Anger Mode by Stefan Tegenfalk Page B

Palme’s murder is a good example of that.”
    Jonna took a deep breath. There was something in what Walter was saying. He had, after all, worked a number of years on the force but, even so, it did not mean that he was always right.
    “So what do we do now?” Jonna asked.
    “Give it a day to let things sink in. Making haste is never a good idea. This job requires reflection and deep thinking.”
    “Deep?”
    “Most people see only two dimensions,” Walter explained. “Then you solve problems routinely. But sometimes, routine is not enough. If you try to see things in another way – for example, from a murderer’s perspective – and put yourself in his or her situation, then you add an extra dimension to your thinking and make space for significantly more possibilities. Jump into the victim’s and murderer’s mindset and you’ll have a totally different view of things.”
    “Like a form of role play?”
    “Roughly speaking,” Walter said and nodded. “You’re yourself both the stage and the actors on it. The final scene is usually a life-or-death cliffhanger.”
    “And it’s applicable to this situation, you think?” Jonna looked sceptically at Walter.
    “It could be.”
    “But to do that, you must know all the pre-existing circumstances, a bit like the rules of the game,” Jonna said. “And we don’t have those yet.”
    “Exactly,” Walter nodded. “You’re answering your own questions. That’s why we’re letting things brew for a while. Think a little about it before you fall asleep tonight. That’s when the most inspired thoughts are born.”
    Jonna was not sure if Walter was playing with her. Such a reflective approach had not been taught at the police academy, not even at RSU.
    “And how do you attain this depth then?” she asked, with a cautious smile.
    “It’s not something that can be taught,” Walter said. “It either comes naturally or it doesn’t.”
    AFTER SPENDING SOME time in front of the commercial-free late-night news on TV, Walter picked up his mobile phone and dialled Swedberg’s number. An idea still remained untested, and he knew that he would not be able to sleep until he got it out of his head.
    “Do you have a few minutes at this late hour?” he began.
    “Not really, but, since it’s you, what do you want to know?”
    “Do you know if Malin Sjöstrand had any form of drugs in her?” Walter asked.
    Swedberg’s answer came quickly. “Actually, she had a little bit of everything. Among other things, there were traces of marijuana and morphine, as well as a substance we haven’t quite been able to identify yet. I put the report on the mess on your desk before I went home. If you lift up some papers, you might find it.”
    “I see,” Walter mumbled and wondered in which pile it could be hiding.
    He put on a CD and lay down on the sofa with his hands behind his head. Neil Young played “Fuel Line” while he tallied the books on Karin Sjöstrand. Suddenly, he became dizzy and nauseous. His field of vision narrowed and the room started to sway as if he were at sea. The first thought he had was that his sciatic nerve was pinched, since the sofa was well worn and saggy and his back had no support. But he felt no pain in his back or leg, which was what used to happen when an attack started.
    As quickly as it came, the sensation disappeared. Walter stood up and the room was as stationary as he was. His vision was restored and everything was as it should be. Perhaps the blood had rushed to his head when he lay down, or he was about to get sick. Even detectives got the flu.
    The flu did not materialize. The first thing Walter did the next morning, after getting his first cup of coffee, was to read through Swedberg’s preliminary post-mortem report for Malin Sjöstrand. He found it under the latest edition of the Law & Crime Journal . The post-mortem report gave him no more than he already knew. He would get the final report as soon as Forensics had completed the