“Now the time is twenty-one minutes and thirty seconds past eleven. Give or take ten seconds, for it will never be more precise than that, and in any event a fact of minor significance considering what just happened. The murderer observes the two on the sidewalk for a few seconds. Turns around and disappears into the darkness on Tunnelgatan.”
And out of the story, thought Anna Holt. The only reasonable explanation must be that he followed them when they left the cinema. When they crossed Sveavägen at Adolf Fredriks Kyrkogata, the cross street before Tunnelgatan, he went on ahead of them, crossed the street, took a short cut ahead of them and waited at the next corner. It’s no more conspiratorial than that, she thought. Despite all the pages à la Jan Lewin with all conceivable conditions, reservations, and alternatives.
Where does all this anxiety come from? she thought suddenly. A good-looking guy, slim, in good shape, true, over fifty, but he looks at least ten years younger, and when he’s with the rest of us he behaves completely normally. Polite, maybe a little too reserved, but completely normal in contrast to our beloved boss, the Genius from Näsåker, thought Anna Holt. An attractive man harboring very strong inner anxiety. Why is that? she thought.
12
Johansson returned to them after twenty minutes, and what he had really been doing was unclear. It couldn’t have been getting coffee, because his secretary had just brought it in. It was somewhat strange. As soon as Holt was done reading and pushed the papers aside, he suddenly came in and sat down, in just as good a mood as when he left them, judging by the expression on his face. I guess he can see around corners, she thought. From the couch in his office where he was probably lying down the whole time.
“Okay,” said Johansson. “Thanks, Jan. A model of clarity,” he added. And way the hell too long, he thought.
“I have a number of questions, so Lisa it would be good if you could take a few notes for us. And please pass the coffee around,” he continued, nodding at Holt. “Where was I now?”
“You have some questions,” Holt reminded him. How can it be that I suddenly recognize myself? she thought.
“Exactly,” said Johansson. “It’s the movie theater. When did he decide that, actually, and how many knew that he was going out to gad about town in the middle of the night on a Friday after payday, among all the drunks, glowworms, and common hoods? To me he seems almost a little suicidally inclined. What do you say, Lewin?”
“Well,” said Lewin, squirming uncomfortably. “I’ve gotten an impression that his security awareness was significantly greater than has been generally thought, and according to the interviews this was decided very late. About eight o’clock in the evening. According to the interviews with his wife and son, that’s how it supposedly went in any event,” he said.
“The colleagues at SePo then,” Johansson persisted. “Did he say anything to them?”
“Not according to the interviews,” Lewin replied. “According to the interviews he states that he would spend the remainder of the day at his office and the evening at home in his residence together with his wife. Not a word about going to the movies or any other errands in town either for that matter.”
“Were they asked that question?” said Johansson.
“It doesn’t show up in the interviews,” said Lewin. “It may be because they’re in summary, of course, and no one thought to include it in the transcript.” I would have asked that question anyway, considering what happened, he thought, but of course he hadn’t. Not twenty years later and considering that his colleagues at that time hopefully thought like he did.
“But that’s not the way it works if someone like him is going to the movies,” Johansson persisted. “Think about it now. He and his wife must have talked about it, don’t you think? I mean, someone like him must have had lots to do, and going to the movies isn’t something you think of right before it’s time to go, is it?”
“I don’t really understand where you’re heading, boss,” said Holt. Maybe it’s your view of people, she thought. You and your own little world populated by drunks, glowworms, and common hoods.
“What I mean is simply the following,” said Johansson. “Assume that he’d said something along those lines. That he and his wife perhaps wanted to take a short swing into town and see the family but that he wanted to be left in peace for once. Not have a lot of police officers from SePo staring over his shoulder. Now, if he’d said something like that, or only hinted at it or left the possibility open, is it likely, considering what happened, I mean, that the ones who had responsibility for him would mention that particular detail in an interview? Do you understand what I mean, Anna? That it wasn’t only drunks, glowworms, and common hoods that someone like him had reason to be worried about?”
“You mean that someone at SePo would have let the cat out of the bag and it reached the wrong ears,” said Holt. Sometimes you’re a little creepy, she thought.
“It wouldn’t have to come from there at all,” said Johansson, shrugging his shoulders. “He had lots of co-workers he talked with all the time. That special adviser he had as a henchman, for example, who sat in the same corridor in Rosenbad and was mostly occupied with various security issues. All his buddies at work. What are you and the little woman thinking about doing this weekend? We might see a movie. Maybe have a bite to eat in town. I see then. Well, you know how these things go,” said Johansson. “That’s how we humans are. We talk about things all the time. I never met Palme, but I get the idea that’s how he was when he was comfortable and feeling good. A cheerful companion who talked about this and that with people he trusted.”
He’s probably completely right, thought Mattei. However you confirm that twenty years later.
“So you mean that such knowledge might have reached the wrong ears rather late, that it wasn’t particularly precise, and that the planning of the murder came after that,” said Mattei.
“Exactly,” said Johansson. There’s no limit to how far that little string bean can go, he thought. She’s also female, so she’ll probably get a thirty percent discount in the bargain.
“A slightly more spontaneous and modest conspiracy theory,” said Holt, who sounded saucier than she intended.
“That’s what I’m saying,” said Johansson, who did not seem to have taken offense. “You should know, Anna, that I have nothing against conspiracy theories. The problem with most of them is only that they’re so over-the-top conspiratorial, not to mention completely flat-out wrong, which in turn stems from the fact that the people who think them up are seldom operating on all cylinders. A quite different point is that when someone like Palme is murdered-I’m not talking about celebrities like John Lennon-then the usual explanation is a conspiracy in his vicinity. It’s seldom anything remarkable. But even so it is a conspiracy, with more than one person involved who has special knowledge of their victim. The solitary madman is only the second most common explanation. True, it is almost as common, but if we take those two alternatives away then there’s almost nothing left. Not all conspiracies are crazy. There are plenty that are reasonable, logical, and completely rational, if it’s the execution we’re talking about.”
“None of the witnesses who were questioned are said to have made any observations that indicate that the Palmes might have been under surveillance when they left their residence in the evening,” said Lewin. “During and after the cinema, on the other hand, there are several witnesses who observed at least one mysterious man who was in the vicinity of the Grand cinema and the Palmes and may have followed them. But I understand what you mean, boss,” he added quickly. “Assuming that the surveillance was sufficiently competent, such a person might have avoided detection.”