Top Dog

by Jens Lapidus

  The driver glanced at her in the mirror. “I don’t know.”

  * * *

  —

  It didn’t take long to get down to the cells. The visitor’s room was cold, all concrete and plastic, and the air smelled of stale sweat. Teddy was covered in bruises, and he looked different. There were red marks on his cheeks, and one of his ears was bandaged.

  “You still have your bump,” was the first thing he said once the guard closed the door.

  “Yes, but we can’t talk about that now.”

  “And you must be in week eighteen,” Teddy said, as though he hadn’t heard her. “Which means the little one in there should be about six inches now.”

  Emelie sat down. “You know I’m not really supposed to be your lawyer, not according to the Bar Association rules. It’s not appropriate to defend someone whose child you’re carrying. It can lead to certain conflicts of interest.”

  Teddy grinned. “Yeah, I guess it can. But I notice you’re here anyway. Is it because I’ve rejuvenated my face, started going for Restylane treatments?”

  “Give me the details now,” Emelie replied. Though the situation was so strange, she couldn’t help but smile—Teddy really did look weird.

  He went over what had happened at Hallenbro Storgården again. Emelie already knew most of it: they had spoken at the restaurant, after all. This time, now that she had her defense cap on, she saw everything in a different light.

  “You said there was a witness,” she said once he finished. “Your friend Dejan saw what happened.”

  Teddy twisted in his chair. “Yeah, but you know Dejan. How credible do you think he is? Serious criminal, known by the police as one of the worst in the county for just under two decades.”

  “But he drove at the person who shot Fredrik O. Johansson and made them jump out of the way?”

  “Yeah, and probably saved my life in the process.”

  They kept talking. Discussed their way forward. Not just about what Teddy was accused of, but about everything to do with Mats Emanuelsson and Katja. The visitor’s room was cold. Teddy’s remand hearing would take place within four days, and then the evidence against him would become somewhat clearer.

  Teddy said: “You have to talk to Loke right away, before the police discover the USB stick with the trojan.”

  “If it really was a police officer out there, I’m thinking it should be visible on one of their IT systems.”

  “That was my thought, too.”

  They sat in silence for a moment.

  “How do I find out who was at Katja’s place the night before she was killed?” Emelie asked.

  “Do you remember what I did when we were working on the kidnapping?”

  “Lots of things.”

  “I knocked on doors.”

  * * *

  —

  That night, Emelie got a worse night’s sleep than usual, which was saying something. Over the past few months, her sleeping patterns had been more like a number of rest breaks in a row than a full night’s sleep, and it wasn’t just because of her growing bump. Now it was as though she didn’t even want to wind down, as though she was consciously forcing her brain to deal with the different trains of thought that were bothering her, even as she came close to dozing off. Or maybe it was because she was sleeping on Josephine’s sofa. It was actually pretty comfortable, but the knowledge that her friend was only a few feet away, in her bedroom, was constantly on her mind.

  Or maybe it was because the father of her child was facing life in prison.

  Or maybe it was just that everything was so messed up right now.

  She got up at five, pulled on some clothes, and started walking along Norr Mälarstrand. She was less anxious at that time of day: for some reason, it felt too early to be dangerous. The sun was already glittering on the buildings as though it were the middle of the day. The streets were clean and empty, and the only living beings she saw were the paper delivery people in their bulky green trucks and the birds pecking at the crumbs outside the shuttered restaurants. An early summer morning in Sweden: ordinarily, she thought it was the most beautiful thing on earth.

  A few hours later, she found herself in the stairwell of the building where Katja had lived. She doubted Adam would be able to bear living there any longer. It was seven thirty, and she was counting on the neighbors not having left for the day. She rang the bell on the door next to the Tagrins’ apartment.

  An old man in a threadbare, practically transparent dressing gown opened the door. There was a walking stick leaning against the wall behind him, and the musty smell of old age seeped out from the apartment.

  “Hi,” Emelie said. “I’m here with the police and I have a few questions for you, if you’ve got a moment.”

  The man squinted at her as though he couldn’t see very well—he probably couldn’t. She could barely hear what he said when he replied in a weak, croaky voice. “Is it about the poor girl there was such a hullabaloo about?”

  “Yes, your neighbor.”

  “Poor girl. I wasn’t here that day, I play bridge, you see, I already told one of your team members.”

  “I understand, but I was wondering if you saw anyone visit her apartment the night before she was killed, on January nineteenth.”

  “January nineteenth?”

  “Yes. In the evening.”

  “That was an important day. Often the last day for submitting the accounts. I worked as an accounting consultant for forty-two years, you know. Pure hell for the back, there weren’t any nice padded chairs back when I started there, we stood up and worked for days on end.”

  “So were you home that evening?”

  “I’m always home in the evening. Have been ever since the wife died, that was nine years ago, it was cancer that took her, started off in the large intestine, but it spread.”

  “I’m sorry. But did you see or hear anyone visiting Katja?”

  “See?”

  “Yes, or hear.”

