Master, Liar, Traitor, Friend: a Leo Junker case

by Christoffer Carlsson (Translated by Michael Gallagher)

  The sound of rustling paper. She’s flipping through a notebook.

  ‘The Swedish company Sunitron are smuggling electronic equipment to East Germany, circumventing and breaching the embargo, and this has been going on for years. Is it correct that a number of VAX computers, model 11/782, were smuggled out of Sweden in early October this year?’

  You can hear the tension in her voice.

  ‘Good. Is it correct that the National Police Authority’s security division kept the computers under surveillance while they were in Sweden?’ Another pause. ‘Okay.’ She takes a deep breath. ‘Is it correct that employees of the Security Police were involved in the deal?’ Silence. ‘Okay, do you know what I mean by invol— What was that? You don’t know how, but you know that they were involved, that … Good.’

  She doesn’t sound surprised. Charles presses the headphones to his ears, straining to hear.

  ‘Can you tell me which of them you have … No, okay. Of course. I understand. One final question. East Germany’s Resident Minister in Sweden, Johann Kraus, do he and the Swedish operatives … You don’t know. Are you sure? No, I … Yes, certainly.’

  They end the call.

  ‘Yes, Jesus Christ,’ is the last thing she says, to no one in particular in the empty apartment.

  Thirty seconds pass. The headphones click off.

  ‘Savolainen,’ says Charles. ‘I’ll bet you anything that it’s him, again. There aren’t many other candidates, since whoever it is doesn’t know about the connection to Kraus.’

  ‘If the source was telling Falck the truth, that is.’

  ‘He was telling the truth about everything else. What the source confirmed for Falck was what Savolainen knows. And he’s the only one who knows that. It has to be him.’

  Paul scratches his cheek thoughtfully.

  ‘Maybe we’ll have to do something about him.’

  ‘But if she splashes the scoop, has used Savolainen as her source, and he then disappears, it’s not going to look good at all.’

  ‘The alternative is that we let him carry on roaming the streets with that slack junkie mouth of his.’

  They’ve been doing it for so long. They’re lying to so many people.

  ‘What the fuck are we going to do?’ says Charles.

  ‘Stop her.’

  ‘How?’

  Paul’s gaze returns to the street outside.

  Charles thinks about Marika again, and about how, sooner or later, he’s going to lose her.

  JULY 1980

  The Lichter case. In 1980, Charles spent the first days of his summer leave doing searches and rummaging around where he shouldn’t have. A systematic approach and a process of elimination led him forward, took him upwards to where he saw ASEA, The Social Democratic Party, and ultimately Ulrik Bondesson. He double-checked the information: who was where, and when?

  After a week, he had managed to get a fairly clear picture of what had happened. The core was the councillor’s witness account, a core he augmented with — and the details of which he was able to verify through — existing registers. In spite of this, he only had access to a carefully chosen selection of documents and entries, often coming up against confidentiality blocks.

  Towards the end of Palme’s premiership, the defence minister had had an aide by the name of Leif Paulsson. One of his closest associates, Ulrik Bondesson, was recruited by the East German intelligence services. He, in turn, was the political link between Sweden and East Germany, the one who helped electronics firm ASEA sell equipment to the Eastern Block, in breach of the embargo. Charles had telephone records indicating direct conversations between Bondesson, ASEA, and the East German Embassy’s Resident.

  Christ.

  The story was explosive, but sitting there in his room on the floor that housed the unit, the office almost empty during the summer holiday season, he didn’t know what to do with it. It still didn’t include the name of Ted Lichter’s assailant, a detail that was hidden beyond the confines of that story.

  ‘Where’s your mum?’ he asked, when he saw Marika sitting on the old bench by the living-room table. She was busy drawing something.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said.

  ‘Is she working today?’

  ‘She said she was going out.’

  Charles checked the time.

  ‘When was that?’

  ‘Don’t remember.’

  ‘Did she just go off, leave you on your own?’

