The Sword of Justice

by Leif G. W. Persson

  ‘If I could begin with the injuries to Eriksson’s head and neck, these were inflicted on two separate occasions. Partly before he died at about ten o’clock in the evening, and partly during the night, when he had already been dead for several hours and rigor mortis had already set in to both his face and neck,’ Dr Lidberg said, clearing his throat discreetly.

  Unravelling that process was why the examination had taken so long. It constituted a complicated puzzle, the pieces of which were the compression injuries, loose fragments of bone of various sizes, fractures of varying lengths, an overlapping pattern of injuries that needed to be matched and evaluated against blood loss, swellings, cuts, scratches and ordinary bruising. To put it in plain Swedish.

  ‘Unfortunately, this is where things start to get really tricky, and certainly more complicated in a legal sense,’ Dr Lidberg said with a sigh. ‘The injuries that were inflicted after death are extremely extensive. To put it simply, we can say that someone smashed his skull in with a rounded wooden implement with a diameter of approximately ten centimetres, possibly a baseball bat of the older variety or a so-called cudgel of similar size. A dozen or so different blows in total.’

  ‘Excuse me, but what’s the legal complication?’ Lisa Lamm asked with a friendly smile.

  ‘The violence to which he was subjected while he was alive was, in all likelihood, inflicted with nothing more than a fist, and on that point my esteemed colleague and I are in complete agreement – two, possibly three very hard punches.’

  ‘At the risk of sounding stupid,’ Lisa Lamm said, smiling even more warmly now, ‘I still don’t understand—’

  ‘The problem is that those punches couldn’t have killed him,’ Professor Hansson interrupted, fixing her eyes on Lisa Lamm. ‘One blow to his nose, then another to his right cheekbone. Nose broken, lots of blood. He’d have had a serious black eye a few hours later if he’d lived, but that didn’t develop because he died within half an hour, at most. That’s all we’ve got. In other words, not enough violence to have killed him,’ said the only globally renowned authority on this specific type of cause of death in the room.

  ‘So what did he die of, then?’ Lisa Lamm said, suddenly bearing a striking resemblance to a prosecutor who has just discovered a legal complication.

  ‘Eriksson died of a heart attack,’ Dr Lidberg said, with an even deeper sigh, if such a thing were possible.

  What the hell’s the bastard saying? A heart attack? He was too fucking feeble, that was all, Bäckström thought.

  Professor Hansson had taken over. One blow that fractured his nose, lots of blood, but not the sort of thing that would kill you. Another to the right cheek, more blood, but not even enough to have knocked him unconscious. There was also one more injury. A fracture in his right wrist, caused by someone twisting it by pulling it out and simultaneously forcing it down. Certainly very painful, but – again – not the sort of thing that would kill you.

  What Eriksson actually died of was a massive heart attack which occurred shortly afterwards. The poor condition of his heart was well documented in his medical records. The problem had first been diagnosed ten years ago. His doctor had prescribed the usual medication but, like far too many patients with heart disease, he had been careless about taking it, and with the way he lived generally. He drank too much, ate the wrong things, exercised too little and put more pressure on himself than his body could cope with.

  As recently as three years before he died he had suffered his first heart attack, in the middle of a trial. He ended up in A&E at the Karolinska Hospital and was admitted for several days. While he was there, extensive examinations showed that he was exhibiting all the symptoms of a typical heart-disease patient. As soon as he was discharged he had resumed the way of life that could kill him at any time.

  ‘Certainly, the abuse he was subjected to, together with the severe stress he was presumably under, is highly likely to have triggered the heart attack that was the actual cause of death,’ Professor Hansson declared. ‘You’re bound to have a better grasp than me of the legal complications that this gives rise to,’ she went on, turning to look at Lisa Lamm.

  ‘Assault, combined with causing another person’s death,’ Lisa Lamm said with a nod of agreement.

  ‘Yes, that’s where the courts usually end up in cases like this,’ Hansson said. ‘At least on the occasions when I’ve been involved.’

