Three Seconds by Anders Roslund, Börge Hellström Page B

sentence that would already have come into force.
        'A year ago. Same address. I investigated a Finnish man who was dealing in serious amounts of stolen refined copper."
        A minor crime that Grens had not investigated, so presumably he lacked the same knowledge that Wilson did.
        'And?"
        "Same address. Was just curious. Is there any connection?"
        "No."
        "Are you sure about that?"
        "I'm sure about that. This involves some Poles. And a dead Danish infiltrator."
        Erik Wilson had the information he wanted.
        Grens was investigating.
        Grens already had dangerous information.
        And Grens would continue to dig and delve. The older man was glowing in the way that he sometimes did, when he was at his best.
        "Infiltrator?"
        "You… I don't think you've got anything to do with this."
        "Well, you've certainly whetted my curiosity."
        "Close the door when you leave."
        Wilson didn't protest, he didn't need anymore. He was already out in the corridor when Grens's voice cut through the dust.
        "The door!"
        Two steps back, Wilson shut the door and walked to the neighboring one.
        Chief Superintendent Göransson.
        "Erik?"
        "Do you have a moment?"
        "Sit down."
        Erik Wilson sat down in front of the man who was his boss and who was Grens's boss and who was also the CHIS controller in the city police district.
        "You've got a problem."
        Wilson looked at Göransson. The room was big, the desk was big. Perhaps that was why he always looked so small.
        "Have I?"
        "I've just been to see Ewert Grens. He's investigating the killing at Västmannagatan. The problem is that I'm not investigating, and I know considerably more about what happened than the appointed investigator does right now."
        "I don't understand why that should be a problem."
        "Paula."
        "Right?"
        "Do you remember him?"
        "I remember him."
        Wilson knew that he wouldn't need to explain much more.
        "He was there."
        
        
         The automatic voice.
    Twelve thirty-seven fifty.
        Scraping sounds. Obviously somewhere indoors. The voice was tense, whispered, with no accent.
    A dead man. Västmannagatan 79. Fourth floor.
        One more time."
        Nils Krantz pressed play on the CD player and carefully adjusted the speakers. By this point they both recognized the humming of a fridge that made it difficult to hear the last two words.
        "One more time."
        Ewert Grens listened to the only link they had to a man who had witnessed a murder and then decided to vanish.
        "Again."
        The forensic scientist shook his head.
        "I've got a lot to do, Ewert. But I can burn a CD for you so you can listen to it as much and as often as you like."
        Krantz burned the sound file of the alarm call that was received by the County Communication Center a matter of minutes after the man had been shot onto another disc.
        "What do I do with it?"
        "You don't have a CD player?"
        "I think Ågestam gave me a machine once, after we'd had a small confrontation about a father who shot and killed his daughter's murderer. But I've never used it. Why should I?"
        "Here, borrow this one. And give it back when you're done."
        "One more time?"
        Krantz shook his head again.
        "Ewert?"
        "Yes?"
        "You don't know how to use it?"
        No."
        "Put on the headphones. And press play. You'll manage."
        Grens sat at the far end of the forensics department. He pressed a few random buttons and gingerly pulled at a rather long flex, and then jumped when the alarm voice was suddenly there again, in the headphones.
        It was all he knew about the person he was looking for.
        "One more thing."
        Nils Krantz gestured to