  ‘She said she’d be home soon.’

  He walked over and sat down next to her.

  ‘What are you drawing?’

  She shrugged. There were two trees, drawn in brown and green chalk in the background. In front of them was a mass of moving water. A man standing in the waves. His legs were too long for his body, but other than that he was in proportion. Marika had drawn a big smile on the man’s face, and one hand was holding up a severed head.

  Charles felt his vision going black.

  ‘What’s that, Marika?’

  ‘I found a magazine.’

  ‘There are no magazines with pictures like that in this house.’

  ‘I know he didn’t have a head,’ said Marika. ‘I read that.’

  ‘In the magazine?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Where is it?’

  She looked around.

  ‘It was here before.’

  ‘I don’t want you to read magazines,’ Charles said. ‘And I really don’t want you drawing pictures of …’

  The words got stuck.

  ‘But I …’

  ‘No, Marika.’ It wasn’t until his daughter recoiled that he realised how angry his voice sounded. ‘Darling,’ he said, gentler, his guilt growing as the pain around his temples intensified. ‘Can’t you draw some horses instead? Or princes and princesses?’

  She didn’t answer. She put the chalk away. Charles took the drawing off her.

  ‘You and Mummy,’ Marika said, her eyes blank. ‘Aren’t you happy?’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘You don’t seem very happy.’

  ‘We are very happy,’ he said, smiling, struggling to keep his voice steady. ‘I promise. And you must never forget that both Mummy and me love you very, very much.’

  She looked at him.

  ‘Give me a hug,’ he said.

  As Marika did as he’d asked, he breathed in the scent of her hair — like Eva’s, only sweeter — and felt the lump in his throat tighten.

  If that man hadn’t rung the doorbell that afternoon, it probably wouldn’t have been long before Charles started to wonder where Eva was. But ring the bell he did, an hour or so after Charles had stood in the bathroom and ripped up Marika’s drawing, then flushed it down the toilet.

  ‘Hello,’ he said, standing in the doorway.

  His car, a dark-blue Citroën, was parked next to the little fence that ran alongside the road.

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘This is a bit strange, a bit sudden, but …’ The man hesitated. ‘I don’t suppose I could come in?’

  ‘What is this about?’

  ‘Sorry.’ He stretched out his hand. ‘My name is Paul. Paul Goffman.’

  Charles took it, hesitantly. Paul wasn’t from around here. His hand was cool, and dry.

  ‘Charles.’

  ‘I know. We are colleagues.’

  ‘Are we?’

  The man pulled out his badge.

  ‘From Stockholm,’ Charles read aloud.

  ‘Can I come in?’

  ‘What is this about?’ he repeated.

  ‘Ted Lichter.’

  He said it mournfully, as though what would follow would cause both of them grief.

  Paul Goffman was about the same age as Charles and was dressed in dark jeans, a light shirt, and matching blazer. He was s
lim, with broad shoulders, like a swimmer’s, and had a square face with distinct eyebrows and ice-blue eyes.

  ‘What a beautiful daughter you have,’ he said, as they sat by the kitchen window, each with a cup of coffee in front of them.

  ‘Yes, she is quite something.’

  Paul drank some coffee.

  ‘When I was searching for your address, I noted that there was also an Eva Levin registered here, too.’

  ‘That’s my wife.’ Charles looked at his hands. ‘She’s at work.’ He looked up. ‘Right. Ted Lichter.’

  ‘Ted Lichter,’ Paul repeated. ‘That’s right. I understand …’ He changed his mind. ‘Perhaps you understand where I come from?’

  ‘I’m guessing the National Police Authority’s security division.’

  ‘Operations Department. We have had an interest in Ted Lichter, or rather those strands that tie together around him. I believe,’ he went on, ‘that our view matches the one that you, judging by your searches and investigations, have begun to form. ASEA, Bondesson, all that. Your theory, in other words, is correct.’

  ‘I don’t care whether I’m right or not. All I care about is getting hold of whoever did it.’

