Chapter 30
Steve has never been to Sweden before. He’s heard of Sweden, who hasn’t, but there has never been any real need for him to actually get himself involved in the place.
Debbie used to love ABBA, Steve himself has a lot of time for IKEA, and Yngwie Malmsteen is one of the great heavy metal guitarists, but none of these things have tempted him to visit.
All it took, in the end, for Steve to finally visit Sweden was a widely feared murderer and torturer with a Stockholm penthouse.
Sara Lindstrat is wearing sunglasses and a fur coat. ‘Rosie D’Antonio, I can’t believe it’s real. I am such a huge fan of yours.’
‘Oh, thank you,’ says Rosie. Rosie is also wearing sunglasses and a fur coat.
They are on the roof terrace of a grand townhouse in central Stockholm. Rosie had spoken to a famous Swedish crime writer, who had spoken to Sara Lindstrat, who had invited them straight round.
Steve is happy because their travels almost always take them somewhere hot, but up on this Stockholm rooftop it is cold and windy. It is nice, every now and again, to be able to investigate a murder without sweating. And it’s also nice to pay some sort of respect to Yngwie Malmsteen.
From everything Steve has read on Wikipedia, Palm Springs will be a lot less fun.
‘You know your book where the policeman tortures his victims in a dungeon?’ says Sara.
‘Yes,’ says Rosie. ‘The Slaughterhouse Massacre.’
‘That’s my favourite, I think,’ says Sara. ‘So funny.’
‘Funny?’ says Rosie.
‘So funny,’ says Sara. ‘And the one with the threshing machine?’
‘Death Farm?’
‘Death Farm, yes,’ says Sara. ‘I remember I would read it in bed, and I would keep waking up my husband with laughing so much.’
‘I mean, it’s not necessarily a comedy,’ says Rosie.
‘I would read him out lines,’ says Sara. ‘When you kill the one guy in the threshing machine, and the other guy is watching. I was hooting, and my husband was, Let me sleep, woman!’
‘Well, it’s nice to meet a fan,’ says Rosie.
‘Thank you for seeing us,’ says Steve. ‘We wanted to ask you about a man called Jakob Eriksson?’
‘Yes,’ says Sara. ‘You set a thief to catch a thief, I think.’
‘You know him?’ asks Amy.
‘I know everyone,’ says Sara.
‘So you know him?’ Amy says. ‘Could you –’
‘I have a quiz question for you,’ says Sara.
‘Go on,’ says Steve, leaning forward. He’s somewhere cold, Rosie has been unsettled by a psychopath, and now there’s a quiz. This might be the best interrogation they’ve ever done.
‘Which country has the best criminals in the world?’ Sara asks.
‘Umm, Russia?’ guesses Steve. Surely?
‘No, but you can have another guess,’ says Sara.
Steve is quietly furious with himself.
‘Albania?’ says Amy.
That’s a good shout, fair play to Amy there.
‘No,’ says Sara. ‘Albanians are very good, but they are not the best.’
Steve is a bit relieved. It’s okay to get something wrong, but if he’d got it wrong, and Amy had got it right, he’d be thinking about it all the way to Palm Springs.
‘Can I guess the Swedes?’ says Rosie.
‘Yes,’ says Sara. ‘You are correct. The Swedes are the best criminals in the world. We are fair-minded and thorough, it is well known. I’m surprised you didn’t know it already.’
If this was The Brass Monkey, Steve would be approaching the quizmaster and asking for verification. But the quizmaster at The Brass Monkey, Neil Hodges, is not the chief suspect in over a dozen unsolved murders, so Steve will let it go for now. On with the interview.
‘So, speaking of Swedish criminals, and I’m sure you’re right about that, though I would be fascinated to look at the actual source of the statistic,’ says Steve, ‘this Jakob Eriksson? You’ve heard the name.’
‘This is a common name,’ says Sara. ‘Jakob is a common name, and Eriksson is a common name. I don’t know what would be the same in England.’
Rosie points to Steve. ‘Every single English man in their late fifties is called Steve, Dave or Gary. No exceptions.’
Sara nods. ‘Yes, Gary Lineker.’
‘Exactly,’ says Steve.
‘I don’t know who that is,’ says Rosie. ‘When you say that Jakob Er–’
Well, this won’t stand.
‘Wait, sorry,’ says Steve. ‘You’ve never heard of Gary Lineker?’
‘No,’ says Rosie. ‘So, Sara –’
‘He’s very famous,’ says Steve.
