The Terrorists

by Maj Sjowall

  Crasher put down the document and said, “Would the witness now answer the question as to whether Kvastmo used violence.”

  “Yes,” said Kristiansson. “You could say that.” Experience had taught him not to lie where duty was concerned, at least not too much or too often. Also, he disliked Kvastmo.

  “And you took custody of the child?”

  “Yes, I had to. She was carrying it in a sort of harness, and when Kvastmo was taking the knife away from her, she almost dropped the child.”

  “Did Rebecka offer any resistance?”

  “No. When I took the kid, she just said, ‘Careful you don’t drop her!’ ”

  “That all seems clear enough,” said Crasher. “I will return to the possible continued use of force later. Instead, I should now like to ask you about another matter—”

  “Yes,” said Kristiansson.

  “Since no one from the special department concerned with protecting the banks’ money visited the scene of the crime,” said Crasher and stopped short with an imperious look at the prosecutor.

  “We work day and night,” said Bulldozer, “and this was considered an insignificant case, one of many.”

  “Which means that the initial interrogations were conducted by whatever police happened to be present,” said Crasher. “Who spoke to the teller?”

  “Me,” said Kristiansson.

  “And what did she say?”

  “She said the girl came up to the counter with the kid in a harness and put her shoulder bag on the marble slab. The teller saw the knife right away, so she started stuffing notes in the bag.”

  “Did Rebecka take out the knife?”

  “No, she had it in her belt. Around in the back.”

  “Then how could the teller have seen it?”

  “I don’t know. Yes, of course, she saw it afterward when Rebecka turned around, and then she screamed, ‘A knife, a knife, she’s got a knife!’ ”

  “Was it a sheath knife or a stiletto?”

  “No, it looked like a small kitchen knife. Like the kind you have at home.”

  “What did Rebecka say to the teller?”

  “Nothing. Anyhow, not right away. Then they said she laughed and said, ‘I didn’t know it was so easy to borrow money.’ And then she said, ‘I suppose I have to leave a receipt or something.’ ”

  “The money appears to have been scattered all over the floor,” said Crasher. “How did that come about?”

  “Well, Kvastmo was standing there holding onto the girl while we waited for reinforcements. And then the teller started counting the money to see if any was missing. And then Kenneth started shouting, ‘Stop, that’s illegal.’ ”

  “And then?”

  “Then he yelled, ‘Karl, don’t let anyone touch the loot.’ I was carrying the kid so I only got hold of one of the handles and dumped it on the floor by accident. It was mostly small bills, so they flew all over the place. Well, then along came another patrol car. We gave the child to them, and then took the prisoner to the station on Kungsholm. I drove and Kenneth sat in the back seat with the girl.”

  “Was there trouble in the back seat?”

  “Yes, a little. At first she cried and wanted to know what we’d done with her kid. Then she cried even louder and then Kvastmo was trying to put handcuffs on her.”

  “Did you say anything?”

  “Yes, I said I was sure she didn’t need them. Kvastmo was twice as big as her and anyway she wasn’t offering any resistance.”

  “Did you say anything else in the car?”

  Kristiansson sat in silence for several minutes. Crasher waited silently.

  Kristiansson gazed at his uniform-clad legs, looked guiltily around and said, “I said, ‘Don’t hit her, Kenneth.’ ”

  The rest was simple. Crasher rose and went over to Kristiansson. “Does Kenneth Kvastmo usually hit the people he arrests?”

  “It has happened.”

  “Did you see Kvastmo’s shoulder flap and the almost torn-off button?”

  “Yes. He mentioned it. Said his wife didn’t keep his things in order.”

  “When did this happen?”

  “The day before.”

  “The prosecution’s witness,” said Crasher gently.

  Bulldozer caught Kristiansson’s eye and held it. How many cases had been wrecked by dumb policemen? And how many had been saved?

  “No questions,” said Bulldozer lightly. Then, as if in passing, “The prosecution withdraws the charge of assaulting a police officer.”

  What happened next was that Braxén requested a recess, during which he lit his first cigar and then made the long trek to the washroom. He came back after a while and stood talking to Rhea Nielsen.

  “What sort of women do you run around with?” Bulldozer Olsson asked Martin Beck. “First she laughs at me while the court’s in session and now she stands there chatting with Crasher. Everyone knows Crasher’s breath can knock an orangutan unconscious at fifty yards.”

  “Good women,” answered Martin Beck. “Or rather, one good woman.”

  “Oh, so you’ve married again? Me, too. It gives life a little more zip.”

  Rhea came over to them. “Rhea,” said Martin Beck, “this is the senior public prosecutor, Mr. Olsson.”

  “So I gather.”

  “Everyone calls him Bulldozer,” said Martin Beck. He turned to Olsson. “I think your case is going badly.”

  “Yes, one half has collapsed,” said Bulldozer. “But the rest of it’ll stick. Bet me a bottle of whisky?”

  At that moment the case was called again and Bulldozer Olsson rushed into the courtroom.

