Лейф Перссон - Another Time, Another Life

“How does Tischler come into the picture?” asked Johansson.

“The Germans were staying with him before the embassy occupation. Tischler’s dad owned some big-ass summer place out on Värmdö where they were all having sex while they organized the final details. It was pretty ideally located, isolated and discreet and just half an hour into town by car. Although Tischler’s own role in this whole thing is actually a little unclear.”

“What do you mean by that?” asked Johansson.

“A few weeks after the West German embassy he looked up Welander — by then we already had surveillance on Welander. Tischler was more or less crazed, screaming and yelling that Welander had exploited him... He was extremely agitated. Our colleagues reported that they didn’t even have to plant any microphones to listen to the conversation. Tischler seems to have been living under the delusion that this plot was about helping some German comrades — the usual student radicals — by keeping them away from the West German police. He had no idea they were going to blow up the West German embassy and try to kill the personnel.”

“In any event he seems to have figured out how things stood afterward,” said Johansson.

“Sure,” said Persson. “In that regard he was a hell of a lot smarter than the member of parliament who helped Kröcher escape, because he had no idea what he was mixed up in, and after having read the interrogations with him I think I believe him. Even though it goes against my usual inclinations,” said Persson. “He seems to have been your typical aspiring socialist member of parliament,” he summarized, chuckling so that his massive belly was jumping.

“The fourth man then,” said Johansson.

“Even more unclear than Tischler,” said Persson. “I would go so far as to say I would have left him out if it had come down to it.”

“Better safe than sorry,” said Johansson.

“More or less,” said Persson. “There were slightly unusual circumstances. Besides, in that case you should probably talk with Berg,” Persson concluded.

“It’s pointless to ask you about it,” said Johansson.

“Yes... even you couldn’t manage to bring that much aquavit here,” said Persson.

Don’t say that, thought Johansson, but naturally he didn’t say it. Better to come back, he thought.

Why had Berg decided to remove the two names from the file two years ago? For a couple of reasons, according to Persson. They were linked to an investigation that had been stone dead for more than twenty years and that no one wanted to touch anymore, for one.

“Times are a little different now,” said Persson.

Although the Germans could probably still keep from laughing if they found out about Eriksson’s background and his involvement in the occupation of the West German embassy, thought Johansson. But he hadn’t come to Persson’s place to quarrel, so he decided instead to wrap things up and get what he came for.

“Welander and Eriksson were put back in the file again a few months ago,” said Johansson. “Were you aware of that?”

“No,” said Persson, sounding genuinely surprised. “I had no idea. I don’t know why Erik would go along with that.”

“Why do you think he did?” asked Johansson.

“Maybe because they were the ones it was really all about,” said Persson. “The other two were just along for the ride. Welander was the driving force and Eriksson was his assistant. That Welander was one unpleasant bastard. There was a good deal of material on him that wasn’t about the West German embassy, and there was no question that he had some very peculiar contacts.”

“With West German terrorists?” asked Johansson.

“With the circles around them in any case. Their sympathizers, and there were quite a few at that time. Besides, our counterparts at counterespionage were pretty sure he had contacts with the East Germans... well, with the Stasi then. So he was lucky he got a job in TV, because that way he was safe from us,” said Persson, sighing. “If you only knew, Johansson...” Persson shook his head. “For a while we could have put handcuffs on half the workforce at that fucking place. If we were to believe what was in our own papers, that is.”

“Exactly what I’m avoiding,” said Johansson.

“What else would you expect?” said Persson with conviction. “If Berg promised he would clean up for you, he will. If he has put Welander and Eriksson back in the file, he must have had good reason for doing so.”

“Let’s hope so,” said Johansson piously. I’ll believe it when I see it, he thought.

“Well...” said Persson with a sigh, taking the opportunity to fill his glass again.

“They were dead anyway, which is a good thing if you want peace and quiet in the midst of a disclosure. The truth commission...” Persson snorted. “A lot of crazy academics who don’t know a rat’s ass about police work.”

“One more question,” said Johansson, saving the last drop in his glass. “You’ll have to excuse me for harping on about this, but who was the fourth one? The fourth man?”

“So that’s what you’re wondering about,” said Persson, grinning. “It was pure chance that we stumbled on the fourth one in the group, and it actually happened in my time. If we were going to put the first three in jail, naturally we would have done so right from the start. But we didn’t do that of course.”

“So who was it?” said Johansson.

“You know what,” said Persson. “From what I’ve heard over the years, you are said to be the absolute shrewdest person ever to set foot in our beloved police station on Kungsholmen, so I think it will be more than enough if you get the same tip that I got. Just to keep an old retiree from getting dragged into your investigation. And besides, you can get it straight from the horse’s own mouth.”

“You’re the one who figured out who it was?” asked Johansson.

“Of course,” said Persson self-assuredly. “Although it wasn’t some inner inspiration. That has never happened to me so far,” Persson chuckled.

“You got a tip,” said Johansson. That hasn’t ever happened to me either, he thought.

“I found a memo from a colleague that wound up in the wrong binder. It was as simple as that,” said Persson, grinning contentedly. “Talk to our colleague Stridh. You know that lazy ass who worked in the patrol cars. He’s still there, isn’t he?”

“Stridh,” said Johansson. “Do you mean Peace at Any Price?” He’s pulling my leg, thought Johansson.

“The very same,” said Persson. “Although he himself probably hasn’t understood how things really stood, if you ask me. No sir,” Persson continued. “Now let’s have a good time and have a little whiskey. I have a fine old bottle in the pantry out in the kitchen. I got it from my lady friend the last time I had a birthday, so there’s no need to panic. Tell me about your new wife, by the way. I’ve heard that she is one outstandingly fine-looking lady.”

“Sure, she’s good-looking,” said Johansson, “she is that.” And she’s nice too, he thought. Stridh, he thought. Could that fuckup Stridh have figured out what both he and Wiklander, and his best friend Bo Jarnebring too for that matter, had missed?

It was Wiklander who, on orders from Johansson, went to question Stridh at home about the fourth man. It had been a late one for Johansson the night before — many old memories to be aired — yet there must be limits to what liberties a top-level boss like Johansson could take. Working out in the field was all well and good, and eating roast pork and brown beans at home with a former colleague was probably fine, but conducting an interview with yet another colleague the very next morning was a little too much. Besides, in Johansson’s case he had hundreds of coworkers available, and Wiklander was certainly better suited for the task than anyone else.