by Jens Lapidus
“I think…” He coughed again. “They were both wrong. Maybe they canceled each other out?”
“Is that what you think?”
Nikola’s hands were behind his back. His fingers were twitching like a speed freak on a grand’s worth of junk.
“Think so.”
“Don’t think, Nikola. You gotta have an opinion. And never back down from it.” Isak nodded but said nothing more.
He called the men back in. They sat in silence. It was like everyone was making a special effort not to interrupt. Isak stared down at the floor. His fat gold watch glittered: number one topic among Nikola’s friends. Audemars Piguet, Royal Oak Offshore. The rumor? It’d cost more than two mil. He was wearing a dark blue Nike sweater and Adidas pants, three white stripes down the side. The comfier the clothes, the harder the guy.
He looked up. “I’ve made my decision.”
Nikola noticed that Danny’s eyes were locked on Isak’s.
“We’re already under pressure in this city. You know what I’m talking about—this Hippogriff project of theirs—his pigs are stopping our cars several times a week just to fuck with us, they’re running extra tax checks on every company we set up, sending the bailiffs and the migration authorities after our families, inspectors to our relatives’ restaurants. That’s their plan: follow the money. That’s how they got Al Capone, you know that. Tax offenses, bookkeeping offenses, fraud, fucking about with informants, what a load of shit. When they can’t pin anything concrete on us, they start acting like bitches. But whatever I think about that, we don’t need any conflicts like you started. We don’t wanna be another Malmö up here. You acted like idiots.”
Isak turned his chair slightly, toward Metim.
“I’m saying that to both of you, ’cause that’s how it is. We’ve got a rule that’s worth more than fighting all the pigs in Sweden. Your cousin knows that rule, and he knew it three weeks ago, too. Everyone here knows how they’re meant to behave.”
Nikola felt like he was starting to understand.
“And you and your men know the rule, too. We haven’t moved on that far. The politicians and journalists can talk all they want, but we never forget our principles. You know that. It’s because of our principles that we’ve survived for thousands of years. We’re the ones who built civilization as Europe knows it. And I don’t give a shit if we call ourselves Syrians or Assyrians, Armenians or Chaldeans. When the others were running around, hitting each other on the heads with wooden clubs, we were inventing mathematics. While the others were busy raping women and children, we were developing astronomy. And because we’ve got our systems and our rules, we’re still here. Those principles are our religion.”
Isak turned so he was addressing both sides again.
“We respect women and children. That’s the most basic rule. Someone who says something about someone’s wife, daughter, sister, or mother hasn’t shown respect. What’s that mean? In this case, that it wasn’t wrong to attack your cousin, Metim. It was their duty, actually, since he said what he did about another man’s mother. Everything that came later was because he crossed the line. You understand?”
Nikola understood.
Isak continued: “So, my judgment is that your cousin should pay three hundred thousand to Danny’s family in damages.”
Everyone was openmouthed. The patches of sunlight had disappeared now. Their faces looked gray.
Deep down, they knew Isak was right.
Again: the faint scent of sweat. It was coming from himself. He hoped no one else would notice. The past few hours: super tense. But Isak had tied it all up. A judgment.
Danny’s boys were just waiting for the money now. Metim had called for two runners to bring three hundred large. One of them had already arrived. Banged on the door, used the code. One normal knock, four quick.
Isak had the bag of dough in his hand. Ready to hand it over to Danny.
It would all be over in a few minutes.
Another knock at the door.
Isak gestured to Nikola, who went over.
One normal knock, four quick—the same code the first runner had used. And both Danny’s and Metim’s guys had used the same signal when they arrived.
One normal, four quick. Nikola unlocked the heavy metal door.
It flew open.
Two men in balaclavas rushed in. Nikola had no time to stop them—he couldn’t have stopped them. Balaclavas, automatic weapons in their hands, he couldn’t see what type.
He dropped to the floor.
Isak yelled something from farther inside the club.
The two men ran in.
Their weapons spluttered. Nikola heard someone shout.
The sound echoed in his ears. He looked up. Had to do something.
He reached for his pistol, pulled it from the holster.
Got up.
Shit, he was shaking.
The place smelled of gunpowder.
He held the piece out in front of him. Arms tensed.
Some kind of fucking mass murder was going on in there. He had to help Chamon and Isak. Had to help the others.
He was so fucking scared.
Peered into the main room.
Two loud bangs. One of Metim’s gorillas yelled. They’d shot him in the thigh—he dropped to the floor, groaning.
The robbers shouted for everyone to put their hands on their heads. One of them jammed his Kalashnikov into Isak’s face. Told him to hand over the dough.
Isak answered calmly: “First of all, this isn’t for you. Secondly, your mothers are whores.”
You could’ve cut the silence in the room with a knife.
Nikola stepped in. He pointed the Glock at the man threatening Isak—his back: a nice big target. He’d caught the other guy off guard, too—even his piece was pointing away from Nikola.
Just a gentle squeeze of the trigger. One shot. He’d been practicing in the woods with Chamon just a few hours earlier.
