by Jon Stenhugg
It felt like Ekman was running the show again. The NSS was always out in front of them, thought Sara, directing them like little puppets. She was being used and she knew it, but maybe she could get something out of Hurtree. At least it’d be interesting to hear what he’d been doing for the past few years.
“OK, John,” said Sara. “I’m driving down this afternoon. We can meet when you get there.”
“Yeah, sure,” Hurtree said, almost cheerfully. “Unless you want some company on the way down? I’ll pay for half your gas if you let me ride down with you.”
“Can you be quiet if I ask you to?” Hurtree had a tendency to disrupt her train of thought and Sara knew it would be difficult to think with him in the car. Still, it’d be a six-hour trip alone otherwise. Maybe he could help her stay awake.
“Oh hell, yes, Sara. I’ll keep you awake with silent shadow puppets, you know me.”
Sara could see his contagious smile, and the strange fatherly feelings this old guy conjured up wouldn’t stay put. “OK, if you can be at the Central Train Station here in the city in half an hour then I’ll pick you up.”
“That’s easy. That’s where I am right now. Bye.”
Sara looked at the yellow note stuck on the face of her computer monitor again, and dialled Ekman’s number.
He answered almost immediately. “Hello Sara, I saw that you had called. I was on the toilet.” Ekman was always informative, never left anything to guesswork. But if he wanted someone to be in the dark, it became pitch black. “We have to talk about the Hoffberg case. Now.”
“OK,” she said, “I guess I can move some meetings to another time. Can we do it over the phone?”
“I shouldn’t, but I will,” said Ekman. “The Hoffberg case just became a matter of national security. Our offices will be handling it from now on. You can bring me all the current files today and begin working on your other case backlog. No details are to be leaked to the press under any circumstances, and I’ll hold you personally responsible if anyone on your team starts talking to their reporter friends. I thank you and your team for your efforts.”
Sara could hear that Ekman was already hanging up the phone as he said those last few words, which became fainter in her ear and ended with a click on the other end, so he didn’t get to hear her reply. “Shit…Sir.”
*
She went back into the Hoffberg room, and the team just stared at her when they heard the news.
“National Security,” she said, as she used her camera to make a photo of the whiteboard and then erased it. “This case is now closed for us. That means we have to work our case backlog. Prepare to drop all your files onto this USB memory stick and bundle up any paperwork or other evidence into boxes for transport over to the NSS building. This case is now out of our hands.”
There was silence as they did what Sara had told them to do, worker bees concentrating on their tasks without complaint. When she went over to Dan’s computer to download his files onto the USB memory stick he asked her in a low voice, “What about Spimler?”
“What do you mean, what about Spimler?” asked Sara.
“I mean, he’s still disappeared, couldn’t we work on his disappearance for a while? Unconnected to the murder of Hoffberg, of course.” He looked up at her, his boyish grin spreading to fill his face. “I mean, Spimler’s still missing. Isn’t that backlog?”
“Hardly,” Sara said, “and you know it. We have serious cases of homicide to deal with. That’s what we do. Let Missing Persons deal with Spimler from now on, or the NSS can consider him a prime suspect. We’re off this case, and that’s it. And the lid is on. Anyone speaks to the press, or girlfriends of the press, anyone at all, is out of a job, I’ll see to that,” she said as she raised her voice. Sara was pissed off, and everyone in the room heard it. “Get all your stuff about the Hoffberg case onto the cart and get it off to Ekman at the NSS. I’m taking a couple of days off, beginning now.”
*
Sara was in the garage starting her car before she realised what she’d done: allowing her anger to run her life again. A bad move, she thought, and one she’d probably pay for later, but it had felt good, felt necessary. She could at least get some kind of control back into her life.
The man who’d taught her some of the Buddhist rituals she practised had told her that in the industrial world it was the office workers who made up most of his clients. In his country, India, it was the farmers. His theory was that in Sweden the office workers had as little control over their working environment as the Indian farmers had over the weather and all the other factors controlling their working life. The guru thought this explained why the need for contemplation and a search for inner values brought him such good business.
