Gieger

by Gustaf Skördeman

  Should she take it to the newspapers? If she passed the material to the Security Service, it would probably just end up being classified before disappearing. Sara wanted it to emerge – wanted everyone to know. Not just that Stellan Broman had been a spy, but how he had worked – all the girls he’d exploited, whose lives he’d ruined.

  Above all, she wanted everyone to know what these respected men had done. Not only had they raped drugged young girls – they had also allowed a foreign power to exercise its malicious influence. It would be a huge scandal.

  ‘The Security Service knew about this,’ said Hedin.

  ‘The girls?’ said Sara.

  ‘I went through the images of the files I got out of them and it matches the redactions in them.’

  ‘When did you do that?’

  ‘Just now. In my head.’

  ‘Do you have a photographic memory?’

  ‘I’m attentive.’

  ‘How does it agree?’

  ‘Stellan’s files from the MfS – the DDR Ministerium für Staatssicherheit – the Stasi – mentions decadent morals in connection with his working methods, and Säpo’s files have redacted the sections about his working methods and the names of the people he exploited. However, it says in one place that they considered notifying social services, but opted not to, due to the risk that their knowledge of Geiger’s identity as an IM would be revealed. And the social services only come up in espionage cases if they relate to—’

  ‘Minors.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘So they let him carry on with his atrocities out of fear that someone would find out that they knew he was a spy?’

  ‘Something like that. And I suppose that’s why they’ve gone to such pains to redact so much of his file. Not for his sake, or that of a foreign power that no longer exists. It’s actually to conceal their own working methods. Have you found them? The girls, I mean. What have they said?’

  ‘I’ve got some names,’ said Sara. ‘I’m going to try and find them. But there’s something else . . . The cases for the rolls of film of the men were more worn. The ones that feature Stellan himself are in better condition. That has to mean that he kept them in different places. But they were all in the same place when I found them. Why?’

  ‘Because the Cold War is over. At least he thought so.’

  ‘Might he have been murdered for the films? As revenge?’

  ‘By one of the girls?’

  ‘Or someone else close to them? Or maybe one of the men? What if he decided to start blackmailing them again and was using the films?’

  ‘Regardless of the reason, it seems undeniable that he deserved to be shot,’ said Hedin before hanging up.

  Sara sat, still thinking it all over, while the cup of coffee went cold in her hand and the leftover scrambled eggs congealed on the plate.

  ‘Good morning.’

  Martin came into the kitchen, bleary-eyed and tousle-haired. He was still wearing his party clothes from the evening before. He kissed Sara on the top of her head and looked at the coffee maker hopefully.

  ‘Is there any coffee?’

  ‘Of course. Just not here.’

  An old joke from back when the kids were little had popped into her head and leaped out of her mouth. Martin smiled amiably, but not for long, at the familiar line. Of course, just not here.

  ‘I had instant,’ said Sara.

  ‘Then you need some proper coffee,’ he said, setting up the bright yellow Moccamaster. He had chosen the colour on the basis that ‘Yellow makes you happy’. Who knew, Sara had thought to herself.

  ‘Yesterday went well,’ said Martin, sitting down opposite her.

  ‘Really well,’ she replied. ‘You’d done such a good job.’

  ‘It was the girls who did everything. The dads just paid.’

  ‘You’d done such a good job paying,’ said Sara with a smile.

  ‘Aren’t you going to go back to bed?’ said Martin. ‘I thought you didn’t start until this evening?’

  ‘I’ve got some things to do.’

  She got up, fetched her laptop and went into the living room with a fresh cup of coffee. And then she began searching for addresses and phone numbers for the people in the films.

  Cajderius lived in Strängnäs, which was too far to go since Sara had to go to work that evening. Regardless of what Lindblad had to say about the matter.

  Per Dieden had died in 2005, and his widow Margot said she didn’t want to talk to the police.

  Gösta Boström was in an old people’s home in Lidingö, drooling, according to the indiscreet summer temp who answered the phone. The former CEO for the industrial conglomerate Svea Marin had major senile dementia, and was incommunicado.

