Anger Mode

by Stefan Tegenfalk

  “Started it yourself?” Julén cried out, astonished.

  “No, I have two field operatives assisting me.”

  “Field operatives?” Julén repeated, as if she did not understand the words.

  “Well, I can’t get out of this bloody bed and I’m suspended. How am I supposed to run an investigation?”

  “You just told me,” Julén answered sarcastically. “Who are your field operatives? Do they, by any chance, have names?”

  Walter did not know if he should name Jonna de Brugge or Jörgen Blad or if he should cover up that part. He decided to put all his cards on the table, a gamble that not only exposed him to harm, but also Jonna. Her career could be over if the wrong people found out what she had been doing. He did not give a shit about Jörgen.

  “One police officer and one journalist from Kvällspressen,” he finally said.

  It took thirty seconds of background static on the phone before Julén came down from hitting the roof.

  “I don’t know where to start,” she began carefully. “One police officer and Kvällspressen.” She lingered over the words as if she were trying to taste them. “I have to know the names of the field operatives who have knowledge of this. It’s important to me and the new investigation. I hope you understand.”

  “First, I want to know if we have a deal or not,” Walter said. “No repercussions for what we have done. You will need to put that in writing.”

  Once again, silence on the phone line.

  “This was not quite what I had expected,” she finally replied. “A police officer, even from another department, I can agree to. But a journalist?”

  She sounded doubtful.

  “What did you expect? A fortune teller with a crystal ball?” Walter muttered.

  “Is the intention that this will be published in Kvällspressen? Or what is the plan?”

  “Part of it,” Walter said. “The journalist gets exclusive rights to the story and the opportunity to release his exclusive at the appropriate time. And I decide when the time is appropriate,” Walter explained.

  “For what reason did you drag a reporter into this?”

  “I made a deal,” Walter said. “He has information on a high-ranking police commissioner who apparently has dealings with some criminal elements. And we don’t want those on the force. Therefore, I agreed to an exchange of information.”

  “How do you know he’s telling the truth?” Julén asked in disbelief.

  “I also have some juicy evidence of the officer being buggered by said journalist. The police officer has been blackmailed by the journalist: confidential information in exchange for not publishing the photographs and video of their intimacy. According to the journalist, the police officer has leaked classified information as well as hired two villains to murder him.”

  Åsa Julén thought for a while.

  “What’s the name of the officer?” she asked.

  “No names without a deal,” Walter insisted.

  Once again, nothing but white noise.

  “I must have all the details of what you and your field operatives have been doing. I need to see the whole picture to have a chance of saving you.”

  “Let’s see,” Walter began. “I’ll start with the computer hacking into various authorities. We needed evidence to substantiate our theory.”

  “Evidence obtained illegally is inadmissible in court. If you were thinking of using that for a conviction, think again. Just so we are clear on that,” Julén said harshly. “And computer hacking doesn’t sound very attractive or lawful to me. This is not something I wish to be drawn into. If you can’t produce your evidence in any other form, you should destroy it. You have more to lose than to gain.”

  “You can get the evidence yourself,” Walter answered. “Completely legally.”

  “Explain.”

  “As a prosecutor, you can request all documents from Stockholm District Court regarding our Mr X and, with a few background checks on the criminal records database, you’ll have almost everything you need.”

  Julén paused for a long moment.

  After a while, Walter had to ask if she was still there.

  “I haven’t heard anything about hacking or any other irregularities,” she said finally. “You have a deal. And you must destroy anything you have illegally obtained.”

  “I want it in writing that you will not go after my field operatives. And that you will get me fully reinstated so I can get back to work,” Walter said. “I’m not ready for my pension yet.”

  “I can guarantee the first condition. I’ll do what I can to achieve the second. It’s in my interest to get you back and into the new investigation. I don’t think you should overestimate the legal status of this private and confidential agreement. It will never stand up in a court of law.”