It was self-defense, for fuck’s sake. The men in the balaclavas had already shot one guy in the leg. They were threatening Isak. Threatening them all.
Shooting wouldn’t be wrong. It was legal.
It was a must. But still, he couldn’t.
For some strange reason, he thought of his grandpa, a picture in his head. A candle being lit for his grandmother.
“Nicko, man, blow him away,” Chamon was whispering.
Slowly Nikola squeezed the trigger.
It felt weird.
“Shoot, for fuck’s sake.” Chamon again.
Nikola took a step toward the guy in the balaclava. Gun still raised.
The other man tried to turn around. Nikola: “Move an inch and I’ll shoot your friend in the fucking head.”
He pressed the Glock against the robber’s back, between his shoulder blades.
“Drop it.”
Nothing happened.
Deadlock. Nikola could feel the nausea rising. His body putting up a fight.
He pressed the gun harder into the man’s back.
Then: a clatter. The guy dropped his Kalashnikov to the floor.
Nikola immediately turned to the second one.
But it was too late.
The two robbers moved fast, past him.
He should shoot. Take them out, one by one. Bam, bam.
He lowered his weapon.
The men sneaked out onto the street.
Nikola looked down. One of his legs was wet. Piss.
PART II
MAY–JUNE
12
The stairwell in Cecilia Emanuelsson’s building had a certain smell to it. Like the fifties, maybe. Or something to do with dust. The wooden handrail wound upward. The tiles on the floor looked like granite. The waste disposal chute was taped shut. Before Teddy was sent down, people in this town had still used them. He wondered what Stockholmers did now. He threw his own trash into a container, which, for some reason, was always outside his door in Alby.
Cecilia Emanuelsson. He
and Emelie were there to visit her. Emelie to talk about her stuff, Teddy to talk about what Benjamin wanted.
After what happened at Emelie’s place yesterday, all he could think was that she hadn’t acted like he’d expected—that somewhere, deep down, someone other than the rigid career girl was hiding.
“I need to go home,” he’d replied to her proposal.
Emelie’s eye had twitched. “Yeah—it’s late, and yeah—we have the remand hearing tomorrow, but I think it would’ve been nice.”
Teddy had shifted his weight from one leg to the other. He didn’t know what to say.
Emelie had smiled.
Eventually he’d said: “Nah, I really do need to get home.”
Cecilia Emanuelsson’s apartment was in a building on Brännkyrkagatan in Södermalm. Emelie had called and briefly told her about Benjamin’s situation, explained that he’d expressed an interest in Najdan “Teddy” Maksumic being involved. All the same, they’d agreed that only Emelie should be in the doorway when Cecilia opened the door. That seemed the politest, and safest, thing to do. Teddy would wait in the stairwell. She would be able to see him from the doorway, but he wouldn’t be too close.
“Him over there, he can come in, too,” Cecilia said when she opened the door.
She had good posture, was very thin. Her movements reminded them of a robot’s, jerky somehow.
Emelie kept her shoes on, and Teddy decided to do the same—it was dry outside.
“I’m sorry, I know this must be really tough for you,” Emelie said, and she took Cecilia’s hand.
For a few seconds, Cecilia’s face was calm, then she started to cry. Silent, stifled sobs. She lowered her head.
“I don’t understand any of it, not a thing,” was all she said.
Emelie laid a hand on her arm. “Let’s sit down.”
They went into the kitchen.
In contrast to Emelie’s apartment, the place was clinically clean. The countertop and the blender were gleaming as though they’d just been polished. The wooden kitchen table looked newly sanded; the plants in the window were placed at precise intervals. Next to them, a number of brochures, neatly stacked. Aside from that, the place was completely devoid of things. No empty food packaging, no bread crumbs, no cutlery. Teddy couldn’t even make out any specks of dust in the sunshine coming through the windows. The only thing giving the room any kind of character was a small, black cross hanging on the wall above the table.
They sat down. After a couple of minutes, Cecilia’s tears stopped, and she sniffed: “Would you like anything to drink?”
Emelie asked for a coffee. Teddy was too tense for anything right now.
“Did Benjamin specifically request you as his lawyer?” Cecilia asked.
“He’s only said a few words, and I think he has only a vague idea of who he is and exactly what’s going on,” Emelie replied. “But yes, he asked for me. My guess is that it’s because he knows I’ve worked with Teddy.”
Cecilia turned around and fiddled with the coffee machine. Teddy noticed that she was wearing slippers, the kind you normally got free from hotels.
Emelie continued: “And I’d like to add, I have permission from Rölén, the prosecutor, to come here and talk to you about how Benjamin is doing, but not about anything to do with the investigation itself.”
“How is he, then?”
Emelie repeated the information she’d been given by the prison staff. She explained that Benjamin had specifically asked for Teddy. “Do you have any idea what he might mean by that?”
“No, I’m sorry.”
The machine bubbled in the background, and the smell of coffee spread across the kitchen. Cecilia poured two cups. “We really fought, you know. And then this happens.”
She was still standing at the counter. Teddy didn’t know if she meant that she and the kids had fought to keep it together after Mats’s suicide, that she and Mats had fought to make things work after the kidnapping, or if they’d fought within their relationship.
