second and possibly more significant reason why our photofit phantom can’t be David Sarac is that I happen to know exactly where Sarac is.”
Julia sat with her mouth half-open. “Okay,” she managed to say. She exchanged a quick glance with Amante.
“Sarac has been in a home for patients suffering from PTSD since he left the hospital last winter,” Pärson said. “He’s barely capable of walking and talking on his own, and then only for short periods. That’s why you haven’t seen any interviews with our heroic detective. He’s incapable of going anywhere without suffering panic attacks, pissing and shitting himself.”
“And we’re completely sure about that?” Julia said.
“Yep. Secure psychiatric care. Sarac won’t be out of the nuthouse for years, if ever. So he couldn’t have been at Källstavik in February, which means he wasn’t murdered, chopped up, and dumped under the ice. Besides, I’ve had time to check the DNA match that made the Security Police get such a hard-on about taking over the case. A sixty-five percent match is crap. That means there’s only a slightly greater probability that the victim was at Skarpö than that he wasn’t. Both I and the head of Regional Crime are more than happy to hand that sort of speculation and guesswork to our spook friends.”
Julia bit her top lip. She had been expecting Pärson to fall off his chair with shock when he heard their revelation. Instead he was sitting there on the other side of the desk, grinning at them in an unpleasantly supercilious way. As if they were two crazies in tinfoil hats.
She looked at the photofit again, then at Amante. He avoided her gaze. Could they really be that wrong? But the grinning skull in her head didn’t agree. The dead man was David Sarac, no matter what Pärson claimed. She just couldn’t prove it at the moment.
“Listen, Gabrielsson.” Pärson sounded more friendly now, almost paternal. “You’re a good police officer—one of the very best, I’d say. I’ll be retiring in a couple of years, selling my apartment and moving to Thailand to drink myself to death with garish cocktails. If you play your cards right, this lovely desk can be yours. But if the head of Regional Crime gets the slightest whiff of this business with the skull, well, you’re smart enough to work out the rest for yourself. Kollander’s paranoid about his reputation, especially now that he’s expecting the national police chief to reward him for his efforts. He’d get rid of you quicker than you can say ass-kisser.”
Pärson tilted his head slightly.
“I know you, Gabrielsson, I know what this is about. If it would make you happier, I can give the case a new code. Make it look like it was being investigated by one of the alcoholics in the end corridor until the Security Police took over. That way your solving rate won’t get messed up.”
She didn’t respond.
“Good, that’s all sorted, then. Now, make sure you get that fucking head back to the Forensic Medicine Unit as quickly and discreetly as you can. Send our intrepid bribemaster general in while you wait in the car.” Pärson grinned at his joke. “As soon as the skull’s back, start the weekend early and go home. On Monday I promise you’ll have a nice new murder to get your teeth into. And with that, I think we can put this whole episode behind us. What do you say, Gabrielsson?”
* * *
The bodyguard—Stenberg thought his name might be Becker—opened the car door. The man was looking away the whole time, focused on their surroundings. Stenberg got out of the car and stretched gently. He shaded his eyes with his hand and gazed out across the water, toward the Vasa Museum and Gröna Lund amusement park. A couple of young women in short summer dresses and high heels walked past on the pavement. One of them smiled at him and he couldn’t help smiling back. And why not? It was Friday afternoon, the working day was over, the sun was shining, and Stockholm was looking at its most beautiful.
Inside the restaurant Karolina was waiting at their table.
“Hello, darling,” he said, and leaned forward to kiss her. She tilted her head to one side and let him kiss her on the cheek instead of the lips.
“I’ve already ordered. Veal for both of us. Salad rather than potato gratin.” She looked up and noted his expression. “You’ve let your belt out a notch, and the camera added a few more kilos yesterday.”
She nodded gently toward his stomach and revealed a row of perfectly white pearly teeth between lips red with the lipstick she had just stopped him from spoiling. Karolina was his rock, the only person he could trust unconditionally. She was strong in every sense of the word.
He sat down, spread the large linen napkin over his lap, and took a sip of water.
“How has your day been?” he asked.
“Fine. The phone keeps ringing. Two different charities are trying to recruit me, and I’m inundated with lunch invitations. If it carries on like this, I’m soon going to need an assistant.” Karolina winked at him.
“I could put someone onto that if you like.”
“It’s too soon. An assistant would make it look like we’re taking developments for granted.”
The waiter appeared with their starters. The thick carpet and subdued conversation of the other guests almost drowned the sound of him approaching.
“You’re right,” Stenberg said once the waiter had left them. “I’m just worried about you.”
Karolina patted his hand. “I’ll manage. Now eat; the veal is supposed to be wonderful.”
Stenberg returned her smile, then glanced up briefly as two familiar men walked in through the doors facing Strandvägen and stopped at the maître d’s little podium. One was Oscar Wallin, the other John Thorning. The men were laughing, as if one of them had just said something amusing. They were behaving like old friends and Stenberg felt his good mood sink.
“How lovely to see you,” John Thorning said with a surprised smile.
“Yes, what a surprise.” Karolina repeated the trick with her cheek so that Thorning could kiss her on both sides. “It’s been ages. How are you and Margareta?”
John Thorning replied something that Stenberg didn’t hear. He was fully occupied trying not to glare angrily at Wallin.
“I didn’t know that you and John knew each other,” he said.
“Oh, we’ve had a few dealings. John suggested we get a bite to eat together, and as luck would have it he had a gap in his schedule today.” Wallin nodded toward Thorning.
“Yes, I wanted to thank Wallin personally for his efforts last winter. That supplementary investigation into”—Thorning made a slight gesture with his hand—“Sophie’s tragic passing. You told me that Wallin helped to iron out the question marks that had been troubling me. So I thought that the least I could do was to offer a bite to eat in return.” John Thorning patted Wallin’s shoulder. “And it’s a good idea anyway, having an early dinner on a Friday. It makes the weekend feel longer, don’t you think? And the boat to Sandhamn leaves from just outside here, so I’ll be sure of getting home okay.”
Stenberg forced a smile. This meeting was obviously no coincidence. Wallin must have checked his diary with Jeanette. He would have to talk to her about that.
“We
