Лейф Перссон - Another Time, Another Life

When his boss was assassinated the undersecretary left Rosenbad. Where he ended up was somewhat unclear — although among those who considered themselves well informed and close to power there was wild speculation. In any event he could not have been sent out into the real cold, because he had come back again quickly and nowadays he was on his third prime minister and things had gone better and better for him. Prime minister number two had retired with a pension and in the best of health, and number three, the undersecretary’s current boss, positively glowed with vitality. This special adviser had the same duties he had always had, with a somewhat more elegant title than before and with a suitably harmless nametag he could show to anyone who wondered what he was really up to.

“Research and future planning on behalf of the government offices,” he would answer on those few occasions when anyone had the chance to ask. “Mostly future planning actually,” he would add, if the person who wondered didn’t give up.

Apparently it was Johansson he wanted to meet, because he scarcely opened his mouth during the meeting for anything but the usual sarcasm, but as soon as it was over he took Johansson aside and requested a conversation in private.

“How’s it going with Stein?” asked the undersecretary. “No problems, I hope?”

“What do you mean?” asked Johansson, looking roughly like his older brother (who dealt in property and cars) did when he preferred not to answer.

“I was thinking about her youthful sin in connection with the West German embassy,” the undersecretary explained.

“Oh yes, that,” said Johansson. “I thought you and Berg had cleared that up two years ago.”

“Yes,” said the undersecretary. “That’s why I’m asking.”

“I completely share Berg’s opinion on that point, and as you know an investigation was done of the matter,” Johansson said. “Quite apart from the fact that she was only a child when it happened, she was almost a victim, exploited by her old fiancé, or whatever you want to call him, who was twice her age.”

“We human beings live different lives,” the undersecretary declared philosophically. “We live one life at one time and another life at another.”

“Not everyone,” said Johansson, thinking of his old parents and all the other relatives from his home district in northern Sweden. They’ve been living the same life the whole time, he thought with feeling.

“I understand what you mean,” said the undersecretary, who was being almost inexplicably sensible. “The kind of person I was thinking of, to be a little more precise, was rather the intellectual, financially independent, urban type... Helena Stein, for example.”

Or you, thought Johansson.

“Sure,” Johansson grunted. “My understanding is that in those circles you can manage a number of different lives.” Because such people seem to have nothing better to do, he thought.

“While the rest of us toil and moil,” sighed the undersecretary. “Take our dear German foreign minister, for example. I’ve met him myself on a number of occasions. He seems completely normal, even pleasant, though that environmental bullshit leaves me cold — and then one day an old picture shows up from some political demonstration during his youth. He’s kicking a policeman who’s lying on the street, and it isn’t at all clear who the real villain is.”

The way you talk, thought Johansson.

“Yes, I’ve seen that too,” said Johansson, nodding curtly. “As far as Stein is concerned, I’ve simply told my coworkers to be extra careful. Neither you nor we and least of all she will be well served if there’s any carelessness in that respect. And you know as well as I do that it takes a hell of a lot of time to do something properly. I’m estimating you’ll get a report in time next week.”

“Sounds good,” said the undersecretary, appearing to be almost satisfied as he leaned back among all the pillows on the large couch. “One other thing, by the way...”

“I’m listening,” said Johansson.

“It would be nice if I had the pleasure of seeing you over a bite of food, when the report does come in,” said the undersecretary. “In my own humble abode, with the resources the house can offer.”

“I’ve heard a good deal about them,” said Johansson, smiling.

“Nothing bad I hope,” said the undersecretary.

“The little I’ve heard sounded good enough,” said Johansson.

“Well all right then,” said the undersecretary. “I’ll ask my secretary to call your secretary and see if they can find a time that suits us both.”

I wonder what he really wants? thought Johansson sitting in the car on the way back to work. It’s all the same anyway, he thought. Because if it’s important enough it will come out sooner or later. And if not, you only risk becoming like your unfortunate predecessor.

“How’d it go with that fuckup Bäckström?” Johansson asked as soon as he stepped into his department’s corridor and caught sight of Wiklander.

“Above all expectations,” said Wiklander. “By the way, did you know he has a position as chief inspector at the crime bureau?”

“But that’s just excellent,” said Johansson, who knew the score when it came to things like that, and had already made note of his impending promotion sometime before Bäckström’s appointment. “With those amazing testimonials he had this can’t have been completely unexpected, and you have to admit there’s something reassuring about a consistent development,” he said.

“I’ve told the others to reserve the afternoon,” said Wiklander, who was not really clear what Johansson meant and in any case did not intend to go deeper into the subject.

“Good,” said Johansson. “Then I’ll see you after lunch.”

The entire afternoon was spent on the meeting with the investigation team. First, Anna Holt reported on where they were in her usual efficient manner.

The attempts to chart the dealings among Stein, Tischler, and Eriksson by means of telephone and financial transactions had not produced any interesting results beyond what was already in the old murder investigation, which was meager enough. On the other hand, a number of conversations between Stein and her cousin Tischler had been logged, which indicated that they’d kept in constant touch with each other. For a rather long time Stein had also had a deposit account at Tischler’s banking firm, but she had closed it when her cousin formally left the family firm several years ago.

“So my proposal is that we discontinue that aspect,” said Holt.

“That’s okay with me,” Johansson agreed. These lines of inquiry were fucking expensive too, he thought. Telia and the other operators start robbing you blind as soon as you want any information from them.

After that Holt touched on Stein’s fingerprints and the forensic analysis of the traces on the lost hand towel. Stein had offered an explanation for how the prints were left in Eriksson’s apartment, and it could not be immediately dismissed, even if Holt and Wiklander were firmly convinced that she had been lying to their faces. Same with the traces of vomit and the lipstick on the hand towel. In both cases they pointed to Stein, but at the same time they didn’t rule out alternative explanations strongly enough to have legal significance.

“And as far as our witness the major is concerned, he can’t point out Stein from among a group of pictures,” Holt stated.

“Do you think there’s any point in questioning Tischler?” asked Johansson, although he already knew the answer.

“Only if we want him to confirm Stein’s version and you want to tip them off that she’s the one we’re interested in,” said Holt.