Another Time, Another Life

by Leif G. W. Persson

  “Is this something you believe or something you know?” asked the GD.

  “It’s something that occurred to me,” said Johansson.

  “Interesting,” said the GD. “I was struck by the same thought myself.”

  “As I’ve gathered from your description and that of others, Stein’s appointment as undersecretary can scarcely have been uncontroversial,” said Johansson.

  “No,” said the GD. “Definitely not, and the general perception among those who consider themselves well informed about such issues was that the government wanted to give the military and defense establishment a tweak on the nose. Considering Helena Stein’s personal qualities it was not a bad tweak. She is a creditable opponent, to say the least, and her basic view of defense policy is simple enough to summarize.”

  “How so?” asked Johansson.

  “The four Ns,” said the GD. “Nonproliferation, neutrality, and no NATO.”

  “She can’t be entirely alone in that,” Johansson objected, having entertained a similar viewpoint himself, despite the fact that he was a hunter and had his appearance against him.

  “Among her predecessors in the position this has not exactly been the dominant view, however,” the GD said primly. “With Stein it is also the case that as a defense analyst she is far superior to both her sympathizers and her opponents. And it gets really sensitive when we come to the subject of her view of the defense industry and trade in war matériel.”

  “How so?” asked Johansson.

  “For one thing,” said the GD, “the basic view she and others have expressed is hardly compatible with the fact that we also export or import defense matériel to or from either the U.S., NATO, or other democracies in the West, not just those economically less interesting non-democracies we’ve already blacklisted.”

  “Goodness gracious,” said Johansson.

  “Yes,” the GD agreed. “At Saab and other similar places they can certainly keep a straight face. In monetary terms it comes to more than thirty billion kronor per year if you count both exports and imports and include the civilian element. You see, it’s not just about JAS planes, submarines, cannons, mines, explosives, and bomb sights. There’s a great deal besides that has economic importance, primarily for civilian production, such as trucks, ventilation systems, electronics, and the packaging of freeze-dried food, one of the most common articles in the military commercial context.”

  “But that’s no joke,” said Johansson. “Appointing her undersecretary of defense must be a real blow.” Like being knocked down from behind with an iron bar, he thought.

  “Helena Stein is more intelligent than that,” said the GD, who now appeared visibly amused. “She has always been careful to discuss these issues in principled, ideological terms—not least in terms of legal philosophy. She has raised ideas, brought up issues at a high level, pointed out moral, political, legal, and economic consequences of one position or another.”

  “I’m sure that didn’t make them any less nervous,” Johansson objected.

  “No,” said the GD. “They were completely terrified by the prospect of her appointment. But let’s return to the handling of the West German embassy. I understand that a few months ago certain information was returned to our files about the Swedish involvement in the West German embassy.”

  “Yes,” said Johansson. “Reportedly it was because of tips from our American friends, and strangely enough the information specifically concerns Eriksson and Welander, both of whom are dead. On the other hand there was not a word about Tischler and Stein, who are both alive of course.”

  “What was it that caused Berg to change his mind?” asked the GD.

  “There were several reasons, according to him,” said Johansson. “That on closer consideration he started to doubt his own cleaning of the files—anyone who is dead can’t be affected personally. But mostly it was because he had been promised that more would be coming and he didn’t want to take the risk that significant future information would be left hanging in the air. And if you ask me personally, I think his illness was also a contributing factor.”

  “That he might have lost his edge,” said the GD.

  “Partly, but also that he had become far too cautious, that he simply didn’t dare turn it down,” said Johansson.

  “But you think this is really about something else,” the GD observed.

  “Yes,” said Johansson. “I don’t know if I’m starting to get paranoid, but I get the idea that they actually wanted to open a door so they could send us information about Stein. I have a hard time understanding that this would be about anyone other than her, considering the connection to the West German embassy.”

  “So what did Berg think about that?” asked the GD.

