by Jens Lapidus
Roksana lay back down on the bed. Turned off her phone. In a few hours’ time, she would be meeting the Boss idiot. In a few hours’ time, she needed to have the money ready. Otherwise her father would be killed. Baba would no longer exist, Mom’s and Caspar’s lives would be destroyed. She could barely breathe as that thought went through her mind.
Yusuf murdered—with a reward for anyone who could give information about his disappearance. A reward for the person who could link a chain and gold cross to a perpetrator.
The same word thundered through Roksana’s head, over and over again: reward.
Reward.
57
The leaves on the trees on the avenue leading to the property were still pale green, as though summer was late to arrive in Kalaholm, despite being only twenty minutes north of the city. In the transcripts Teddy had scrutinized, he had seen Hugo Pederson’s wife go on and on about this place ten years earlier. All the same, he hadn’t been expecting a castle like this: three stories with a turret that had to be at least sixty feet high, a fountain in front of the building, and a parklike garden that never seemed to end.
“Seems like fancy people we’re off to see,” Dejan said as the Panama skidded in the gravel and pulled up by the fountain. “Who exactly are we meeting?”
“The guy who reported me and got me sent down.”
Dejan rifled through the bag on the backseat. “Aha, it’s like that. Good thing I brought all this, then. You can choose for yourself.”
Teddy picked up the bag and peered inside. He saw a Mini Uzi and a Heckler & Koch MP5.
They climbed out of the car. To one side, by one of the smaller buildings, there were five other cars parked. Either Hugo was a collector, just like Kum, or else the Pedersons had guests today.
Teddy climbed the wide staircase to the castle door. Two bronze lions flanked the steps. The Mauler glared at them with suspicion, but then started licking their faces and sniffing their patinated green backsides.
No one answered.
“Doesn’t look like there’s anyone home,” Dejan said, waving the MP5 in the air.
“Let’s check out back,” said Teddy. “And could you put the gun away?”
Behind the castle was an even bigger park, which opened out onto a lake. Cutting the lawns here must take weeks. Then it struck Teddy that in a place like this, they didn’t cut the lawns themselves—they had staff for that kind of thing. The Mauler sloped off ahead of them, his tongue practically dragging on the ground. They could see a group of people in the distance, standing around a Midsummer pole. That explained the cars. This was probably a terrible moment, but Teddy was here now—he was suspected of murder, had escaped from prison, and was wanted across the entire kingdom. There was no going back.
Midsummer—the only time Teddy had ever celebrated it was when the guards had given them herring and low-alcohol beers in prison. It wasn’t a Christian holiday—he knew that much—more something hedonistic. The Swedes raised tall poles covered in grass or similar, with leaf-clad rings. Somehow, it was obvious: the whole thing represented an enormous dick with the balls hanging at the top. And around that dick they danced.
At least that was what the Pederson family and their guests were doing as he and Dejan approached—they were hooting and jumping around the green pole. The women were, anyway. The men were sitting at a long table—they seemed to mostly be watching. Teddy couldn’t see any children—they were probably still at the boarding school he knew the Pedersons’ children attended, or maybe they were being taken care of by a nanny somewhere. Teddy could hear the revelers singing: “Little frogs, little frogs, so funny to see, no ears, no ears, no ears have they.” No one seemed to care about the two strange men striding toward them over the grass. They probably thought that Teddy and freaking Dejan were here to cut the lawn.
He approached the table. The dancing continued around the pole. The grass was so green that it made his eyes sting. The people all looked the same; it was like their faces merged together in one big mix of pale features and the kind of wrinkles caused by sunny recreation on golf courses and chair lifts. Still, Teddy recognized him: Hugo Pederson, aka Peder Hult. He had seen only one picture of him, from a charity gala ten years ago, but the man looked the same. Hair slightly thinner than in the picture, but with the same side part and the same shade of blond.
“Hugo Pederson,” Teddy said loudly.
