Лейф Перссон - Another Time, Another Life

“He did not fall in vain,” said the major, “as the developments of recent years have no doubt illustrated clearly.”

“I would understand completely, Major, if you had seen anything, yet you might nonetheless have chosen to let the whole thing be, considering the victim’s past, and considering that the police officers who spoke with you came from the uniformed police with its unfortunately limited insights into security issues. I can reveal this much,” said Johansson, who had decided to fire up the boilers as he was picking up speed anyway, “that the individuals we are searching for are cut from the same cloth as Eriksson himself.”

“What is it you want to know?” asked the major, who looked as if he had just made a decision.

“I am wondering if you saw the man when he left Eriksson’s apartment,” said Johansson.

“What makes you think it was a man?” asked the major, and in that moment Johansson knew he had succeeded, because every word he had said had been chosen with care.

“What do you mean, Major Carlgren?” said Johansson, acting surprised.

“It wasn’t a man,” said the major, shaking his head. “It was a young woman — twenty-five years old perhaps, thirty at most, well-dressed. She was holding a briefcase or something like that pressed against her chest. She seemed rather upset, slammed the door behind her, ran down the stairs, which wasn’t so strange in the circumstances.”

“Do you recall anything more about her appearance?” asked Johansson.

“She was nice looking,” said the major. “Well dressed, neat, I remember I noticed she had a lot of hair — red or maybe more brownish red — not at all that miserable character Eriksson’s type. He was much older. When I heard what had happened I got the idea that he had tried to rape her and that she was only defending herself. If that was the case I hadn’t the slightest intention of helping the police lock her up,” the major concluded, nodding firmly at Johansson. “Not the slightest,” he repeated.

Then they showed pictures to the major. Pictures of twelve different women, of which one was Helena Stein at the age of thirty and another three depicted women of the same age with approximately the same appearance and hair color.

“I recognize that one,” the major snorted, setting a skinny, clawlike index finger on Eriksson’s cleaning woman, Jolanta. “That’s the Polish whore who cleaned under the table for Eriksson.”

“Is there anyone else who seems familiar?” Johansson asked. The old man isn’t completely gone, he thought hopefully.

The major took his sweet time, spreading out all eleven pictures that remained on his desk. He picked up each and every one of them and inspected it carefully. Then he shook his head.

“No,” he said. “I’m sorry. I remember that she had red or in any case reddish-brown hair, so if she’s here it must be one of them, but unfortunately I can’t say more than that.”

You can’t have everything, thought Johansson philosophically, and for him personally it was all the same, because he had already figured out how the whole thing fit together.

“Then I must truly thank you for your help,” said Johansson.

“Who is it then?” asked the major, nodding toward the pictures on the desk. “Which of them is it?”

“We don’t really know yet.”

“I hope she gets off,” said the major suddenly. “Eriksson was not a good person.”

When Johansson returned to work he immediately called in Holt and told her about his conversation with the major.

“I think it’s high time you met Helena Stein,” said Johansson.

“You’ve abandoned the idea of turning it over to Stockholm?” asked Holt.

“Yes,” said Johansson, sounding more convinced than he actually felt. “There’ll just be a lot of unnecessary talk. We’ll question her for informational purposes about her contacts with Eriksson without explaining why we’re interested in him. If she makes a fool of herself and denies having been in his apartment then we’ll call in the prosecutor so he can decide about taking her away.” It’ll be amusing to see his expression, Johansson thought.

“And otherwise we’ll have to see,” said Holt.

“Unless you have a better suggestion,” said Johansson.

“No,” said Holt.

“Okay then,” said Johansson as he got up, looking at the clock, and smiled to soften the whole thing. “Then you’ll have to excuse me. I have another meeting.”

“Helena Stein,” said Johansson’s boss, the general director, nodding contemplatively. “She’s a very interesting woman.”

“I understand you’ve met her,” said Johansson.

“Oh yes,” the GD confirmed. “She came to the ministry during my time there. True, she has never worked under me, but I’ve met her several times. For a while I saw her on a daily basis when she was working in the prime minister’s office.”

“I’ve never had the pleasure,” said Johansson. “What’s she like?”

“Intelligent, highly intelligent, and an extraordinarily knowledgeable, sharp attorney. And she looks good too, in that slightly icy way. And she neatly balances her radical opinions with a blouse, pleated skirt, and high heels in well-chosen color combinations,” the GD summarized, clearing his throat slightly for some reason as he said the last thing.

“But she’s not someone you’d marry — if you were concerned about domestic tranquility,” said Johansson, who in the company of his boss had no problem whatsoever playing the role of simple man of the people.

“You said it,” said the GD. “Personally I would describe her as very intelligent and at the same time very intellectual. And always ready to stand up for her opinions. Razor-sharp and merciless when she does so. A woman whom the majority of men, especially in our generation, seem to have an extremely difficult time managing.”

“Not an easy match for a simple lad from the country,” Johansson said with enjoyment.

“Definitely not,” said the GD, suddenly sounding rather reserved. “And now I’ve understood that she has problems.”

“Yes,” said Johansson. “Now she has problems. The whole thing is rather complicated and hard to understand, and for once we’re not the ones who’ve made it complicated.”

“It’s just complicated?” asked the GD.

“Yes,” Johansson confirmed. “It’s complicated.”

“Then I suggest you take it very slowly,” said the GD. “I have nothing against appearing ignorant in a one-on-one like this, as long as I can be spared more public shortcomings.”

“It concerns three connected problems. The first regards her involvement in the occupation of the West German embassy almost twenty-five years ago. The second concerns a number of strange turns in connection with our handling of that case, and those start when she was appointed undersecretary two years ago. The third concerns the murder of one of her acquaintances from the time before the West German embassy. And I suggest we wait with that part.”

“Why?” said the GD.

“We need to know a bit more,” said Johansson. “On the other hand we probably will fairly soon, so it won’t be a long wait.”

“The West German embassy,” said the GD drawlingly. “She can’t have been very old then?”

“Sixteen,” said Johansson. “She was young, radical, and involved, but exploited and kept in the dark by her boyfriend, who was almost twice her age.”

“In concrete terms,” said the GD, “what did she do and why did she do it?”

“She helped the Germans with somewhat simple practical matters. Nothing remarkable. Loaned out her father’s car, which her boyfriend, the now deceased Sten Welander, used for transport and reconnaissance missions. She didn’t have a driver’s license herself, and her father had moved abroad at that time and left the car behind so it was easily accessible... Yes... Then she bought food for the terrorists at some point. In addition the Germans stayed for a few days at a summer place that her mother’s family owned.”