Grendel's Game (15 page)

“Eugen, that's not it at all. You make it sound as though I'm possessive, when I'm not.” Her tight face showed how angry she'd become.

“Rodger is taken with Stina and I don't blame him,” said Westberg to Ekman. “She's not only very good looking and quite stylish, she's charming and intelligent. It's a good match.” He turned again to his wife. “We need to accept Rodger's choice.”

His wife didn't respond. She just gave him a stony glare.

Herr Westberg will have a difficult time tonight, thought Ekman. Aloud he said, “I see,” in a neutral tone. “We'll locate her and arrange an interview,” he said, jotting Lindfors's name in his notebook.

“What else are you going to do?” Westberg's voice had become harsh.

“Herr Westberg, we've already begun an intensive investigation. We're talking to anyone who might have information and we'll be tracing your son's movements. This is now our top priority and an entire team of investigators will be working on it. I want to give you my personal assurance we won't stop until we find him.”

“That's all well and good. And I'm sure you're sincere. But I know how these things go. Other cases can come up that push this inquiry aside. I'm going to have to speak with Herr Malmer, and the commissioner, to make sure that doesn't happen. I hope you understand my concern. It's no reflection on you or your officers,” Westberg concluded, almost apologetically.

“I understand, Herr Westberg,” replied Ekman, getting up. “Please satisfy yourself that everything possible is being done.”

Fru Westberg came over to him. “He's our only child, Herr Ekman. Please find him, please,” she said, her voice quivering. Her arrogant persona had vanished, and for that moment he saw the vulnerable woman she tried hard to conceal.

“We'll do all we can, Fru Westberg,” Ekman said.

They both shook hands with him.

“You were right, Herr Ekman, I apologize for being so sharp before,” said Westberg, walking him to the door. “Thank you for giving us this terrible news yourself.”

25

Breaking the News

I
n his car, Ekman called Holm to have him check out local accounting firms for a Stina Lindfors. Then he phoned Edvardsson on her direct line.

“Malin, it's Walther. I hope you can give me a few minutes. Yes, there's been a significant development. Thanks. I'll see you in half an hour.”

At the courthouse, he was in luck. There was a vacant space in the usually packed parking area strictly reserved for official police vehicles. He pulled down the sun visor with its police identification and went in.

“That's my personal car in the reserved area,” Ekman said to the officer at the front door, who knew him. “Please keep an eye on it, in case someone wants it towed despite the ID.”

“Sure, Chief,” the officer said, touching his cap.

Going into Edvardsson's outer office, he saw the receptionist at work on her computer. She halfway rose as he came in.

“Please don't get up, Froken Sundquist. She's expecting me,” Ekman said, as he went to the inner door, knocked, and entered.

“So, Walther,” Edvardsson said after they were seated again on the couch, “I've been dying of curiosity since you called. What's happened?”

Ekman brought her up to date on the investigation, and then told her about Rodger Westberg's disappearance.

“Do you think Westberg and the other missing-person cases are related? Could they involve Grendel?” she asked, her eyes narrowing.

“Maybe. It's still too early to say anything definite, but yes, it's a possibility. I wanted you to know immediately about Westberg because this is so high profile and may have to become public knowledge.” Ekman was thinking they'd have to go to the media to publicize Westberg's disappearance if nothing else turned up soon.

“You're quite right.” Her face became serious and thoughtful, the professional prosecutor.

“We're going to have to become more formal now. I'll need a detailed report on your investigation by tomorrow morning. A national search for Westberg could be the next step.”

“Unless a link to Grendel is established, even if we go public, I would want to keep that aspect confidential. Do you agree?”

“Absolutely. That's the last thing we want to happen. It would lead to disclosure of the letters. You can imagine the general reaction, and the media circus that would follow.”

“Okay,” said Ekman, getting up. “We're on the same page. And I know Malmer and the commissioner are as well.”

“Walther, I hope our instincts are wrong. It would be too dreadful,” Edvardsson said, as she walked to the door with him, reverting to what Ekman thought of as her real, as contrasted to her professional, self.

“I'm afraid, it's the sometimes nightmare world we live in Malin,” he said, frowning.

Ide Sundquist came over as he was leaving. “Is something the matter, Herr Ekman? Forgive me for saying so, but you look upset.”

“Thanks for your concern, Froken Sundquist. I hadn't realized it showed,” he said, smiling at her.

“Now that's better,” she said with a slight laugh. “Remember, things can always be much worse.”

“You're absolutely right. I'll try not to forget that,” he said, and shook her hand.

His car was where he'd left it, but some officious parking police attendant had put a note under his wiper telling him his police ID wasn't sufficient to allow him to park in a space reserved at the courthouse for official police vehicles. Aggravated, and cursing bureaucracy under his breath, he tore up the note, but put the pieces in his pocket. He felt it would be unseemly to just throw them in the gutter.

Ekman had left his mobile in the car, and checking it now, found a text message from Holm. He'd located Westberg's girlfriend. She worked at an accounting firm on Rydsgatan. Holm, thorough as usual, had included her office, home and mobile phone numbers, and her home address. He'd also obtained her driver's license photo. Ekman saw that to describe her as attractive was an understatement. When someone looked good in a license photo, then they must be very good looking indeed.

