by Jens Lapidus
She waited until they sat down. They were all smiling, making small talk about the changing weather: first sun and dry spells, then a downpour, then the heat again. “The weather’s become much more extreme over the past few years. It must be the greenhouse effect,” Anders Henriksson said in his squeaky voice. He reminded her of Mickey Mouse today.
Magnus Hassel scratched his head. “Yeah, I was thinking about when we helped Forsfall sell those coal-powered plants and avoid the fines from the Energy Agency. They wanted to force them to make the business greener.”
Alice Strömberg poured each of them a cup of coffee. Magnus Hassel took a praline.
“So,” he said. “It’s not so long since we talked, during your development meeting in June. And back then, we said everything was going okay for you, but that you’d been off sick for a few days. Then I offered you six weeks in New York, paid for by the office. But this morning, we read in the paper that you’re representing a man on trial for murder. We’d like an explanation. Is it even true?”
Emelie took a deep breath. “Yes, it’s true, unfortunately.”
Magnus’s eyebrow twitched. An involuntary tic. “Why didn’t you let us know?”
“I called you and tried to get your approval, do you remember?”
“No.”
“Early one morning in May. You sounded like you’d just woken up. I think I probably woke you.”
“I don’t remember that. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Emelie said: “It probably makes no difference. You said no anyway.”
“Exactly.” Anders Henriksson entered the discussion. Maybe his voice sounded more like a eunuch’s than Mickey’s, practically falsetto. “Unfortunately, we can’t accept this type of case, and we really can’t accept someone going behind our backs. So, we have a suggestion. Alice, would you?” He gestured to the HR manager.
“Emelie, what you did is very serious.” Alice’s expression was like she was looking at a cute little kitten when she tilted her head theatrically. “It risks damaging the firm’s reputation. Our clients might start to wonder why one of our staff is defending a murderer….”
“He hasn’t been convicted yet.”
“Yes, but our clients will still find it strange. We don’t work in that field of law, as you well know. Additionally, we have a rule that all cases go through our partners; taking on anything on your own initiative is unacceptable. You know this, too.”
“I know everything you’re saying,” Emelie said. “And I want to apologize for not informing the firm that I’d taken this case. But as I see it, I’ve been doing it in my free time. I’ve managed to do everything I’ve been asked here—other than being forced to take two days off sick after an upsetting event. I’ve made sure not to link Leijon to this at all, I haven’t provided the firm’s address in any correspondence or anything like that, and the firm isn’t named in any articles. I’m a lawyer, and according to Bar rules, all responsibility is on my shoulders. Not on Leijon.”
Alice was looking at her. Magnus, too. Anders Henriksson was glaring.
Alice clasped her hands. “We’re prepared to overlook what you’ve done to a certain extent, because we can see that you’ve done good work in the past. So, our proposal is as follows: you resign from the case you’ve taken on as private defense counsel. Your client will have to find another lawyer. You’ll also be let go, with six months’ full pay. We will arrange for a new job for you, however, as a business lawyer with one of our client firms.”
Emelie had to force herself to stay clam. “I definitely can’t give up the case. The charges were brought a few days ago, so the main trial is going to start soon. It would be incredibly unethical of me to leave my client at this stage in the proceedings.”
Alice’s face didn’t change. “The other option is that you will be dismissed. No paid period, no new job for you. You’d have to pack up your things and leave right after this meeting.”
Emelie was on the verge of tears now, for real. “I can’t just give up the case, not at this late stage. It would be wrong. Disloyal to my client. I know I should have told the firm, but I felt like I had no choice but to take on this case. You know I was practically made for this place. There has to be some way out of this. If there were questions from the press, we could release a statement saying I’d done it on my own.”
Alice pursed her lips. “Please, Emelie…”
Anders Henriksson’s face had taken on a reddish tone. Magnus, on the other hand, slowly leaned forward in his chair. It creaked.