The five men looked up at him in surprise, but no one got up. The white tablecloth was covered in beer cans and empty schnapps glasses. They had probably just eaten lunch; they were probably wasted.
“Or should I say Peder Hult?” Teddy said again, louder this time.
Hugo Pederson slowly got to his feet. He held out a hand and a smile lit up his face. “Hello, hello, who are you?” he said with crisp articulation—the way only incredibly self-confident people speak.
Then his tone changed. “As you can see, we’re having a little private gathering here. You’ll have to come back another day, whoever you are. What is this regarding, by the way?”
Teddy turned toward him. Tried to tell from Hugo’s face whether he was joking. Did he really not recognize him?
“I tried to get in touch with you yesterday, but you never called me back. So now I just wanted to have a word with you, in peace and quiet.” Teddy copied Hugo’s familiar tone and placed an arm around his shoulders. He felt the man jump. “Could we talk eye to eye somewhere?”
“Like I said, we’re trying to celebrate Midsummer here.” Hugo’s voice was firmer this time, as though to command the attention of the people around the table. “I don’t even know who you are.”
The Mauler was drooling.
Teddy felt like he was about to flip out. “We’re here to talk about the old investigation into you. This place, for example, was bought with illegal money. Money you earned by cheating the system. Right?”
One of Hugo’s eyes had started to twitch. “So it’s those old accusations you’re talking about? It’s no secret that the Economic Crime Authority wanted to cast suspicion on me ten years ago, all my good friends know that, so there’s no point trying to embarrass me there. They also know that the ECA dropped all that crap because I had nothing to do with anything illegal.”
The little frog dance had ended. Small birds were twittering in the trees. Everyone’s eyes were fixed on them. The women in their floral dresses and heeled clogs, and the men in their linen jackets and plaited belts: they had all lifted their sunglasses and were staring as though there was a play being acted out at the table.
A woman stepped forward. “Leave, please.”
Teddy had Googled her. There were plenty of pictures: Louise Pederson, Hugo’s wife.
“No, I’d like to talk to Hugo.”
“You have no business here. Leave, before I call the police.”
“Your husband already did that ten years ago,” said Teddy. “He reported me and I was sent down. But what you don’t know is that he didn’t report who was really behind a network of pimping and child abuse.”
Louise Pederson was staring at him. The men around the table were glaring so fiercely that it looked like their eyes were about to pop out of their heads. Hugo’s face was still twitching. “Enough of this crap,” he said. “We’re calling the police.”
Several of the men at the table stood up. Dejan shifted in the background. The women looked annoyed. Louise seemed more surprised than anything.
Then, from the corner of one eye, Teddy saw that Dejan had pulled out the MP5 from beneath his shirt.
KLAK-KLAK-KLAK. Three shots rang out in the air. Up into the blue sky. It sounded like he had aimed it straight at Teddy; his ears were ringing. What the hell was Dejan doing—did he think this was a Lebanese wedding or something?
Teddy gestured for him to lower his weapon, but Dejan started to shout. “Enough talk. Everyone get dow
n. Take out your phones and throw them in front of you.”
Teddy didn’t know whether even he understood what had just happened: but within two seconds, there were twelve people lying flat out on the grass. Several of them were crying.
Hugo Pederson followed Teddy inside without another word.
* * *
—
The drawing room was like a museum. Teddy had seen so-called modern art before, particularly at Leijon, but he still didn’t get it. He couldn’t see the craft, the technique. In what sense was it admirable that someone had painted four thick lines onto a white canvas, or got a computer to arrange Japanese manga images randomly in a circle? Maybe it was to do with politics, maybe the works hanging on the wall in the Pederson family castle incited resistance, maybe there was a message Teddy just didn’t understand. In all likelihood, it was something else: that they glossed over the simple and the dirty. They gave Hugo Pederson an aura of something he wanted to be.
Above the sofa was a framed black-and-white image of a lion—the only piece in the room Teddy could actually understand.
