The Terrorists. Dennis Lehane
Kvastmo was standing there holding on to the girl while we waited for reinforcements. And then the cashier started counting the money to see if any was missing. And then Kenneth started shouting, “Stop, that's illegal.”’
‘And then?’
‘Then he yelled, “Karl, don't let anyone touch the loot.” I was carrying the kid so I only got hold of one of the handles and dumped it on the floor by accident. It was mostly small denominations, so they flew all over the place. Well, then along came another patrol car. We gave the child to them, and then took the prisoner to the station on Kungsholm. I drove and Kenneth sat in the back seat with the girl.’
‘Was there trouble in the back seat?’
‘Yes, a little. At first she cried and wanted to know what we'd done with her kid. Then she cried even louder and then Kvastmo was trying to put handcuffs on her.’
‘Did you say anything?’
‘Yes, I said I was sure she didn't need them. Kvastmo was twice as big as her and anyway she wasn't offering any resistance.’
‘Did you say anything else in the car?’
Kristiansson sat in silence for several minutes. Crasher waited silently.
Kristiansson gazed at his uniform-clad legs, looked guiltily around and said, ‘I said, “Don't hit her, Kenneth.”’
The rest was simple. Crasher rose and went over to Kristiansson. ‘Does Kenneth Kvastmo usually hit the people he arrests?’
‘It has happened.’
‘Did you see Kvastmo's shoulder flap and the almost torn-off button?’
‘Yes. He mentioned it. Said his wife didn't keep his things in order.’
‘When did this happen?’
‘The day before.’
‘The prosecution's witness,’ said Crasher gently.
Bulldozer caught Kristiansson's eye and held it. How many cases had been wrecked by stupid policemen? And how many had been saved?
‘No questions,’ said Bulldozer lightly. Then, as if in passing, ‘The prosecution withdraws the charge of assaulting a police officer.’
What happened next was that Braxén requested a recess, during which he lit his first cigar and then made the long trek to the men's room. He came back after a while and stood talking to Rhea Nielsen.
‘What sort of women do you run around with?’ Bulldozer Olsson asked Martin Beck. ‘First she laughs at me while the court's in session and now she stands there chatting with Crasher. Everyone knows Crasher's breath can knock an orang-utan unconscious at fifty yards.’
‘Good women,’ answered Martin Beck. ‘Or rather, one good woman.’
‘Oh, so you've married again? Me, too. It gives life a little more zip.’
Rhea came over to them. ‘Rhea,’ said Martin Beck, ‘this is the senior public prosecutor, Mr Olsson.’
‘So I gather.’
‘Everyone calls him Bulldozer,’ said Martin Beck. He turned to Olsson. ‘I think your case is going badly.’
‘Yes, one half has collapsed,’ said Bulldozer. ‘But the rest of it'll stick. Bet me a bottle of whisky?’
At that moment the case was called again and Bulldozer Olsson rushed into the courtroom.
The defence called its next witness, Hedy-Marie Wirén, a suntanned woman of about fifty.
Crasher sorted his papers, finally finding the right one, and said, ‘Rebecka did not do well in school. She left at sixteen with grades far too low to enable her to go on to high school. But did she do equally poorly in all subjects?’
‘She was good at my subject,’ said the witness. ‘One of the best pupils I've ever had. Rebecka had a lot of ideas of her own, especially when it came to vegetables and natural foods. She was aware that our present diet is objectionable, that most of the food sold in supermarkets is in one way or another poisoned. Rebecka realized at a very early age the importance of a healthy way of life. She grew her own vegetables and was always prepared to gather what nature had to offer. That was why she always carried a gardening knife in her belt. I have talked a great deal to Rebecka.’
‘About biodynamic turnips?’ Crasher yawned.
‘Among other things. But what I would like to say is that Rebecka is a sound child. Her academic education is perhaps limited, but that was a conscious decision on her part. She does not wish to burden her mind with a mass of inessentials. The only thing that really interests her is how the natural environment can be saved from total destruction. She is not interested in politics other than that she finds society as such incomprehensible and its leaders either criminal or insane.’
‘No more questions,’ said Crasher. At this stage he appeared bored, interested in nothing but going home.
‘I'm interested in that knife,’ said Bulldozer, suddenly jumping up from his place. He went over to the table in front of the judge and picked up the knife.
‘It's an ordinary gardening knife,’ said Hedy-Marie Wirén. ‘The same kind she's always had. As anyone can see, the handle is worn and the tool well used.’
‘Nonetheless, it can be said to be a dangerous weapon,’ said Bulldozer.
‘I don't agree at all. I wouldn't even attempt to kill a sparrow with that knife. Rebecka also has a totally negative attitude towards violence. She doesn't understand why it occurs and she herself would never dream of giving anyone so much as a slap.’
‘Nevertheless, I maintain that this is a dangerous weapon,’ said Bulldozer, waving the gardening knife about.
He did not, however, seem altogether convinced, and although he was smiling at the witness, he was forced to summon up all his benignity to accept her next comment with his famous good humour.
‘That means that you are either malevolent or else simply stupid,’ said the witness. ‘Do you smoke? Or drink?’
‘No more questions,’ said Bulldozer.
‘The interrogation is now over,’ said the judge. ‘Does anyone wish to ask any questions before the character appraisals and the closing arguments?’
Braxén, limping and smacking his lips, approached the bench.
‘Character appraisals are seldom more than routine essays, written to allow the writer to earn his fifty kronor, or whatever it is. So I would like – and I hope other responsible people will join me – to ask Rebecka Lind herself some questions.’
He turned to the accused for the first time. ‘What is the name of the King of Sweden?’
Even Bulldozer looked surprised.
‘I don't know,’ said Rebecka Lind. ‘Do I have to know that?’
‘No,’ said Crasher. ‘You don't. Do you know the name of the Prime Minister?’
‘No. Who is that?’
‘He is the head of the government and the leading politician of the country.’
‘Then he's a bad man,’ said Rebecka Lind. ‘I know that Sweden has built an atomic power station in Barsebåck in Skåne, and it's only twenty-five kilometres from the centre of Copenhagen. They say the government is to blame for the destruction of the environment.’
‘Rebecka,’ said Bulldozer Olsson in a friendly way, ‘how do you know about things like atomic power when you don't even know the name of the Prime Minister?’
‘My friends talk about that sort of thing, but they aren't interested in politics.’
Crasher let everyone think that over. Then he said, ‘Before