  “I know. It’s mainly so that I can drag you down into the shit with me if you change your mind.”

  WALTER EXPLAINED IN detail to Chief Prosecutor Åsa Julén what he, Jonna and Jörgen had discovered. How Leo Brageler was probably the person responsible for drugging the jurors and District Prosecutor Ekwall and how he had access to the compound. The motive was also known: apparently, revenge. They were still not clear on why he had used such a roundabout method. Julén had a theory that it would be very hard to prosecute him, since he had not directly participated in the killings. In the worst case, it might not even be possible to obtain a conviction for anything except grievous bodily harm for the drug. The compound was not classified as an illegal substance, so it was unlikely that he would be convicted for the murder of Malin Sjöstrand. The others had not suffered any injury, apart from mental suffering. Julén judged the legal position to be very complicated.

  Walter also revealed the name of Folke Uddestad, which rendered Julén speechless. That such a high-ranking officer, the County Police Commissioner, had leaked information to a journalist under duress and, on top of that, was involved with criminals, she found very distressing. It would also be difficult because Uddestad had considerable influence within the police force and would not be easy to get to. If he was guilty, which Julén was still having a hard time swallowing. Sometimes, the long arm of the law did not reach all the way to the top, and it was not completely without risk to go after a county police commissioner. One single mistake and she would be finished as a prosecutor.

  Using a function of his mobile phone, Walter recorded their conversation, and he made Julén repeat their agreement in formal terms. That was sufficient insurance, in case the woman changed her mind. If she decided to gossip about it, she would be in as much trouble as he would.

  “I want you to send an MMS message with photographs of Leo Brageler and Tuva Sahlin from the passport database to Jonna de Brugge,” Walter said before they ended the conversation. “It would help if Jonna knew what they looked like. She should be on the cruise ferry by now.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Julén said. “But you have to understand that it won’t happen overnight. To get you reinstated will take some time and effort, if it’s at all possible. I’ll start by requesting the information on Brageler from the District Court records.”

  “Do as you wish. Just do it now, not later,” Walter said, hanging up.

  JONNA LOOKED AT her watch. According to Birka Lines’ telephone service, she had barely fifteen minutes before the cruise ferry would depart.

  Jörgen was in the process of fastening his seat belt when she made a racing start from the hospital car park. The acceleration of the Porsche pinned down Jörgen, who did not have his seat belt on, and he was wedged between the dashboard and the passenger door as Jonna took the curves with tyres screaming. His lips pressed firmly together in a line as he gritted his teeth and tried to steady himself with his right leg, while she zigzagged at high speed between the cars on the Centralbron bridge.

  Behind them, the Boxer engine roared and then died to a whisper as the powerful brakes gripped the car like a gigantic hand. After five minutes of this, Jör
gen was ready to throw up.

  Jonna saw Jörgen’s white face and opened his side window. In the middle of a sharp left-hand curve towards the Slussen intersection, the vomiting began. Food debris of various colours sprayed through the air as Jörgen, convulsing, held onto the door. As they approached the traffic lights on Söder Mälarstrand, the traffic came to a standstill. Jonna looked at the time. They had eight minutes until departure. Two lines of traffic stood waiting for the green light. The space between the right-hand lane and the tunnel wall should be enough, Jonna thought. She spun the wheel and drove onto the pavement. The Porsche wing mirrors were bent backwards, with two bangs, as she scraped by the tunnel wall and the car at the front of the queue. Farther ahead, there was a van that was wider than the other cars. They heard a heart-rending, metallic screech as the outer railing scraped the paintwork along the side of the Porsche.

  “Sorry, Grandfather,” Jonna said to herself once they had driven past the queuing cars, which were angrily sounding their horns. She catapulted out onto Söder Mälarstrand and glanced anxiously at the buckled side door. As long as it was still there, she was content. She moved into the bus lane and pressed the accelerator to the floor. The Porsche flew like a rocket. There was now a clear lane all the way to the terminal.