  “That I was wrong,” said Johansson. “The fundamental political prerequisites were now lacking, given that the Russians have retreated.”

  “And what do you think about Berg’s view of the matter?” the GD persisted.

  “That he’s wrong, and after hearing your description of Stein I’ve only been strengthened in that conviction,” said Johansson.

  “But has anything else come in?” asked the GD. “About Stein, I mean, because considering her probable appointment, wouldn’t it be high time?”

  “No,” said Johansson. “Nothing yet.” It has been as silent as the grave, he thought.

  “And how do you interpret that?” asked the GD, who now appeared both interested and amused.

  “Either I’ve got the whole thing turned around,” said Johansson, “or else they don’t know that she’s going to be appointed and they’ve simply missed the opportunity. Or else they do know about it but are still choosing to wait to turn the screw until she’s in her new position.”

  “So which of those do you think it is?” asked the GD.

  “Alternative number three,” said Johansson. “That they will let her be appointed—see to it that both she and those who appointed her get raised high enough that it would be a pure catastrophe for both her and the government if any harmful information about her past were to come out—and only then will they start to advance their demands about what she and the rest of us ought to do and not do.”

  “They don’t sound like nice people, if you’re right,” the GD observed.

  “There’s yet another complicating factor in that case,” said Johansson. “We’re talking of course about our American friend, the ultimate bulwark for the democracies of the Western world, a highly esteemed friend raised above all suspicions.”

  “You’ve never met her,” the GD said suddenly.

  “You mean Stein?” said Johansson.

  “Yes,” said the GD.

  “No,” said Johansson. “I’ve never met her.” Although I may have to soon, he thought.

  “Maybe you ought to do that,” said the GD. “Take a discreet look at our object Helena Stein.”

  “Yes, maybe,” said Johansson. A discreet look is never wrong, he thought.

  “I’ll arrange it then,” said the GD, who had a hard time concealing his enjoyment. “A discreet look at Undersecretary Helena Stein when she visits the suspected robber in his own den.”

  36

  Thursday, April 6, 2000

  On Thursday the sixth of April, Holt and Wiklander interviewed Undersecretary Helena Stein at the Ministry of Defense. Johansson’s secretary decided on the time and place with Stein’s secretary, and neither had come as a surprise to Johansson, Holt, or Wiklander.

  The undersecretary had an extremely busy schedule, but since the secret police were asking, she nonetheless managed to squeeze them in for half an hour between six and six-thirty in the evening. Because the undersecretary was supposed to be at a reception later that night, she proposed that the police come to her and not the other way around. So the two chief inspectors went to the Ministry of Defense offices on Gustaf Adolf Square in Stockholm.

  Helena Stein’s secretary conveyed them to the undersecretary’s own conference room, asked whethe
r they wanted coffee or water, which they declined, then asked them to sit and wait. After a quarter of an hour Helena Stein strode into the room where they were sitting. She nodded and smiled, apologized for being late. Holt was completely convinced that Stein had no idea what they wanted to talk with her about.

  At worst she thinks something has come up in connection with her background check, thought Holt. Something she’s prepared for, something she knows she can work her way out of. She’s attractive, trim, well dressed, self-confident, and obviously quite intelligent, thought Holt. She could see it in her eyes. Goddamnit, thought Holt.

  • • •

  After the introductory remarks into the tape recorder, a few words from “Interview leader Chief Inspector Anna Holt” to the effect that “Helena Lovisa Stein is being interviewed for informational purposes in connection with an ongoing security matter,” it was finally time to begin.

  “We’re here because we want to talk with you about an old acquaintance of yours, one Kjell Göran Eriksson,” said Holt, trying to concentrate on Stein’s reaction.

  “Kjell Eriksson,” said Stein. “Must be a million years since I saw him. You mean the Kjell Eriksson who was … well … that awful story from sometime in the late eighties? You want to talk with me about him? I don’t even remember what he looked like.”