“Emelie, I’m going to be totally honest with you. You’re one of my favorites.” He paused slightly, let his words sink in. “And I’m no less impressed to hear that in parallel with all of the work you’ve been doing here, you’re handling a murder case, on top of being off sick for two days. I’m willing to give you a second chance.”
Anders Henriksson’s face was no longer reddish. It was scarlet—like a stop sign. “Hang on, Magnus, what’s this?”
Magnus didn’t turn around. He simply continued: “Emelie might be the best lawyer I’ve ever met.”
Even if Anders Henriksson was highly regarded at Leijon, and had been a partner for several years now, Magnus Hassel was his senior. Magnus was one of the country’s real heavyweights. He brought in at least five times as many cases as Anders, and turned over ten times as much in revenue; he was Leijon’s poster boy, the man who played golf with the Wallenbergs, went hunting with the management of the SCA group, and went swimming in Torekov with the rest of the elite of the Swedish business world. If Magnus Hassel wanted to keep someone on staff, that’s what would happen.
He continued: “All I ask of you, Emelie, is that you withdraw from the case. You can’t continue with that. I’m sorry. I believe in you, and you know that.”
Emelie stared at him. She could stay with the firm; she had one final chance. But there was a price to pay. What the hell had she been thinking? That the suspicions against Benjamin would die down on their own, just because she’d taken on the role of his lawyer? That the press would ignore a murder charge just because she was working as private defense counsel? That Leijon would accept one of their lawyers spending more than 30 percent of their waking hours on a criminal case? She’d been naive, she’d been so shortsighted.
Emelie set off toward Rörstrandsgatan. She had more work to do once she got home. Preparations. The place stunk of rotten trash.
Jossan had hugged her after the meeting. “Let me know if you want to go for a drink in town later.”
When she got back, she sat down on the bed. Hugged her legs tight. She needed to get to work, but her mind was blank.
She called Teddy. Sent him a message. Even phoned Nikola.
When she hung up after leaving a message on Nikola’s phone, she realized someone had been trying to call her. She had a voice mail.
“Hey, this is Matteo, I’m an old friend of Teddy’s—I think you know him. Dejan said I should get in touch with you. Can you call me as soon as you can? It’s important.”
It was three o’clock in the afternoon. A particularly dreary afternoon in late July.
OFFICIAL NOTES
Stockholm County Police Authority
Signed: Joakim Sundén
Date: 12 January 2011
Regarding the handling of informant “Marina”
The undersigned has, over the past few weeks, worked with and handled an informant by the code name of Marina. A large amount of information has been given, much of which is deemed to be highly reliable (in accordance with current judgment methods). The undersigned has attempted to check and further investigate the details. The undersigned has also reported to detective superintendent Anders Mieler on a regular basis.
Marina has been guaranteed anonymity by the undersigned in order to ensure that the informant can provide information as freely as possible and, in doing so, contribute to fighting organized criminality both at a county and international level. The undersigned wishes
to reinforce that no documented interviews with Marina have taken place, nor have any recordings or notes been made.
It has recently come to the attention of the undersigned that Ivar Lövberg, deputy chief public prosecutor, has requested the real name and contact details of Marina. Lövberg has informed the undersigned that he requires formal interviews with Marina to commence immediately, in order to guarantee that the information is documented and that the examination of the witness can occur in a court of law.
The undersigned is opposed to releasing such details. The undersigned is of the opinion that Marina must remain anonymous going forward; this is the agreement the undersigned has with the informant.
In service, Joakim Sundén
60
A cell.
It couldn’t be. A fucking cell.
No. No. No.
Yes.
He was back, locked up. More than a day and a half now. The cold floor. The bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. Cold everywhere. In custody.
No.
—
When he first woke, he’d tried to get up. Cried out loudly in pain, searing through his foot. Something must be broken or fractured. The pain in his ribs—one or more of them must be busted. There wasn’t a mirror, but when he touched his nose, he practically passed out.
