by Asa Larsson
She ran her own search. And found some interesting articles. She carried on reading.
Boxer was concentrating on a button hanging by a thread from Rebecka’s pajamas. She took a swipe at it, let it swing, grabbed it with both paws and sank her needle-sharp teeth into it. She was a lethal killer cat. The button was dead meat.
At seven-thirty, Rebecka Martinsson rang Chief Prosecutor Alf Björnfot.
“Do you know what Sven Israelsson did before he was elected to the board of Northern Explore?” she asked.
“No,” said Alf Björnfot, switching off the television. He’d only been channel-hopping anyway, searching for something he could put up with.
“He was the boss of SGAB in Kiruna—they’re a big chemical analysis company. They were very nearly taken over by an American company two years ago. But Kallis Mining went in and took a fifty percent share, so they stayed in Kiruna. All very interesting, in view of the fact that a Canadian investment company, Quebec Invest, sold their entire holding in Northern Explore the previous year, just before Northern Explore announced that viable amounts of copper and gold had been found outside Svappavaara.”
“I see…and the link to Sven Israelsson is…?”
“This is what I’m thinking: Sven Israelsson is the boss of the company analyzing samples from Northern Explore’s test drilling outside Svappavaara. He presumably feels a strong sense of loyalty toward Kallis Mining, since they saved SGAB from being bought out by coming in as part owners. They would all have lost their jobs, or been forced to move to the USA. In one article I’ve found the vice president of Quebec Invest is complaining that the analyses of the samples from the test drilling were inadequate, and he thinks it ‘unlikely’ that there will be any future cooperation between Quebec Invest and Kallis Mining. You have to wonder what he’s sore about, don’t you?”
“Do you?” said Alf Björnfot. “They must have lost a lot of money through selling too early.”
“Yes, but these investors are used to taking risks and losing money, without moaning when journalists ring up. And Sven Israelsson is voted onto the board of the subsidiary company, Northern Explore. Now it takes a while to get the concession to start working the land, to actually start mining, but once that’s gone through, Northern Explore is worth billions. Sven Israelsson is a chemist working for a small firm of analysts. How did he manage to get onto the board of Northern Explore? It just doesn’t make sense. But this is what I’m thinking: Sven Israelsson had every opportunity to manipulate those results. I think he helped to cover up the samples that showed a positive result. I think he helped Kallis Mining to maneuver the second-biggest owner out of the company. Maybe they sent some kind of signal to Quebec Invest, hinting that the results would be negative. And so Quebec Invest sold out in a bit of a panic, because they were afraid of making huge losses when the market reacted. When Quebec Invest sold, the share price fell. Just about a month later, Northern Explore released the news that the results were positive. Perhaps that’s why Quebec Invest was sulking in the press and saying they couldn’t see any possibility of working with Kallis Mining in the future. They feel as if they’ve been conned, but they can’t prove anything. If anyone at Kallis Mining, or Sven Israelsson, bought shares before the news of the positive results was made public, then it’s insider dealing. I think Sven Israelsson was given a seat on the board, with all that entails in the way of salary and bonuses and so on, as a thank-you for his help. And besides…”
Rebecka paused briefly for dramatic effect.
“…in November he bought a brand-new Audi. By then the shares in Northern Explore had gone up by more than three hundred percent. Taken from the level they were at before the price fell.”
“A new car,” said Alf Björnfot, getting up off the sofa and clamping the cordless phone firmly between his ear and his shoulder while he put his shoes on. “They always go for a new car.”
“I know.”
“See you in quarter of an hour,” said Alf Björnfot, pulling on his jacket.
“Where?”
“At Israelsson’s, of course. Have you got the address?”
Sven Israelsson lived in a red-painted wooden house on Matojärvigatan. Some children had already started work in a snowdrift, digging out a cave. The spades thrown carelessly aside bore witness to the fact that work had been abandoned with some speed when children’s television programs and dinner called.