  You did it, thought Holt. That tenth of a second when your gaze faltered and then the words came tumbling out. You were trying desperately to keep him away from you, to get control over the situation in which you’ve suddenly landed. I know you remember Kjell Eriksson. If nothing else, after the West German embassy you must have spent hundreds of hours of your life thinking about Kjell Eriksson, what he was like, who you are. That can’t have been easy, she thought.

  “We’ve reopened the case,” said Holt. “I’m prevented from going into the reasons why.”

  “But why in the name of heaven are you asking me about him? I hardly knew him,” said Stein. “A cousin of mine, Theodor Tischler—I don’t know if you know who that is but he was a businessman—worked at a brokerage firm started by his father—he lives abroad now. He was the one who knew him. And … it wasn’t even really him, either, it was his best friend, Sten Welander. He was an academic to start with … worked as a reporter at Swedish Television. He’s dead too actually. Died of cancer five or six years ago.”

  “But you have met Eriksson?” Holt asked.

  “Yes, of course,” said Stein, clearly surprised by the question. “But that must have been more than twenty years ago. During my radical youth,” she said, smiling faintly. “I met hundreds of people during those years who were working for the same political goals—Sten and Theo and obviously Eriksson too. I think I even remember him being out with Theo at our country place one summer. I can’t have been very old … ten maybe … but I remember. Theo brought him out to the country.”

  It’s that photograph you’re suddenly remembering, thought Holt, and you probably still hope that’s the only reason we’re here. And you’re probably thinking that now you’ll have to go on the offensive, she thought.

  “You’ll really have to excuse me,” said Stein, “but I am somewhat surprised. Has someone alleged that Eriksson and I were old acquaintances, or what? In that case I can assure you it’s a lie.”

  “No,” said Holt, shaking her head. “No one has alleged that. We’re just trying to talk with everyone who knew him.”

  “Yes, but that’s just what I’m trying to say,” said Stein, with controlled heat in her voice now. “I didn’t really know Eriksson. I only met him a few times when I was young. I can’t have been older than fifteen or sixteen. Eriksson must have been twice as old as I was then—Sten and Theo’s age—and they were the ones he socialized with.”

  Considering that all Eriksson is supposed to have done was get murdered, it’s pretty strange you’re spending so much energy talking about how little you knew him, thought Holt.

  “So Eriksson was Sten Welander’s and Theodor Tischler’s acquaintance,” said Holt, who had decided to let Stein think the worst was over.

  “Yes,” said Stein, nodding in confirmation. “I know they still saw him up until the time he died. I sometimes talk with Theo and I’m certain he mentioned that to me. We talked about that horrible thing that happened to him, of course. It would be strange otherwise,” said Stein.

  Just as strange as that you’re avoiding the word “murdered” despite having worked as an attorney for almost twenty years, thought Holt.

  “If you could really make an effort to remember,” Holt continued, “when was the last time you saw Eriksson?”

  “As I said,” said Stein, “it must have been twenty-five, thirty years ago. Sometime in the mid-seventies.”

  “Well,” said Holt, smiling amiably, “considering we’ve already talked with people who associated with him at the time he was murdered—it was the thirtieth of November 1989, by the way—it seems you’re not the right person to ask.”

  “No, I’m really not,” said Stein. “Even at that time it must have been fifteen years since I’d seen him last.”

  “Yeah,” said Holt, smiling again. “In that case, my colleague and I apologize for taking up your time.”

  “That was all?” asked Stein, suddenly having a hard time concealing her surprise.

  “Yes,” said Holt. And now you’re trying desperately to figure out if you said anything wrong, she thought.

  “Let me think,” said Stein suddenly. “There is something floating around in the back of my mind.”

  “Yes?” said Holt expectantly.

  “It suddenly occurs to me there was another time later on that my cousin and I ran into him,” said Stein hesitantly.

  “Uh-huh,” said Holt amiably. So this is suddenly occurring to you, she thought, exchanging a glance with Wiklander, who seemed completely oblivious.