  ‘And that’s where I think I may be able to help.’

  ‘How?’

  Paul took a deep breath.

  ‘I can give you a name.’

  ‘A name?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Of the person who did it?’

  ‘Of the person who held the weapon, at least. All I ask of you is that it stops there, with him, and that you don’t start pulling any of the threads that the Lichter case contains. That is our job, not yours.’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Good,’ Paul said, somewhat surprised. ‘Then we have an agreement?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘We will be checking to make sure you follow it.’

  ‘Right then. You can go back to Stockholm now.’

  Paul laughed.

  ‘Okay. Manfred Lundin.’

  ‘Manfred Lundin?’

  ‘That’s who did it.’

  ‘I find that very difficult to believe.’

  Manfred Lundin was one of their most notorious junkies, a man in his forties who had spent half of his life in custody or in treatment. He was named in their inquiries but simply as one of the victim’s associates.

  ‘Lichter knew too much. One hand hires a second, who hires a third, who hired Manfred Lundin. Two men on the same low rung in society had a falling out. At least, that’s what it was supposed to look like.’

  ‘Did he dismember him, too?’

  ‘You’d be surprised,’ Paul said, ‘what addicts are prepared to do to make sure they get their fix. They are often used by organisations like this.’

  ‘What organisations are you talking about now?’

  Paul smiled and looked out of the window.

  ‘It’s a funny little place, Bruket. How did you end up here?’

  Something about Paul, possibly his tone of voice, revealed the fact that he already knew.

  ‘I was at a conference nearby, and happened to meet Eva by chance.’

  ‘Aha. Of course. Women.’ He blinked, and drank another gulp of coffee. ‘That was quite thorough handiwork there, Charles. I took the liberty — now I hope this doesn’t make you feel uncomfortable — but I took the liberty of looking up your old test scores and results from the training courses you’ve done, and the cases you’ve handled. Your CV is outstanding. Not only that, you’re young, like me, and you seem to understand the politics of things. You would be very valuable to us.’

  Charles was surprised by his directness.

  ‘Another time, perhaps.’

  ‘You did used to work in Stockholm, didn’t you? Under Sivertsson?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘There’s a real policeman for you. Don’t you miss the big city?’

  ‘Sometimes I do. But it’s not the city itself that I miss, more the way that life was back then. Anything else?’

  ‘No.’ He stood up. ‘I won’t keep you any longer. Have a think about my offer, and give your charming daughter my regards.’

  Charles stood at the window and watched him drive away. He’ll find his way around here, he thought. He didn’t need to decide which route was best; he already knew that. Charles noted the car’s registration number and the strange feeling that he was going to see him again.

  Half an hour after Paul’s car disappeared down Alvavägen, Eva came home. As she passed Charles in the hall, she had a scent, or rather an air, that he didn’t recognise.

  ‘Where’ve you been?’

  ‘Out,’ she said.

  ‘Is everything alright?’

  ‘Yes. Everything’s alright.’

  ‘Good.’

  Charles slunk off.

  Two weeks later, a search of Manfred Lundin’s flat was carried out. Under a floorboard, they found a set of seven knives, knives that could have been used to dismember Ted Lichter’s body. A forensic analysis revealed that four of them still carried traces of human blood.

  Lundin was remanded in custody at the beginning of August, and Charles remembers that it was an extremely hot day, and that Marika was at the summer camp a little way north of Bruket — but, by then, so much else had gone wrong that he didn’t care anymore.

  NOVEMBER 1984

  Resident Kraus’ man in Stockholm, Informal Associate Heffler, is dejected when they meet up with him in his apartment.

  ‘It’s my sleep,’ he explains, in English. ‘If I don’t sleep, I get cranky.’

  ‘Who doesn’t?’ Paul ventures, in German.

  Heffler yawns.

  ‘Apologies,’ Charles says, ‘but we really had no choice. I know that you prefer to conduct meetings at the motel.’

