“And whatever is on Hans Juhlén’s computer,” said Gunnar.
“Right,” said Ola S?derstr?m. He shifted his weight on the chair. “It’s going slowly but I’ve checked the hard drive. The strange, or rather revealing, thing is that someone tried to delete it.”
“Delete it?” said Mia. “But you can retrieve that, can’t you?”
“Absolutely, you can. Documents and cookie files can be recovered, that’s no problem. As long as they haven’t been bombarded with EMP.”
Ola S?derstr?m saw the questioning expressions of the team.
“That’s electromagnetic pulse. It knocks everything out. There are firms that do that.”
“There must have been something he wanted to hide,” said Henrik.
“Perhaps. We’ll have to see what I can get out of it.”
CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
“I TOLD YOU IT WAS DIRTY.”
Per ?str?m gave Jana Berzelius a wide smile.
They happened to have bumped into each other outside the prosecution authority’s office, decided to skip the office coffee and go to the bakery café instead. The walk there had taken five minutes and luckily there was no line at the counter. Jana wondered whether she was hungry enough for a ham-and-cheddar on sourdough. In the end they had each ordered a cup of coffee and scones with jam, and then gone and sat beside the window.
The interior was typical of modern Scandinavian design, and it felt a bit like sitting in a hotel lobby. Black leather chairs were squeezed into round oval oak tables. Armchairs with high backs stood in pairs in the corners. Lamps of different sizes in black-and-red cloth hung from the ceiling, and a pleasant aroma of newly baked bread permeated the room.
“I regret I said anything to you about the investigation,” Jana said to Per.
She had told him in confidence about Hans Juhlén’s darker side.
“Actually it’s rather fascinating. After all, just think what it’ll be like when the media get wind of the fact that the boss at the Migration Board has abused asylum-seeking women and girls,” Per said and smiled.
“If you don’t keep your voice down, the papers will find out extremely quickly.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s a complicated investigation.”
“But tell me more?”
“Not a word to anyone about what I say.” Jana gave Per a piercing look. “Okay?”
“I promise.”
“Now listen. Hans Juhlén was shot. In his house the police find handprints with fingerprints from a child. The same child is found shot to death with a gun that turns out to be the same type of gun that killed Hans Juhlén. And then this business with the girls...”
“The dirty...”
“Call it what you like. But can you explain to me how it all fits together?”
“No.”
“Okay, thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
Jana lifted the coffee cup up to her lips. She looked at Per, at his stylish shirt and blazer and trim-fitting trousers. So well dressed. Per had been single for as long as she could remember. He had a couple of longish relationships behind him but didn’t really feel comfortable living with anyone.
“Better alone on your own, than alone in a relationship,” he had said a couple of years ago.
Jana knew that his work and his commitment to working with adolescents took up all his time. It was not in her interest to try to interfere with anybody’s life. Not even Per’s.
Even though the conditions at times might have been right, things had never clicked between them. For Jana, Per was merely a friend and a colleague. Nothing more.
“I need your help,” said Jana and put her coffee cup on the table.
“But I don’t know how everything fits together,” said Per.
“I don’t mean with the investigation. I need to switch work days with you.”
“Why?”
“Dinner with Mother and Father on Tuesday, the first of May holiday.”
Per angled his head to one side and whistled.
“Fine, that’s fine.”
“I’ll give you a nice bottle of wine as compensation. Red or white?”
“Neither. I’ll do it for you if you tell me more details about that filthy man Hans. I’m thinking of selling the story myself. I can get a bundle for it!”
“You’re just hopeless.”
Jana forced a smile and took a bite of her scone.
*
Makda Abrham saw them coming from the kitchen window. She knew right away it was about that man at the Migration Board. She had anticipated that this day would come when she would be forced to tell them all about the evil that she had been subjected to.
The worry grew in her tummy and when she opened the door the pressure was so hard on her diaphragm that she had to support herself against the wall. She couldn’t really grasp the names of the police officers and she didn’t even look at the ID cards they showed.
“We’re looking for Yusef Abrham,” said Henrik and put his ID away. He studied the woman in front of him. Young, perhaps twenty, dark eyes, slim face, long hair, a cloth bracelet and a sweater with a low neckline.
“Why?” she said.
“Is he at home?” said Henrik.
“Me...sister. Why?”
Makda found it hard to formulate the words. Why her brother? Weren’t they going to talk with her? Why did they want to talk with Yusef?
She swept her dark hair behind her ear and revealed a long row of pearls on her earlobe.
“We just want to talk with him about Hans Juhlén.”
The policeman said his name.
The name of the filth.
Of the revolting man whom she hated above all else.
“Yusef? Police!” Makda called out into the flat.
She stepped aside and let Henrik and Mia enter the ground-floor apartment, and then she moved to the left. She knocked carefully on a closed door.
Henrik and Mia waited in the hall.
There was a traditional Swedish woven mat on the hall floor and an empty yellow hat rack on the wall. On the floor were three pairs of shoes, two of them white and presumably newly purchased sneakers. They were of a well-known brand and Henrik knew that they were expensive. Otherwise there was nothing in the hall, no drawers, no pictures or anything to sit on.
Makda knocked again on the closed door and said something in a language that Mia thought sounded like Tigrin.
She smiled at the police officers as a sort of apology, and knocked again.
In the hallway, Henrik and Mia decided to step in and help Makda, who seemed to be growing more and more anxious. They walked into the apartment and stood beside her at the bedroom door. From there they could look right into the kitchen, which had its own back door. A fan was on and an ashtray on the table was full of cigarette butts. In the other direction was a bathroom, a second bedroom and a living room. There was almost no furniture at all.
“Yusef, open the door. We just want to talk with you a little.”
Henrik banged on the bedroom door but there was no answer.
“Open the door now!”
He banged harder. Several times.
Then he heard a creaking sound from inside the room.
“What was that?” Mia wondered out loud, having also reacted to the creaking sound.
“It sounded like a window that...”
That very same moment she caught sight through the kitchen window of a dark-skinned, barefoot man moving quickly through the backyard.
“Damn!” Mia shouted and ran to the back door and into the yard.
Henrik came after her.
Mia saw how the man running ahead of her forced his way through some bushes and disappeared from view.
“Stop!”
Mia ran after him through the bushes just in time to see him veer off into a playground. In a few quick strides he crossed the sand pit and jumped over the fence beside the swings. Mia was not far behind. She shouted to the man again to halt. She jumped over the fence and followed him into a narrow bicycle path, not too many meters behind. She would soon catch up. Nobody could beat her.
Nobody.