Лейф Перссон - Another Time, Another Life

Alm excused himself and asked to call back within five minutes, after which he went into Bäckström’s office and gave him the available alternatives. Bäckström was naturally sour as vinegar, but as he did not have anything else to propose, he gave in after some grousing. A pleased Alm returned to the phone, called Welander, and said that he and a colleague by the name of Bäckström would be at Welander’s office within half an hour.

Welander met them down in the reception area and led them to a small conference room he had reserved for their meeting. He was a lean, sinewy fellow in his forties with a well-groomed, full beard and dark, intelligent eyes, and his first action when they sat down was to pull out a small tape recorder from his pocket and place it in front of him on the table. After that he leaned back, clasped his hands over his flat stomach, and nodded to them that he was ready to start.

It was Bäckström who had planned their tactics. He would run the questioning while Alm kept in the background and stepped in as needed. Alm had no objections whatsoever. He remembered Welander’s TV program about the police department and was really looking forward to seeing how Bäckström’s “interrogation victim” would massacre his fat little colleague.

Bäckström took his sweet time before he started. Arranged his own tape recorder, notebook, and pen, tested the recorder, asked Welander to say something, rewound it, and played it to check that everything was working.

“I’m going to talk roughly like this,” said Welander, leaning back comfortably and speaking in a normal, quiet conversational tone.

“Okay then,” said Bäckström, nodding curtly. “Interview for informational purposes with Sten Welander with regard to the murder of Kjell Eriksson. Welander will be questioned about—”

“Excuse me,” Welander interrupted, smiling courteously at Bäckström. “I forgot to ask whether you gentlemen would like anything to drink? Water, coffee? I don’t know if we have tea, actually...”

“What the—” said Bäckström, but before he even had time to answer, Welander had done it for them.

“If not, then I’m ready to begin,” said Welander, nodding suavely at Bäckström.

Welander versus Bäckström, 1–0. thought Alm delightedly as he noted that Bäckström’s face had already turned a shade redder.

How did Welander know the murder victim Kjell Eriksson? How long had he known him?

Welander had become acquainted with Eriksson more than twenty years ago, when he was teaching sociology at the university. Eriksson had been one of his students. A diligent one, so Welander had arranged a few side jobs for him at the department, in the mail room, as a test proctor. A little of everything.

“He was actually a few years older than me,” said Welander. “Worked part-time and studied on the side. Came from simple circumstances, so I tried to help him as best I could. He was really exerting himself; he really wanted to change his life.”

The friendship had persisted and even developed. Welander had worked less and less at the university and more and more as a researcher and reporter at the TV news department. By and by Eriksson finished his degree and got a job at the Central Bureau of Statistics.

How often did they see each other?

Not that often, according to Welander, but certainly considerably more often if viewed through Eriksson’s eyes.

“Kjell was a very solitary person,” Welander explained. “He didn’t really have too many friends. We saw each other from time to time. Went out and had a beer together, talked about old times at the university, had dinner now and then... and we’ve continued that over the years. How often we saw each other? Yes...” Welander looked as if he was thinking deeply. “Spread out over all the years then maybe it was once a month.”

“Once a month,” said Bäckström with palpable doubt in his voice.

“On one occasion I recall that he helped me by producing statistics for a series of programs on unemployment that we did. That must have been ten years ago, and then I think we saw each other considerably more often. Perhaps once or twice a week for a few months.”

“But otherwise you saw each other once a month,” Bäckström repeated. “Once a month? Always?”

“No, not really,” Welander objected, smiling and shaking his head. “There could be six months when I didn’t even talk to him. Once a month is an average. Say that I met him approximately two hundred times in twenty years. That’s two hundred and forty months. Two hundred divided by two hundred forty is approximately once a month. Less than once a month.”

“Thanks, I can count,” said Bäckström sourly.

“That’s nice to hear,” said Welander amiably.

Welander versus Bäckström, 2–0, thought Alm, noting the change of color in his colleague’s face.

Did Eriksson have any other close friends? Anyone he saw more often than he saw Welander?

Welander looked as though he was thinking deeply.

“I’m afraid I don’t really understand the question,” Welander said.

“Why’s that?” said Bäckström. “That shouldn’t be so hard, is it?”

“You say ‘close,’ then you say ‘more often,’ ” said Welander, almost sounding as if he were savoring the words.

“Yes? What’s the problem?”

“Closeness is a question of feelings while on the other hand ‘how often’ is a question of frequency, and in these kinds of contexts that’s far from the same thing, wouldn’t you say?”

Bäckström did not reply. He was content to glare at Welander who, however, seemed quite unaware of this.

“Take your colleague Alm, for example,” said Welander pedagogically, smiling at Alm, who took the opportunity to smile back. “I am certain that you see each other several times a day... on average... but are you best friends too?”

No, God help me, thought Alm.

Fucking asshole, thought Bäckström. Fucking assholes both of them, he thought.

Welander versus Bäckström, 3–0. This is a real walk-over, I should have brought along the white gloves and ammonia bottle, thought Alm delightedly, old amateur boxer that he was.

If it was frequency of contacts that Bäckström meant, then Welander could imagine that his and Eriksson’s mutual friend Theo Tischler met Eriksson more often than he did, because Theo Tischler helped Eriksson with various private financial questions. Obviously he was taking into account the fact that all three of them sometimes met, and it was he, by the way, who had introduced Eriksson to Theo Tischler. He and Theo had known each other since school days. They had been in the same class both in elementary school and in high school. Norra Real at Jarlaplan, if Bäckström was wondering.

On the other hand, as far as the emotional aspect was concerned he was less sure. His impression was that Eriksson did not have any really close friends whatsoever.

“I know that he was tremendously attached to his old mother,” said Welander, sounding almost mournful as he said it.

This guy is phenomenal; look at the footwork, thought Alm.

“No women?” said Bäckström slyly.

“Excuse me,” said Welander, as if he had not really understood the question.

“Eriksson,” Bäckström clarified, and suddenly his voice almost sounded friendly. “Do you know if Eriksson had any women? Did he meet any women?” Bäckström repeated.

“Socially?” Welander looked at Bäckström as if he still did not understand the question.

“Exactly,” Bäckström agreed smoothly. “Yes... sexual contacts... with women... if you understand what I mean.”

“No,” said Welander, shaking his head. “As far as I know, Kjell never met any women. Not in that way.”