The Falling Detective by Christoffer Carlsson

during my interview after lunch, with 1601. He wouldn’t let me record the interview, so I made notes. Halfway through the interview he asked me if I had heard the rumour. No, I said, I haven’t. I knew about what 1599 had said, but this was about something else. Our conversation went more or less like this (I don’t have my interview notes with me, so I’m not completely sure):
    Me: ‘You mean that someone would go after —?’
    1601: ‘Yes.’
    Me: ‘Why?’
    1601: ‘Isn’t hate enough? The feeling of having been betrayed? How many reasons do you want?!
    Me: ‘Well, okay. But it still seems incredibly drastic.’
    1601: ‘I suppose you’re entitled to your opinion.’
    Me: ‘Can you stop it happening?’
    1601: ‘I wouldn’t dare. I can’t say any more about it, because no one knows where or when. I’ve already said too much. I’ve already … if anybody finds out …’
    Me: ‘No one is going to.’
    1601: (Long silence) ‘I know who is going to.’
    Me: ‘Who?’
    Then he gave me the name. I am going to contact him as soon as possible, but I daren’t call or email him. I doubt he would even answer if he knew it was me.
    â€˜Hmm,’ is the extent of Birck’s reaction.
    â€˜Further down you’ll see the entry from the ninth. Heber tries to contact whoever 1601 was talking about, I think. But the guy refuses to agree to an interview.’
    â€˜You can’t say for certain that that’s who he’s talking about,’ says Birck. ‘Heber doesn’t say any more than that he’s spoken to him and tried to get him to do an interview, and that he refuses.’
    â€˜I know. But he could be talking about the same person.’
    â€˜In that case, it should be someone Heber knows,’ Birck says, his eyes still glued to the printout. ‘They must at least know of each other. Or Heber should know, or at least guess, that this person doesn’t want to speak to him. Or someone like him. Here,’ he says, putting his finger on the page to show me. ‘ “I doubt he would even answer if he knew it was me.” ’
    â€˜Exactly.’
    Birck tidies the printout into a pile and puts it on the desk.
    â€˜No, hold on. Look at the last entry again.’
    Birck picks it up again and flips to the last page.
    â€˜ “Meeting 1599, to talk,” ’ Birck reads aloud. ‘ “Might tell them what I’ve heard. I don’t know. We’re meeting at our usual spot at 2230. I’m nervous and unsettled, hesitant. Haven’t got much done today.” Can I put it down now?’
    â€˜The thing is, did he ever speak to 1599 about what he’d heard? In that case, she knows. Yes, you can put it down now.’
    â€˜That’s true,’ Birck says. ‘But it might not have anything at all to do with what happened to Heber later on.’
    â€˜I know. But maybe.’
    â€˜If you know all this, why are you telling me?’
    I sigh, and shake my head. Nothing happens. Everything’s quiet. My fingers are twitching. I want a Serax. When did I last have one — was it just before I went to Café Cairo? No longer than that?
    Birck gets out of the chair and walks over towards the door.
    â€˜How do you make contact without using a phone or email?’ I ask.
    He turns around.
    â€˜I don’t know. Carrier-pigeon? Telegram? Smoke signals?’

II
    A TOWN FULL OF
HEROES AND VILLAINS

14/12
    Christian is sitting watching telly at his friend’s house out in Enskede. One of the party leaders is giving his opinion about some insignificant issue. They’ve muted the TV to avoid having to listen to that bollocks. Sometimes that’s the only thing to do.
    He reads the words, one at a time, on the big banner hanging on the wall above the screen. Christian thinks about the knife — how it felt, resting there