by Jens Lapidus
She looked up. Magnus Hassel was coming toward her. His hair seemed even glossier than usual.
“Do you think he’ll be let out now?”
Emelie wondered what he really wanted.
“I hope so,” she said. “If he does, it suggests they’re planning on dropping the case.”
“And what do you think will happen to your job with us then?”
“I guess I’ll have to leave.”
Magnus nodded. “You will. But you know I would’ve liked you to stay.”
Emelie shifted her weight from one leg to the other.
Magnus said: “There’s just one thing I want to know. Why, Emelie? Why did you take the case when you knew how the firm would view it?”
They could hear the faint murmur of people talking in the background, and farther down the hallway. Emelie breathed in. “I took it on because I believe in something.”
Magnus waited for her to go on.
She did so. “I think our most important function, as lawyers, is to defend a society that protects the interests of individuals. I didn’t become a lawyer just to work with business money. I’m tired of helping stinking-rich venture capitalists get even richer. I want to work with people; I want to feel responsibility for people who really need me. I want to contribute to a system that’s there for everyone, even when the prosecution and police claim they’ve done something wrong. Someone who helps others find a voice, to look into what they’re being accused of. A system that’s fair. One that takes care of the weak and the isolated. People who have only one other person on their side. Their lawyer. Me.”
Magnus’s face was pale. It looked like he needed a moment to gather himself. Eventually he said: “But you could’ve given up the case. You could’ve kept your job with Leijon.”
“Never.”
“Why?”
“I’m a lawyer.”
“I know that.”
“And a lawyer never abandons their client.”
77
Teddy saw Emelie and Magnus Hassel in the distance. He didn’t know what they were talking about, but it was the first time during the whole trial that he’d seen them anywhere near one another. He tried to read their faces. Magnus’s mouth was a straight line, his lips pressed tightly together. He looked pale. Emelie’s eyes were shining.
She’d requested an analysis of the barrel of Joakim Sundén’s service weapon to be able to compare it with the bullets that killed Sebbe. Emelie and Teddy had, of course, known what Mats Emanuelsson would say in court, but he hadn’t known she would put in that request. He was fairly certain it would be a match.
She was strange, Emelie. Teddy still didn’t know where he stood with her. But one thing was clear. She was impressive. Her strength, after all she must have carried on her shoulders these past few weeks, but she still acted like a master in the courtroom.
—
Joakim Sundén: the name of a murderer. The name of a man Benjamin had slashed in the face with a bottle. That would’ve been enough to leave a real cut. One that, after a few weeks, would’ve turned into a scar.
Dejan had called him a few days earlier.
“He wants to see you.”
“Who?”
“Kum.”
“Why?”
“He’ll tell you that himself.”
Teddy had thought they were in agreement now—what could this be about?
—
They’d met at Mazern’s house. He looked normal, but the sense of threat was gone. Or maybe it was just that once you’d seen a man naked, like Teddy had, it was difficult to feel any real fear of them again.
After he kissed his hand, Kum said: “I’ve got some good stuff, if you want it.”
“Sure.”
“Ardbeg, from the eighties. Single malt. I bought it at an auction in London, three thousand pounds a bottle, but it’s worth it. Luxury has a price.”
Kum nodded to someone. Teddy realized there was another man in the room, just like last time he’d been there. This time, he was standing by the huge potted plants.
Teddy took a sip from his glass. The whiskey was so smooth, he could hardly feel it fill his mouth.
Kum said: “We were at his place yesterday, in his apartment.”
“Whose?”
“That bastard’s.”
“Who d’you mean?”
“The pig.”
“Joakim Sundén?”
“He was a pig, in every possible sense.”
“I’m not gonna argue with that.”
“We got in before the police arrived. I thought you might want to hear what we found.”
“I do.”
Kum took a sip. “First of all, he had two and a half million in cash stashed away. Half in a double floor under the sink, half in a big safe.”
“Ah shit. That’s more than five years’ pay for a cop. He must’ve been really dirty.”
“Exactly. He had a load of other crap in that safe, too. Old reports, evidence bags full of material, snitch notes, interview records. The pig seems to’ve been a hoarder.”
Teddy gave a start when Kum went through the objects—interview records. Sundén had interviewed Mats, after all—Mats had told them that during the trial.
Kum clicked his fingers. The man who’d poured the whiskey came back with a folder.
“Gift for you,” Kum said. “Between old friends.”
Teddy opened it. After a few minutes’ reading, he realized what he was looking at. Printouts of interviews and conversations Joakim Sundén had held with Mats Emanuelsson more than four years earlier. Code name Marina. He wanted to read it all now, but Kum seemed to want to keep talking.