  “But when was it?” Stein shook her head as though really exerting herself to remember.

  “Seventies, eighties?” Holt suggested.

  “Definitely the eighties … in the late eighties even, because I remember I was working at the law firm. Theo had invited me to dinner. I had helped him with some legal matter … I don’t remember what. Then he called and invited me to dinner. It was some Italian restaurant—I think it was in Östermalm.”

  How close to the truth are you willing to go? wondered Holt.

  “Sometime in the late eighties your cousin Theo Tischler invites you to dinner, at an Italian restaurant in Östermalm—and you run into your cousin’s old friend Kjell Eriksson,” Holt summarized. Now’s your chance, she thought.

  “Did I say that?” Stein said suddenly. “No, it was like this, we were going to walk home from the restaurant or else take a taxi into town and then continue on foot—Theo likes to party—but when we were walking—I think it was on Karlavägen—Theo pointed out one of the buildings we were going past and said that Kjell lived there—yes, Kjell Eriksson. Then he suggested we ring his doorbell and let him offer us a drink. I guess I wasn’t very amused, but that’s how it was,” said Stein. “Strange I didn’t think of that,” she said, shaking her head.

  Undeniably, thought Holt, who just nodded and smiled.

  “You said you and your cousin went to Eriksson’s place,” Holt clarified.

  “Yes,” said Stein. “We dropped in and I think he offered us wine or something.… I think I drank wine, and not that I remember but I’m guessing Theo had whiskey because he always does.” Stein smiled, shaking her head as if the difficulty of recalling her cousin’s alcohol habits was her biggest problem right now.

  “How long were you at Eriksson’s?” asked Holt.

  “We just dropped in, half an hour, forty-five minutes maybe … at the most,” said Stein.

  “You don’t remember more precisely when it was—you said late eighties,” Holt clarified.

  “No,” said Stein, suddenly sounding very sure. “Any more precisely than that I don’t remember.”

  “Autumn,
winter, spring, summer?” Holt suggested.

  “Not summer,” said Stein, shaking her head. “Autumn or winter, but that’s just a guess. I think it was winter.”

  Sufficiently close, sufficiently far away, thought Holt.

  “Of course you could always ask Theo,” Stein suggested. “I’m pretty sure he makes notes of dinners and things like that in his datebook, and he didn’t go out to dinner with me very often. Talk with Theo; maybe he can help you. I’m pretty sure he saves his calendars too.… I remember he told me that for him they also functioned as diaries.”

  Why is that so important now, wondered Holt. Because if what you’re saying is true, it’s totally uninteresting to us.

  “You wouldn’t happen to have his phone number,” asked Holt. Not on you in any event, she thought.

  “Not on me,” said Stein. “I have it at home of course. If you want I can arrange for you to get it tomorrow. This evening unfortunately I won’t have time,” she added, looking at her watch to be on the safe side. “I promised to go to a reception in a little while.”

  “I don’t think that will be necessary,” said Holt, shaking her head. “It’s Eriksson we’re interested in. We thank you for your help and we truly apologize for having bothered you unnecessarily.”

  “It’s no problem,” said Stein, smiling. “I was just a little surprised, as I’m sure you understand.”

  Scared to death is what you are, thought Holt. Not surprised.

  “She is scared,” said Wiklander as they were sitting in the car en route to the office.

  “Yep, but she managed,” said Holt.

  “She seems to have,” said Wiklander. “If we don’t come up with anything better, of course.”

  In the evening Lars Martin Johansson met Undersecretary Helena Stein. True, they didn’t talk with each other or even exchange a glance, but he had an opportunity to observe her at a distance, and for him that was good enough. Helena Stein was standing under the crystal chandelier in the middle of a large room, surrounded by men her own age or older. Well-dressed, successful men, conspicuously many of whom were glistening like roosters in their tailored suits, and unlike him they never seemed to need to pull down the cuffs on their shirts or be content with buttoning only the bottom button of their jacket.