Three Seconds

worked for eleven months of the year to save enough money to then go away in the twelfth.
    He sighed.
    He hadn’t got any further with the investigation. He didn’t know much more now than he had when he left Stockholm a few hours ago.
    He knew that the dead man was a Danish informer. That he was called Jens Christian Toft. That he worked for the Danish police and had initiated a deal with a criminal organisation.
    Nothing about the murderer.
    Nothing about who had raised the alarm.
    He knew that there had been a Swedish contact person in the flat with Polish representatives from a branch of the Eastern European mafia that went by the name of Wojtek.
    That was it.
    No faces, no names.
    ‘Nils?’
    Grens had managed to get hold of Nils Krantz in one of the forensics offices.
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘I want you to extend the search area.’
    ‘Now?’
    ‘Now.’
    ‘By how much?’
    ‘As much as you need. Every garden, stairwell and rubbish bin in the block.’
    ‘Where are you? There’s a lot of noise in the background.’
    ‘In a bar. Danes trying to drown their fear of flying.’
    ‘And what are you doing in—?’
    ‘Nils?’
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘If there’s anything there that can help us, find it.’
    He drank what was left of the warm mineral water, grabbed a handful of peanuts from the bowl on the bar and walked towards the gate and the queue of people who were waiting to board the plane.
    __________
    The secret report from Västmannagatan 79 comprised five closely written A4 sheets which were stuffed into a plastic sleeve that was too small.Chief Superintendent Göransson had already read it four times within an hour when he took off his glasses and looked up at Erik Wilson.
     
    ‘Who?’
    Wilson had watched the face that was often confused, almost bashful, despite its owner’s powerful position.
    With every reading of the report it became redder, more tense.
    Now it was about to explode.
    ‘Who is the dead man?’
    ‘An infiltrator, possibly.’
    ‘Infiltrator?’
    ‘
Another
infiltrator. We think he was working for our colleagues in Denmark. He didn’t know Paula. And Paula didn’t know him.’
    The head of homicide was holding five thin sheets of A4 paper that felt heavier than all the department’s preliminary investigations put together. He put them down on the desk beside another version of the same murder at the same time at the same address. A report that had been given to him by Ågestam, the public prosecutor, on the progress that Grens, Sundkvist and Hermansson were making with the official investigation.
    ‘I want a guarantee that any part Paula may have played in the murder in Västmannagatan stays here. In this report.’
    Göransson looked at the two piles of paper in front of him. Wilson’s secret report about what had
actually
happened. And Grens’s ongoing investigation that contained and would continue to contain only as much as the two policemen here in this room allowed it to contain.
    ‘Erik, that’s not the way it works.’
    ‘If Grens finds out— It’s just not possible. Paula is close to a breakthrough. For the first time we can actually break a mafia branch before it’s fully established. We’ve never managed that before. Göransson, you know just as well as I do, this town is not run by us any more, it’s run by them.’
    ‘I won’t give any guarantees for a high-risk source.’
    Erik Wilson slammed the desk hard. He had never done that with his boss before.
    ‘You know that’s not true. You’ve had reports about his work for the last nine years. You know that he has
never
failed.’
    ‘He is and will always be a criminal.’
    ‘That’s one of the prerequisites for a good infiltrator!’
    ‘Accomplice to murder. If he’s not a high-risk source, then what is he?’
    Wilson punched the desk again.
    He reached for the plastic sleeve, forced the five sheets into it, then gripped it firmly.
    ‘Fredrik, listen to me. Without Paula, this opportunity is lost. And we won’t get it again. What we lose now, we’ll lose for ever; we only need to look at the prisons in Finland, Norway and Denmark. How long can we just stand by and watch?’
    Göransson held up his hand. He needed to think. He had listened to what Wilson had to say, and he wanted to understand the full implications.
    ‘You want the same solution as for Maria?’
    ‘I want Paula to continue. For at least two more months. We’ll need him for that long.’
    The head of homicide had