jump into line at once and obey the fatally ill lunatic's every whim.
No question that Clinton was a soft-spoken authority who was not working for his own gain. He would even acknowledge that Clinton was working in the best interests of the Section, or at least in what he regarded as its best interests. The whole organization seemed to be in free fall, indulging in a collective fantasy in which experienced colleagues refused to admit that every movement they made, every decision that was taken and implemented, only led them one step closer to the abyss.
Wadensjoo felt a pressure in his chest as he turned on to Linnegatan, where he had found a parking spot earlier that day. He disabled the alarm and was about to open the car door when he heard a movement behind him. He turned around, squinting against the sun. It was a few seconds before he recognized the stately man on the pavement before him.
"Good evening, Herr Wadensjoo," Edklinth said. "I haven't been out in the field in ten years, but today I felt that my presence might be appropriate."
Wadensjoo looked in confusion at the two plain-clothes policemen flanking Edklinth. Bublanski he knew, but not the other man.
Suddenly he guessed what was going to happen.
"It is my unenviable duty to inform you that the Prosecutor General has decided that you are to be arrested for such a long string of crimes that it will surely take weeks to compile a comprehensive catalogue of them."
"What's going on here?" Wadensjoo said indignantly.
"What is going on at this moment is that you are being arrested, suspected of being an accessory to murder. You are also suspected of extortion, bribery, illegal telephone tapping, several counts of criminal forgery, criminal embezzlement of funds, participation in breaking and entering, misuse of authority, espionage and a long list of other lesser but that's not to say insignificant offences. The two of us are going to Kungsholmen to have a very serious talk in peace and quiet."
"I haven't committed murder," Wadensjoo said breathlessly.
"That will have to be established by the investigation."
"It was Clinton. It was always Clinton," Wadensjoo said.
Edklinth nodded in satisfaction.
Every police officer knows that there are two classic ways to conduct the interrogation of a suspect. The bad cop and the good cop. The bad cop threatens, swears, slams his fist on the table and generally behaves aggressively with the intent of scaring the suspect into submission and confession. The good cop, often a small, grey-haired, elderly man, offers cigarettes and coffee, nods sympathetically, and speaks in a reasonable tone.
Many policemen - though not all - also know that the good cop's interrogation technique is by far a superior way of getting results. The tough-as-nails veteran thief will be least impressed by the bad cop. And the uncertain amateur, who might be frightened into a confession by a bad cop, would in all likelihood have confessed everything anyway, regardless of the technique used.
Blomkvist listened to the questioning of Birger Wadensjoo from an adjoining room. His presence had been the topic of a good deal of internal argument before Edklinth decided that he would probably have use for Blomkvist's observation.
Blomkvist noticed that Edklinth was using a third variant on the police interrogator, the uninterested cop, which in this particular case seemed to be working even better. Edklinth strolled into the interrogation room, served coffee in china cups, turned on the tape recorder and leaned back in his chair.
"This is how it is: we already have every conceivable forensic evidence against you. We have, accordingly, no interest whatsoever in hearing your story save as confirmation of what we already know. But the question we might want an answer to is: why? Or how could you be so idiotic as to decide to begin liquidating individuals in Sweden just as we saw happen in Chile under the Pinochet dictatorship? The tape is rolling. If you have anything to say, now is the time. If you don't want to talk, I'll turn off the tape recorder and then we'll remove your tie and shoelaces and accommodate you in a cell upstairs while we wait for a lawyer, a trial, and in due course, sentencing."
Edklinth then took a sip of coffee and sat in silence. When nothing was said for two minutes, he reached out and turned off the tape recorder. He stood up.
"I'll see that you're taken upstairs in a few minutes. Good evening."
"I didn't murder anyone," Wadensjoo said when Edklinth