Sven Israelsson was in his forties. Rebecka was surprised. She’d expected him to be older. He had thick brown hair, with a significant amount of gray. He looked fit and wiry, as if he swam or ran.
Alf Björnfot introduced himself and Rebecka Martinsson, using their full job titles. Chief prosecutor and special prosecutor, that was enough to frighten anybody. Sven Israelsson didn’t look afraid. It seemed more as if something else fleetingly crossed his face. Something like resignation. As if he’d been waiting for the law to knock on his door. Then he pulled himself together.
“Come in,” he said. “Keep your shoes on if you like. The snow on the ground is clean, after all.”
“You work for SGAB, the chemical analysis company,” Alf Björnfot started off when they were all sitting around the kitchen table.
“That’s correct.”
“And Kallis Mining owns fifty percent of the company.”
“Yes.”
“And last winter you became a member of the board of Northern Explore Ltd., a subsidiary company to Kallis Mining.”
Sven Israelsson nodded.
“Last autumn the investment company Quebec Invest sold a large amount of shares in Northern Explore; why was that?”
“I have no idea. I suppose they got cold feet. Didn’t have the nerve to wait for the final test results from the drilling. Maybe they thought the shares would drop like a stone if the results were negative.”
“The vice president of Quebec Invest said in an interview that he couldn’t imagine working with Kallis Mining at any stage in the future,” said Rebecka. “Why did he say that, do you think?”
“I have no idea.”
“In November you bought a new Audi,” said Alf Björnfot. “Where did you get the money from?”
“Am I suspected of some crime?” asked Sven Israelsson.
“Not officially, not at this stage,” said Alf Björnfot.
“There are circumstances surrounding this particular episode which could indicate serious insider dealing, or aiding and abetting others to commit such a crime,” said Rebecka.
She measured two inches between her thumb and forefinger.
“I’m this far from finding out who bought shares during the short period between Quebec selling and the publication of the positive test results,” she said. “In insider dealing, the buying is often done in small parcels through various intermediaries and administrators. That shows up if the regulator does a routine check. But I’m going to follow up every single sale during that period. And if I find you or Kallis Mining among the buyers, you can expect to be charged.”
Sven Israelsson shifted in his chair, and appeared to be trying to think of something to say.
“Unfortunately, it’s bigger than that,” said Alf Björnfot. “I have to ask you a question. Please don’t lie; just remember we can check this information by other means. Did the journalist Örjan Bylund contact you and ask you questions about this matter?”
Sven Israelsson thought for a while.
“Yes,” he said eventually.
“What did you say to him?”
“Nothing. That he would have to take his questions to Kallis Mining.”
And Inna Wattrang was head of information at Kallis Mining, thought Rebecka Martinsson.
“Örjan Bylund was murdered,” said Alf Björnfot without preamble.
“What the hell are you talking about?” said Sven Israelsson suspiciously. “He died of a heart attack!”
“Unfortunately, that isn’t the case,” said Alf Björnfot. “He was murdered when he started digging into this particular story.”
Sven Israelsson blanched. He grabbed hold of the edge of the table with both hands.
“So there we are,” said Alf Björnfot. “I don’t believe you had anything to do with the murder. But you must understand that this is serious. Don’t you think it would be better to tell us everything now? You’ll find the pressure you’re under will ease.”
Sven Israelsson nodded.
“There was a guy at the lab,” he said after a while. “And we found out he was leaking information to Quebec Invest.”
“How did you find out?” asked Alf Björnfot.
Sven Israelsson gave a wry smile.
“Pure chance. He was sitting at home, chatting to the vice president of Quebec Invest on his home phone. And he had his cell phone in his pocket; he’d forgotten to turn it off, and it rang the most recently dialed number, which was a colleague’s. The colleague heard enough of the conversation to grasp what was going on.”
“And what did you do?”
“The guy who heard the conversation told me about it. And when the time was right, we supplied the first guy with false information.”
“What, exactly?”
