Vanished (19 page)

Christ, would it never end?

‘I’m not a politician. Send her over to the local-government representatives.’

The receptionist put Thomas on hold and when she came back her voice was more curt.

‘She doesn’t want to speak to a politician, she just wants some . . . What did you say you wanted to ask?’

Thomas rested his head in one hand and groaned.
Heaven help me!

The murmuring in the background got louder.

‘Could I possibly speak to him in person?’ he heard a voice say, followed by: ‘Hello?’

‘What is this all about?’ he said curtly, exhausted.

‘Well, my name is Annika Bengtzon and I’m a reporter. I was wondering if I could come up and ask you a few brief questions about how different communities procure contracts and services.’

Why my community?
he thought.

‘I don’t have the time,’ he said.

‘Why is that?’ she shot back. ‘Are you a burn-out case?’

Thomas burst into laughter. What kind of crazy question was that?

‘You haven’t made an appointment,’ he said, ‘and I’m extremely busy at the moment.’

‘It won’t take more than fifteen minutes of your time,’ the reporter said. ‘You won’t have to move an inch, I’ll come up to your office.’

He sighed soundlessly.

‘To be honest . . .’

‘I’m down at the front desk. It won’t take long. Please?’

The last word was uttered in pleading tones.

He rubbed his eyes – they felt gritty. Getting rid of her without seeing her would take longer than meeting her.

‘Come on up.’

Annika Bengtzon was very thin and had tousled hair, slightly manic lines around her mouth and shadows under her eyes that were too dark for her to be regarded as beautiful.

‘I apologize for barging in on you like this,’ she said as she crammed her large bag under a chair. She draped her jacket and her scarf sloppily over the back of the chair. One sleeve touched the floor. She offered her hand and smiled. Thomas shook it, swallowed, and noticed that his right hand was slightly moist. He wasn’t used to people from the media.

‘Let me know if I get out of line,’ the woman said. ‘I’m aware that Social Services cases are delicate matters.’

She sank down on the chair, keeping her gaze fixed on him, utterly concentrated, her pen poised.

Thomas cleared his throat.

‘What happened to your hand?’

Annika didn’t avert her stare.

‘I got it caught in something. Have you ever heard of a foundation called Paradise?’

His reaction was purely physical. He did a double take.

‘Christ, what do you know about Paradise?’

The woman had noticed his reaction, he could tell as much from the satisfied expression on her face.

‘I know a little,’ she said. ‘Not enough, though. I was wondering if you might know more than me.’

‘Everything connected to Social Services is classified information,’ Thomas said curtly.

‘No, it isn’t,’ the reporter said, now sounding almost amused. ‘The public is allowed access to lots of it. I’m not sure how much, though, so that’s what I wanted to ask you.’

He felt utterly perplexed. How the hell was he going to deal with this? He couldn’t mention the case, the Bosnian woman, he wasn’t even supposed to know anything about her. He certainly didn’t want the press to write that Vaxholm bought pricey services from strange foundations.

‘I can’t help you,’ he said curtly and stood up.

‘She’s lying,’ the reporter said in a low voice. ‘The director of the Paradise Foundation is a liar. Did you know that?’

Thomas froze. Annika looked up at him, dark-eyed, leaning forward slightly, legs crossed.
Big breasts
, he thought.

He sat back down again and stared at his desk.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m sorry, but I can’t help you. If you’ll excuse me, I’m very busy . . .’

She flipped through a large, unwieldy pad, showing no sign of getting up.

‘Do you mind if I ask a few general questions about how you procure services?’

‘Like I said, I really don’t have—’

‘Has the outsourcing of public services affected your work with the local authorities?’

The reporter looked deep into Thomas’s eyes, focusing on him, his answer. He swallowed and cleared his throat again.

‘After the decentralization that followed the new Social Services acts in 1982, we ended up with lots of numbers to crunch. Every last day-care centre and nursing home, every single unit involved was required to have a budget of its own. Now, after the privatization process, there are fewer details. Each item becomes a single cost in the budget.’