  “I can’t see very well, you see, haven’t since 2004 when they discovered my cataracts. They tried operating, like they do, but they’ve come back, and…”

  “Did you hear anything, then?”

  The old man started talking about his hearing loss; it seemed like he could go on forever. Emelie did her best to end the conversation. She knocked on two more doors, but the families living there had neither seen nor heard anything. On the fourth door, there was a large sign above the mailbox: No goddamn junk mail and no free papers. Got it?

  A huge bearded man with a bare chest opened the door. He was so wide that he filled the entire doorway, and his upper arms quivered like a waterbed. “What do you want?”

  “I’m here with the police.” Emelie couldn’t see the hallway behind him. “I was wondering if you were home on January nineteenth.”

  The man studied her from top to toe, as though his eyes were a metal detector scanning her for hidden objects. “Like hell you are,” he said.

  “Pardon?”

  “You’re not with the police, not with that stomach, I don’t believe that for a second.”

  “You don’t think pregnant women can be police officers?”

  “No idea, but there’s something else about you. You’re not a cop, anyway, same way I’m not a long-distance runner.”

  Emelie put her hands on her hips. “I’d like you to answer a few questions.”

  The man put his own enormous hands on his hips—the fat on his arms wobbled like huge chunks of meat. “Okay,” he said. “I like that you’re lying. Shoot.”

  Emelie asked her questions.

  “I was home, and I heard Katja getting upset in the stairwell,” he said. “So I looked out through the peephole and managed to catch a handsome man disappearing down the stairs.”

  Emelie realized she had stopped brea
thing—she filled her lungs. “Where did he go after that, did you see?”

  “All I know is he jumped into a taxi out on the street.”

  “Do you remember which taxi company it was?”

  * * *

  —

  Emelie started calling around the various taxi companies the minute she left. The huge man hadn’t been able to remember the company or the registration number—but there still had to be a chance.

  She tried the same story with all of them. Said that as far as she could remember, she had taken one of their taxis from Gösta Ekmans väg that night, and that she had left something behind in the car. Now she wanted to know if the company could see her trip, and who had been driving.

  Emelie tried to focus, to concentrate on the conversations. She wanted to sound friendly, to be put through to the right person, to be given all the relevant information. She started with the big companies: Taxi Stockholm, Taxi Kurir, Taxi 020, and so on. She called several times, spoke to different receptionists, all to make sure that they really were following up on her inquiry. Then she tried Uber.

  “Yes, we had a ride from that address on the evening of January nineteenth,” she was told by the woman in the call center that it had taken forty-five minutes to get through to—the app companies didn’t want you to contact them via old-fashioned methods. “But surely you can see that in the app?”

  “No, unfortunately I’ve lost my phone.”

  “Then all you need to do is re-download the app, log in, and your ride history will be there. You’ll be able to see the driver, too.”

  “Aha, so what was the driver’s name?”

  The woman’s voice sounded cool. “No, I can’t give out that kind of information over the phone. The whole idea behind Uber is that our customers manage their data themselves. It’s cheaper for everyone that way.”

  Emelie said: “I’m going to keep calling back until you give me the name. I doubt it’ll be cheaper for you to be stuck in a bunch of phone calls with me.”

  The woman groaned. “Fine, you can have the name.”

  Emelie jotted it down.

  A movement. She paused, ended the call. There it was again. A movement. She placed her hand on her stomach.

  The little one was stirring in there. The little one was living.

  Her child—Teddy’s child. Their child.

  She had to track down the driver and find out more.

  SMS MESSAGE

  To/From: Unknown

  From/To: Hugo Pederson

  Date: 2 June 2006

  In: Hi Hugo, just wanted to thank you for bringing ME to the event at Hallenbro yesterday. Everyone thought his talk was incredibly interesting.

  Out: Thanks for a fantastic evening. Both Pierre and I felt honored to be there.

  In: Good. Heard you had a tricky time yesterday, by the way. How did that go? HMRC and the Financial Supervision Authority all at once?

  Out: Pretty nasty, a lot of people are going to find themselves in trouble. My brokers were damn stressed. But we managed to resolve a lot during the day, even though I lost my computer. Terrible luck for it to disappear on the same day. Thanks for letting me borrow yours, if I hadn’t been able to use it there’s no way I would’ve been able to get as much done with ME. Don’t think it’ll lead to anything unpleasant for me now, in any case.

  MEMO

  During the summer of 2006, a large number of calls were made, all recorded separately. None of these calls led to business transactions being concluded.

  TELEPHONE CONVERSATIONS 85–104 (SUMMARY)

  To/From: Pierre Danielsson (co-suspect) and a number of other stockbrokers and bankers in Sweden, Switzerland, and England (named in relevant appendix)

  From/To: Hugo Pederson

  Date: 12–20 September 2006

  Summary: Hugo Pederson has a number of conversations with co-suspect Pierre Danielsson and the above-named brokers and bankers in Sweden and elsewhere in Europe, regarding the planned purchase of shares in a number of companies. The speculative value amounts to more than nineteen million euros (recorded separately). Hugo Pederson has taken out margin loans amounting to at least twelve million euros. According to our calculations, his leverage is greater than his net worth. Should the transactions fail, he risks being struck by losses that could lead to insolvency. More information to follow.

