Late on Tuesday evening the ninth of October Johansson got an unexpected call at home in his residence on Söder. It was Persson, and this was the first time he had ever called Johansson at home.
“Persson,” said Johansson. “Nice to hear from you. All’s well, I hope.” He’s hard to hear, he thought. Poor reception. Must be all the cell phone traffic out in Solna that Wiklander keeps on harping about.
“Feeling great,” Persson confirmed. “I’m not even calling to borrow money. There’s something I want to talk to you about.”
“When were you thinking?” said Johansson. Sounds serious, he thought.
“Tomorrow evening if you have time. I have a few things to arrange beforehand. Thought about inviting you to a little dinner out in the country. I’ve got a little cottage down in Sörmland. It’s less than an hour south of town. Down by Gnesta.”
“I thought you’d bought a house in Spain,” said Johansson.
“Did that too,” said Persson. “Sold it after a couple years. The only thing you can do down there is drink and play golf. I don’t play golf and I prefer to drink at home.”
“Wise,” said Johansson. “What time were you thinking?”
“Come around seven,” said Persson. “Then we’ll have time to take a sauna before we eat. Actually thought about serving fresh perch. If you eat fish? Otherwise we can have something else.”
“Perch is good,” said Johansson. Almost as good as whitefish, he thought.
“You don’t even need to bring any aquavit along,” said Persson. “For once I’ve got some at home. There’s only one thing you need.”
“What’s that?” said Johansson.
“Directions,” said Persson. “Do you have the work GPS with you?”
“Always,” said Johansson. Anything else would be dereliction of duty, he thought.
“Give me the number, then I’ll send over the coordinates,” said Persson.
“You can text them straight to my cell,” said Johansson.
These are different times now, thought Johansson as he hung up. Wonder what he wants? he thought.
Red cottage with white corner posts, one large and one small outbuilding, a lake fifty yards south of the house. Dock with a sauna down by the lake. Persson met him in blue pants and sweater and a becoming suntan.
“Welcome, Lars. I see you have your henchman with you,” he said, nodding at Johansson’s service vehicle and his driver who was in the front seat talking on his cell phone.
“Considering the aquavit with the perch,” said Johansson. “He’s probably sitting there telling his wife how I’ve ruined his evening.”
“Wise,” said Persson. “We may need a few hours given that we’re going to sauna, talk, and eat.”
“I’ll send him home,” said Johansson. “There must be taxis even out here in the wilderness.”
“Wise,” Persson repeated. “You see, I need to talk to you face-to-face.”
Wonder what he wants? thought Johansson.
A well-fired sauna. A lake that you could cool off in. Just jump right out from the dock down into the water that was still forty-eight degrees, even though it was well into October. A string bag with beer placed to cool in the lake.
“You didn’t get that suntan here at home,” said Johansson once they were sitting on the sauna platform, each with a beer in hand. Not at this season, even if the summers are getting more and more tropical.
“I took a week,” said Persson, wiping the beer foam from his lip.
“Greece, Spain, Turkey?” Johansson suggested.
“Mallorca,” said Persson. “There was something I was forced to do.”
“Mallorca,” said Johansson. How was it he hadn’t already sensed it as he got out of the car?
“Fine this time of year,” said Persson. “The best time, actually. Warm without being hot. Cool at night so you can sleep.”
“Curious coincidence,” said Johansson. “I actually sent a couple of my co-workers down to Palma as recently as Monday of last week.”
“I know,” said Persson. “Holt and Mattei, who are supposed to try to find Hedberg.”
“So you know that,” said Johansson. Although I guess I sensed that too, he thought.
“You can bring them home,” said Persson. “It’s already been arranged.”
“Tell me,” said Johansson. What’s happening? he thought.