Annika listened, her face impassive, her pen still.

‘What’s that, in plain language?’

Feeling rebuked and annoyed Thomas felt the blood rising to his face. He decided not to show it.

‘In some ways things are easier now,’ he said. ‘The community pays a lump sum, and the contractors get to manage the money on their own.’

Now she was taking notes, he stopped talking.

‘What do you do?’ she asked. ‘What’s your job description?’

‘I’m a chief accountant, I’m responsible for the finances and business plans here at Social Services, I plan and oversee the budget. I supervise the internal administration processes, manage the financial resources, deal with the needs and requirements of the employees in our various operations, manage the quarterly follow-ups and balance the books . . . You could say that I focus on three years at a time: the previous year, the current year, and the year after that . . .’

‘Amazing,’ the woman said. ‘Do you always talk like that?’

Surprised, Thomas faltered.

‘It certainly took a damned long time to learn how,’ he said.

She laughed, her teeth even and white.

‘How have these changes been accepted by Social Services?’ she asked. ‘Do people like the new arrangement?’

Annika moved, her breasts bobbing slightly under her sweater. Thomas looked down at his desk.

‘There have been mixed reactions,’ he said. ‘The unit supervisors have less power now, and they’re not too happy about that. They can’t micromanage things any more, like they could when day-care centres and nursing homes were run directly by the local authorities. But on the other hand their responsibilities are reduced too.’

His candour surprised him. The reporter took notes without looking up. Beautiful strong hands.

‘Everyone has the right to their own opinion,’ Thomas went on. ‘Naturally, individual civil servants have different political views of the changes too, different ideologies.’

‘Could you tell me exactly what you do and why?’ Annika said.

Thomas nodded and did just that. Certain things he had to repeat a few times, find different words and other ways of expressing things. She didn’t seem to be highly educated, but at least she was quick on the uptake. He explained his part on the Social Services board, a group he belonged to that consisted of the council’s administration managers and unit managers, that was, the people in charge of day care, schools, the care of the elderly, family services . . . They went through the decision-making process, how the social welfare board voted on decisions, how the administration manager was always present, and so was the chief accountant and the civil servants presenting the various issues, and sometimes the unit managers as well.

‘So, who has the power?’ she asked.

Out of the corner of his eye, Thomas studied her: slim thighs, tight jeans.

‘That depends on the nature of the issue,’ he replied. ‘Many decisions are made at an executive level. Others are dealt with by the board. Certain issues go all the way to the Administrative Court of Appeal or the Supreme Administrative Court of Appeal before a decision is reached.’

Annika mulled this over for a while, tapping her forehead with her pen.

‘If you get a proposal from a new organization,’ she said, looking at him for a long time, ‘from, shall we say, a foundation that would like to help needy people – who would decide whether to use them or not?’

Suddenly Thomas realized where her interrogation was leading. For some reason it didn’t bother him.

‘The initial decision to procure services of this type would probably be dealt with by the board,’ he said slowly. ‘But once that decision was made, subsequent related decisions could be made by individual civil servants.’

‘Do you get a lot of these offers? From foundations and private contractors?’

‘Not that many,’ he said. ‘The city council usually solicits offers when the different units need to keep costs down.’

Annika leafed briefly through her pad.

‘If Vaxholm decided to use such a foundation, would you know about it?’

Thomas heaved a deep sigh.

‘Yes,’ he said.

‘Have they?’

He sighed again.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘The social welfare board passed the motion to procure the services of a foundation called Paradise at last night’s meeting. The minutes are probably not ready yet, but they will state that the contract was approved, under item seven, and those minutes are a matter of public record. That’s why I’m telling you this,’ he said.

The young woman had some colour in her face now.

‘What do you know about the woman involved, Aida Begovic from Bijelina?’

He did another double take, suddenly enraged.

‘What exactly do you want?’ he roared. ‘Distracting me with all those questions and then insinuating—’

‘Take it easy,’ the reporter responded sharply. ‘I think we can help each other.’

