Three Seconds

convince him he should stay.
    Sven moved the white candle and silver candlestick and put a laptop down between them. He opened a program that contained several sound files, pressed a symbol that looked like a long dash, a couple of sentences, exactly seven seconds.
    ‘We have to make him more dangerous. He will have committed some serious crimes. He’ll be given a long sentence.’
    Erik Wilson’s face.
    It showed nothing.
    Sven tried to catch his eye. If he was surprised to hear his own voice, if he felt uncomfortable, it didn’t show, not even in his eyes.
    Another snippet, a single sentence, five seconds.
    ‘He’ll only be able to operate freely from his cell if he gets respect.’
    ‘Do you want to hear more? You see … it’s quite a long, interesting meeting. And I … I’ve got all of it here.’
    Wilson’s voice was still controlled when he rose, as were his eyes, emotions that must not be shown.
    ‘Nice to meet you.’
    Now.
    This was the minute.
    He was already on his way out.
    Sven opened the third sound file.
    ‘Before I leave, I’d like you to summarise exactly what you are guaranteeing me.’
    ‘You perhaps think that you know what you are hearing?’
    Erik Wilson was already walking away, he was halfway to the door, that was why Sven almost shouted what he said next.
    ‘I don’t think you do. That’s the voice of a dead man.’
    The guests in glossy suits hadn’t understood what he said. But they had all stopped talking, put down their cutlery, looked at the person who had blemished their discretion.
    ‘The voice of a man who two days ago stood in the window of a prison workshop window with a gun to a prison warden’s head.’
    Wilson had reached the bar that was to the right of the door when he stopped.
    ‘The voice of a man who was shot on the order of our colleague, Ewert Grens.’
    He turned around.
    ‘What the hell are you talking about?’
    ‘I’m talking about Paula.’
    He looked at Sven, hesitated.
    ‘Because that’s what you call him, isn’t it?’
    A step forwards.
    A step away from the door.
    ‘Sundkvist, why the hell—’
    Sven lowered his voice, Wilson listened, he wasn’t going anywhere.
    ‘I’m saying that he was eliminated. That you and Grens were both involved. That you are an accessory to legitimate murder.’
    __________
    Ewert Grens got up, an empty plastic cup in the bin, a half-eaten cinnamon bun from the shelf behind his desk gone in two bites.
     
    He was restless, time was running out. He prowled between the ugly sofa and the window with a view over the Kronoberg courtyard.
    Sven should have started his meeting with Wilson by now. He should have started the interview, to demand answers.
    Grens sighed.
    Erik Wilson was crucial.
    One of the voices was dead. Grens would wait for three of them, they would listen, but only when he wanted them to.
    Wilson was the fifth voice.
    The one that could confirm that the meeting really did take place, that the recording was genuine.
    ‘Have you got a minute?’
    A blond fringe, swept to one side, and a pair of round glasses leant round the door.
    Lars Ågestam had exchanged his pyjamas and dressing gown for a grey suit and grey tie.
    ‘Well, have you?’
    Grens nodded and Ågestam followed the large body that limped over the linoleum to the sofa and sat down where the fabric was worn and shiny. It had been a long night. Grens, whisky and the county commissioner’s computer in his kitchen. They had for the first time spoken to each other without mutual loathing. Ewert Grens had even used his first name. Lars. Lars, he had said. They had just then, just there, been almost close and Grens had tried to show it.
    Lars Ågestam leant back in the sofa, folded.
    He wasn’t tense.
    He hadn’t prepared himself to meet someone threatening and insulting.
    All previous visits to this room had felt like an attack, difficult and full of animosity, but with the music gone and the feeling from last night still lingering, he giggled suddenly because it struck him it had almost felt good to come in.
    He had two files on the table in front of them and opened the first one that was on top.
    ‘Secret intelligence reports. Three hundred and two in total. The copies I printed out last night.’
    He then lifted up the second file.
    ‘Summaries of the preliminary investigations into the same cases. What you knew, what you could investigate. I’ve managed to go through a hundred of them. One hundred of the cases that were closed