  The defense called its next witness, Hedy-Marie Wirén, a suntanned woman of about fifty.

  Crasher sorted his papers, finally finding the right one, and said, “Rebecka did not do well in school. She left at sixteen with grades far too low to enable her to go on to high school. But did she do equally poorly in all subjects?”

  “She was good at my subject,” said the witness. “One of the best pupils I’ve ever had. Rebecka had a lot of ideas of her own, especially when it came to vegetables and natural foods. She was aware that our present diet is objectionable, that most of the food sold in supermarkets is in one way or another poisoned. Rebecka realized at a very early stage the importance of a healthy way of life. She raised her own vegetables and was always prepared to gather what nature had to offer. That was why she always carried a gardening knife in her belt. I have talked a great deal to Rebecka.”

  “About biodynamic turnips?” Crasher yawned.

  “Among other things. But what I would like to say is that Rebecka is a sound child. Her academic education is perhaps limited, but that was a conscious decision on her part. She does not wish to burden her mind with a mass of inessentials. The only thing that really interests her is how the natural environment can be saved from total destruction. She is not interested in politics other than that she finds society as such incomprehensible and its leaders either criminal or insane.”

  “No more questions,” said Crasher. At this stage he appeared bored, interested in nothing but going home.

  “I’m interested in that knife,” said Bulldozer, suddenly jumping up from his place. He went over to the table in front of the judge and picked up the knife.

  “It’s an ordinary gardening knife,” said Hedy-Marie Wirén. “The same kind she’s always had. As anyone can see, the handle is worn and the tool well used.”

  “Nonetheless, it can be said to be a dangerous weapon,” said Bulldozer.

  “I don’t agree at all. I wouldn’t even attempt to kill a sparrow with that knife. Rebecka also has a totally negative attitude toward violence. She doesn’t understand why it occurs and she herself would never dream of giving anyone so much as a slap.”

  “Nevertheless, I maintain that this is a dangerous weapon,” said Bulldozer, waving the gardening knife about.

  He did not, however, seem altogether convinced, and although he was smiling at the w
itness, he was forced to summon up all his benignity to accept her next comment with his famous good humor.

  “That means that you are either malevolent or else simply stupid,” said the witness. “Do you smoke? Or drink?”

  “No more questions,” said Bulldozer.

  “The interrogation is now over,” said the judge. “Does anyone wish to ask any questions before the character appraisals and the closing arguments?”

  Braxén, limping and smacking his lips, approached the bench.

  “Character appraisals are seldom more than routine essays, written to allow the writer to earn his fifty kronor, or whatever it is. So I would like—and I hope other responsible people will join me—to ask Rebecka Lind herself some questions.”

  He turned to the accused for the first time. “What is the name of the King of Sweden?”

  Even Bulldozer looked surprised.

  “I don’t know,” said Rebecka Lind. “Do I have to know that?”

  “No,” said Crasher. “You don’t. Do you know the name of the Prime Minister?”

  “No. Who is that?”

  “He is the head of the government and the leading politician of the country.”

  “Then he’s a bad man,” said Rebecka Lind. “I know that Sweden has built an atomic power station in Barsebäck in Skåne, and it’s only twenty-five kilometers from the center of Copenhagen. They say the government is to blame for the destruction of the environment.”

  “Rebecka,” said Bulldozer Olsson in a friendly way, “how do you know about things like atomic power when you don’t even know the name of the Prime Minister?”

  “My friends talk about that sort of thing, but they aren’t interested in politics.”

  Crasher let everyone think that over. Then he said, “Before you went to see this bank director, whose name I have unfortunately forgotten, presumably forever, had you ever been inside a bank before?”

  “No, never.”

  “Why not?”

  “What for? Banks are for the rich. I and my friends never go into such places.”

  “And nevertheless you did go there,” said Crasher. “Why?”

  “Because I needed money. One of my friends said that you could borrow money from a bank. Then when that horrible bank manager said that there were banks owned by the people, I thought maybe I could get some money there.”

  “So when you went to the PK Bank, you really thought you could borrow some money from them?”

  “Yes, but I was surprised it was so easy. I never even had time to say how much I needed.”

  Bulldozer, who had now realized what line the defense was taking, hurried to intervene. “Rebecka,” he said, a smile covering his face, “there are some things I simply don’t understand. How is it possible, with all today’s mass media, that a person can avoid learning the simplest facts about society?”

  “Your society isn’t mine,” said Rebecka Lind.

  “You’re wrong, Rebecka,” said Bulldozer. “We live together in this country and we have mutual responsibility for what is good or bad. But I would like to know how a person can avoid hearing what is said on the radio and television and entirely miss what is written in the newspapers.”

  “I have neither radio nor TV and the only things I read in the papers are the horoscopes.”

  “But you went to school for nine years, didn’t you?”

  “They just tried to teach us a lot of nonsense. I didn’t listen.”

  “But money,” said Bulldozer, “money is something everyone’s interested in.”

  “Not me.”

  “Where did you get the money to live on?”

  “Welfare. But I needed very little. Until now.”

