Grendel's Game (10 page)

B
ack in his office, with his coat still on, Ekman looked to see if there were any important messages, but only saw that someone had added still more paper to his overflowing in-box. He would somehow have to find the time to at least look through it. But not right now. He unlocked his drawer and put a copy of the most recent letter in his pocket. Holm wasn't at his desk, so he left a note telling him he was going to lunch and took the elevator to the garage.

The restaurant where he was meeting Karlsson was twenty minutes away. Il Positano was a popular place, a favorite of his and Ingbritt's. It was bright, cheerful, and had a friendly staff. The Northern Italian food was, they both thought, quite authentic. It compared favorably with what they'd eaten during last year's vacation at Sirmione on Lake Garda. Besides, it was much less expensive.

Pulling into the large, gravel parking lot just before noon, he saw only three other cars. It was the middle of the week and, Ekman guessed, an off day. The rain hadn't returned yet.

Karlsson was already there, sitting at a table for two toward the back, away from the few other customers. He got up as Ekman came over and reached out to shake his hand.

“Walther, it's good to see you again so soon. Or is that a bad omen?”

Ekman hung his hat and coat on a nearby wall hook. “You're right, it's not a good sign, at least as far as the case goes.”

Pulling out a chair, he sat down. “Let's order first, and then I can fill you in. What looks tempting to you?” he asked, glancing through the menu.

A young waiter came over. “May I suggest the grilled branzino, gentlemen. It's not on the menu. We just got it in fresh today. It's served with mushroom risotto.”

“That sounds tasty,” said Karlsson. “I'll have that, with a small salad, some bread, and a glass of pinot grigio.” Looking at Ekman, he added, “I'm a little hungry, today.”

“I'll have the same,” Ekman told the waiter. “And make that a half bottle and two glasses,” he said, smiling at Karlsson.

The waiter left, and Ekman told Karlsson what had happened since their last meeting.

“And here's the note that came with the briefcase,” he said, handing it across.

Karlsson put on his glasses and read. When he finished he looked over at Ekman.

“So, what do you think, Jarl?”

“He's ‘upping the ante,' as they say. Addressing the note to you by name, he's telling you first that you're watched, that he's in charge of what happens, and is in strict control. He's saying he's ruthless about that control; he doesn't tolerate unauthorized initiatives, and punishes associates who deviate. Second, his flowery language flaunts his literacy. He wants you to know he's familiar with eighteenth-century letters. Finally, his expression of ‘esteem' underlines his actual contempt for you. He considers you ineffectual. He believes you're at his mercy and can't do anything about it. He's laughing at you and wants you to know it.”

“Okay, I get the insult. That's what he thinks he's doing. What does this tell us about him?”

“We know he's a megalomaniac psychopath, controlled by his delusions. He's becoming more excited by his feeling of power over you, over his associates, and over the world at large. But this is a false sense. It conceals a profound fear of powerlessness. His deep need to show he's in charge tells us something about his childhood.

“I'll be Freudian for a minute, and say that one, or even both, his parents were so overwhelming they almost destroyed his ego. My guess is that it was his father, which helps explain why he's very focused on you. You represent the paternal authority he's still afraid of. I think he's growing more dangerous. He's resisting that authority, boasting about his own punitive power.”

“So the pace of his game is picking up, Jarl?”

“Yes, I believe so,” replied Karlsson, as their food arrived. The waiter poured the wine and they concentrated on their lunch.

“This is really good,” said Ekman between mouthfuls. “You picked the right thing to order. The fish is perfect and so is the risotto.”

“My sense about food is unerring,” said Karlsson with a smile. “But my sense of what's going on with Grendel may not be so accurate.”

“I don't agree. It feels exactly on the mark.”

They finished their meal, and Ekman poured them a final sip of wine.

“Where do you see your investigation going?” Karlsson asked.

“Frankly, right now we're struggling, looking at unusual missing-person cases, and hoping a lead will appear. I've sent the briefcase to forensics and perhaps they'll turn up something.”

“You might have to wait for his next move.”

“Possibly, but I'd much rather not. If we have to wait, someone else may be harmed, and that's got to be prevented.”

“There's one other possibility you might want to consider.”

“What's that?”

“An enemy. Over your years in the police, you may have helped convict someone who saw you as the authority figure, the father he hated. Now he may be looking for revenge. You wouldn't have recognized him as a psychopath, he's too concealed and devious.”

Ekman paused and considered. “I can't think of any enemy, other than Malmer, of course,” he said with a wry smile. “No one comes to mind right now, but I'll give it serious thought.”

The waiter brought the check and Ekman grabbed it. “No, Jarl, this is mine. Don't protest, because I want you to write up your analysis and e-mail it to me today, if you can. This time, please, with a bill.”

They left the restaurant and shook hands in the parking lot.

“You've given me a better sense of who we're up against.”

“You're very welcome, it makes me feel useful,” said Karlsson, smiling. “And thanks again for the fine lunch.”

17

Past Enemies

O
n the drive back, Ekman mulled over their conversation. Perhaps somewhere in his past was the lead they'd been stumbling around looking for. He'd need to go back over some old cases that might jog his memory.

The theory that Grendel didn't have a criminal record was just his initial gut feeling. Now he'd look at major crimes where he'd been responsible for a conviction, and the guy had been released in the last three years. Ekman was actually pleased. He liked nothing better than digging into a case himself. It was much more satisfying than just directing the hunt.

