Three Seconds

pretend that the whole thing never happened?’
    All four of them looked at him, each with the report in front ofthem on the table. Wilson, Göransson and the state secretary. The fourth person had remained silent. Hoffmann couldn’t understand why.
    ‘Yes, if you want to break this new mafia branch before it gets established. If you want to do that, then you don’t have any choice.’
    This courtroom was like all the others, just as cold, no real people. He had been in this situation five times before, the accused, in front of people he did not respect but who would decide whether he should be part of society or live in a few square metres behind a secure door. A couple of suspended sentences, a couple of acquittals due to lack of evidence, and just one prison sentence, and a year from hell in Österåker.
    That time he had not been successful in defending his case. He would not do it again.
    __________
    Nils Krantz leant nearer the computer screen as he pointed to the image of small red peaks that all pointed upwards over different numbers.
     
    ‘The top row, if you look here, is from Copenhagen police. The DNA profile of a Danish citizen called Jens Christian Toft. The man who was killed in Västmannagatan 79. The bottom row is from the National Laboratory of Forensic Science, an analysis of all the blood stains on the shirt over there that we found in the rubbish store at Västmannagatan 73 that are at least two by two millimetres. You see, identical rows. Every single STR marker – that’s the red peaks – is exactly the same length.’
    Ewert Grens listened to him, but still only saw a very uniform pattern.
    ‘I’m not interested in him, Nils. But I am interested in the murderer.’
    Krantz considered a sarcastic retort or irritated comment. But he did neither, chose to ignore Grens instead, as it often felt better.
    ‘But I also asked them specifically to give the same priority to analysing even smaller spots of blood. Too small to stand up as evidence in court. But big enough to establish any marked difference.’
    He showed the next image.
    A similar pattern, red peaks, but with larger distances and different numbers.
    ‘These are from another person.’
    ‘Who?’
    ‘I don’t know.’
    ‘You’ve got the profile.’
    ‘But no hits.’
    ‘Don’t be so damn difficult, Nils.’
    ‘I’ve matched and compared them with everything I’ve got access to. I’m certain it’s the murderer’s blood. But I’m equally certain that this DNA won’t be found in any Swedish database.’
    He looked at the detective superintendent.
    ‘Ewert, the murderer is probably not Swedish. The course of action, the Radom gun, no DNA matches. You’ll have to start looking further afield, in other places.’
    __________
    It looked like it would be a lovely evening. The sun was already dipping like a ripe orange at the point where the sky melted into Riddarfjärden, the only thing you could see from the large window of the state secretary’s office. Piet Hoffmann looked into the light that made the sad, expensive birch meeting table look even sadder. He longed to be out of here, for Zofia’s soft body, for Hugo’s laugh, Rasmus’s eyes when he said
Daddy
.
     
    ‘Before we continue the meeting—’
    He wasn’t there. He was as far away from it all as he could be in a room that contained power and the people who could decide whether he should be put even further away.
    Erik Wilson, the defence lawyer in this trial, cleared his throat.
    ‘Before we continue the meeting, I want a guarantee that Paula will not be charged for anything that might have happened in Västmannagatan 79.’
    The state secretary had one of those faces that showed no emotion.
    ‘I understood that that was what you wanted.’
    ‘You’ve dealt with similar cases before.’
    ‘But if I am to grant criminal immunity, I also have to understand why.’
    The microphone was still in place, halfway down his thigh.
    But it was about to slip again, he could feel the tape was gradually becoming unstuck. The next time he got up, he was sure that it would not stay where it was.
    ‘I’d be more than happy to explain why.’
    Wilson gripped the report firmly in one hand.
    ‘We could have smashed the Mexican mafia in an expansion phase nine months ago. We could have eliminated the Egyptian mafia in an expansion phase five months ago. If we’d had the mandate for our infiltrators to respond in full. But it didn’t happen. We stood by and