The Silenced. Литагент HarperCollins USD
didn’t. Those long, strong fingers. The hands of a person who could be practically anything she wanted to be.
“Right now it’s more important than ever to think strategically. You have to see things in a longer perspective, not just focus on the present. If you’re convinced that the goal is the right one, you mustn’t hesitate to make unpalatable decisions. Keep your eye on the prize.”
He shut his eyes. He’d seen this trick before and was starting to get a bit tired of it. Karolina’s lips were moving, but the voice coming out of her mouth belonged to someone else.
“If we win the election, the prime minister will probably step down at the next party conference. Go out at the top. And if we lose …”
She pulled out a chair and sat down next to him.
“If we lose, he’ll have to accept the consequences and resign at once. Either way, the party will be looking for a younger, more energetic successor. Someone whom can reform politics the way he’s reforming the justice system.”
“You’re absolutely right,” Stenberg said, but more and more often these days he wasn’t sure whom he was replying to: Karolina, or her father.
* * *
Julia Gabrielsson held up the little plastic bag of marijuana she’d found on Eskil Svensson’s coffee table. Waved it slowly in front of his pallid face.
“So, to sum up: a mysterious man calling himself Frank contacted you early in February and paid you to take messages to and from Sarac inside the home, and then a bit more for helping Sarac escape. But that’s as much as you know.”
Eskil was sitting on the sofa between her and Amante, shaking his head.
“And you don’t know where this Frank came from or what he wanted with Sarac?”
“Like I said, he showed up in the pub one evening and started buying me drinks. Then he asked for a favor. It didn’t sound too difficult and the money was good. Then it sort of grew …” He pulled a pained expression and seemed to be avoiding looking at the bag of marijuana between Julia’s fingers.
“And you started to acquire a taste for the money. I get that.” She put the bag down on the table in front of Eskil. “This is quite a stash. I’d guess about a year in prison, wouldn’t you say, Amante?”
“Maybe two,” he said somberly as he stared at Eskil. “Possession with intent to supply—that’s serious stuff.”
Julia was having trouble keeping a straight face. Amante was a fast learner.
Eskil turned even paler. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down.
“Come off it. That’s my weed. I’m not some fucking dealer. Look, I’ve told you all I know. The only thing I did was get the master key copied. Then we decided what time was best if you wanted to escape without being spotted. Sarac got out and hid in the trunk of my car during the shift change. Then I let him out at the railway station and gave him a train ticket, a travel card for Stockholm, and a bit of cash. That’s all.”
“And then you got caught,” Amante said.
“No, for fuck’s sake! Haven’t you been listening?” Eskil threw his arms out. “They accused me of stealing drugs.”
“The sleeping pills and tranquilizers that you gave Sarac.”
“That’s right. I understand the tranquilizers. I mean, the guy wasn’t well. But he already had a bag full of sleeping pills, so I can’t see why he wanted two more. But he said it was important—that he needed to have exactly twenty-five before he left. Otherwise he wasn’t going anywhere.”
“So it was the pills that got you the sack?” Julia said.
“Shit, you two are unbelievable,” Eskil groaned. “Aren’t there any entrance requirements for joining the police? I’ve already told you what happened. No one fired me. They couldn’t prove anything, so I was given six months’ wages in return for handing in my resignation. I didn’t want to work there anyway. You’ve seen what it’s like there. It’s a fascist setup. The staff have to give urine samples, all kinds of crap like that …”
“This mysterious Frank,” Julia said. “Tell us about him again.”
Eskil let out a theatrical sigh.
“Like I’ve already said a thousand times: he and Sarac had been on that island together last winter. Where a load of people got killed. That’s why he wanted to talk to Sarac.”
“And you don’t remember anything else about Frank apart from the fact that he might have had a slight accent, paid well, and acted like a cop?”
“No. I mean, it’s several months ago now. Actually, he did have a bit of a limp, even though he looked like he was in good shape.”
Julia started waving the bag of weed again. “What do you think about getting a sniffer dog out here?” she said to Amante. “Turn this apartment upside down. Maybe ask the neighbors if they’ve noticed drug dealing going on here.”
“Do you want me to call right away?”
“Probably just as well. Eskil here isn’t exactly a rocket scientist. I doubt we’re going to get anything else useful out of him.”
She turned toward Eskil and could almost see the cogs turning inside his head. Amante slowly got to his feet and pulled out his cell phone.
“Wait,” Eskil said. “Wait, for fuck’s sake! I’ve got something you might want to see.”
He started to dig about in the pockets of his dressing gown. He fished out a smartphone with a cracked screen and started to look through it.
“Here,” he said eagerly, holding the phone out to Julia. “Sarac made me take a picture.”
The screen showed a grainy photograph of a man with sharp features. He was half facing away and seemed unaware that he was being photographed.
“That’s Frank. See what I mean about him looking like a cop?”
The rain started falling just as they passed the sports ground on the edge of the village. Tiny drops to start with, barely enough for Julia to switch the windshield wipers on. But gradually the rain got harder, wiping out the distinction between the summer’s evening and the forest spreading out on either side of the road.
“What do we do now?” Amante said. “Call Pärson and tell him that Sarac isn’t in the home after all? That we’ve got a picture of the man who lured him out and probably killed him?”
Julia shook her head.
“It’s too soon to talk to Pärson. This is the Security Police’s case now, and you heard me promise to let go of it completely. And seeing as it was Pärson who tried to convince us that Sarac was in that home, I’m not entirely sure where he stands. But regardless of who we go to with all this, it would be better to wait until we’ve got something more definite than a grainy digital photograph and a first name.”
“So what are you thinking, then?”
“I don’t know yet. I need some time to think.”
Besides, I’m still not entirely sure where you stand either, she thought. You seem a bit too eager to press on with this case.
“Sure,” Amante said. “We’ve got at least a four-hour drive home, so take as much time as you need.” He started fiddling with the car radio and managed to find three different commercials before he ended up with a soppy Whitney Houston ballad.
They were approaching a junction beside an old house. From a distance it looked almost abandoned, but as they drove