“It’s out of the question,” said Sarah. “Besides, I have enough to get by. I don’t want to have anything to do with John anymore, much less his ridiculous papers and his silly fantasies. John is dead, okay. I intend to let him rest in peace and I definitely don’t intend to contribute to his being able to continue stirring up trouble from the place where he is now. He’s certainly in heaven, after all. If you’re going to be God to Irishmen, you probably have to have a forgiving nature.”
Now she’s herself again, thought Johansson.
“I propose that we do it like this,” said Johansson. “I’ll read the papers at my own leisure, and if there’s something that I think that you absolutely need to hear about I’ll contact you.”
Sarah shrugged her shoulders.
“Okay,” she said. “Although I find it extremely hard to think what that might be.”
Once they arrived at the station, Johansson’s train should already have left, but because it was delayed a half hour they actually had plenty of time. They had left her car in the parking lot and when Johansson handed her the keys he felt a stab of guilty conscience.
“Can you manage getting out of here?” he asked.
“I’ll take a taxi,” said Sarah, smiling. “Then I’ll fetch the car when the weather gets better. They say it will warm up.”
She shrugged her shoulders and smiled again.
“Take care of yourself too,” she said. “You have a considerably tougher journey than I have.”
Then she’d lowered the hood of her red coat, stood on tiptoe, hugged him, and with lips puckered gave him a big kiss right on the mouth.
“Take care, detective,” she said. “And don’t forget to call if you should happen to be in the area.”
On the train people were standing in the aisles. Reading Krassner’s papers wasn’t even to be considered. The trip to New York took almost five hours instead of less than three, and when he arrived there wasn’t much time to play with if he was going to make it to his flight. But once he found his way out of the underworld and out of Grand Central Station it had stopped snowing and he understood that his earthly problems were over for now.
At seven-thirty the SAS evening plane from New York, destination Stockholm, leveled out at its cruising altitude right according to schedule. The warning signs in the cabin had been turned off, and he heard the clinking from the beverage cart behind the galley curtain just as he sensed a faint aroma of food. He had packed the papers he’d gotten in his suitcase. He’d be able to read them when he was home.
That must be the cleverest woman I’ve met in my whole life, thought Johansson. She was rather pretty too, and yet she’d been together with that nutcase Krassner.
I don’t understand women, thought Johansson, sighing.
CHAPTER XII
Between Summer’s Longing and Winter’s End
Stockholm in November and December
[FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 22]
Hedberg arrived well in advance. He liked to arrive well in advance, even on simple assignments like this. He and Waltin had lunch together, discussed the requirements and the goal, went over who should do what and a few other practical details.
“I want to find out what he’s up to, quite simply,” Waltin summarized. “And when you’ve taken care of things I don’t want him to find out that you’ve done so.”
“He’s writing something,” said Hedberg. “That’s all we know?”
“No doubt something shocking,” concurred Waltin, smiling wryly. “Which according to certain political thinkers might possibly have significance for the security of the realm, which in turn entails your and my modest participation in this little project.”
“Okay then,” said Hedberg, getting up. “I’ll be in touch as soon I’m done.”
After lunch he’d returned to the apartment that Waltin had arranged for him. Clearly better than staying at a hotel with lots of people who might notice you at the wrong moment and in the wrong place. You also got a receipt if you stayed at a hotel and if you paid cash you could almost be sure that someone would think that strange, become suspicious, and make a mental note of your appearance. Almost as bad as credit cards, which were a pure paper trail that your opponent could pick up by electronic means even years later if things went badly. But if you were camping at Waltin’s you never got a bill, and if you ran into a neighbor when you were coming in or going out it was almost a sensation. He had lots of vacant apartments too. Hedberg had seldom needed to stay at the same place twice, and the refrigerator was always well stocked in accord with his wishes.
Hedberg slept a few hours. He liked to be well rested when he went to work. Then there was less carelessness.
Seven o’clock was the agreed-on time. At that time the corridor should be empty and he would be able to do his part, hopefully as quickly as possible. He was already on the scene at six o’clock to reconnoiter; the first thing he saw was the blue delivery van someone had parked at just the spot where you had a complete view of the dormitory lobby.
Fucking amateurs, thought Hedberg with irritation and returned to his own car, which he’d placed some distance away. Why hadn’t they gotten themselves a well-situated lookout where they could sit without risk of being discovered? He himself had no intention of being photographed, regardless of whether it was his former colleagues who were holding the camera. Least of all then.
“There he is. Damn, he’s early,” Assistant Detective Martinsson declared a second after Krassner had stepped out briskly through the entryway.
“Eighteen thirty-two,” Göransson said, making a little note on the pad that sat on the instrument panel. “I guess he just wants to arrive in good time.”
Nothing bad that doesn’t bring something good with it, thought Hedberg. First he’d seen Krassner’s back, but because the light was poor out on the street he was uncertain if he’d seen right. But then the blue delivery van had suddenly shown up and taken a new position less than a hundred yards behind the man who was disappearing down the street. Okay then, thought Hedberg. No rest for the wicked.
Krassner had clearly decided to walk over to Sturegatan. He’d also been so kind as to select the correct sidewalk. He was walking fast too, so it was no great art for them to keep a suitable distance despite the fact that they were shadowing him from a vehicle.
“Fucking amateur,” snorted Martinsson. “If I’d been him I would’ve walked on the other side of the road. They never learn that you should walk against traffic.”
“If I were you I would just be thankful,” said Göransson. “It must be close to ten degrees outside. Be glad that you can sit in a warm car instead.”
With you as chauffeur, thought Martinsson, for it was hardly by chance that Göransson was sitting in the driver’s seat just this once. You really need to move a little, you lazy bastard, thought Martinsson, but he didn’t say that.
Looks good, Hedberg noted, inspecting his own image in the mirror while he took the elevator up to the seventeenth floor. Typical worker with blue overalls, tool belt, and a small metal toolbox where he had put his camera and the walkie-talkie that he needed so those two amateurs who had driven off in the blue delivery van would be able to warn him if Krassner was suddenly inspired to come up with some tomfoolery.
“He’s twenty minutes too early,” Martinsson observed as Krassner’s back disappeared through the entryway to Forselius’s building on Sturegatan. “Should we report that he’s arrived, or what?”
“Yes,” said Göransson. “And then I think we should drive around the block and position ourselves a little farther down. Better to stay on the same side as the entryway.”