  Five minutes later she and her colleague had thanked Lisa Lamm and her investigators for giving them the opportunity to attend the meeting. If there was anything else they could do to help, they only had to say. They also wished them luck in their hunt for the perpetrator. Hopefully, they would soon meet again in court.

  ‘Okay, then,’ Lisa Lamm said as soon as the visitors had closed the door behind them. ‘Help me. What do we do now?’

  ‘We carry on as usual,’ Bäckström said with a heavy nod. ‘We make sure we get hold of whoever punched Eriksson in the face. Once we’re done with that little detail, we can move on to the scientific debate.’

  ‘Good to hear that. That we agree, I mean,’ Lisa Lamm said, as Toivonen walked into the room without knocking.

  The price of getting rid of two lunatic doctors is evidently one standard-issue Finnish clown, Bäckström thought.

  ‘And of course we need to get hold of Åkare, García Gomez and our witness,’ Annika Carlsson said. ‘If only to stop anything else bad happening.

  ‘Welcome to the meeting, Toivonen,’ she went on, smiling at their new visitor. ‘You just missed today’s forensic medical highlight.’

  ‘I know,’ Toivonen said. ‘But that isn’t why I’m here. I’m afraid it’s rather worse than that,’ he added, sitting down at the table beside them.

  120

  At 01.23:20 that morning the pilot of a Ryanair flight that was three hours late had made an emergency call to traffic control at Skavsta Airport. He and his plane were on the northern approach to the runway at a height of approximately three hundred metres and were expected to land in a couple of minutes. At a distance of almost exactly six kilometres north of the runway, he had observed two cars burning on a forest road leading to an isolated house up in the woods. He was primarily interested in making sure there was nothing going on at the airport that he ought to be keeping clear of.

  The air-traffic controller had assured him that everything was fine, while his colleague called the police and fire brigade in Nyköping, and for once the fire brigade were only a few kilometres away from the two cars burning in the forest, because a couple of hours earlier they had been called to a false alarm at a signal box ten kilometres west of Skavsta, and were on their way back to the fire station in Nyköping when the new alarm came in.

  Three minutes later they were on the scene. There wasn’t much they could do about the two cars, which were both burning like beacons. But they were able to save the nearby house, a summer cottage of the standard Swedish variety, where the fire hadn’t yet managed to take a firm hold.

  If things had taken their usual course, the house would have burned to the ground, perhaps leaving the chimney standing, but this time that didn’t happen. Half an hour earlier, a torrential shower of rain had fallen, and that, in conjunction with the rapid response of the fire brigade, meant they were able to extinguish the fire with most of the house still standing. Which wasn’t to say that it made the ideal crime scene. The ground floor was badly fire-damaged, smoke and soot had spread to the upper floor and attic, and before they got the fire under control the firemen had to pour tons of water on to the house. The cars were in a considerably worse state, and all that remained of them were two burned-out, warped metal wrecks and some melted rubber.

  Toivonen had spoken to the police officers at the scene, as well as the senior firefighter. The first body had been found ten metres from one of the wrecked cars. There were two more inside the house, and neither of them looked as if they’d died in the fire.

  ‘The first one is Åkare – he’s already been
identified. He was both shot and stabbed, and, just to make sure, a metal noose was tied round his neck and he was strung up from a nearby tree. Apart from the fact that he’s dead, he’s in reasonable condition, and the order in which his injuries were inflicted ought to become clear once our forensic medical officer has taken a look.’

  ‘So he was the one found near the burned-out car on the road, a hundred metres from the house?’ Annika Carlsson asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Toivonen said. ‘As for the others, the pair found inside the house, one of them is probably García Gomez, and, unfortunately, there’s evidence to suggest that the other one might well be our witness, the taxi-driver,’ Toivonen concluded, glowering at his colleague Evert Bäckström.

  ‘So what did they die of?’ Alm asked.

  ‘Well, certainly not natural causes,’ Toivonen said. ‘I spoke to Forensics half an hour ago – they’ve been on the scene since four o’clock this morning – it looks like they’ve both been shot in the head. Before the house was set alight, if anyone’s wondering. The medical officer has also been to take a look, so we’ll find out soon enough,’ he concluded with an expressive shrug.

