Watching You(109)

Berger and Blom looked at each other. None of this came as any great surprise. The best option was to soak it up. Keep quiet. Look upset.

It was impossible. Berger said: ‘And the offer?’

August Steen frowned. ‘Senior management was so pleased with your efforts that they wanted me to offer you positions as external resources for the Security Service. But they left the final decision up to me.’

‘External resources would mean that we worked for the Security Service but without being police officers?’ Berger said.

‘As of this morning, you are no longer police officers,’ Steen said. ‘That’s irrevocable.’

‘I get a suspicion that’s only slightly better than being a junior clerk in the police archive,’ Berger said, unable to hold back a smile. He felt like laughing out loud.

‘That’s not the case,’ Steen said. ‘Our external resources are important assets.’

‘Like hell!’ Blom exclaimed.

‘Good,’ Steen said. ‘I wasn’t going to make that offer anyway. Like I said, I’m not happy. We could of course dismiss you in black and white, but that wouldn’t look good for either party. It would be better for you both to resign voluntarily. We’re prepared to offer six months’ pay as compensation. What do you say?’

‘A year,’ Blom said.

Berger stared at her, but managed to stop himself from saying anything.

‘How so?’ August Steen snapped.

‘Obviously we have to take the question of the media into account,’ Blom said. ‘The release of Ellen Savinger and the other girls is a huge story right now – good luck finding anything else in the newspapers and on television right now, blogs, Twitter, Facebook you name it – and so far you’ve been able to keep these more sensitive details out of the public eye. I assume it wouldn’t look good if it emerged that two rogue cops succeeded where both the Security Service and National Crime had failed.’

August Steen regarded her with icy cool. After a pause of thirty seconds, he said: ‘Let me see if I’ve understood. For one year’s pay, you guarantee that nothing will reach the media, whereas that can’t be guaranteed if you only receive six months’?’

‘A reasonable summary,’ Molly Blom said.

‘You may go now,’ August Steen said.

They turned and walked towards the door. When they were on their way out, Steen said by way of conclusion: ‘I want to stress that it’s of the utmost importance that you don’t withhold anything from the Security Service. It’s of the utmost important for everyone concerned that we have all the information you have.’

Berger and Blom looked at each other once more.

Then they turned and walked away.





43




Sunday 1 November, 10.14

An enchanted sun was filtering its weak rays through the leafless branches of the aspen trees and the grimy windows, settling like a thin layer of fluorescent paint across the interior of the boathouse. Molly Blom was walking around the building. She put her hand on the pillars, felt the mooring rings in the wall, crouched down and inspected the six bullet holes in the floor. Then she crawled over to the corner of the boathouse and listened for the sound of barely audible breathing.

Death and life.

She looked up at Sam when he rushed in from the jetty door.

‘The hedgehogs are fine anyway,’ she said. ‘Fast asleep.’

‘Come with me,’ he said, taking her hand.

They went out onto the jetty. Down on the strangely still surface of the water was William Larsson’s rowing boat. It was scattered with flowers.

‘You’ll never get me down in that,’ Molly said, looking at the flowers.

‘Don’t chicken out, now,’ he said. ‘Why don’t we call it an Indian summer? The last proper sun of the year.’

She smiled in spite of herself and climbed down into the boat, pushing the flowers aside and making herself comfortable. He rowed off. It was like something from from the eighteenth century. All that was missing was the strumming of a lute and the trilling of a few graces.

When they were some way out Sam let go of the oars and pulled a bottle of champagne from his old rucksack. He found two glasses and asked Molly to hold them. The cork flew ten metres, and half the contents of the bottle bubbled out into the waters of Edsviken.

‘Cheers, partner in crime,’ he said, raising his glass.

‘What are we toasting?’ she said. ‘Getting fired? The fact that after years of loyal service – crowned by a spectacular rescue – we’re now unemployed ex-cops?’

‘The fact that we managed to keep our mouths shut, for instance?’

‘We did manage that, yes,’ she said. ‘They can’t have any idea that we know.’

‘No,’ he said, lowering his glass. ‘But obviously we can’t work with them until we know exactly what this is about.’

‘Never,’ she said.

Sam suddenly seemed revived. He raised his glass again. ‘No, a toast to all the new opportunities life is offering.’

Molly raised her glass with a grim smile. ‘A toast to one year’s pay, if nothing else.’

‘Two,’ Sam said, and took a sip.

Edsviken spread out like a mirror, lending peace and calm to everything around them. To the badlads. The sunshine was only fleeting of course, so they had to make the most of the short time on offer.