  The former prime minister was dead, which she couldn’t do much about. The next rapist was one she’d recognised by herself. He’d been in the press a lot in his day, but she’d mostly met him through work. He was a user of prostitutes.

  Henrik Carlsson Lindh.

  Of course, he was much younger in the video. Dark-haired and good looking, unlike the hunchbacked figure he’d become. But there was the same jutting chin, the same raised eyebrows and half-lowered eyelids. The same sleepy smile.

  Sara had googled him and found out that he was a former undersecretary of state for Foreign Affairs, had no family and had published his memoirs, In the Service of Truth and Beauty. She’d also found his home address, and now she made up her mind.

  One shower and forty minutes later she was standing outside the perpetrator’s home.

  Stureparken 3.

  Consistent with his station.

  Lindh received Sara in tailored grey trousers, shiny patent leather shoes, a smoking jacket and a purple cravat tucked inside his white shirt. He sat down opposite her in the suite of Gustavian-style sofas and smiled kindly. He clearly recognised her, and didn’t seem the least bit ashamed that he’d been arrested by his visitor on multiple occasions.

  ‘Welcome. Nowak, isn’t it? And what have I done this time, if I might be so bold as to ask?’

  ‘Not now,’ said Sara. ‘Thirty years ago.’

  ‘Whoops,’ said Lindh. ‘Isn’t that subject to the statute of limitations? Isn’t the whole point of getting older that your sins are forgiven and forgotten?’

  ‘You were at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs,’ Sara continued.

  ‘The Foreign Office, yes.’

  ‘As undersecretary of state. What can you tell me about Per Dieden, Gösta Boström and Mats Cajderius?’

  ‘Dieden was justice minister. A good-for-nothing. It’s a mystery why he was allowed to stay. Boström was the CEO of some industrial concern, I think? Not someone I had anything to do with. He may have been part of those delegations on occasion – you know, when Sweden wants to improve its trading relations and sends the prime minister, the king and the captains of industry with order books in their back pockets. It’s rare that it leads anywhere, but the advocates for it are cheered on by the Wallenbergs and get to carry on with it. Who else did you say? Cajderius? Some newspaper hack. Not one of the writers who set the tone. Why are you asking about this odd assortment?’

  ‘All of them – just like you – have been caught on film having sex with underage girls.’

  ‘Voluntarily or involuntarily? The capture on film, I mean.’

  ‘Involuntarily. And then the tapes were kept for the purposes of extortion.’

  ‘Does your team really take on cold cases like that?’

  ‘This isn’t to do with the prostitution team – it’s about the murder of Stellan Broman.’

  ‘Was he a devotee of youth, too?’

  ‘He organised the whole thing. Broke in young girls and used them as objects for perverted men.’

  ‘Did I sense a hint of value judgement there? Isn’t all love beautiful?’

  ‘How did it happen?’

  ‘The sex?’ said Lindh, raising his eyebrows.

  ‘The honeytraps. What happened?’

&nb
sp; ‘I’ve not been in any trap.’

  Sara pulled out her mobile and started the video of Lindh and his victim.

  ‘Pretty couple,’ was the only thing he said.

  Sara stared at him and then stopped the video.

  ‘A teenager. Probably not even fifteen. What would have happened if this had come out? It would have been the end of your career, surely?’

  ‘I never did anything I couldn’t be held responsible for or that jeopardised the safety of the realm.’

  ‘How was this used? What did he get you to do? What did he make you do?’

  ‘Nothing. Absolutely nothing. There were no traps. It was quite natural, innocent time spent with beautiful girls. Sexuality is a beautiful gift. Something you’ve probably forgotten, given all the sleaze you see in your line of work.’

  ‘Tell me how it worked. Practically.’

  ‘My dear, all of that is beyond the statutes of limitation.’

  ‘Not to me.’

  ‘A gentleman never reveals his love secrets.’