“The test drilling outside Svappavaara was at a critical stage. It was beginning to look as if Northern Explore wouldn’t find anything there. They’d taken a lot of readings at a depth of over seven hundred meters. The costs were soaring. So they did some test drilling at almost a thousand meters. That was their last shot in this area. Everything depended on those results. It’s only the biggest players who can afford to drill to that depth. God knows there are plenty of small companies who can only afford an initial survey from the air, then they send out foot patrols to dig up a few earth samples by hand.”
“And they found gold.”
“More than five grams per ton, which is fantastic. A couple of percent copper as well. But I falsified a report, saying that we hadn’t found anything and that it was now out of the question that viable quantities would be found in the area. And I made sure the guy who was leaking information saw it. Quebec Invest sold their shares in Northern Explore one hour later.”
“What happened to your colleague?”
“I had a word with him…and after that particular conversation he handed in his resignation, and that was the end of that.”
Alf Björnfot sat quietly for a few moments, thinking things over.
“Did you speak to anyone at Kallis Mining about this? About the leak? About giving out false information?”
Sven Israelsson hesitated.
“Örjan Bylund has been murdered, and so has Inna Wattrang,” said Alf Björnfot. “We can’t rule out the possibility that these events are related. The quicker the truth comes out, the greater our chance of catching the person who did this.”
He leaned back in his chair and waited. This was a man with a conscience he had in front of him. Poor sap.
“I suppose it was Diddi Wattrang and I who came up with this together,” said Sven Israelsson eventually.
He looked at them with a pleading expression.
“He made it all sound so right. He called Quebec Invest swindlers. And he said what I’ve often thought about these overseas investors. That they’re not actually interested in starting up a mine in this area. They’re only interested in making money quickly. They’re acting with permission and dealing with concessions, but they’re not entrepreneurs. Even if you find viable quantities, nothing happens. The rights are sold on from one company to another, but nobody actually wants to get anything going. Either there isn’t the money, I mean it costs at least a quarter of a billion to start up a mine, or some other fucking thing is missing. And all those overseas investors, they’ve got no feeling for this area. What do they care about job opportunities and the people here?”
Sven Israelsson gave a slightly crooked smile.
“And he was the one who said that after all, Mauri Kallis does come from here originally. And he’s got both the desire and the money and the entrepreneurial spirit. With Quebec Invest out of the way, the chances of the mine actually opening were a hundred percent greater. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve thought about all this since. Every single day. But at the time it felt as if what we were doing was absolutely correct, morally speaking. After all, it was Quebec Invest who were the con men. They were the ones who had a spy in our company. Fucking bastards, we thought. Robbing the thief. Conning the con man. They were only getting what they deserved. And they couldn’t expose us, because that would mean exposing themselves.”
Sven Israelsson fell silent. Rebecka Martinsson and Alf Björnfot watched him as the realization that it was all over hit home. The future began to take shape in his head. Losing his job. Being charged. People talking.
“When I was offered a seat on the board,” he said, hastily wiping away the tears that had started to come, “it just felt like a confirmation of the fact that Kallis Mining wanted to invest up here. They wanted local roots. But when I got the money…in an envelope, not paid into my account…then I didn’t feel so good. I bought the car, and every time I’ve got in it…”
He broke off, shaking his head.
A man with a conscience, Alf Björnfot thought again.
“There you are then,” said Alf Björnfot as he and Rebecka left Sven Israelsson’s house.
“We need to ring Sven-Erik and Anna-Maria and tell them what’s happened,” said Rebecka. “They can bring in Diddi Wattrang on suspicion of serious insider dealing.”
“Anna-Maria rang earlier. Diddi Wattrang’s in Canada. But I’ll call her anyway. When we’ve got the information about the sale of the shares, we can ask the Canadian police to help arrest him.”
“What are you doing now?” asked Rebecka. “Do you want to come down to Kurravaara with me? I’ve promised to do some shopping for my neighbor, Sivving Fjällborg. And he’ll want me to stay for coffee afterwards. He’d be really pleased if you came along.”