Thomas stopped short, realizing that he was standing: angry, blood boiling, face flaming, his right hand bunched into a fist and raised – what the hell was the matter with him?
For Christ’s sake, get a grip, man!

He sat down hurriedly, his hair flopping across his face. Using both hands, he pushed it back.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Christ, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get upset . . .’

Annika flashed him a grin.

‘Great,’ she said. ‘I’m not the only hot-tempered person around here.’

Thomas looked at her – that hair of hers that was somehow always in motion, the eyes that saw straight through him.

He averted his gaze.

‘What exactly do you want?’

She grew serious, sounding sincere at last.

‘I’m stuck. I’m checking out this organization and it’s not going very well. According to the information that I’ve received from Rebecka Björkstig, Paradise must have generated proceeds of more than eighteen million kronor over the past three years, and if my calculations are correct, the costs should be in the neighbourhood of seven million. I don’t know what kind of foundation Paradise is, so I can’t figure out which tax bracket applies, but it does seem a little fishy.’

‘Do you know if the set-up actually works?’ he asked.

Annika shook her head, appearing to be truly concerned.

‘Nope. I’ve met Rebecka, and I’ve met Aida, but I don’t know if the set-up works.’

‘Rebecka – is she the one in charge?’

The reporter nodded.

‘She claims to be, and I believe her. You haven’t met her? She seems trustworthy, but we’ve caught her out in a lie, or maybe we should call it an error. She doesn’t know as much as she likes to pretend, and when you question her, she’s evasive. How much do you actually know about Paradise?’

Thomas hesitated, but only for a second.

‘Next to nothing. No one seems to know anything. The board made their decision yesterday, even though the information we had was very sketchy. I don’t even have a corporate identity number.’

‘But could you dig one up?’

He nodded.

‘Is the set-up legally sound?’

‘We asked our legal advisers that very question this morning.’

Annika Bengtzon gave Thomas an intense look.

‘In a general sense, what do you know about foundations? Why do you think Rebecka Björkstig chose that particular framework for her organization?’

He leaned in closer.

‘A foundation doesn’t have any owners or members. There are far fewer regulations than for stock corporations or partnerships.’

Annika took notes.

‘Go on.’

‘As far as I know, foundations can be used as a means to siphon off money after bankruptcy. You can make use of foundations to commit various types of fraud, and you can take advantage of the fact that there isn’t much public access.’

The reporter looked up.

‘Why is access limited?’

‘When a foundation is registered, the representatives aren’t obliged to submit their personal ID numbers. There have been cases where these representatives turned out to be fictitious, make-believe.’

Annika nodded, scratched her head and pondered.

‘On the one hand,’ she said, ‘this makes it all even more fishy. Rebecka could have established the foundation with the sole intention of defrauding people. On the other hand, if the set-up actually works like she says it does, a foundation would be the ideal arrangement.’

They sat in silence for a while. Thomas noticed that the sounds of City Hall had petered out and checked the time.

‘Christ,’ he exclaimed. ‘Is it that late already?’

Annika smiled.

‘Time flies when you’re having fun.’

He got up in a hurry.

‘I’ve got to run,’ he said.

She gathered her things and stuffed them in her huge bag. Put on her jacket and scarf and shook his hand.

‘Thank you for taking the time to see me.’

She looked him straight in the eye, standing tall. Not too tall, though, and that chest . . . He felt his palms getting moist again.

‘I’m going to pursue this,’ Annika said, shaking his hand and holding on to it. ‘There’s one thing I wonder,’ she said. ‘If I find something, would you like to know about it?’

Thomas swallowed, his throat dry, and nodded.

She smiled.

‘Good. And if you find anything out, will you let me know?’

He let go of her hand.

‘We’ll see . . .’

‘See you.’

The next minute Annika Bengtzon was gone. Thomas stared at the closed door and heard her footsteps disappear down the hall. Then he went over to the visitor’s chair and sank down on it, the seat still retaining some of her body heat. From her loins.