‘A footballer,’ says Sara, nodding at Rosie with some concern. ‘Very famous.’
Steve and the Swedish psychopath share a look of slight disbelief at this turn of events.
‘I don’t know footballers,’ says Rosie. ‘I was briefly engaged to a polo player, but that’s very different.’
Sara Lindstrat has found a picture of Gary Lineker on her phone and shows it to Rosie.
Rosie shakes her head. ‘Sorry. I mean, I wouldn’t kick him out of bed, but I’ve never seen him before in my life.’
‘If we can get back to you knowing Jakob Eriksson,’ says Amy.
‘I said I know everyone,’ says Sara. ‘All criminals anyway.’
‘He deals in illegal medication,’ says Steve. ‘You know, fake pills and all that business. Interpol have been after him for years.’
‘He is not someone I know,’ says Sara.
‘But you know everyone?’ says Steve.
‘Yes,’ says Sara. ‘But this man I have not heard of. You are certain he is Swedish?’
‘Interpol seem to think he’s Swedish,’ says Rosie.
‘Interpol are idiots,’ says Sara.
Ernesto is not an idiot, thinks Steve, but, again, he won’t be approaching Sara for verification.
Amy shows Sara Lindstrat a picture of Jakob Eriksson. ‘This man?’
Sara shakes her head. ‘Never seen him. And Swedes are the least bald nation in Europe. That is another fact. What else do you know about him?’
‘We know he’s been active since about 2001,’ says Amy.
Sara looks at the photograph again. ‘But this man must be seventy? So even in 2001 he would be in his forties?’
Steve had been thinking about this. Criminals tend to appear suddenly in their teens or early twenties.
Not their forties. Not many people enjoy a twenty-year career in chartered accountancy and then decide to pivot into fraud and murder.
Although, in the end, the guy dumping severed limbs in supermarket toilets had been a quantity surveyor from Carshalton.
‘Well, there it is,’ says Sara. ‘He is not Jakob Eriksson. He has just chosen the name from somewhere, a child’s gravestone perhaps? Or a morgue. What was your book, Rosie, that was set in a morgue?’
‘When the Dead Scream,’ says Rosie.
‘That’s it,’ says Sara, smiling and shaking her head. ‘I honestly don’t know where you get your jokes from.’
‘Well …’ says Rosie.
‘You’re saying you don’t think Jakob Eriksson is his real name?’ says Amy.
‘I’m saying I know every Swedish criminal,’ says Sara. ‘But I’ve never seen this man, and I’ve never heard of this man. You want to find him?’
Rosie nods. ‘We’re investigating a murder. He’s our chief suspect.’
‘What sort of murder?’ Sara asks.
‘A bodyguard shot in the back of the head,’ says Steve.
Sara thinks about this. ‘A bit slapstick for my tastes. Why do you think this man Eriksson committed this murder?’
‘He’s a rival of our client,’ says Rosie. ‘And he left a note.’
Sara shrugs. ‘Listen, maybe he is successful, maybe he is Swedish, maybe he killed a bodyguard. Maybe many things. But I know everyone, and I don’t know him. I doubt it very much that he is called Jakob Eriksson. He is not young, so he must have been someone else in 2001.’
This would make some sense of the man’s elusiveness.
‘You don’t need to find out who Jakob Eriksson is,’ says Sara. ‘You need to find out who he was.’
‘Where he suddenly came from?’ says Steve.
‘No one appears from nowhere,’ says Sara. ‘He must have been someone before he was Jakob Eriksson.’
Steve nods. What do they really know about Jakob Eriksson? What he looks like, sure, but what else? Even Vern has told them very little. But surely if he and Eriksson are friends, then he would have more information than he has given them thus far?
The closer they get to Jakob Eriksson, the further away he seems to drift.
Perhaps Palm Springs will bring better luck?
Sara Lindstrat starts laughing. Steve, Rosie and Amy look at each other. Her shoulders are now heaving, and she is dabbing at her eyes with a black handkerchief.
‘Are you okay?’ Amy asks.
‘I’m so sorry, Rosie,’ Sara manages to get out. ‘I’m just thinking of when you made that detective jump out of a third-storey window and he landed on a spike.’
Sara is composing herself now.
‘I don’t think that was one of mine,’ says Rosie.
Sara has a think about this, then raises a hand to her forehead. ‘You’re right, of course. That was one of mine. Will you stay for lunch?’
‘We probably need to get going,’ says Rosie, already getting to her feet. ‘Long flight.’
So that was Sweden.