  ‘A gentleman doesn’t rape children.’

  ‘Oopsy daisy. You seem to have gone a couple of steps too far, inspector. Thank you for visiting, but it’s time for you to be on your way.’

  ‘Tell me. I won’t leave until you do.’

  ‘Is this really to do with the murder? Or is it actually that hearing about it gets you going?’ Lindh had a lascivious look in his eyes. ‘You seem to have saved those videos on your phone. Maybe they have a stimulating effect?’

  ‘I’m going to be completely honest with you. I’m not part of the investigation. This is personal. I’m going to solve this murder no matter what the cost, and if you don’t tell me what you know, then I’ll pass these films to the media. I don’t think you want your legacy tarnished by a scandal like that. And you can tell me everything – as you said, it’s all beyond the statute of limitations.’

  Lindh squinted at her. After a long pause, he leaned back, smiled slightly and said, ‘It was a wonderful time.’

  He took out two small stemmed crystal glasses and poured a nut-brown liquid into them from a carafe. Then he lifted the glass in a toast and raised it to his mouth and sipped it.

  ‘A small circle of the initiated knew that Stellan Broman could rustle up young girls. I don’t know how we knew about each other – there was no internet back then. But I suppose it was confidential late-night chats after a considerable amount of imbibing. Once the ice was broken, it was as if one had found a kindred spirit – so we would meet on a fairly regular basis. We knew we could talk openly. We shared tips with each other.’

  Sara grimaced, but when she noticed that it had distracted Lindh from his train of thought, she did her best to control herself.

  ‘The origins of it all may actually have been Stellan’s parties. They were huge. And there were plenty of beautiful women in addition to the nation’s famous and powerful. I suppose you might say that the women at Stellan’s parties were generally very . . . available. And sometimes you might help yourself. But for those of us who appreciated the unspoilt beauty of youth more than anything else, Stellan was a real gentleman and arranged small tête-à-têtes in his own home.’

  ‘So he could film?’

  ‘That wasn’t how he presented the idea – but with hindsight, one has to draw the sad conclusion that it was the actual purpose.’

  ‘Did he show the films to you?’

  ‘No, but it wouldn’t have made any difference. I’d notified my superiors of my weakness, and they had no objections. They merely asked me to be discreet. One was permitted the odd escapade in those days – just look at the Geijer affair. Those gentlemen were defended by the government tooth and nail.’

  ‘How long did this go on for?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Lindh after a few seconds’ silence. ‘I socialised with Stellan for at least a couple of decades, I think. But for how long these dates were arranged, I can’t recollect.’

  ‘You worked for the Ministry of Foreign Affairs when Sweden recognised East Germany as a sovereign state. Was that to do with the recordings?’

  ‘Naturally, that had absolutely nothing to do with my little romances. My escapades were a private matter. The DDR was global politics. I don’t think you can quite grasp the extent of it, little madam inspector.’

  ‘But you knew Stellan, who was in the pay of East Germany, and while you worked at the Foreign Office by day and slept with young girls at Stellan’s by night, the ministry pushed for Sweden to accept the DDR as an independent state. Long before other democratic countries did the same.’

  ‘Stellan Broman was a great friend of the DDR, and he laid out his arguments in a forceful and persuasive manner. If I passed them on to my colleagues, it was because I saw reason in them – not because Stellan threatened me with the publication of private films made of me. That’s not how Swedish politics worked back then.’

  ‘I’m just beginning to understand how things worked back then.’

  40

  ‘It began when we were in Paris.’

  A feeling of unreality.

  A vague sense of unease spreading through her body.

  Paris.

  Sara had found Camilla in Uppsala. She was the only one of the girls she’d recognised that she had been able to get hold of. Carin was dead, having committed suicide at twenty, and Maria had moved to the USA. She didn’t know who the others were.

  Camilla had suggested they meet right away, and had taken the train into Stockholm a couple of hours later. When Sara met her outside the station, it seemed as if she wanted to talk – as though there was something that had been torturing her for a long time that she needed to get out into the open.