He eventually managed to get to his feet. He looked for the call button but couldn’t find one. This seemed to be one of the older places, somewhere you just had to pound on the door.
He hit it as hard as he could. Shouted. He was never supposed to end up somewhere like this again, he’d promised himself. Behind a locked metal door. Thick, worn-looking bars covering the window. Heading toward a prison sentence.
He tried to see out, look over the wall. The grass down below looked wild. He had to be in Österåker or maybe Salberga. He wondered why they’d taken him so far from Stockholm.
No one opened the door. He couldn’t even hear the jingle of keys out in the hallway.
He pounded against it again. Louder. Harder.
Nothing happened.
He lay on his back on the floor and tried to kick the door as hard as he could with his good foot. It echoed through the cell.
Eventually the hatch opened a fraction. A tiny chink. He saw an eye and half a nose on the other side. “What d’you want?” A gruff voice.
Teddy started to get to his feet. “I want to know what the hell’s going on. Why’ve I been arrested?”
“Sorry, not my place to get into that. You’ll find out soon enough.”
“I need to see a doctor. I’m smashed up. Foot’s a mess. Broken ribs.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
“Can you at least turn off the light in here?”
“Yup.”
The hatch closed again with a clang. The light on the ceiling went out—the circuit breaker must be outside, too. Teddy crawled over the floor to the mattress. Tried to gather his thoughts: what exactly had happened? He couldn’t remember much other than having fun on Dejan’s boat all day. Half-drunk with a wasted Matteo in the taxi. Then: the men who’d attacked them and shouted that they were cops. Fragments: they’d floored him, torn off in the car, him inside and Matteo still on the street. The rest was blank. He remembered one thing clear enough, though: one of the bastards’d had a red scar on his cheek. From his ear to his mouth.
He tried to relax. It didn’t exactly work.
The cell walls seemed to be closing in, pressing down on him. The air was hard to breathe. He couldn’t start hyperventilating, no panic attacks. He’d been in this situation before. He’d managed eight years without falling to pieces.
His first few hours in the cell back then, when they arrested him for kidnapping Mats Emanuelsson: the special ops cops had shot him in the stomach, he’d just been operated on. He’d lain on the mattress, just like he was now, half-high on Citodon and Ipren, and thought about the very same thing: his mother. The cozy kids’ area in the library, all sofas and cushions, curled up in her lap. The Brothers Lionheart in her hands. “But there are things you have to do, otherwise you’re not a human being, just a piece of dirt.” His mother’s voice. “My golden boy,” she’d said. “Do you know what that means?” He’d shaken his head. Six or seven years old. “What things do you have to do, Mama?” She kissed him on the cheek, though he didn’t like it when she did it in front of others. “You have to be kind, Teddy. Sometimes you have to be kind, even if it’s hard.”
He tried to get up. He hadn’t always been kind over the years. This was the result, the cosmic balance: that he’d be locked up because of his countless sins.
He looked out of the window again. The grass wasn’t just tall and dry out there. The walls looked tired, too. He couldn’t see much other than a few treetops beyond them. But he spotted an old Ping-Pong table and two overturned goalposts. This couldn’t be Salberga—the remand cells there were connected to the bigger prison complex, and it had been renovated quite recently. It couldn’t be Österåker, either; he would recognize the surroundings there, even if the remand wing was in another building. Maybe they were holding him somewhere else—even farther from Stockholm.
Something wasn’t right, he was sure of that—he just couldn’t put his finger on exactly what.
61
Nikola felt fresh. Despite the hard-core partying last night and the serious nerves he’d had before what they did to Metim. Above all: despite being with Paulina until long into the morning. He hadn’t looked at the clock. Turned off his phone. Just enjoyed life. Enjoyed Paulina.
But now he’d turned on his phone. Seven missed calls from a number he didn’t recognize. Four missed calls from his mom.