Sara had told him that in Sweden there weren’t too many farmers left, and the explanation left him with only his inscrutable smile as he explained how she could balance on one foot while performing her chant.
Nearly an hour had elapsed since Hurtree’s call when she arrived at the Central Train Station, but he was still waiting for her outside. He recognised her car as she pulled up at the passenger loading zone. Sara could see that although time had managed to fade the paint job on her Peugeot, it had done little to Hurtree. She wondered if he could grow old at all.
“Hello, John, sorry I’m late. Woman’s prerogative,” she said after he’d stowed his single suitcase next to hers in the trunk.
“That’s OK,” said Hurtree, “I’m only freezing. Man’s prerogative.”
“That’s what keeps you young, I guess. How’ve you been?” she asked, and pulled her car out onto the road which would take them south.
“Still alive, as far as I can tell,” he said. “Not like your usual clients. What takes you to Trelleborg?”
“No, John. What takes you to Trelleborg? I’m on business. Or I was, anyway – now I’m not even sure if I’m going there at all. If I do I’ll be on a mini-holiday.”
“Oh, I just thought I’d look at some of the sights down there,” said Hurtree. “You know, old churches, museums, cows, sheep, stuff like that.”
“Right, especially the cows and sheep. I talked to Ekman the other day. He said you’d probably be contacting me. It sounded like he knew you were coming. Is there something you’re not telling me I should know?” asked Sara.
“No – at least, nothing I know about yet. You people up here are always so secretive, so I have to figure out what you mean from what you’re not saying.” Hurtree glanced out the car window at the traffic jam surrounding them. “How long will we be sitting in this mess?”
“About fifteen minutes. After that it’s a six-hour drive to Trelleborg. Have you booked a hotel yet? You do remember I’ll stop and kick you out if you get on my nerves?”
“Oh yeah, I remember. Your temper is still a big part of my memory, little lady. And no, no hotel yet. But maybe you can suggest something.”
“The only thing I can suggest is a crappy fleabag hotel in Malmö, but you can call them if you’re willing to take the risk. We’ll be in about eight o’clock tonight and that’s not a good time to shop around. Sorry about the temper tantrum. I’m still pissed off after a lousy day at work,” said Sara, her eyes fixed on the cars creeping slowly in front of them.
Hurtree called and booked his hotel room while she rummaged in the glove box to find her blue light, turned it on and with her left hand placed it on the roof.
The sun was already beginning to sink beyond the horizon as they started to pick up speed, leaving most of the commuters behind them. She stole a look at Hurtree as he looked out of his window. He still hadn’t told her why he was going to Trelleborg, but she knew that he would, and probably before they arrived. Hurtree always took his time, always tried to get as much information as he gave.
“Trelleborg?” she asked again.
“Cows, sheep. You know.” And in the dusk, Sara could see the slight curve of a smile on his face as he said, “I was going to look up someone down there. An old acq
uaintance. Just to see if he’s still working. Old times and all that.”
“Is this another one of your unsolved cases?” she asked. “The last time you were here you were trying to solve a case you’d been working nearly half your life. You never give up.”
“No, never learned how. And this guy was never part of a case I couldn’t solve. But it is strange, you and I going to the same town. What takes you there?”
“Actually, I’m not going there anymore,” said Sara. “I was working a case which would’ve taken me there, but we got kicked off it today, so I’ve taken a couple of days off to get my head straight. I hate it when I can’t finish a case.”
“Yeah, I know that feeling alright,” said Hurtree. “Can you tell me why you got kicked off the case?”
“It became a matter of national security,” Sara said. It was getting too dark to see Hurtree’s face, so she couldn’t tell if he was smiling or not, but the sound of his voice told her he was choosing his words very carefully.
“In matters of national security you’d wanna keep the circles of information very small to avoid information leaks. I’d guess Ekman was involved.”
“Ekman pisses me off sometimes,” said Sara, “and you still haven’t told me what you plan to do in Trelleborg.”
“Counting cows and sheep,” said Hurtree. “Mostly that. So how’s life been since I was here last?”
