“It was the worst day of my life,” Söderström sighed. “So I can tell you I remember it in detail.”
“I wasn’t more than eleven when it happened,” said Lisa Mattei, “so I guess I mostly don’t remember anything. But I’ve understood from the papers that I’ve recently read that a lot of people asked how it happened that Palme didn’t have any security that evening.”
“Well,” said Söderström, with an even deeper sigh, “I’ve asked myself that too a number of times. He’s probably the only one who can answer that. He was no easy security object, but he was one very talented and, for the most part, nice guy. The boys who took care of him, he almost always wanted the same officers, so that was Larsson of course, and Fasth. Sometimes Svanh and Gillberg and Kjellin, who had to step in when Larsson and Fasth couldn’t. The boys liked him, pure and simple. So I think I can say that none of them would have hesitated to take a bullet for his sake if it had turned out that way.” Söderström nodded solemnly, taking a very careful gulp considering the seriousness of the moment.
“I understand that he was a troublesome surveillance object,” Mattei coaxed, setting her blond head at an angle to be on the safe side.
“He had his ways, as I said,” said Söderström. “If he’d had his way I think he would have dropped us. He was very careful about his private life, if I may say so.”
“That particular Friday-”
“And that particular Friday,” Söderström continued without letting himself be interrupted, “he said to Larsson and Fasth that they could take off at lunchtime. He would stay at the office until late, and then he intended to go straight home to the residence in Old Town and have dinner with his wife. A calm evening at home in the bosom of the family, as they say. So they didn’t need to be worried about him. Although Larsson, he knew what to expect of the prime minister. He joked with him a little and said,…Can we really rely on that, boss?…or something like that…he said…Palme wasn’t the type to be offended by that sort of thing. As I said, he and the officers liked each other plain and simple. I can vouch for that.”
“A calm evening at home,” Mattei clarified.
“Yes, although when Larsson was joking with him then, the prime minister said he wasn’t planning any major undertakings in any event. That was exactly what he said. That in any event he wasn’t planning any major undertakings. He and the wife had talked about going to the movies, but there was definitely nothing decided, and they had also talked about seeing one of their sons over the weekend. That must have been Mårten, if I remember correctly, for the youngest one was in France when it happened, and where the other one was I don’t honestly remember. His son Mårten and his fiancée, that was it. But nothing definite there either.”
“But he did say that perhaps he would go to the movies with his wife?”
“To be exact he didn’t rule it out. But the likely thing was that he would sit at home all evening with his wife,” said Söderström, taking a more resolute gulp. “When he said that, Larsson joked with him and said that if the prime minister were to change his mind he had to promise to call us at once. So he promised that. He’d been in a good mood, he often was actually, and there was no threat that was current, but in any event he said that if he were to change his plans he would be in touch. He had a special number to our duty desk, as I’m sure you know. A number he could call anytime day or night if he needed to.”
“But he never did,” said Lisa Mattei.
“No,” said Söderström. “He didn’t. The movie came up at the last moment. I guess he thought it wasn’t worth the trouble. In that respect he was really not especially hard to deal with.”
“But you know that at least there were such plans,” said Mattei.
“Of course, Larsson called me right afterward and told me. Said what happened. That he and Fasth had been demobilized, so to speak, and that the security object would be at home during the evening. Possibly that he might go to the movies with his wife or see his son, but that nothing had been decided yet.”
“What did you do then?” asked Mattei.
“I went to bureau director Berg, my top boss,” said Söderström, “and told him what had been said. I think I can say that in a professional sense I wasn’t very happy about that sort of thing.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“If I’d been in charge, Palme would always have had security,” said Söderström.
“Berg then? How did he react?”
“He wasn’t happy either,” said Söderström. “He was extremely concerned about Palme’s…well, that bohemian side of his. He said actually that he would call his contact at Rosenbad-that was Nilsson, the special adviser on security issues; if I’m not misinformed he’s still there-and ask one more time if we couldn’t get somewhat clearer instructions. If there was a change in plans Berg promised to contact me immediately so I could reorganize.”
“So what happened then?” said Mattei.
“He never called,” said Söderström, shaking his head.
“Berg never called?”
“No,” said Söderström, who suddenly looked rather moved. “He never called. Right before twelve o’clock, about midnight that is, the officer who was on duty with us called and told me what had happened. That was the absolute worst moment of my entire life.”
Right before Holt fell asleep, in the brief moments between trance and sleep, she thought of it. Suddenly wide awake, she sat bolt upright in bed. It’s clear-that’s the way he did it, she thought.
20
On Friday Holt had e-mailed Lars Martin Johansson and attached the interviews with witness Madeleine Nilsson, Lewin’s memo, and a written summary of the same matter. Where did the murderer go after he shot Palme?
She had not heard a peep from Johansson. After the weekend she ran into him by chance in the police station dining room, quickly led them both to the most remote table, and without any frills asked what he thought about what she’d written.
Considering what he’d said earlier, Johansson appeared strangely uninterested. He’d read the material from Holt. The interview with Madeleine Nilsson was new to him. What could he do about it more than twenty years too late? In principle he agreed with her of course. But what could he do about it more than twenty years too late?
“I also noted,” said Johansson, “that you think our perpetrator went down to Stureplan on Kungsgatan and took the subway east. To the fine neighborhoods of Östermalm and Gärdet, to which regular hoods like Christer Pettersson would never dream of going.”
“More or less,” said Holt.
Considering the story up till then, if he had been following his victim, he could not set out in a car of his own. It didn’t seem likely that he had an accomplice who picked him up either, considering that the whole thing happened before the age of cell phones. He had to manage by himself, and because he was logical and rational, he headed in the wrong direction. The right direction for him but wrong for everyone who was searching for him. He avoided the blocks around City that would be crawling with police officers right after the murder, both down in the subway and up on the street.
“The problem was that they weren’t doing that,” said Johansson, sighing. “The few who were there were running around like decapitated chickens up around Malmskillnadsgatan.”