Black Lies, Red Blood

Forty-seven

It turned out to be a long talk, more and more taking the form of a monologue. Sammy Nilsson did not need to ask many questions. After a few minutes Anders Brant already felt a growing satisfaction, being able to talk about Bosse Gränsberg and what had happened the past few months.

He began to feel a kind of optimism. He was talking with a person, admittedly a policeman, who seemed to be able to put two and two together without everything having to be explained. Brant talked about the time on the Sirius bandy team with a sense of joy, even pride. He had been a pretty good player, a team player.

Brazil and Salvador faded away. Lately his brain had been working in high gear: the ignominious flight from Vanessa, the e-mail from Ann, witnessing the killing on his street, the visit to the cell, and finally the accident-all this had built up a tension that was now relieved as he talked about something as trivial as bandy. There were no lies, no betrayal, no personal or political complications. He experienced it like the joy of a reunion, as if he and Sammy Nilsson were two old teammates who unexpectedly ran into each other and were now exchanging recollections.

Brant sensed that the relief perhaps had to do with Ann Lindell, even though he had no basis for optimism in that area. Sammy Nilsson had hinted that she was extremely sad. It would surely be a painful showdown. He realized that she had somehow found out about Vanessa’s existence and his duplicity. Of course she was angry too. He was sure to be raked over the coals, and there was something in Sammy Nilsson’s attitude that made Anders Brant uncertain, as if it no longer mattered what he said or did. Had Ann grown tired of him and given up the thought of a relationship for good?

But let it come, let the waves rage over him! He was not worth anything else. Maybe he didn’t even want to see her anymore. Was it the case that it was neither Vanessa or Ann? A cop, he thought, how would that work?

“Is she in the building?” he asked suddenly.

Sammy Nilsson nodded.

“She’s questioning someone we believe to be a murderer and rapist.”

“Nice,” said Anders Brant.

During their intense weeks together he had not really thought much about her job. He tried to picture her sitting in front of a violent perpetrator, but the image of the Ann he knew did not tally with murder and rape.

“She’s a police officer,” he said, as if that had only just occurred to him, and Sammy Nilsson laughed.

“A good police officer,” he noted. “With all due respect to bandy, let’s return to Gränsberg. What do you think he had to do with Jeremias Kumlin?”

“Nothing,” Brant answered immediately.

“Could those Russian papers have come from Kumlin? Did you know he worked with oil and gas?”

“Not a clue,” said Brant, although he had a vague memory of an article about his old teammate who had become so successful in the former East bloc.

He started to feel the headache more and more. The doctor at the hospital in Salvador had encouraged him to take it easy. The blow to the head had caused a serious concussion and minor internal bleeding. He should be at home in bed, licking his wounds.

“I realize you’re feeling a little shaky, but just a few more questions,” said Sammy Nilsson. “Do you know Johnny Andersson, a buddy of Gränsberg?”

“I interviewed him the week before I left for Brazil. He was funny somehow, tried to stand out as a little superior, but in a moving way. He actually came to my place a couple days later.”

“What did he want?”

“No idea. I was just leaving and in a bit of a hurry. I told him to come back another day. But to be honest I did not particularly want him running around my apartment.”

“How did he get your address?”

“It’s in the phone book.”

Sammy Nilsson grinned.

“You know that Johnny succeeded Gränsberg as Melander’s boyfriend?”

Brant shook his head.

Sammy Nilsson told how Ingegerd Melander was found dead in her stairwell and that they were now looking for Johnny Andersson.

“Have you been to the Tuna allotment garden? He has a cabin there.”

Just then Sammy Nilsson’s cell phone rang and he answered immediately. Brant heard an agitated voice. Sammy held the phone away from his ear.

“At the Tuna allotment garden perhaps?” he said with a derisive smile, giving Brant a bemused look.