“Moo you too, Hurtree,” she said. It was obvious Sara wouldn’t be able to get much more out of him at the moment, and they spent the rest of the trip talking about his last trip, and what had happened to the people they’d met then.
After an hour of comparing notes they both got tired of talking and Hurtree stared out the window as Sara fixed her gaze on the white dividing line on the highway. She’d almost forgotten Hurtree was in the car until they began to approach the city of Malmö and the road signs began to include the distance to Trelleborg.
“Yeah, too bad it’s so late,” said Hurtree, startling her, “otherwise I could maybe take a peek at this guy’s house in Trelleborg. Just to see if he’s home.”
“It’s late,” Sara said, “and Trelleborg is at least an hour’s drive from here and another hour back. If we were to drive out there we’d just end up sleeping in the car.”
“That might save some money,” said Hurtree. Sara had forgotten about his extreme stinginess – he was the only person she’d ever met who ate his lunch at the giveaway stands in shopping centres. Then Hurtree continued, “So does that mean you’d actually take a swing out to Trelleborg right now?”
“It means you can cancel our hotel rooms,” said Sara. “And you can start to look for something in Trelleborg as we drive. Sleeping in cars gives me a pain in the back and I’m grumpy enough already. Do you know how to get to your friend’s house?”
Hurtree rummaged in the satchel between his feet and was soon waving a map with driving instructions. He called the hotel to cancel their rooms, then called a 24/7 travel agency that he’d used before to find them a place to stay in Trelleborg. They were still waiting for the call from the travel agency when he called out an exit off the highway.
“Your friend lives outside of Trelleborg,” Sara said, recognising the same road that would soon lead them to Lemko’s farmhouse. “Are you sure you know where you’re going?”
“Well, I’ve never been there before,” he said, “but I got a map off the internet, and with the satellite picture we should even be able to figure out what the house looks like. If you slowed down a little, you could get ready to turn off onto a gravel road in just a few minutes.”
Hurtree told her when to turn off, and when to turn again onto an even smaller road leading up a hill covered with birch trees. When they reached the top he told her to stop and turn off the lights.
“John, I never parked out in the forest with boys, even when I was younger, and I certainly can’t imagine it with you. You’d better explain why we’re here, and quickly.”
Hurtree pointed out of her window as he handed her a pair of enhanced binoculars for night viewing that he’d taken out of his satchel, and there in the moonlight Sara could just make out a farmhouse with a white trim at the bottom of the hill. Then recognition hit her.
“But that’s Lemko’s house. John, you could have told me this before we got here,” she said. “This is where I was going before I got pulled off the case. This is my suspect’s house.”
“Really?” asked Hurtree, and Sara could hear he wasn’t surprised at all. “Is that what you call him up here? We called him Schneller when I carried a badge. Well, now we’re here, what do you say to a little stakeout, just for fun?”
“I’m off the case, John, can’t lift a finger.”
“No, but you can park with me out in the woods. That wouldn’t hurt anyone, at least not me,” said Hurtree, and he took up two candy bars and a soda pop. “So tell me, what makes you want to find, what did you call him, Lemko?”
“What makes you interested in, what did you call him, Schneller?” asked Sara.
“Well now, Sara, it’s kinda sensitive. You know, me being just a tourist and not having any good reason to be here and all that.”
“Well, it’s the same for me. I just happen to be here in the woods in the middle of the night with an ex-CID officer who won’t tell me what he’s doing here, so fill me in or I’m driving back to Trelleborg and sleeping in a real bed,” said Sara, and she put her right hand on the key, preparing to start the car.
“OK,” said Hurtree, “OK. Someone asked me to find out where Schneller was hiding out. It doesn’t matter who, but they don’t know what he looks like and I do, or at least did. I had a couple of run-ins with him just before I left the service. He was a Stasi agent then, and he had two specialities. The first was that he ran a network of spies here in Sweden, and the other was he arranged weapons deals via East Germany. We got involved when we found out he was stealing from our supply depots in the German forests. He managed to get hold of five battle tanks and three armoured personnel carriers. Can you imagine that? He smuggled them out in railroad cars. We even heard of deals with some of Sweden’s top arms manufacturers, but the scuttlebutt was pretty unbelievable, at least at the time.”