“Ehh…could I have milk, please,” Emelie said when Cecilia showed no sign of being about to bring the cups to the table.
Cecilia opened the fridge: inside, the food was organized in poker-straight rows.
“Tell me. Why did they arrest him? What’s all this about?”
“Like I said, I can’t go into any details, the investigation is confidential at this stage. All I can say is that he’s being held on suspicion of murder.”
Cecilia put her hands to her face. Teddy couldn’t tell whether she was crying again. He couldn’t hear anything.
The coffee machine continued to bubble.
“My son’s not a murderer. I don’t understand. Who is the dead person?”
“We don’t know, unfortunately.”
“So what evidence does the prosecutor have?”
Emelie spent the next fifteen minutes trying to explain the process to Cecilia. That Benjamin might be held in custody for some time. She talked about the restrictions on him, about being kept in isolation. About how, since he’d just turned twenty-one, he might be facing a life sentence, but since he’d been seriously injured in the car crash, she thought he’d probably avoid that. She carefully avoided touching upon the prosecutor’s so-called evidence, or whatever their suspicions were based on.
Teddy glanced at the brochure on the top of the pile in the window. He could see a picture of a mountain landscape. The colors were exaggerated, probably altered in some computer program. Over the picture, the words: There is a before and an after pilgrimage/The Church of Sweden.
Cecilia was sitting completely still now. Teddy wondered what she was thinking. What she knew.
Emelie asked if there was anything else she wanted to know. Cecilia got up from her chair and took the coffee cups over to the dishwasher. “No, not really. But call me as soon as anything important happens.”
Emelie got up, too. Teddy’s mouth felt dry. He’d been wondering how he should start. He thought about how he and Dejan had kidnapped Mats Emanuelsson nine years earlier. How heavy his body had been, how he’d struggled and tried to put up a fight.
“Teddy,” Emelie said, “you wanted to ask some questions?”
He cleared his throat. “Yeah, Benjamin wanted me to look into all of this.”
Cecilia didn’t seem angry or reproachful. Her face was just full of sorrow, and she said: “But he’s got a lawyer. Isn’t that enough?”
“Maybe, but it’s not enough for me. Benjamin wants to know something, he wants my help understanding whatever it is. And I plan on helping him.”
Cecilia sat back down.
Teddy said: “What exactly happened when they called you to say they had Mats, that he’d been kidnapped?”
“What does that have to do with Benjamin being accused of murder?”
“I don’t know, but I’d still like to hear.”
“Right, but if there’s anyone who should know anything about that, it’s you.”
“Maybe I do, but now I’m asking you.”
“Money,” she said with a sigh. “You wanted money in exchange for him.”
Teddy wondered whether she was consciously lying, or whether Loke had been mistaken. Maybe Cecilia didn’t know about the things Loke had found out. For the whole of Teddy’s trial, she and Mats had insisted in interview after interview that the kidnappers wanted money. For normal people, avoiding the truth so consistently was no easy task.
“I found out that it wasn’t about money, Cecilia. And I think you know what we really wanted in exchange for Mats.”
She turned to the window and seemed to be staring at the building across the road. They could hear birds outside. A bus drove by down on the street.
“Cecilia?”
She turned to him. “It’s nice, with the birds, isn’t it?”
“Cecilia, what do you know about the kidnapping?”
She laid her hands on the table. “It’s right, what you said. You wanted Mats’s computer. But I still don’t s
ee what that has to do with Benjamin’s situation.”
“Why did you never mention the computer during the trial?”
“This is all I can say: all I know about that computer is that my ex-husband paid a terrible price for it. He had nothing to do with what was on it.”
“How do you know that?”
“I just do. And I’ve got nothing else to say about it.”
She got up, a sign that she wanted them to leave. It was clear that his questions made her uncomfortable. But Teddy had to try to understand. He owed Benjamin that much.
“When did you get divorced?” he asked.
“A few years after the kidnapping.”
“Why?”
“Living together got too hard. Why?”
“That’s part of all this, too.”
“Of what?”
“Of whatever Benjamin wants me to understand.”
“You’ll have to explain the connection to me.”
“I don’t know what the connection is. Yet. Why did you get divorced?”
“If you really want to know…he changed, he became a different man than the one I married. And…”
“And…?”
“I think he’d been having an affair.”
“Do you know who with?”
“No, I don’t, I was never sure. But I had my suspicions.”
“He never told you? Didn’t you bring it up?”
“Talking to Mats wasn’t exactly easy. But I don’t blame him.”
“For what?”
“He was who he was, and I loved him until I stopped loving him. I was naive for such a long time, but lately I think I’ve started to understand what it was all about.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, this probably isn’t something you know, but Mats was addicted to gambling. You often hear people talking about the spouses and kids of alcoholics or drug addicts, that they get addicted, too. But I was addicted to a gambling addict, someone who couldn’t deal with his need to play. And everything that led to. All the self-deception.”
This was news to Teddy. Sara had never mentioned that; neither had Loke.
“What kind of gambling?”