“Nice lion,” he said, pushing Hugo onto the sofa. “That was your first piece, right? You bought it from Bukowskis?”
Through the window, Teddy could see the Midsummer pole and Dejan, who was still watching over the guests. He sat down next to Hugo, really sunk into the sofa. “Do you recognize me yet?”
Hugo’s face was twisted. He looked like he was about to start screaming. “I know who you are. And the other guy, the one with the gun. You were in the van.”
“Exactly. You saw us throwing Mats Emanuelsson into the back. That was the biggest mistake of my life. But then you saw me again, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, by the house.”
“And that was when you first called the police?”
Hugo didn’t reply.
“Right?”
Hugo was silent.
“In the police interviews, you never told them that you knew who had ordered the kidnapping, did you?”
A string of saliva was hanging from Hugo’s mouth when he eventually opened it. “Why are you really here?”
“I wanted to meet the man who made me spend eight years in prison.”
The room was cool and silent. All the armchairs, sofas, rugs, and tables seemed to be color matched to the wallpaper and the works of art—or was it the other way around?
“Do you know what they try to do to you in prison?” Teddy held back as best he could. “They try to erase you as a person. They take away everything that makes your life unique: you can’t plan your own time, you can’t eat what you want, dress the way you want. You can’t even shower when you want. Above all, they take away your opportunities for human closeness. Some people forget they’re humans as a result. Some become even more like animals in there. Sometimes, it feels like I was dead for eight years.”
Hugo stuttered. “I—I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything. Because there’s another story there, too. And it’s that I’m glad you reported me, because nothing else could have made me stop. I changed in there. It really was like I was erased and born again. I came out a different person. And ever since, I’ve tried to atone for the fact that I kidnapped a man for the worst possible reason I can imagine.”
“So what do you want from me? Why are you here?”
“I’m here because I want you to tell me who asked you to lure Mats to the place he was kidnapped. I want you to lay your cards on the table.”
Hugo’s mouth was like a line drawn with a ruler.
“You don’t want to talk about it?”
Hugo Pederson didn’t reply.
“You’re not going to say anything at all?”
Hugo’s lips were so narrow.
“That’s not good,” said Teddy, pulling out his phone. “Because I won’t feel like I’ve atoned for what I did until all this is over. All of it.”
Two minutes later, Dejan came in and set the Mauler loose. The dog sauntered over to Teddy. Hugo’s eyes widened. Teddy thought about what he had read about this man’s feelings toward dogs in the transcripts.
Teddy grabbed the lead and turned to Hugo: “This is the Mauler. He’s a bull terrier specialized in eating people like you.”
The Mauler pulled at the lead.
The Mauler yelped.
“Take the dog away!” Hugo shouted, hoisting his legs up onto the sofa.
The Mauler jumped up after him.
Bared his teeth.
58
Midsummer was a crappy day. But, at the same time, everything was fucked-up right now. The only glimmer of light in this dark Midsummer shit was that he had been with Roksana only a few days ago. Though, maybe that was about to turn to crap, too: when they last spoke on the phone, she had spent most of the call interrogating him.
Now he was at his mother’s house, having lunch to celebrate the holiday. Grandpa was there, too. Nikola wished he was with Roksana instead, but that wouldn’t work. He had to be on standby in case Kerim or the client got in touch, and he didn’t want to leave Roksana in the lurch if they did. Plus: the hate was burning so fiercely in him right now that he was about to get himself worked up. He wasn’t good for her now, that was just how it was.
Isak: the man who had ordered Chamon’s murder. Isak: a rat—a pig informant. Nikola needed Kerim’s blessing to take revenge. But first, he was going to have to do something for the New Kum—he wondered what it would be.
Later today, he and Bello were doing a job for Isak. It was a case of acting like normal so that the pig informant didn’t realize that Nikola knew.