“That pig would do anything for money. Had a load of small, private conversations with Mats Emanuelsson, pretended none of it was being recorded. But I’ve got my sources, even in the authorities. Joakim Sundén sold information. Those conversations with Mats definitely weren’t aboveboard, so he could earn money on whatever came out. He was selling Mats to them, whoever they are. But then a prosecutor caught wind of it and demanded information about Mats, wanted him to testify like any normal witness, and that’s when everything started to backfire in that pig’s brain. I don’t know exactly what happened, but I’ve spoken to Michaela, too. Mats was well aware of how bad things could get if he tried to reveal them, those filthy bastards, as I like to call them. So when he had a choice between testifying publicly or disappearing, he chose the latter. Because if they thought he was alive, they would’ve gone after his family. And then, just three months ago, they realized he’d screwed them over, that he’d never killed himself. That’s when they sent Sundén to the house on Värmdö. Maybe it was just to threaten Mats, maybe they didn’t plan to kill anyone, but that’s what happened. My daughter’s fiancé.”
“Sebbe.”
“Yeah, Sebastian Petrovic. One of the most loyal over the years, you included.” Kum scratched his head. “We found some more stuff at Sundén’s place, by the way. He wasn’t just working as a cop these past few years. He’d been doing extra shifts for something called Swedish Premium Security. And he did everything you could think of for them.”
Mazern paused again, sipped his whiskey.
Teddy thought he was starting to understand.
“I’ve done a lot of stupid stuff in my time,” Kum continued. “You have, too, Teddy. Only difference between us is I’ve never been inside. No one took a third of my life from me. But that’s just what you’ve got to put up with, no?”
Teddy didn’t know how to reply. His thoughts were swirling. Sundén had been paid by someone, probably the firm calling itself Swedish Premium Security, the money Kum had found spoke for itself. Paid to protect their interests. The predators’d had their own men in the police. A cop who’d started to leak for money at first, but then moved on to working for anyone who’d pay. It probably wasn’t as uncommon as it sounded: once a man of the law had crossed the line, that in itself was a hold over them. They could be forced to do more
.
But killing Sebbe, hurting Sara, kidnapping Teddy, Cecilia, and Lillan—that was worse than anything he’d ever heard of. And there was definitely at least one more person involved, the man who’d been helping Sundén out in Håga, the man who’d disappeared after Loke managed to lure him out of the building. Maybe he was part of the police force, too.
Loke had been looking into Swedish Premium Security over the past few days—it had closed down, on paper at least, and their offices on Sankt Eriksgatan seemed to be empty. But one thing was clear: Joakim Sundén had been a foot soldier, a hired hunter, a protector of their secrets. The one who took the risks. But there were people above him.
Peder Hult, or whatever the hell his real name was, Teddy thought, they still needed to look into his role in all this. He paused, midthought: did they, really? Maybe it was time to put all this behind them. For good.
Kum had tapped him on the shoulder: “Hello, moj drug. You listening? You have to assume it’s not all going to go to plan, no?”
Teddy dropped the thought. Tried to understand what Mazern meant. “I guess you’re right.”
Kum said: “But you don’t have to accept people lying. Right?”
“No, maybe not.”
“And you shouldn’t accept anyone helping those who hurt women and children.”
“No.”
“Or murdering your nephew.”
“What d’you mean?”
“I hope you don’t mind that I clipped Sundén.”
Teddy swirled the expensive whiskey around his glass. He’d heard the shot outside of Håga, but Emelie was the only one who’d seen anything.
“I thought you’d stopped,” he said.
Kum got to his feet.
They shook hands. Teddy could see gray hairs in Mazern’s eyebrows. “I’m older,” he said, “but I’m still Kum. My reputation’s all I have.”
—
“The verdict will be read out in court five,” the clerk’s gentle voice said over the speakers.
It was crucial. If the court released Benjamin now, it meant they didn’t think the evidence was convincing enough. It meant the charges would be dropped, that they would set him free.
Annika Rölén was first into the courtroom. Then Cecilia, Lillan, Mats. Emelie went in after them. The room was silent, funereal. Benjamin was led up from the cells.
Teddy couldn’t see Magnus Hassel anymore.
He himself entered the room last. He didn’t want to frighten Mats, didn’t know what memories seeing him might bring up.
An air of gravity hung heavily over the room. The lay judges studied everyone as they entered. The clerk typed more quietly than before.
The judge cleared his throat. Teddy saw Emelie’s tense neck and shoulders. Benjamin was looking down at the desk.
The judge said: “The detention of Benjamin Emanuelsson is hereby revoked. He will be released immediately.”
Benjamin looked up, like he hadn’t understood what the presiding judge had just said.
The Emanuelsson family, outside the courtroom, hugging. Benjamin looked like a living human being again. His eyes were glistening; his posture more upright. Cecilia and Lillan were crying. Teddy thought he could even see tears in Emelie’s eyes, but maybe he was wrong—he was standing some distance away from them.
Watching them. Taking part in his own way.
Then he saw Mats turn around, meet his eye.
