‘Can you give us anything else?’
‘Rajko had the same childhood. I know, because I sat with him in the same way. As a child. In the little mountain village in eastern Serbia. Failed to comfort him in the same way. That’s why we left. To get away from it all. He thought he could leave his past behind and become someone else. But as soon as Sonja arrived, it returned. He started repeating his father’s actions. And I just sat there. Again. Jesus. Uncle Jubbe.’
‘What about the rest of the family?’
‘There are two children. He resisted temptation with the son. He’s three years older and involved in the organisation now. But he couldn’t resist Sonja. And the wife ignores it even more than I do. She shops her way out of reality, and Rajko cultivates his garden to create a paradise that he’s never understood.’
‘Other children?’
‘There have been others, too. I don’t know where he gets them from. Now that Sonja’s grown up, there are others. Maybe he buys them.’
‘Anything else?’
‘It’s too late now. I’ll tell you everything I know, Sara. You seem to be a capable woman, but I should tell you that I don’t actually know very much. I can start with his “security consultants”. Two disgusting Swedes, former policemen. From the Security Service. They’re called Gillis Döös and Max Grahn.’
‘You can tell the rest to the drugs squad. They’re waiting outside. What I want to know is where his paedophile den is. The flat with the soundproofed walls, covered in golden cushions.’
Ljubomir smiled slightly behind his smeared, coloured mask.
‘He’s there now,’ he said. ‘In that place.’
‘What do you mean?’ Sara Svenhagen exclaimed. ‘And you didn’t say anything?!’
‘No, no,’ said Ljubomir. ‘It has another function now, that flat. Nothing to do with children.’
Sara breathed out. She said: ‘And where is it?’
‘By Hornstull. Hornsgatan 131. Four flights up. It has the name Ahlström on the door. But he has at least five men with him, so be careful, Sara. They’ve got lots of weapons.’
She nodded, looking at the man in front of her. Something had lit up in his eyes. Things which had been shut off and sealed up for years had been let out. Maybe he had, in some small way, repaid a tiny, tiny part of the debt to Sonja Nedic. His little Sonja.
She leaned back and closed her eyes.
Now Ljubomir could die in peace.
He was Uncle Jubbe again.
And now he was – finally – doing something about it.
43
PAUL HJELM HAD killed.
He had been shot.
Seeming to be at death’s door, Kerstin Holm had said that she loved him.
Each of these things had been enough to change his life. He was forced to repress the whole lot in order to be able to take up the role of interrogator.
Hultin had allocated the roles, after all.
‘Bloody typical that Kerstin should go and get shot just now,’ he said gruffly. ‘You can take Jorge with you. The two of you can look after the interrogations of Kullberg and Petrovic.’
And so it came to pass that the former heroes became authorised interrogators.
Jorge Chavez had panicked during the firefight.
He had been given a slap by Hultin.
He had built strange walls between him and the woman he had recently fallen in love with.
These were also enough for a couple of metamorphoses. And these, too, had to be repressed.
They entered the interrogation room in an isolated area of the police station. Inside, a short but broad man was sitting, a gap in his teeth, eyebrow taped up and bruises on his face. He smiled sardonically at them.
‘Look who it is,’ said Agne “Bullet” Kullberg. ‘The crybaby.’
Chavez felt ill at ease. He sat down. Hjelm remained standing for a moment, looking at Kullberg. Trying to get a handle on him. Repressing the constant, nagging pain in his arm.
‘You’ve got a tough old bastard as a boss, though,’ Bullet continued.
‘Yup, Agne,’ said Hjelm. ‘We noticed that you were crying, that you were sick down the barrel of the gun. If we’re talking about crybabies.’
He sat down. The opening had been equalised. Now it was what followed that counted. Bullet seemed slightly deflated. He looked down at the table.
‘We need to know what Niklas Lindberg is planning,’ said Hjelm calmly.
‘You’ve been going on about that for a while now,’ Bullet said to the table. ‘But I don’t bloody know. We were after the ten million kronor. That was the only plan I had in mind.’
‘So it was a normal robbery then, Agne? Without any ideological overtones?’
‘Yeah, it was about the money. Nothing else.’
‘Tell us about that tracking device, Agne.’
‘Don’t call me Agne all the time.’
‘I promise, Agne. Tell us now.’
‘Well, down in Sickla we got a quick look at the radio before the briefcase vanished. There was a piece of paper with the frequency on it. Using the type of radio and the frequency, I could put together a device to find the little tracking signal that kind of radio always puts out. We found a couple of signals early on and followed it along the E4. Then it disappeared. We kept driving down to Skåne anyway, ’til we realised that the briefcase must’ve disappeared somewhere on the way. Probably westwards. So we started making our way north. And in Trollhättan we found the signal again. And in Falköping. And then Skövde was logical. It was beeping the whole time there. We just had to follow it right into the hotel room.’
‘Shouldn’t you use your talents for something more sensible?’
‘I’m hoping to get the chance to do more training in Kumla. Then I’ll be really honourable.’
‘Why did you steal so much on your way through western Sweden?’
‘Why not? We stole everything we came across because it was there. No other reason. We’re robbers and we were looking for money – and as long as the briefcase was missing, we had to make do with small change. A man’s got to live, after all.’
‘Not necessarily. Lots of people died along the way, Agne. You don’t seem to be missing your mates.’
‘They weren’t my mates. They were colleagues.’
‘And Lindberg?’
‘A good leader. Nothing more. A hell of a physique on that man.’
‘Practically all of your colleagues in the gang were organised right-wing extremists. Are you telling us there was no ideological motive behind it?’
‘I’m not an organised right-wing extremist.’
‘But you’re a member of a shooting club with other, known right-wing extremists, Agne. Among them a couple of shady colleagues of ours. People who’ve attracted attention in connection with the Palme murder.’
‘Only by conspiracy theorists on TV. No, I’m a member because I like shooting. Fine motor skills are fascinating. Precision. And stop calling me Agne.’
‘I promise, Agne. We need two things: the make, colour and registration number of the van, and Niklas Lindberg’s current whereabouts.’
‘I’ve got no idea about any of that.’
‘You don’t know what type of van you were driving in, Agne?’
‘I’ve forgotten, unfortunately.’
‘Niklas Lindberg left just before we arrived at the hotel room. Why?’
Bullet fell quiet. That wasn’t a common occurrence.
‘Well, then,’ said Chavez. ‘The picture’s quite clear. You’re trying your damnedest to make us think that you’re just a normal gang of robbers, interested only in money. Why’s it so important to make us think that? And why can’t you come up with any reasonable explanation as to why Niklas Lindberg wasn’t there when we arrived? Couldn’t he, I don’t know… have just gone out to take care of the money you’d left behind in the van?’