LITMIR.BIZ

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Kollander said. ‘Get the papers sorted at once and backdate them a week or two and I’ll sign them.’ He drummed his fingers on his blotter. ‘Now, on to our next subject: David Sarac. Have we heard anything from the hospital?’

      ‘I spoke to his doctor this morning,’ Molnar said. ‘Things are progressing, he’s up and moving about. But he still has big gaps in his memory. He doesn’t remember anything about the crash or what he’s been working on recently.’

      ‘I see. Well, that’s unfortunate, to put it mildly.’ Kollander laced his fingers together in front of him. ‘What does the doctor say?’

      ‘That Sarac will certainly get better, but that there are no guarantees about how much better. Some memory gaps might well turn out to be permanent.’ Molnar cast a quick glance at Bergh.

      ‘And the informant? Janus?’ Kollander turned to Bergh, who shook his head.

      ‘We haven’t heard anything from him since the accident. He’s probably lying low seeing as he can’t contact Sarac. Waiting for someone to get in touch via the usual channels. Those are certainly the instructions Sarac ought to have given him.’

      ‘I understand.’ Kollander drummed his fingers on the desk again. ‘So we don’t appear to know why Sarac’s envelope in the safe was empty? Nor why we have no information at all about the true identities of his informants, either Janus or anyone else?’

      ‘No, I’m afraid we don’t,’ Bergh said.

      Kollander went on tapping. ‘Then we don’t have much choice. We shall have to make a formal report and hand the matter over to Internal Investigations. I daresay Dreyer will want to take charge of this case himself. But before we do that I have to inform the district commissioner about what’s happened.’

      As if you haven’t already done that, Molnar thought. Operation Clean Threshold was probably already on the starting blocks.

      ‘Well, we’ll have to be prepared to be questioned about what we know about Sarac and his working methods,’ Kollander added. ‘Which is, of course, very little in my case. The way I see it, Sarac appears to have ignored a large number of the rules governing our work. And chose to see his successful results as some sort of carte blanche to do pretty much as he liked. Perhaps we’ve already given some thought as to his suitability and future here at Regional Crime? Documentation that might support a discussion of that nature?’

      Kollander looked at Bergh. Molnar noticed that the older man’s eyes seemed slightly unsteady. Shit, he had been wrong. Operation Clean Threshold was actually already under way, and Sarac was going to be its first victim.

      ‘Well then, gentlemen!’ The head of Regional Crime patted his desk gently a couple of times to indicate that the meeting was over. Molnar took a deep breath, then straightened up and made an effort to appear as calm as possible.

      ‘There’s one other possible explanation for why we can’t get hold of Janus. A scenario that we certainly ought to consider,’ he said.

      ‘And what’s that, Peter?’ Kollander leaned across his desk.

      ‘Janus hasn’t heard from Sarac for three weeks, so he must have realized something’s happened. He may even have pieced things together after reading in the papers about a police officer being badly injured in a car crash. Either way, he’ll have worked out what’s going on by now.’

      ‘I’m not sure I follow, Peter,’ Kollander said. ‘Worked what out?’

      ‘That there’s no backup. Sarac’s his only contact in the police. The only person who knows his secrets.’ Molnar ran his tongue over his perfect teeth. ‘Think about it,’ he said. ‘Janus is high up in the criminal hierarchy, we know that much. The information he’s given us has led to the biggest seizures we’ve made in the last ten years, which have done serious damage to organized crime. In other words, there are plenty of people who’d like to see him dead. Everyone around him, basically.’ He paused for a couple of seconds to let what he was saying sink in.

      ‘I know from experience that you don’t recruit that sort of informant with the crap money the force will pay, so the only way Sarac could have recruited him is by getting some sort of hold over him. A secret that Janus would do anything to hide. Something that means he’d rather risk his life as an informant for the police than have the secret revealed.’

      A light lit up on Kollander’s desk telephone, but he didn’t seem to notice.

      ‘But whatever Janus’s secret is, Sarac has kept it to himself,’ Molnar went on. ‘He hasn’t shared it with anyone, hasn’t even written it down anywhere. Not as far as we know, anyway. I think Janus might have worked that out, and has decided to exploit the situation. Maybe he was doing just that before Sarac’s car crash.’

      ‘You mean …?’ Kollander frowned.

      Molnar nodded, and Bergh joined in.

      ‘We have to consider the possibility that Janus simply doesn’t want to be found. That he’s prepared to go to great lengths to protect his secret. He might even be prepared to walk over dead bodies.’

       12

      Sarac opened the door cautiously. The guard was hanging around by the reception desk over by the elevators, at the other end of the corridor. He was talking to one of the nurses, saying something that made her laugh. Grey-green uniform, a Securitas beret on his head. Radio, baton, and handcuffs in his belt. Presumably there to protect him. But, if so, from what? From whom?

      He unfolded the crumpled note again and read the new message on the back.

       YOU’RE NOT SAFE HERE!!!

      Just as with the earlier message, he couldn’t remember writing it. The past few days were hazy; he had been slipping in and out of consciousness. He had vague memories of being out of bed to go to the toilet, and of someone giving him an injection. But the rest was foggy.

      He had dreamed about the snow-covered car again, and the man with the snake tattoo. He had felt the man’s fear, heard his voice and then seen him die, over and over again as the bullet hit the back of his head. But no new details had emerged, nothing that could help him understand what the hell was happening. Or who the man with the pistol was. The devil in the backseat.

      Was it the same man who had been sitting in his darkened room, whispering about agreements and smelling of tobacco? Had that even actually happened, or was it just a migraine-fueled hallucination? He was inclined to think it was, but he couldn’t be sure. Not here.

      Sarac looked at the note again. His migraine attack, absurdly, seemed to have helped a bit. He felt better, his head clearer than before. He had taken off the sling and freed his left arm. His shoulder was still tender but usable. His right leg, on the other hand, slid about of its own accord, and he couldn’t rely a hundred percent on his right arm either. But at least he could move about with the help of the aluminium crutch someone had left beside his bed.

      He opened the tall, narrow wardrobe and pulled on the clothes he found inside. The jeans had been washed, no sign of the accident. The same with his socks and boots. There was no sign of his top or jacket, and he guessed the paramedics had been forced to cut them to shreds, so he had to keep the white hospital shirt on. He tucked it into his trousers in an effort to make himself look less like an escaped patient.

      His keys and wallet were on the little shelf at the top, but not his police ID. One of his colleagues was probably looking after it for him – Bergh, perhaps? That seemed logical.

      He couldn’t find his cell phone either, which actually troubled him more than his police ID. His phone contained all his contacts. Information that could help him remember. He would have to ask Molnar about it, call him as soon as he got home and had safely locked the door behind him.

      Sarac heard the elevator

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