The Sandman

48

Carlos Eliasson, chief of the National Police, is walking through a light shower of snow from a meeting in Rådhuset, and talking to his wife on the phone. Right now police headquarters looks like a summer palace in a wintery park. The hand holding the phone is so cold that his fingers are aching.

‘I’m going to be deploying a lot of resources.’

‘Are you sure Mikael’s going to get well?’

‘Yes.’

Carlos stamps the snow from his shoes when he reaches the pavement.

‘That’s fantastic,’ she mutters.

He hears her sigh as she sits down on a chair.

‘I can’t tell you,’ he says after a brief pause. ‘I just can’t, can I?’

‘No,’ she replies.

‘What if it turned out to be crucial to the investigation?’ he asks.

‘You can’t tell me,’ she says gravely.

Carlos carries on up Kungsholmsgatan and glances at his watch; he hears his wife whisper that she’s got to go.

‘See you tonight,’ she says quietly.

Over the years, police headquarters has been extended, one piece at a time. The various sections reflect changes in fashion. The most recent part is up by Kronoberg Park. That’s where the National Criminal Investigation Department is based.

Carlos goes through two different security doors, carries on past the covered inner courtyard and takes the lift up to the eighth floor. There’s a worried expression on his face as he removes his outdoor coat and walks past the row of closed doors. A newspaper cutting on a noticeboard flutters in his wake. It’s been there since the painful evening when the police choir was voted off Sweden’s Got Talent.

There are already five other officers in the meeting room. On the pine table are glasses and bottles of water. The yellow curtains have been drawn back and snow-covered treetops are visible through the row of low windows. Everyone is doing their best to appear calm, but beneath the surface they are all thinking dark thoughts. The meeting that Joona has called is due to start in two minutes. Benny Rubin has already taken off his shoes and is telling Magdalena Ronander what he thinks of the new security evaluation forms.

Carlos shakes hands with Nathan Pollock and Tommy Kofoed from the National Murder Squad. As usual, Nathan is wearing a dark-grey jacket and his grey ponytail is hanging down his back. Beside the two men sits Anja Larsson in a silver-coloured blouse and pale-blue skirt.

‘Anja’s been trying to modernise us... we’re supposed to learn how to use the Analyst’s Notebook.’ Nathan smiles. ‘But we’re too old for that.’

‘Speak for yourself,’ Tommy mutters sullenly.

‘I reckon you’ve all been round the block a few times,’ Anja says.

Carlos stands at the end of the table and the sombre look on his face makes even Benny shut up.

‘Welcome, all of you,’ Carlos says, without a hint of his usual smile. ‘As you may have heard, some new information has come to light concerning Jurek Walter and... well, the preliminary investigation can no longer be regarded as concluded...’

‘What did I tell you?’ a quiet voice with a Finnish accent says.