He held his head high, proud. Benjamin’s father had done the right thing. But Teddy could see something else in his eyes, a glimmer of something. Maybe it was fear. Because it was all too clear to Teddy, too. Joakim Sundén was dead, and the threat Mats faced had lessened, but it hadn’t vanished completely. What awaited him now? The witness protection program, a trial? Both? And the hard drive—where was it?
Though again: maybe it was time to drop all this.
Mats nodded at Teddy. Clearly, that was what he needed.
He had atoned for his crime.
Completely.
Half an hour later: the café on Bergsgatan. Emelie had sent him a message and asked him to meet her there.
“Congratulations,” Teddy said.
“Congratulations to the both of us, we did it together,” she replied. “Though really…”
Teddy filled in: “Congratulations to the Emanuelssons. If Mats hadn’t turned up…”
They both knew what he meant—without Mats, Benjamin would almost certainly have been sent down.
Neither of them spoke. A car horn sounded at the crossing behind them.
“Have you paid Jan?” Teddy asked after a moment.
Emelie nodded. “Thanks for the money. It went to some good use after all.”
“What are the Emanuelssons doing tonight? Celebrating?”
“Just dinner, I think. I guess Mats has quite a lot of explaining to do, to Cecilia above all.”
Silence again. A cyclist rang their bell at another on the cycle path next to them.
Teddy said: “Maybe you and I should celebrate somehow? Talk things through. I’m thinking: just you and I.”
EPILOGUE
SEVEN DAYS LATER
78
Nikola was going to Teddy’s place later today, but there was something he had to do first. He was standing on the hill behind Flemingsberg prison, where he’d been locked up. A joke. A little practical joke. Kerim was inside again, and the tabloids were loving it: Flying gang leader back on firm ground. Helicopter escapee back behind bars. It was lousy luck.
The middle of August. Nikola was starting work in a week: George Samuel had changed his mind—offered him a real probation period. Installing electrics, apprentice work, early mornings. Linda was over the moon, and honestly: maybe it wasn’t so bad. George was a good guy, and Nikola needed dough.
Teddy had phoned him to see if he wanted to go out to eat. The final verdict had been delivered in Benjamin Emanuelsson’s case—though they’d all known how things would play out when they released him from remand prison. The case had been dropped. Weapons analysis had shown that Sebbe Petrovic was shot using Sundén’s Sig Sauer.
Nikola opened his bag. The drone was about the size of a carton of milk. He’d borrowed it from Yusuf. It had four little rotor blades and a GoPro camera on the bottom. He’d been practicing for two days now. He knew it better than he knew his own dick.
He’d taken the bandage off his shoulder yesterday. Sundén’s bullet had ripped through him, but no more than that. He was fine now.
He switched it on. Heard a whirring sound. He’d cut his finger the first time he used it: the little blades were surprisingly powerful.
The drone rose straight into the air and then disappeared over the treetops like a bird. High up. Higher. Above the prison, the cages on the roof.
He’d been here before, yesterday. He’d seen on the camera that they’d strengthened the bars above the cages, probably to prevent any more Kerim incidents. But there was one thing they hadn’t protected themselves against—licorice. He’d hung a roll of the disgusting stuff that Kerim loved so much from a string on the bottom of the drone.
Nikola was holding the controller with both hands, gently directing the gadget with his thumbs. He lowered it. He made it wobble. He’d tested this, too. It should work.
He let it bob back and forth. Eventually the lump of licorice fell down. Through the bars. Into the cage where, at some point today, Kerim would be taken for his daily break outside. He’d find his favorite sweets there, the kind you couldn’t buy from the kiosk.
Nikola had taped a little note to the licorice. Thinking about you, man / N.
Up the stairs.
Sudden knot of worry in his stomach. He thought back a few weeks, to when he’d been on the way up to his own apartment and Emelie had been waiting for him outside. Same feeling today: Spidey senses tingling. Like someone was watching him. Or waiting for him.
He didn’t even know if Teddy was home, but it made no difference. He had keys. He could just go in and wait
for his uncle to turn up.
He thought about Bojan: they were all going to a football match tomorrow. Him, his grandpa, Teddy, and Paulina. Watch Syrianska trash Varberg in the Superetta. It was the first time Paulina would meet any of his family.
He rang Teddy’s bell. Silence.
Nikola took out his key ring and tried to find the right key. He turned the top lock first. It was stiff.
Then: a huge explosion. He was thrown back, flung into the opposite wall.
He couldn’t hear a thing.
He heard everything. The atoms smashing into him. The dust scratching his skin as he slumped against the other wall.
He thought of Teddy. He thought of Paulina.
The place was burning. Smoke was pouring from the doorway.
He looked down at his body. His clothes were torn to shreds. Wet with blood.
An explosion. The irony. The last thing he had time to think: he was going to die because of a fucking bomb.
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