“Weapons? Did we sell weapons to East Germany?” asked Sara.
“Well, not officially. The Swedish connection was mostly gunpowder and cannon shells. And he was good at it, so it was hard for us to find him.”
“You said you knew what he looked like?” Sara asked. “Would you recognise a photograph of him if you saw one?”
“Maybe, maybe not,” said Hurtree. “He was good at disguises. He’d walk into a women’s clothing store as a man and come out five minutes later as a woman.”
“But you knew where to look for him? Did you say a woman? How did you know where to look?”
Hurtree looked down at his satchel again. “Do you want another candy bar?” he asked. “No? I got these for free at a supermarket in Denmark. They were giving them away as samples. I probably have enough candy to last me for a week.” He tore off the wrapping and took a bite, and Sara waited for him to swallow. Hurtree always liked to take his time, and right now he thought they had plenty of it.
Chapter 15
Hurtree leaned against the car seat, stretching his back as he began telling Sara what few Swedes had ever been allowed to hear.
“When East Germany broke down in 1989, Stasi headquarters was left wide open for a few days. There were millions of documents there, whole floors of files on practically the entire country, and hordes of East Germans stormed the building to see what was there, find out if they were in the files. For us, the important part was to get to the files they had on their own agent network, which was well developed, and to discover what they knew about our agents. The CIA was there only hours after the wall went down and they managed to get a lot of background on Stasi agents, codenames, operational files – very detailed stuff. It was all compiled and sent back home, and then they were used to barte
r with the security police in those countries where it was valuable.”
Hurtree took a long sip from his soda. “I wouldn’t know, but I’m sure your guys would’ve been informed about Schneller a long time ago, and they, like us, knew where to look. Hell, you guys probably had someone who even knew what he looked like. We always suspected he lived somewhere in Sweden, since we always lost him at the border between Sweden and Germany or Denmark, but he gave himself away when he used a company in Estonia as a filter for payments. You must have heard of them. Teknologikka? But that doesn’t explain what you’re doing here, Sara. Unless you’ve changed jobs, you only worked with homicides before. Has Schneller been a bad boy?”
“All I can tell you is my murder case turned out to be a matter of national security this morning, and our case on the suspect who lives in the house down there was transferred to the NSS. Remember Ekman? He told me you’d be contacting me, so I assume you’ve had contact with him.”
Hurtree answered without hesitation. “No,” he said, “I’d forgotten Ekman’s name until you mentioned it earlier. I haven’t had contact myself, but I can easily imagine the names of a few people who might. So if you were taken off the case, why were you driving down here? Why aren’t you back in your office trying to nail some narco-killer?”
“So you’re here to help catch Schneller, is that it, John?” Sara wouldn’t let him off the hook this time.
“Me? Here? Cows and sheep, like I said.” And his voice smiled, even though the darkness concealed the contour of his face.
The car was getting colder and Sara zipped up her jacket. She turned to Hurtree’s dark shape next to her. “John, when you were active, did you ever get tired of it all? I mean, was there ever a time when you doubted what you were doing?”
“Sure. Happened a lot. Especially when some stupid soldier got away with a crime I knew he did, but by some quirk of fate I couldn’t prove. That kind of stuff. Made me wonder why I was doing it, yeah. Why? You getting tired of chasing bad guys?”
“No, but I wonder what the point is sometimes.” Sara knew she could open up to Hurtree. He wasn’t a colleague, someone she’d have to see every day at work. “I mean, we do our best, and there’s still a mountain of crimes we can’t even get to which are written off to make our statistics look better. And I don’t know why I drove down here. It was simply something I had to do, an impulse. Everything seemed to point to the house down there, and I guess I felt if I could sit somewhere nearby I’d figure out something. I sometimes meditate to get away from it all. Funny, but there’re times when that’s when the best ideas come to me.”