  As Jonna swung into the Birka Line terminal forecourt, Jörgen was ready for yet another round of vomiting. She braked right outside the entrance and pushed Jörgen out of the car before he started retching again. He got only a few metres before throwing up.

  Jonna could not wait and sprang into the terminal and towards the ramp that led onto the cruise ferry. She flashed her police badge to the guards and explained that she had important business to take care of on the ship and that she did not need their assistance. Both security guards looked at her sceptically at first, but then nodded and let her pass.

  But then she remembered that she was babysitting and that she alone was responsible for Jörgen’s safety. She reluctantly turned around and saw Jörgen half-running, half-walking through the departure hall while wiping his mouth.

  Jonna told the guards that Jörgen was a colleague. Unconvinced, they nodded, and one of them took out his walkie-talkie. She ran once again up the ramp, this time with Jörgen behind her, gasping for breath.

  Seconds after they boarded the cruise ferry, the doors of the Birka Paradise slammed shut behind them.

  LEO BRAGELER SAT down beside Tuva and served them drinks from the tray. He gave the last drink to Tuva as if it was something special, just for her. Gittan cleared her throat and winked at Tuva, who blushed at her behaviour. Tuva accepted the drink and was just about to make a toast with the others when the man in the leather waistcoat appeared. He wanted to dance – even though there was no dance music – and Tuva was closest. The leather waistcoat clumsily took the drink from Tuva’s hand and tried to pull her up from her chair. She resisted and Leo Brageler moved between them. The leather waistcoat muttered something and then grabbed Tuva’s drink and downed it as a consolation. Leo frantically tried to stop him, but he was too late. The cocktail glass was emptied in one swallow. It was as if Leo had seen a treasure chest sink into the sea. He was completely dumbfounded and did not move until Tuva asked him what was wrong.

  The man in the leather waistcoat belched and continued his hunt for a dance partner.

  WITH HER BADGE in her hand, Jonna pushed past the queue to the cruise hostess. The surprised hostess showed Jonna to the information desk.

  “I need to know which cabin Tuva Sahlin has,” Jonna said, leaning over the counter to look at one of the screens.

  The woman behind the counter quickly keyed in the name, but found no match.

  “Is Tuva Sahlin spelled as it sounds?” she inquired.

  “Probably,” Jonna answered and cursed that she had forgotten to check Walter’s printout. They had been in such a rush.

  After a while, the woman behind the counter shook her head. “No, there is no match for anything resembling that name,” she said.

  “Could the cabin be booked in another name?” Jonna asked.

  “We have the names of all the passengers, even the ones travelling without a cabin,” the woman said.

  Jonna took out her mobile phone and called Elina. After three rings, she answered.

  “Mum has not been in touch,” the girl began.

  “Are you certain that she was travelling with Birka?” Jonna said.

  Silence.

  “Or maybe it was, like, Viking Line,” she said, unsure.

  “Maybe? What do you mean, maybe?” Jonna sighed. She felt time running like sand through her fingers.

  Once again, silence.

  “Now that I think about it, I think, like, they were going with Birka first, but then they, like, changed to Viking. I think Birka was like, full up or something.”

  “Are you sure?” Jonna asked.

  “Now that I think about it,” she said, emphasizing the word “think”, “yeah, I am kind of sure.”

  Jonna turned to the cruise hostess who, being curious, had stayed by the information desk.

  “Do you know when the Viking Line cruise ferry departs?” Jonna asked.

  “Cinderella, you mean?”

  “Is that what it’s called?”

  “Yes, it sails ten minutes after us,” the hostess replied.

