Searches on “lion/den,” “the lion den,” “the lion’s den,” and “in the lion’s den” produced one hit. A small apartment on Luxgatan on Lilla Essingen in Stockholm that did not have the slightest connection with certain colleagues’ choice of politically controversial vacation destinations.
What’s this now? thought Mattei as she finished reading half an hour later. Then she called Holt back and reported her findings.
“One hit on the lion’s den,” said Mattei. “Or more correctly stated on ‘the lion den,’ not possessive,” she clarified.
“Okay. I’m listening,” Holt replied.
In the eighties there had been an informal association of policemen, a kind of social club, that called itself “Mother Svea’s Lions.” Ten or so policemen, all of whom worked with the uniformed police in City, the majority of them with the riot squad, and many of them also did UN service both in the military and as police officers. That was how the name had come about. During their foreign service they started calling themselves “Mother Svea’s Lions.” Even had their own T-shirts printed, in blue and yellow with a big-busted, lion-like woman and the slogan: Mother Svea’s Lions.
“One of them apparently had a spare apartment out on Lilla Essingen that they used to call the Lion’s Den. Two rooms and a kitchen. A hundred and seventy square feet. They apparently shared the rent, they all had keys to the apartment, and it was there they would congregate and have their so-called meetings. Our former colleagues at SePo even did a house search there a few years after the murder. On October 10, 1988. I’m sitting with the report in front of me, if you’re wondering.”
“So did you find anything?”
“No,” said Mattei. “It’s very meagerly furnished, if you ask me. Beds in both rooms but not much more, judging from the pictures.”
“Sounds like a fuck pad,” said Holt.
“You probably shouldn’t ask me about that,” said Mattei. “I’ve never had the pleasure,” she clarified.
“I have,” said Holt. “You haven’t missed a thing. But that’s probably not why they did a search.” Little lady, she thought.
“No,” said Mattei. “It was because of who had the keys to it.”
The information that produced the hit on the computer was in an interview with police inspector Berg. Apparently also the informal leader of Mother Svea’s Lions. In addition he was the particular policeman who, by dint of his history, appeared in most of the lead files in the so-called police track.
“I don’t know if you remember, but he was one of the officers Johansson put in jail in the fall of 1985,” Mattei explained. “The material about him reads like a serial.”
“I know who he is,” said Holt.
“But there’s nothing concrete on either him or any of his friends. It’s the usual, a lot of previous reports for excessive force on duty, strange political statements, and private weapon ownership. Plus he actually has an alibi that’s pretty good. His…”
“I know,” Holt interrupted. “His riot squad was the second patrol on the scene when Palme was shot.”
“The world is full of coincidences,” said Mattei.
“It sure is,” Holt agreed and sighed for some reason.
As soon as she hung up the phone rang again. On her landline that she had connected to her cell.
“Hi,” said the voice on the phone. “This is Johan, Johan Eriksson down in reception. If you want I can pick you up. Otherwise I suggest we meet ten minutes before outside the theater. I’ve got the tickets.”
“Outside the theater is fine,” said Mattei. Even though her name and address were actually in the phone book, in contrast to the majority of her colleagues. Leading him to her own front door would be bringing him a little too close.
If he didn’t look like he did you would almost get the idea that he was as courteous as a gentleman of the old school, thought Mattei as she deleted him from her reminder list. Although he sounded a little shy, of course, and gentlemen of the old school probably weren’t, she thought.
41
On Sunday Holt was supposed to meet her son, Nicke, and his latest girlfriend. An hour beforehand he called and canceled. They had quarreled and he wasn’t in the mood even to see his mom.
“You’ll just have to talk with her,” said Holt, and as she put down the receiver she suddenly felt much older than forty-seven.
The next call came after an hour and was initiated with a cautious throat clearing. Lewin, thought Holt. Now he sounds like himself again.
“Yes, hi, Anna, it’s Jan. Jan Lewin. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”
“No,” said Holt. “You’re not.” Because as usual I have nothing else going on, she thought.
Lewin wanted to thank her for the other evening and invite her in return. Not at his place however-cooking was not his strong suit-but at a decent neighborhood restaurant up at Gärdet where he lived.
“Really good, actually,” Lewin attested.
“Sounds nice,” said Anna Holt, and regretted it as soon as she’d said it. I hope he isn’t falling in love with me, she thought as she hung up.
When Mattei left the police building at six o’clock her movie companion had already gone home. To shower and slick back his nonexistent hair, she thought, laughing to herself when she saw his co-worker with the same lack of hair behind the reception counter. A little gruffer type, apparently, who nodded at her curtly.
“Have a nice evening, police inspector,” he said, managing to sound surly.
“Same to you,” said Mattei. The type that doesn’t like women police officers, she thought.
Once she arrived home life got more complicated. She intended to rest for an hour first, but somehow that didn’t happen. Instead she lay down and half watched TV and even called her dad. To get the time to pass, if nothing else. Immediately she regretted picking up the phone, but fortunately he hadn’t answered. Her bad conscience meant the message she left on his answering machine was more tender than intended.
Lisa, what the hell? thought Lisa Mattei, who never swore. You have to stop behaving like you’re fifteen years old.
It was a grown-up woman who got into the shower. Who then dressed herself carefully. Not too much, not too little. Discreet dress, low-heeled pumps you could walk in. Who powdered her nose and a number of other places as well. Who regretted the look immediately as soon as she saw the results in the mirror. Tore off the dress and pumps. Threw them in a pile on the floor in the bathroom. Replaced them with jeans, linen shirt, an old jacket, and loafers. Still the same skinny, pale blonde, she thought crossly. Still fifteen years old and right now not much time to play with. She could forget about walking to the theater. It would have to be a taxi, which of course was late, and when she finally got there she was a good ten minutes late.
There he stood alone on the sidewalk outside the cinema, and when he caught sight of her he looked so relieved that all that had happened before was uninteresting.
“I was almost getting worried that something had happened,” he said. “I didn’t have your number, so…”
“You know women,” said Mattei, smiling and shrugging her shoulders. “I’m sorry. I usually keep track of the time, actually.”
“It’s okay,” he said, brushing lightly against her right arm. He nodded and invited her to go in ahead.
Just like an old-time gentleman, thought Mattei. Although they probably never looked that shy, of course.
“Not a word about work,” said Holt as soon as she sat down.
“You don’t need to worry, Anna,” said Lewin with the usual faint smile. “I talked with our colleague Bäckström a few days ago, so I’ve had my fill for the rest of the year.”
“Red or white, meat or fish,” he continued, handing her the menu.
Goodness, thought Anna Holt. What is happening? Lewin of all people.