  TELEPHONE CONVERSATION 105

  To: Hugo Pederson

  From: Louise Pederson (wife)

  Date: 20 September 2006

  Time: 10:45

  LOUISE: Hi, it’s me.

  HUGO: Hi, Mousey…

  LOUISE: Don’t call me Mousey.

  HUGO: But you are my Mousey, my pretty little mouse.

  LOUISE: Enough now, Hugo. You haven’t been home while I’ve been awake for eight days now. And the estate agent just called, he wants a decision on the estate. Someone else has put in an offer.

  HUGO: I can’t help it if you go to bed early.

  LOUISE: I’ve asked you to at least come home and eat dinner with me. I have nothing against you going back to work afterward.

  HUGO: You have no idea what I’ve got going on right now. This time, it could be the jackpot, for real. I’m talking really big numbers.

  LOUISE: You just don’t get it. You say you have to work so that we can afford an estate at some point in time, but if all you do is work then it’s even more important that we buy the place now. Otherwise it’s a lose-lose situation for me. Look, it’s like this, and I’ll keep it brief: if we don’t buy the estate, it’s over between us. I’m not going to be happy without that estate. So you need to come home now and discuss what we’re going to bid.

  HUGO: I mean, I don’t know what to say. I don’t have time right now, I’ve told you. And we can’t afford the price the agent is asking.

  LOUISE: If you don’t have time to come home and make sure we can buy the place, you don’t have time for me, full stop. I’m this close to the end of the road with you.

  HUGO: Mousey, you’re being too hard on me. Can’t we talk about this?

  LOUISE: I’ve told you, don’t call me Mousey. Just buy the place.

  TELEPHONE CONVERSATION 106

  To: Carl Trolle (friend)

  From: Hugo Pederson

  Date: 21 September 2006

  Time: 11:32

  HUGO: You have to talk to her.

  CARL: What are you talking about?

  HUGO: Louise. She’s completely lost her mind. She’s crazy. But if you can just get her to calm down for a few days, it’ll all be fine.

  CARL: And you’re calling me? Do you remember what you said to me last time we spoke?

  HUGO: No?

  CARL: I think you do. You told me I was a loser.

  HUGO: Sorry, Calle. I really didn’t mean it, I was having a bad day, I was just really fucking stressed. I really didn’t mean anything like that. Can’t you talk to her, nicely?

  CARL: I think it’s too late.

  HUGO: Come on now. It’ll all be fine, because listen to this: I’ve bought the estate for her. I put in an offer yesterday, and the sellers accepted it immediately. I arranged everything with the banks this morning, I’ve got great contacts there. So now I’m mortgaged up to the hilt, double credit risk and all that crap. But I’ve also got the world’s best deal in place, the biggest I’ve ever done, so it’s all going to be fine. I’ll be able to pay back whatever’s needed, but before that I obviously don’t want to say anything to Louise. So if you could just talk to her, make sure she doesn’t do anything stupid before I know it’s a done deal, I’d be incredibly happy.

  CARL: I’m sorry, I can’t help you.

  HUGO: What if I paid you? Just one call from you to Louise. If we say I’ll pay you a hundred grand.

  CARL: Money can buy anything?

  HUGO: What?
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  CARL: Money can buy anything?

  HUGO: Yeah, that’s what I was thinking, is that okay for you?

  CARL: You’re not right in the head.

  TELEPHONE CONVERSATION 107

  To: Pierre Danielsson (co-suspect)

  From: Hugo Pederson

  Date: 22 September 2006

  Time: 17:02

  HUGO: Hey.

  PIERRE: Hi.

  HUGO: Something’s happened.

  PIERRE: You sound worried, don’t tell me it’s all going to shit. No more dawn raids by the FSA, no more lost computers or someone backing out of the deal.

  HUGO: No, nothing to do with any of the banks down there, and nothing to do with the deal, thank God. I’ve just bought five hundred acres of land in Upplands Väsby for my wife. No, Mats just called me.

  PIERRE: Okay?

  HUGO: He was really agitated.

  PIERRE: Why?

  HUGO: When he helped us at that event in Södermanland, you know when I needed to borrow a computer to deal with the Financial Supervision Authority people snooping around? Well, apparently Mats went onto some other computer out there, and he might have copied stuff off it.

  PIERRE: What did he do that for?

  HUGO: How should I know? I let him work on our stuff by himself. He was alone in one of the rooms there; it’s not like I was watching over him. But he said he found some strange films on the computer and that he’s been to the police to report them.

  PIERRE: Are you kidding me? What kind of films? Was it something to do with our deals?

  HUGO: No idea, but I don’t think so. I didn’t get the impression it was linked to us, but like I said, I don’t know. I just wanted to let you know. Maybe the guy knows what it’s about.

  PIERRE: You’ll have to check with him.

  SMS MESSAGES

  To/From: Unknown

  From/To: Hugo Pederson