  The judge then read out the character appraisal which was not quite so lacking in interest as Braxén had predicted.

  Rebecka Lind was born on January 3, 1956, and grew up in a lower middle class home. Her father was an office manager in a small building firm. Their home circumstances had been good, but Rebecka had very early on rebelled against her parents, and this antagonism had culminated when she was sixteen years old. She had been remarkably uninterested in school and had left after the ninth grade. Her teachers considered her fund of knowledge to be frighteningly inadequate. Although she did not lack intelligence, her attitudes were strange and divorced from reality. She had not been able to find work and showed no interest in doing so. When she was sixteen years old, life at home had become difficult and she moved out. Questioned by the investigator, the father said that this had been best for them all, as the parents had other children who were less of a disappointment to them.

  At first she lived in a country cottage, which she had on more or less permanent loan from an acquaintance and which she kept after she managed to acquire a little cold-water apartment in the southern part of Stockholm. At the beginning of 1973 she met an American deserter named Jim Cosgrave and moved in with him. Rebecka soon became pregnant, which was her own wish, and in January 1974 she gave birth to a daughter, Camilla. Cosgrave had wanted to work but could find no job because he was long-haired and a foreigner. The only work he had during his years in Sweden was as a dishwasher for two weeks one summer on one of the ferries to Finland. Moreover, he longed to return to the United States. He had job experience and considered that he would have little difficulty in arranging things for himself and his family once he got home.

  At the beginning of February, Cosgrave made contact with the United States Embassy and declared himself prepared to return voluntarily, provided he was given certain guarantees. They were anxious to get him home and promised him that his punishment would be mere formality.

  Cosgrave flew back to the States on February 12. Rebecka had reckoned on being able to follow in March, when her boy friend’s parents had promised to help with money, but the months had gone by and no word had come from Cosgrave. She went to the social welfare office and was told that because Cosgrave was a foreign citizen, they could do nothing. That was when Rebecka decided to go to the United States on her own, to find out what had happened. To get money, she turned to a bank, with known results.

  The character appraisal was mainly positive. It pointed out that Rebecka had been an excellent mother and that she had never sunk to vice or shown criminal tendencies. She was incorruptibly truthful, but had an unrealistic attitude toward the world and often showed signs of exaggerated gullibility. Cosgrave was also appraised briefly. According to his acquaintances, he was a purposeful young man who had not attempted to evade his responsibilities and who had implicitly believed in a future for himself and his family in the United States.

  Bulldozer Olsson now rose to give his summation.

  Rhea observed him through half-closed eyes. Apart from his hopeless clothes, he was a man who radiated enormous self-confidence and an intense interest in what he was doing. He had seen through Crasher’s line of defense, but he was not going to let his actions be influenced by it. Instead, he expressed himself simply and briefly and stuck to his previous line of argument. He puffed out his chest—in fact mostly stomach—looked down at his unpolished brown shoes and began in a silky voice.

  “I wish to limit my summation to a repetition of proven facts. Rebecka Lind went into the PK Bank, armed with a knife and equipped with a capacious shoulder bag in which she intended to put her booty. Long experience with bank robberies of the simpler variety—in fact there have been hundreds during this last year—convinces me that Rebecka was behaving according to a pattern although her lack of experience caused her to be immediately apprehended. I personally feel sorry for the accused, who while so young has allowed herself to be beguiled into committing such a serious crime. All the same, my regard for the law obliges me to demand unconditional imprisonment. The evidence that has been produced in this court is incontestable. No amount of argument can undo it.”

  Bulldozer fingered his tie, then concluded: “I therefore submit my case for the approval of the court.”

  “Is counsel for the defense pre
pared for his summation?” asked the judge.

  Crasher was apparently not in the least prepared. He shuffled his papers together unsorted, regarded his unlit cigar for a moment, then put it into his pocket. He looked round the courtroom, staring curiously at each person in turn, as if he had never seen any of them before. Then he rose and limped back and forth in front of the judge.

  Finally he said, “As I have already pointed out, this young lady who has been placed on the accused’s bench, or perhaps I should say chair, is innocent, and a speech in her defense is largely unnecessary. Nevertheless, I shall say a few words.”

  Everyone wondered nervously what Crasher might mean by “a few words.”

  Crasher unbuttoned his jacket, belched with relief, thrust out his stomach and said, “As counsel for the prosecution has pointed out, a great many bank robberies occur in this country. The wide publicity they are given, as well as the often spectacular attempts of the police to stop them, have not only made the public prosecutor a famous man but have also caused a general hysteria.”

  Crasher paused and stood for a moment with his eyes on the floor, presumably trying to concentrate, then resumed.

  “Rebecka Lind has not had much help or joy from society. Neither school, nor her own parents, nor the older generation in general have on the whole offered her support or encouragement. That she has not bothered to involve herself in the present system of rule cannot be blamed on her. When, in contrast to many other young people, she tries to get work, she is told that there is none. I am tempted here to go into the reasons why there is no work for the younger generation, but I shall abstain.