The Demon of Dakar - Kjell Eriksson [86]
“Olle,” Liljendahl said.
The man reacted by jerking his head, but he did not wake up. Liljendahl shook his shoulder gently and Lindell felt an involuntary distaste, bordering on revulsion, at her colleague’s touch but also at the watery eyes that opened.
“What the hell?”
“Time to wake up,” Liljendahl said.
The man looked around in confusion, discovered who his visitors were, and quickly sat up in the chair.
“Fucking hell,” he said emphatically, and grimaced.
There was more to come once Liljendahl, after having introduced Ann Lindell, took out a small pocket tape recorder, recorded the facts of the questioning session, and proceeded with her first question about how much cocaine he had sold recently.
“What the fuck are you talking about? Turn that damn thing off.”
Liljendahl smiled. Lindell went and stood over by the window, diagonally behind Sidström.
“We don’t have a lot of time,” Liljendahl said and Lindell couldn’t help smile, “and we would appreciate a little cooperation.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“We know that you sell cocaine, we also know a great deal about your activities in general.”
“I am not telling you shit, or your—”
“There are others who talk,” Liljendahl said tiredly, and Lindell guessed how she was planning to approach the whole thing.
“Konrad Rosenberg, is that name familiar to you?”
It was Lindell who took the chance, and the man flinched, grimaced again, then turned his body, and stared at her in terror. Lindell saw that her guess had hit the mark and she exchanged glances with Liljendahl.
“You can start talking now,” Lindell said and almost heard his body deflate. His facial features changed in one stroke and displayed all the signs of extreme fatigue and despondency. He shook his head lightly and audibly drew in all the mucus in the sinus cavities in his skull.
Sometimes it is almost too easy, Lindell thought, and leaned against the windowsill.
In the cafeteria half an hour later, when they were reviewing their session, Liljendahl was so excited that Lindell had to laugh.
“You did that well,” she said.
“Thanks for the help,” Liljendahl said. “That was so perfect!”
“What’s your partner going to say?”
Liljendahl’s expression fell immediately and Lindell was sorry she hadn’t given her happiness a few more minutes.
“He’ll be upset,” Liljendahl said. “But I don’t give a damn. If you only knew how sick and tired I am of his comments.”
Lindell nodded.
“Should we go look up Rosenberg right away?”
“It’s probably best for me to step down at this point,” Lindell said. “I mean, if Harry gets upset about something like this then it won’t be better if we just keep going. We don’t actually have that much on Rosenberg right now. Sidström did not expressly say that it was Rosenberg who was the supplier, only that they were in contact.”
“But you saw how he reacted,” Liljendahl said. “His body language spoke volumes.”
Lindell hated having to step down, but there was a chance this was going to go too far. If she followed along to Konrad Rosenberg and it took off from there, she would be drawn deeply into an investigation that, strictly speaking, she didn’t have anything to do with.
“You tackle Rosenberg on your own and then get in touch with me,” she said, and the disappointment in Liljendahl’s face was unmistakable.
They drove back to the police station in silence, but before they parted ways they agreed to meet the following day.
“I need the perspective of an experienced colleague,” Liljendahl said and Lindell found this both flattering and irritating. She guessed that there was something behind the appreciative words. Maybe, she thought, her motivation was as simple as just wanting to piss off Harry Andersson.
Thirty-Five
Eva Willman chuckled to herself. In front of her on the table lay at least one hundred flyers. She already regretted having promised Helen to circulate them. The text was too aggressive in