  THE BEARDED MAN, who had introduced himself as Carl, bought a fresh drink for Tuva after the incident. He apologized for having been unable to stop the intoxicated dance partner. The Beekeepers’ Society toasted him and thanked him for the drinks. In the next round, it would be their turn to buy him a drink. In the spirit of equality, he could not refuse and had no less than five drinks to look forward to. Tuva thought the bartender was doing a lousy job. The margarita didn’t taste the way it should. But since nobody else was complaining, she kept quiet and decided to let the good times roll.

  The man with the leather waistcoat stumbled out onto the dance floor, holding a newly acquired dance partner by the hand.

  “DAMN IT!” JONNA SWORE. Jörgen raised his eyebrow at Jonna’s outburst.

  “We have to get off the ship,” Jonna said to the hostess. “Now,” she added.

  The hostess shook her head. “We have already left the quay. It’s too late.”

  “I don’t care,” Jonna said. “You will have to go back to the harbour.”

  “The only one who can decide that is the captain,” she answered.

  “Take me to the captain right now,” she ordered the hostess.

  “I have to talk to …”

  “Take me to the captain now!” Jonna cut her off, raising her voice.

  “Do it,” Jörgen added. “If you argue, we will consider it obstruction of a police inquiry. And that’s a crime.”

  Jonna glared angrily at Jörgen, who was staring at the hostess with his healthy eye. The woman hesitated at first, but then signalled for them to follow and they went to the bridge. While they were making their way through the ship, she spoke into a walkie-talkie. As they arrived at the control tower, one of the crew, probably the navigation officer, welcomed them. He took them onto the bridge and to the captain.

  A man in a dark blue uniform turned around to meet them.

  “Now, what’s this all about?” he began in a grumpy Finnish accent.

  “We are from the police,” Jonna answered, showing him her police ID. “We have to disembark immediately.”

  “You have to what?”

  “Please be so kind as to go back to the harbour,” Jonna repeated. “We have to get off this ship.”

  The captain looked carefully at the young woman and then at the one-eyed man in the pastel-coloured jacket standing beside her with his hands resolutely on his hips.

  The captain was in his fifties and had broad shoulders and a distinct jaw line that was immaculately clean-shaven.

  “The police,” he said, thinking, and narrowed his eyes. “When the police want to come on board, which is not uncommon given the amount of
alcohol that is consumed on board, they usually inform us of their business in advance and as soon as they come on the ship. Mostly, it is we who call the police to take care of unruly passengers who have had too much to drink. You do not storm the ship in this way and dictate how I am to run this vessel. That has never happened to me before. As captain of this ship, it is I, and only I, who makes the decisions once we are at sea.”

  “I think we all understand you’re the captain and that you’re in charge,” Jörgen said sarcastically.

  The captain remained unconvinced by Jonna and the one-eyed man in the garishly coloured tuxedo.

  Jonna took one step closer to the broad-shouldered commander. Given her stress about the whole situation, her patience was dwindling.

  “Listen to me, captain,” she said, making her voice as hard as possible. “We have only just boarded and practically jumped from the gangway. You were immediately informed that there were police on board. But we have been told that we are on the wrong ship and so we need to get off fast. Therefore, I want you, or rather I’m ordering you, to return to harbour. I also want you to contact the Cinderella and tell them that they must not depart until we, the police, have boarded them. Is that clear, or do we still have a problem?”

  It was so quiet, you could hear a pin drop on the bridge. A young woman claiming to be from the police had torn a stripe off the commander himself, by the rulebook. And while he was a few metres from his leather command chair, the place where he, with authority and an even greater sense of duty, controlled the thirty-five-thousand tonne, steel structure and its crew. In earlier times, it was an offence that would have been punished with keelhauling.

  At first, the captain looked at Jonna with a blank expression. Then he had what appeared to be a coughing fit mingled with laughter. He cleared his throat. “You can order me as much as you like. But I don’t have to follow your orders if I consider your order to dock the ship a risk. The harbour crew is not ready for the ship to dock again. As captain, I’m responsible for the lives of hundreds of passengers on board and that’s my first priority, Miss …”