  ‘The trip to Paris the summer before year seven?’ said Sara. ‘You and Stellan and Lotta?’

  ‘Yes.’

  The trip to Paris that Sara had wanted to go on.

  She’d nagged and fought and prayed and begged. Stellan had invited her, but the move to Vällingby had put a stop to it. Jane had saved her.

  ‘He and Lotta had been fighting,’ said Camilla. ‘And Lotta locked herself in the single room, so he and I had to share. Just for a night, until Lotta had calmed down. We were out during the day, then we had dinner. I was allowed to have a couple of glasses of wine despite being too young. But he said that in France, all children drank wine with their meals. And when we got back to the hotel, he wanted to take a shower. He left the door open, and then he came into the room completely naked and said I should take a shower too. I didn’t dare say no, and he continued talking to me while I got undressed. He even followed me in and watched me the whole time. While I was showering, I felt like I should draw the shower curtain, but when I finally had to get out, he passed me a towel and I saw that he had an erection. Then I felt his hands all over my body. And then he pushed me against the sink and penetrated me from behind.’

  Camilla paused. She seemed to be very distant and extremely present, all at once.

  ‘I was a virgin – only thirteen years old,’ she said. ‘And it was incredibly painful. I cried out – I couldn’t stop myself. But he just talked to me in a calm voice. He was quick, and then I could feel blood and semen running down my legs. He said I should probably have another shower – he even turned the water back on. When I came out half an hour later, after crying and throwing up in the shower and scrubbing my privates until I bled again, he was asleep. He had his back towards me and was snoring. I had nowhere to go, couldn’t speak French, obviously had no mobile, so I got into the bed, too. As far away from him as possible. I hoped I’d wake up and realise it had all been a dream. It was at least a relief that he was asleep. I don’t know how long I lay there crying, but eventually I drifted off. Only to be woken in the middle of the night by him raping me again. When I protested, he put his hand over my mouth and continued. I twisted and turned and tried to get free, but he was too strong. When he was done, he fell back asleep, and that’s when I should have run down to rec
eption and asked them to call the police. But I stayed there. And in the morning, when he raped me for a third time, I didn’t make any attempt to resist.’

  ‘And then?’ said Sara, although she didn’t really want to hear any more.

  ‘Nothing. We went out and had breakfast. He was in a fantastic mood, talking about Paris and his TV shows and all the celebrity guests he’d had on them. And there I was. Terrified that I might be pregnant. Horror-stricken. Later that day, Lotta turned up, but I couldn’t say what had happened. It was her dad. And it was Uncle Stellan. No one would believe me. And when we got back home to Bromma, he invited me round about once a month and introduced me to various friends of his. They all got to use me. Some were OK, but others were . . . worse. The school nurse gave me birth control pills – I told her I had a boyfriend I loved. When I was due to start sixth form, I searched for a programme of study that wasn’t available in Stockholm and applied for that. Graphic design in Uppsala. Mum and Dad didn’t understand why – they didn’t want me to move to another town. But I dug my heels in, threw a few tantrums. My salvation was within reach. I think Mum could tell it was important, so eventually they let me move. And I was able to start over and become someone else. I’d almost managed to forget about Stellan when I read he’d died. I’ve got my family, and I actually work in graphics and like it. Maybe because it saved me from the monster in Bromma. It feels easier to come back here now that he’s gone – now that there’s no risk of me running into him.’

  The trip to Paris.

  The trip she had been so jealous of Camilla for.

  She didn’t know what to say. She simply reached out with her hand and held Camilla’s and squeezed.

  And Camilla squeezed back.

  41

  Malin was still off work, in a state of shock due to the murder of her father and the disappearance of her mother. But she said she could come to her sister’s office. So twenty minutes later, Sara was standing in reception at the Swedish International Development Cooperation Agency on Valhallavägen, announcing her arrival, and six minutes later Lotta came down to meet her. At the same moment, Malin entered through the revolving door.