Turning on his computer, Ekman scrolled to the database he kept of important cases he'd personally solved. It could be searched by a list of defendants convicted and their sentences. Five were premeditated murders where the life sentences had been converted on appeal to set periods. In two of these, the defendants had been released within the last three years. Ekman made a note of their names. Try as he might, he had only a vague recollection of the cases, which had occurred almost twenty years ago. He'd have to go back and review them to see whether either of these criminals was a good candidate to be Grendel.

After scanning the other important cases . . . a rape, robbery, fraud, kidnapping . . . Ekman now had a complete list of eight names. They would have to be gone over carefully before he could eliminate them as the “enemy” Karlsson had suggested.

The bookcase clock struck four and he reflexively checked it against his pocket watch: they matched.

He'd been avoiding it, but he'd have to brief Malmer. Ekman couldn't help momentarily considering how wonderful it would be if Malmer turned out to be Grendel, but dismissed this with a shake of his head as wishful thinking. Malmer wasn't that crazy, or that smart, just obnoxious. Ekman called Annika to see if he was available. Unfortunately, he was.

S
itting uncomfortably on one of those miserable wooden chairs, Ekman briefed Malmer on the team's progress. Malmer said nothing, just nodded. Then Ekman told him about the robbery, the return of the briefcase, and the team's work plans.

“But you never reported the robbery?”

“No. I didn't see much point in it. I checked on recent bag snatching, however, and there was nothing.”

“Walther, as a senior police officer, you had a particular responsibility to report a crime,” Malmer said. “This was a failure of duty and will be noted as such,” he added, with unconcealed satisfaction.

“As you wish,” Ekman responded. There was no use arguing with Malmer, who was always looking for something, however petty, to hold against him. It was aggravating, if nothing else. Malmer couldn't fire, or even discipline him; Ekman was much too senior, with too well-known a record of accomplishment, and had several influential friends on the National Police Board. Besides, he and Malmer both knew that Malmer and his friend the commissioner would be lost without him.

“You've spoken with Edvardsson already?”

“Yes. It was important to consult her as soon as possible.”

“In the future, you will report to me first before you speak to that bitch. May I remind you, you work for me, not her,” said Malmer. He'd had several confrontations with the prosecutor and had always come away the loser. Their enmity made Ekman's job harder since he had to coordinate with Edvardsson. Besides he respected her, and despised Malmer. I'll talk with her whenever I need to, he thought, and Malmer be damned.

“I'm expecting a revised profile from Karlsson later today, and I'll send it up,” said Ekman, standing.

“Just a minute. We're not finished yet. From the reports I've seen, the Westberg investigation is going too slowly. I want you to get more involved. Check out the scene yourself and talk to Westberg, and anyone else who has anything to do with it.”

“I have every confidence in Alenius and Rosengren; they're very experienced. But I'll take the time to go there myself, if you insist.”

“I do,” said Malmer, looking down and sorting through some papers on his desk. Ekman had been dismissed.

M
otioning to Holm to follow him to his office, Ekman slumped into his chair.

“Malmer wants me to look into the Westberg case myself. Rosengren and Alenius aren't going to be happy about it. I'm going to have to talk with them. You'd better set up a meeting for tomorrow.”

“You're right about them being pissed, but maybe you'll pick up on something they missed.”

“Would you also please call Westberg. I'd like to see him after I talk with Alenius and Rosengren.”

Handing Holm the list of eight names he'd prepared, Ekman said, “I wanted to check out these old cases myself, but now that I have to deal with the Westberg break-in, I won't have the time. Could you get started on them? What I'm looking for is someone from the past who's out of prison, might hold a grudge against me, and could possibly be Grendel. See who looks good to you.” He glanced up at Holm and smiled. “I have implicit faith in your judgment.”

“I'll get right on it, Chief.”

“Thanks, Enar. How are the missing-person cases going?”

“So far, nothing has shaken loose. Maybe we'll have better news for you tomorrow.”

As Holm headed out the door, the phone rang. It was Malmquist.

“Walther, we're not finished with the package you sent, but you should know that although the cord is office supply cotton twine available everywhere, you were right to save the knot.”

“What did you find?”

“It's a bowline, unusual for most people, but common among sailors. I thought it might help narrow your suspect list.”

“It may very well do that, Ludvig, when we have one,” Ekman said. “But the quick call is appreciated. Thanks.”

“I may have more for you tomorrow.”

Ekman checked his e-mail and found Karlsson's six-page analysis of the second letter from Grendel. It summarized and elaborated on their luncheon conversation. This time it came with a bill for twelve thousand kronor, covering everything Karlsson had worked on so far. He printed out the report and the invoice, scrawling “Approved for payment” on the bill, initialing and dating it.

Holm came back in. “I've set up a meeting with Alenius and Rosengren at ten, and with Westberg at eleven at his office. It's on Yakullsgatan,” he said, handing Ekman a slip of paper with the address and phone number.

“Thanks, Enar. And here's Karlsson's bill. Please send it to accounting,” he said, passing it to Holm.

“Karlsson has developed an addition to the profile, based on Grendel's last letter,” Ekman said, giving it to Holm. “Sit down and look it over.”

Holm looked up when he finished reading. “We're getting a deeper understanding of this character every time he writes. It should help us catch him.”

“Yes, and it should make him easier to manipulate in interrogation, if we ever get someone to interrogate,” responded Ekman.

“We'll need copies of Karlsson's report for tomorrow's meeting.”