It was afternoon, and he was heading home. Normally Linda was used to his phone being off—but he’d promised to sharpen up. He didn’t have the energy to call her back. Right now, he just wanted to enjoy the sweet vibes a bit longer. No distractions. Hang on to the happiness bubbling away inside him for a few more hours.
They’d slept until lunch, he and Paulina. When they finally got up, her parents weren’t home. Nikola wasn’t sure they even knew he’d been there.
“Doesn’t matter,” Paulina said. “They’re Poles, not Saudis.”
Breakfast: orange juice and toast with ham. Paulina ate a grapefruit. Local newspaper on the table. He could see an article about police successes in the war against the so-called criminal gangs on the front cover. The same picture of the guns from the press release.
After breakfast, they went back to Paulina’s room. Watched TV. Talked about school, Nikola’s trial. They kissed. Hugged. Slept together.
They took a walk around the neighborhood. Nikola with an arm around her. They sat down on a park bench by Brunnsängsskolan and made out like teenagers. After a while, they went back to Paulina’s place, watched half an episode of Homeland. Nikola liked the guy with the glasses and the beard. Same coolness he felt right now. They made smoothies. Talked about friends they had in common. Slept together again.
—
Nikola slowly climbed the stairs. One more floor. To his own flat. He had no plans for the rest of the day, just wanted to take a shower and change his clothes. Maybe he’d call Chamon. Or Teddy—if he answered this time. Or maybe just hang out with Paulina, if she wanted to.
Then: Spider-Man senses tingling. Like someone was watching him. He took a few more steps. In the hallway outside his place, a woman was leaning against the wall. He couldn’t see who it was before she turned around. Emelie fucking Jansson—his super lawyer.
“Why don’t you answer your phone when your lawyer calls you?” she asked with a smile, and he hugged her.
“Was a bit busy last night.”
Emelie was still smiling. “Aha, like that. But it’s actually four thirty in the afternoon, you know, and I’ve tried calling you about a hundred times. Something’s happened.”
Her smile vanished. They went inside—he didn’t bother explaining that Teddy had gotten the apartment for him. He just wanted to hear
why Emelie had made the effort to come over like this.
She explained. Someone named Matteo had called her an hour or two earlier.
“He and Teddy were at a thirty-fifth birthday party yesterday. They shared a taxi back to Alby last night. Both of them were really drunk, apparently. But when they got out of the car, they were attacked by two…cops, he said. They took Teddy.”
Nikola almost yelled, “No way.”
“They turned up in a car. Matteo thought it was an unmarked police car, and they shouted that they were police, but their behavior seemed a bit…off, he thought. They more or less knocked Teddy out. Threw Matteo against the hood of the car and put him in cuffs, even though he could hardly stand up. Then they left him on the ground, still cuffed, and drove off—with Teddy. Normal policemen hardly behave like that.”
“Did Matteo call the police?”
“No, I don’t really think he’s the kind of guy who’d call the police as a first resort, if you know what I mean.”
Nikola studied the floor.
“Plus, I told him not to,” she continued. “Teddy and I have been working on something for a couple of months now, and it’s starting to look like it’s linked to dirty policemen. Someone changed a preliminary report, and now we’ve got what Matteo is telling us. We can’t contact them. We need to fix this ourselves.”
“Fix it how?”
“We need to find your uncle. And you’re going to help me.”
They started by going to Teddy’s place. Taxi—felt weird, but Emelie didn’t seem to have a car of her own, even though she was the sickest lawyer in town.
The door was unlocked. Teddy’s place looked like Chamon’s flat after the party. Worse, actually. The bedding had been torn up, cutlery, underwear, and books everywhere. Nikola recognized a few titles Teddy was always talking about: Slaughterhouse-Five, Mystic River. His potted plants were smashed on the little rug by the sofa. The garbage can had been tipped out onto the floor. Pretty clear: someone had gotten there before them. Someone who wanted to find something.