* * *
—
His mother had tried to mix traditions: there were bowls of herring and potatoes on the table, alongside sausages, ajvar, and sauerkraut. Grandpa insisted on eating only the Swedish elements: “It’s Midsummer. I’ve never understood exactly what it is they’re celebrating, but we should do it right.” He raised a spoon of soured cream and chopped red onion to his mouth. Nikola was sure that wasn’t what you were meant to do, but he didn’t say anything—Grandpa was Grandpa, after all.
Mom raised her glass. “This whole business with Teddy is so awful. What they’re saying he’s done, everything being written about his escape. I’m just glad you’re both here.”
Nikola wondered if he should ask his uncle anyway: Will you back me up if I go for it? But no, Teddy was being hunted by everyone right now—and Nikola had no idea how to get ahold of him.
Grandpa sipped his beer. “I’m so sad for his sake. That he never learns.”
Mom nodded. A constant complaint during Nikola’s entire childhood. The bad path Teddy had chosen. Teddy’s weak character. Teddy’s way of showing that he didn’t care about his sister or his father.
Nikola refused to believe all the media bullshit, and he remembered the conversation they’d had at Espresso House a few months earlier. He said: “Teddy’s learned. He’s changed, believe me. He’s not the man he was.”
“What has he learned?” Mom asked.
“More than me, anyway.” Nikola didn’t know what he meant by that last part.
* * *
—
An hour later, he was in the van, beside Bello. Standard job for late-afternoon Midsummer’s Eve: transporting Isak’s explosives, in other words. They had cleared out a stash site in Skärholmen and were now heading toward the main store.
“You think he’s building an atomic bomb, or what?” Nikola asked. “We’ve never picked up this much before. That has to be several hundred kilos.”
What was Mr. One up to? He wasn’t just a dirty cop informant—he genuinely seemed to be planning to blow Södertälje to pieces. Nikola thought about Roksy and the argument they’d had—what would she say about this? Boxes full of explosives.
“He sees w
hat’s going on in the suburbs and he’s getting ready for war,” said Bello.
Nikola paused. “What are you talking about?”
“You know what I mean. It’s like a computer game. You don’t have the most up-to-date weapons, you’ll never win. Everything’s getting shittier and shittier. When I started six years ago, shoot-outs were about as uncommon here as they are in the fancy villa areas north of town. But now…well, you know.”
Nikola knew.
Oh, he knew.
* * *
—
Bello said: “Reckon we can pull over for twenty to grab something to eat?”
“I already ate, had Midsummer lunch with Mom and Grandpa. You ever had that?”
“Yeah, yeah, my old man loves fish. I’m hungry.”
“I don’t want to leave the van on the street, not with everything in the back. Can’t you get takeout? I’ll wait here.”
And so it was. Steakhouse Bar was open. Bello stepped inside. Mr. One’s regular. Chamon’s favorite. Nikola stayed in the van.
He thought back to the beginning, to the start of all this crap. He hadn’t known any other kids in the area at the time. They had only just moved in, but his mother had thought it would be a nice gentle start for him if he went to the youth club, which was already open, the week before school started. So, that Monday, she had dropped him off with a hairy teacher—or youth club educator, as they wanted you to call them—called Mikael, who said that everything would be just fine. Nikola hadn’t understood how anything would be fine—all he wanted was to lock himself in the bathroom and cry, or to escape, forget about putting on his shoes and run barefoot home to Mom. He thought he would be able to find his way. Maybe. Or maybe not. Mikael had been sitting at a round table, and all of the other kids had crowded around him, watching as he drew a submarine. They all seemed to know one another, and none of them had said hello to Nikola. After what felt like weeks, when his mother came to pick him up again, he had told her: “I don’t want to come anymore.” “I’m sure it’ll be better once school starts next week,” she had replied. “The teacher’ll look after you. I’ve talked to her. She’s really nice.” “I want to stay home tomorrow,” Nikola had begged. “You can’t, little man. I’m working.” In that moment, Nikola had realized that nothing would be the same as before.