the things we no longer can. Even if we’ve been called in specially, we still have to justify being here, seven police officers of differing rank, working on this. It’s Midsummer’s Eve. It’s getting close to midday. Most policemen are on leave now, and will soon put down the bottle of schnapps to dance, legs unsteady, to Midsummer tunes with their children. But not you. On the contrary, you’ll be costing the National Police Board more money because of all the overtime you’ll be doing. Any problems with that?’
‘I’d like to make a quick trip out to Dalarö, at least,’ said Hjelm.
‘My kids will be waiting for me at Skansen at three,’ said Söderstedt.
‘I’d really like to spend the evening with my newborn daughter,’ said Norlander.
‘My son’s carved a maypole for my grandson in Östhammar,’ said Nyberg.
Chavez and Holm said nothing.
‘Forget it,’ Hultin said brutally. ‘We’re setting up a new operation. There hasn’t been one for almost a year. No one’s complaining about holiday before this is wrapped up. Right now, you’ve got all the freedom you want to return to your previous work, but not in three hours’ time, not tomorrow. You’ve really got to want this. As I understand it, this is also a chance to make the A-Unit permanent. The last chance. Unfortunately, it seems like they need us. That means: if any of you have developed a taste for the normal police life to such an extent that you don’t give a damn about this, you’re welcome to go. But only if you go right this moment. Anyone?’
Gunnar Nyberg looked up. Distracted, he took a sip of his ice-cold black coffee. It made him almost throw up. Drinking coffee had become a reflex.
‘It’s not the normal police life I’ve got a taste for,’ he said, in the midst of a bout of nausea. ‘It’s the more abnormal parts. I’m in the middle of several ongoing paedophile investigations. I can’t just chuck that all to the side.’
‘I know,’ said Hultin. ‘I’ve been keeping an eye on your careers. Jorge wants nothing more than to return from theory to practice. Kerstin has just come back from Gothenburg. Together with Paul, she’s completed her part of the Kvarnen Killer case. Arto and Viggo’s explosion in Kumla seems as though it can easily be incorporated into the Sickla case. For you five, it seems as clear as it does for me. It’s you, Gunnar, you’re the weak link. You’re right in the middle of truly important work. What are your thoughts on that?’
Nyberg sighed loudly. ‘You don’t have coffee breaks as often,’ he said. No one understood that this was the highest possible praise. He continued more clearly. ‘It’s definitely tempting to get to work on a proper A-Unit case again. That feeling of free fall. But for me, it would be best if I could… I don’t know, work half-time for a while, so I can work out what to do with the paedophile investigations. So that there aren’t any delays. So that no one suffers for a moment longer than necessary. If you can understand that.’
‘I think we understand,’ said Hultin. ‘And as far as I’m concerned, that’s fine. I haven’t forgotten that it was you who was right about the Kentucky Killer, while the rest of us were wrong. Anyone else?’
No one else.
Hultin nodded and continued. ‘OK then. Before I start to deal out more distinct tasks, we should spend a bit of time, each of us, working out what we should do next. And what we can expect to happen now. We’re assuming that Gang Two now has the briefcase. That could be an end to it. Nedic might have no idea who took the briefcase, but that’s if we ignore the Vukotic explosion. How long will it be before he manages to link it all to Niklas Lindberg? And what’ll happen then? A big showdown? Can we assume that Lindberg’s gang is happy with the briefcase? Or do they want more? Might their Nazi links suggest that? Are they after an ethnic cleansing of the Swedish drugs trade? And why was this briefcase being delivered to a possible Swedish policeman? If there was money in the case, then why is the drug dealer Rajko Nedic, who has never been locked up by the police, giving money to them? Is that why he’s never been caught? Etc., etc.
‘What we need is the following. One: more information on the mysterious explosives; two: the identities of 2C, 2E and 2F; three: the possible policeman; four: to find out why Nedic is paying the Swedish police money (if that is the case). If you come up with anything else, tell me right away. So. Let’s keep working till Midsummer’s Eve turns into night. No flowers beneath your pillows, no home-made schnapps, no Midsummer children being created. Nothing but work, work, work.’