  ‘This doesn’t make sense,’ Annika Carlsson objected, shaking her head. ‘Not García Gomez and the taxi-driver, not both shot in the head at the same time and in the same place.’ I warned him, she thought. If only he’d listened to me, he’d still be alive.

  ‘I think it does,’ Toivonen said. ‘The problem is just that we haven’t worked out how it fits together. Once we’ve sorted that out, no doubt it will all make sense.’

  ‘Who’s going to be responsible for the investigation?’ Lisa Lamm asked.

  ‘Not Solna, fortunately,’ Toivonen said, giving Bäckström the evil eye once more. ‘Regional Crime in Södermanland, with help from Stockholm and our colleagues at the National Murder Unit. According to the most recent information I have.’

  ‘Good to hear,’ Bäckström said with a cheery smile. ‘This sort of turf war between organized criminal gangs can be really tricky to sort out. Something that starts with someone shooting one of our motorcycling friends can easily lead to someone finishing off half the Muslim community.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Toivonen said. ‘There’s no chance of it landing on your desk. I’ve also got another piece of reassuring news for you.’

  ‘That’s nice,’ Bäckström said. ‘I can hardly contain myself.’

  ‘It wasn’t Åkare who beat up Eriksson.’

  ‘Really? How can you be so sure?’

  ‘I’m as sure of that as I am that it was Åkare and García Gomez who showed up later that night. When García Gomez let loose on the corpse and cut the dog’s throat while Åkare was sitting outside in the street in the Merc they’d arrived in.’

  ‘One question, out of curiosity,’ Bäckström said. ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘I know,’ Toivonen said. ‘And, because I don’t want to read about it in the papers, you’ll have to make do with that.’

  ‘I hear what you’re saying,’ Bäckström said with a shrug. The bastard Finn really isn’t himself, he thought. Probably spent half the night in the sauna getting pissed.

  121

  Once Toivonen had left them, Bäckström concluded the meeting and took his closest colleagues back to his room with him to get some sort of control over the new situation. Just as well to get it over and done with before he died of starvation.

  ‘Well, then,’ Bäckström said as soon as Lisa Lamm and the Anchor had sat down on the other side of his desk. ‘Would you like to start, Lisa? Explain the legalities to us simpler souls.’

  As she saw things, there was no reason to think they were in any sort of crisis situation. What she planned to do now was to amend the preliminary charge of murder to include assault and causing another person’s death.

  ‘It’s far too early to discount the possibility of charging them with murder or manslaughter. If they assaulted Eriksson in the knowledge that he was in poor health and just left him to die, I have every intention of testing that possibility in court,’ she concluded.

  ‘What about this idea that we can discount Åkare as our perpetrator?’ Bäckström asked. ‘What does our Finnish colleague know that seems to have escaped us?’

  ‘Looks like Åkare was under surveillance on the night Eriksson was killed. By the sort of people us regular cops aren’t supposed to know about,’ Anchor Carlsson said.

  ‘Who’d have thought it?’ Bäckström said, who had already thought of the possibility himself.

  ‘Okay,’ Lisa Lamm said. ‘So we carry on as usual. I was thinking of getting some lunch – you’d be more than welcome to join me if you like.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Bäckström said with an apologetic shake of the head. ‘It would have been nice, but I’ve got a meeting to go to, so lunch will have to wait.’

  ‘If you can give me fifteen minutes,’ Annika Carlsson said. ‘Shall we meet down in the canteen?’

  On his way out of the office to the taxi that was waiting to drive him to his seriously overdue lunch, Nadja stopped him.

  ‘This better be fucking important,’ Bäckström said, feeling hunger gnawing at his insides.

  ‘I’ve just spoken to Toivonen. He gave me a tip-off about the silver Mercedes we’re still trying to find.’

  ‘Anything worth having?’ Bäckström asked.

  ‘I haven’t had a chance to get very far yet,’ Nadja said. ‘But this particular vehicle isn’t in the range we’ve been checking. It’s registered in Malmö. Belongs to a company down there, but I haven’t managed to find anything odd so far.’