Ekman called Alenius. “How are you doing with the office interviews?”

“Nothing so far, Chief, but I'm taking a lot of notes for review and follow-up.”

“Good. Try and find out how Westberg usually got to his office. Did he drive, take the tram, or walk? Also, I've gotten information about his girlfriend,” he said, giving Alenius what Holm had sent.

“After you finish at his office, call her and set up an interview for today. Check with Rosengren and see if he's finished with his assignments. I'd like both of you to be there. If you find out anything out of the ordinary, call me. Otherwise, I'll see you at tomorrow's meeting.”

“Okay, Chief. We'll take care of everything.” The laconic detective for once sounded enthusiastic.

26

Lindfors

R
osengren had agreed to meet Alenius at five
P.M
. to interview Lindfors. The two inspectors drove together from headquarters to a modern office building at 170 Rydsgatan, twenty minutes away. Lindfors worked at Hackzell & Klinge, Authorized Accountants, on the third floor.

When the receptionist announced them, a tall, slender, blonde-haired woman who appeared to be in her midtwenties, dressed in a ruffled white silk blouse and dark brown woolen skirt, came out to the lobby to meet them.

“Froken Lindfors, I'm Inspector Alenius,” he said, showing her his identification, “and this is Inspector Rosengren. We just need a few minutes of your time.”

“Can you tell me what this is about?” she said, looking at them with widely spaced, almond-shaped gray eyes set in an oval face with full, sensual lips.

“Can we talk in private?” asked Rosengren.

“Of course,” Lindfors responded, leading them down a side corridor to her small office and sitting down at her desk. The window behind her looked out on the wall of the building next door.

“Please sit down, gentlemen. Have I done something to warrant this visit?” she asked with an immaculate white smile.

Alenius and Rosengren were momentarily dazzled. “Not at all, Froken Lindfors,” Alenius said. “We're doing a routine police inquiry and your name came up.”

“In what connection?”

“Do you know a man named Rodger Westberg?” asked Rosengren, watching her face closely.

“Yes, he's my boyfriend. Actually, much more than that, more like my fiancé, because we've been talking about getting married. We've been together for the last fourteen months. Has something happened to him?” she asked, twisting a large gold and ruby ring on her right hand.

“Why do you think something has happened to him, Froken Lindfors?” inquired Alenius.

“When two police inspectors suddenly appear asking about Rodger, it's a natural conclusion, isn't it?”

“Or, it could be that he might have done something wrong,” said Rosengren.

“Rodger? Not in a million years. He's the most honest, law-abiding person I've ever known,” she said with a slight smile.

“Froken Lindfors, when was the last time you saw Advokat Westberg?” Alenius asked.

“Now I know something's happened,” she said, biting her lower lip and looking at each of them in turn.

“Please, just answer the question,” said Rosengren.

“It was last Saturday. We went out to dinner and then came back to my apartment. He stayed the night,” she said without embarrassment.

“Then the last time you saw him was Sunday morning?” asked Rosengren.

“Yes. Now can you tell me what this is all about?” She'd become angry.

“One last question, Froken Lindfors,” said Alenius. “Have you spoken to him since Sunday?”

“We spoke on Tuesday afternoon. I wanted us to get together that evening, but he said he was snowed under with a case coming to trial and just couldn't. We plan to meet tomorrow.”

Rosengren thought that if he had a girlfriend who looked like Lindfors, he'd never turn her down. Work be damned.

“Froken Lindfors, we're very sorry to tell you that Rodger Westberg has been missing since sometime after you last spoke with him,” said Alenius.

“Oh, no. That can't be.”

“I'm afraid it's true. He's been missing since Wednesday morning at the latest. He hasn't been to his office or apartment, and isn't answering his mobile. We'd appreciate anything you can tell us that would help us find him.”

“But there's no reason for him to have disappeared.” Her chin was trembling and she was on the verge of tears. “You love him?” Alenius asked in a soft voice.

“Yes,” she said.

Rosengren wondered whether her feelings were genuine. She might just be putting on a great performance. Of the two, he, not Alenius, was the hardened cynic.

“He loves me. He would never, never, just vanish and not say anything to me.” She stared at them with absolute certainty, daring them to contradict her.

“Do you know of any problems he had?” asked Rosengren.

“There weren't any problems. He had no health issues, business was good, and he never worried about money. Besides his successful law practice, and his family's wealth, of course, he had a large trust fund from his grandfather.”

“Do you know any friends of his?” asked Alenius.

“A few. We went out to dinner with two other couples occasionally.”

“Please give us their names. You can understand we have to look into all his relationships. It's just part of our normal procedure. We'd appreciate it if you didn't tell them we'll be calling on them.”

“Certainly. I'll do anything I can to help.” She paused. “This is so unbelievable.”

“We're very sorry to give you such news, Froken Lindfors. If you could give us those names, we won't trouble you further.”

Lindfors turned on her mobile and began jotting down names and phone numbers. She gave the list to Alenius.