  Heffler’s home is large, bright, and has tall ceilings. It smells of paint and new electronic gadgets, and if you stand by the window you have your back to the water and can see Götgatan running between the houses.

  The clock above Heffler’s head is showing twenty-six minutes past four a.m.

  ‘We have a problem,’ says Paul.

  ‘You said it.’ Heffler pulls his coffee mug across the table. ‘With the journalist, I believe.’

  ‘How much Swedish do you understand?’

  ‘Enough.’ He swallows a gulp of coffee, then winces. ‘Fucking Swedish coffee.’

  Paul pulls open the heavy bag of recording equipment.

  ‘You can have a listen yourself,’ he says, unwinding the cable, looking for a plug socket. ‘That’s probably easiest.’ He switches on the heavy tape recorder and picks up the headphones. ‘This was recorded a little over six hours ago.’

  Heffler isn’t used to the headphones, and mutters as he puts them on and presses PLAY. The tape clicks and starts rolling. Paul blinks. His eyes are red.

  Heffler had been making coffee and watching television while waiting for them to arrive — a taped episode of the East German children’s programme Unser Sandmännchen. Charles has seen it before: it all starts with little events in the daily life of the main character, Sandmann. Sometimes he travels to other parts of East Germany, to the Soviet Union, or even into space.

  Now Sandmann is travelling with two friends, visiting the East German army. The leader of the East German armed forces gives them a guided tour of a military installation. Sandmann and his comrades applaud.

  Heffler removes the headphones.

  ‘Blöde Fotze.’

  ‘There’s a photograph,’ says Charles, ‘of Kraus getting out of Paul’s Citroën.’

  ‘And you can see that it’s him?’

  ‘’Fraid so,’ says Paul.

  ‘This is bad.’ Heffler shakes his head. ‘Really bad.’ He chews his bottom lip. ‘I need to talk to the Res
ident. Do you know what she’s doing over the next few days? When is she going to release this?’

  ‘We don’t know exactly how close to an exposé she actually is. We don’t have access to that information.’ Charles lights a cigarette without asking. ‘But the risk is …’

  ‘Yes.’ Heffler drinks some more coffee. ‘It certainly is. Where does she live?’

  ‘Barnängsgatan 40.’

  Paul goes out into the kitchen and opens one of the cupboards. Clinking crockery, followed by the sound of a coffee cup being filled.

  ‘We do know,’ he says when he returns, ‘that she’s going to help a friend, Lena Gräns, to clean her flat today. At seven tonight, they, along with another woman, named Ulla Jones, are meeting at Öhrns Hörn, at the junction of Folkungagatan and Borgmästaregatan. Gräns’ brother works there. They’re planning to go to Café Opera later on in the evening.’

  ‘That will be our first chance — we can’t get to them at home. I think we’d be wise to take it, despite us not having anything like the time we’d need to do this neatly. Does she have a car?’

  Paul shakes his head.

  ‘Her friend Lena Gräns has a white Renault TS. Registration number HSG 771.’

  ‘Can we bank on her using it tonight?’

  ‘Possibly, to get to the restaurant. She’ll probably leave it if she’s drinking.’

  ‘That’s a good start, considering what we have in mind.’

  On the telly, Sandmann and his friends return home and are welcomed by a happy, hopeful little gang. Sandmann recounts all that he’s seen on his visit to the East German military installation. They all celebrate.

  Paul yawns.

  Heffler picks up the remote control and presses a button to mute the television.

  ‘How far is it from this restaurant to Hammarby harbour?’ he asks.

  JULY–AUGUST 1980

  I am not even surprised.

  Charles stood there in their bedroom doorway one July afternoon. He didn’t know the name of the man in the bed, but he recognised him. He ran the little car mechanic’s in Bruket. The air was heavy and warm. The man was wearing pants, but they were pulled down at the front. She had been busy taking them off, and he was hard, big, yet it contracted with each pulse until it ended up looking a bit puny.