  ‘You’ve got the licence number?’

  ‘Yes,’ Nadja said. ‘That may be what’s making me a little dubious. It’s one of those personalized numbers. I’m having trouble believing that Åkare would drive around in one of those. And I can’t find any connection at all between Åkare and the company that owns the car.’

  ‘What was the registration?’

  ‘Genco.’

  ‘Genco,’ Bäckström repeated, shaking his head. Where the hell have I heard that before?

  122

  Finally shot of the fat little bastard, Annika Carlsson thought as she watched Bäckström vanish through the door of the corridor where they had their offices. Then she went and sat down next to Nadja to talk about something that had been bothering her for the past hour or so. Ever since Toivonen had told them that their witness had been murdered.

  ‘It’s just so bloody awful,’ Annika said. ‘Even though I told him to lie low.’

  ‘I’m listening,’ Nadja said, patting her arm consolingly. Annika’s the sort of person who really does care, she thought. In the midst of everything that both enticed and terrified her colleagues, and presumably kept a number of them awake all night for reasons that they’d never dare talk about.

  ‘I showed him pictures about a week ago,’ Annika said, ‘and something he said then came as a bit of a surprise. He recognized Omar ben Kader. Not because he was the man he almost ran over outside Eriksson’s house but because they were childhood friends. He said they were at school together.’

  ‘Omar ben Kader. Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t he Afsan Ibrahim’s right-hand man, his closest advisor?’

  ‘That’s right. You couldn’t check that out for me, could you? If they really were at school together? It would have been in Gnosjö, something like fifteen, twenty years ago.’

  ‘Of course,’ Nadja said. ‘Easy as pie,’ she added. ‘Should be able to get the answer to you today.’

  ‘If you’re wondering why—’

  ‘I know exactly what you’re thinking. That Afsan and Omar exploited Omar’s old schoolfriend to lure Åkare and García Gomez into the open. If that’s the case, then it would be a dereliction of duty not to tell our colleagues in Södermanland.’

  ‘By the way, do you know who’s in charge of the investigation down there?’ Annika asked.

  ‘From what I heard, Lewin from National Crime
is going to be in charge of the preliminary investigation,’ Nadja said. ‘Apparently, that’s the way the regional police commissioner in Södermanland wanted it.’

  ‘Jan Lewin,’ Annika said. ‘Who just happens to be married to our boss, Anna Holt.’

  ‘The very same,’ Nadja said with a nod.

  Jan Lewin, married to Anna Holt. Small world, Annika Carlsson thought, but merely nodded back.

  123

  Bäckström had started by preparing a sturdy lunch, to stop his blood sugar from sinking any lower – by then it was already somewhere in the vicinity of his handmade shoes. Fried pork chops with black pudding and lingonberry jam, a couple of cold pilsners and two generous vodkas. When he was finally able to settle down on his sofa with a well-earned cup of coffee and a small cognac, he began by calling his tame reporter at the larger of the evening papers to inform him of the latest developments in the murder of the country’s most famous gangster lawyer, which by now was leading the news across all the media. Worth at least six figures, plus a little bonus in the form of an opportunity to teach his so-called colleague, that Finnish drunk Toivonen, a practical lesson in the conditions pertaining to the sacred protection of sources and freedom of the press in a constitutional state and democracy.

  Over the course of the next hour he informed his personal press spokesman about the latest developments in the full-blown gangster war that had broken out following the murder of the lawyer who for many years had been an advisor to one of the most violent groups within organized crime in Sweden, the Brotherhood of the Ibrahims. The same organization which over the past few years alone had ‘paid at least twenty million kronor to their legal advisor, the lawyer Thomas Eriksson’.

  ‘Four murders in little more than a week,’ Bäckström summarized. ‘First Eriksson. Then Ibrahim and his men get revenge by executing Åkare and García Gomez, and, just to be on the safe side, get rid of a witness who could have been of decisive importance to the police investigation,’ Bäckström concluded.