The Demon of Dakar - Kjell Eriksson [151]
Sammy Nilsson and Barbro Liljendahl handled the continued sessions. Lindell entered the room while Simone Motander-Banks was launching into a lecture on the violation of rights by law enforcement. Everyone, including the apprehended man, was staring at her with dull eyes. Slobodan did not indicate with any change of expression that he had registered Lindell’s arrival.
Once the lawyer was finished, Sammy Nilsson nodded kindly. He did not comment on the criticism but instead turned on the tape recorder with a sardonic grin and recorded the particulars of the session.
This time they were focused on Slobodan’s circle of acquaintances. They started with Konrad Rosenberg, where the answers given were the same as earlier in the day: they had no association, he only knew Rosenberg as a customer and he had no idea why or how he had died.
Barbro Liljendahl dropped this topic and Sammy took over. He again tried to review Slobodan’s Mexican adventures but even here nothing new emerged. When Sammy Nilsson broached the topic of Lorenzo Wader, Slobodan straightened his back. For Lindell it was obvious that the predictable answers from his side concealed an increasing concern and perhaps also astonishment. It was as if Slobodan Andersson was gradually starting to realize that the police were in possession of unexpected information, and that he himself was only a pawn in a game that he had believed he controlled.
“Wader and I have chatted two or three times. He is in the habit of coming to the restaurant, having a beer and a bite to eat. Why do you ask about him? I know nothing.”
“We have information indicating that he associated with Konrad Rosenberg,” Sammy Nilsson said.
The restauranteur stared at him.
“I know nothing about that,” he said, tension causing his voice to crack.
“What about Olaf González then?”
“What about him?”
“He works at—” Nilsson began.
“Not anymore!”
“Not only that, he has disappeared. Would you happen to know where he has gone?”
Slobodan shook his head.
“Is that a no?”
“No!”
“Your former waiter has also been in contact with Lorenzo Wader,” Sammy went on. “They have been seen together both at the hotel Linné and at Pub 19. It’s remarkable how observant waitstaff can be.”
“The swine,” Slobodan Andersson let slip.
“Why did he get fired?” Sammy asked.
“It was some tiff with Armas. I don’t know. I can’t keep my eye on everything,” Slobodan said grimly.
“No, that is very apparent,” Sammy Nilsson said.
At one point in the session, Slobodan Andersson lifted his heavy head and gave Lindell a hateful look. She smiled back.
Slobodan Andersson made a swift and almost imperceptible gesture with his finger over his throat.
“Can you tell me more about the man who gave you the bag,” Sammy Nilsson said.
Slobodan Andersson shook his head.
“I don’t believe my client has anything to add on this topic,” the lawyer said.
The session was brought to an end, but before Slobodan was led back to his cell, Ann Lindell asked him what he thought of the food.
Sammy stared at her. Lindell gave her sunniest smile. Slobodan muttered something and lumbered after the jail guard.
Sixty
Oskar Hammer from Alhambra, Donald from Dakar, and Svante Winbladh from Ehrlings accounting firm concluded their hastily arranged meeting with the decision to keep the restaurants going—starting up again the day after tomorrow—even though their owner was being held in custody.
The news that cocaine was involved had dropped like a bomb. None of the three would have guessed that their boss and taskmaster had devoted himself to the smuggling and selling of narcotics. Svante Winbladh was the one who was the most distraught.
“It is completely inexcusable that we should have to be pulled into something like this,” he exclaimed. “It is bad for our reputation as serious—”
“Calm down,” Oskar Hammer interrupted. “You’re clean, aren’t you?”
The accountant