Sivving Fjällborg was delighted to see them. He liked talking to new people now and again. He and the prosecutor quickly established that although they weren’t actually related, they had a number of acquaintances in common.
“This is all very cozy,” said Alf Björnfot, looking around the boiler room.
Bella was lying in her basket looking thoroughly miserable, watching the others sitting at Sivving’s Formica table enjoying the local bread with butter and cheese.
“Yes, I have a nice easy life down here,” said Sivving philosophically, dipping his sandwich into his coffee. “What do you actually need? A bed and a table. And I’ve got the television down here as well, although there isn’t much worth watching these days. And as for clothes, I’ve got two of everything. No more! There are those who get by with less, but I don’t want to be stuck at home just because my clothes are in the wash. Actually, I’ve got five pairs of underpants and socks.”
Rebecka laughed.
“But you shouldn’t have that many,” she said, looking meaningfully at the threadbare socks and worn-out underpants hanging on the line.
“Women!” Sivving laughed in turn, looking to Alf Björnfot for support. “Who cares what I’m wearing underneath? Maj-Lis was just the same, she was always so concerned about having clean underwear on. Not for me, mind you, but just in case she got run over and ended up in hospital!”
“Quite right.” Alf Björnfot laughed. “What if the doctor was suddenly confronted with dirty underwear or a hole in a sock!”
“Come on,” said Sivving to Rebecka. “Can’t you turn off that computer? We’re trying to enjoy ourselves here.”
“In a minute,” said Rebecka.
She was sitting there with her laptop, checking out Diddi Wattrang’s family’s financial affairs.
“Maj-Lis,” asked Alf Björnfot, “was she your wife?”
“Yes, she died of cancer five years ago.”
“Look at this,” said Rebecka, turning the computer toward Alf Björnfot. “Diddi Wattrang always reaches his credit limit by the end of the month, minu
s fifty, minus fifty. It’s been the same for several years. But immediately after Northern Explore found gold, his wife is registered as the owner of a Hummer.”
“They always buy cars,” said Alf Björnfot.
“It would be nice to have one of those,” said Sivving. “How much do they cost? Seven hundred thousand kronor?”
“Diddi Wattrang is guilty of insider dealing. But I just wonder if there was any link to Inna Wattrang.”
“Maybe she found out and threatened to expose him,” said Alf Björnfot.
He turned back to Sivving.
“So you and your wife were neighbors of Rebecka’s grandmother?”
“That’s right, and Rebecka spent most of her childhood there too.”
“Why was that, Rebecka? Did your parents die when you were little?” asked Alf Björnfot, coming straight to the point.
Sivving got up quickly.
“Would anybody like some egg on their sandwich? I’ve got some already hard-boiled in the refrigerator. They’re from this morning.”
“Daddy died just before I turned eight,” said Rebecka. “He was driving a logging machine. He was out in the forest one winter, and got a leak in the hydraulic cable. We don’t know exactly what happened, because he was on his own out there. But he got out and presumably felt at the cable, and it came loose.”
“Oh shit,” said Alf Björnfot. “Hot hydraulic oil.”
“Yes, and the pressure’s so great too. The oil must have hit him full-on. They think he died instantly.”
Rebecka shrugged her shoulders. A gesture indicating that it all happened a long time ago. That it was all a long way from her now.
“Careless and clumsy,” she said in a casual voice, “but we’re all guilty of that from time to time.”
Although he shouldn’t have been, she thought, keeping her eyes fixed on the computer screen. I needed him. He should have loved me too much to be careless and clumsy.
“It could have happened to anyone,” said Sivving, who had no intention of allowing Rebecka to discredit her father in front of outsiders. “You’re tired and you get out of the machine and it’s cold, it was minus twenty-five that day. And no doubt he was stressed as well. If the machine breaks down, there won’t be any money coming in.”