Grendel's Game (17 page)

“What's that, Chief?” asked Bergfalk.

“Their interests outside of work. Did they have any hobbies in common?”

“Why would that be helpful?” inquired Vinter.

“They might belong to the same club, or business group, or might have met at the same favorite sporting event,” replied Ekman. “These are possible connections worth looking into.”

“I agree, Chief,” said Rapp. “We'll try to fill in that gap, let's say by Tuesday's meeting?”

“Good. Something may surface. Now let's take another look at Stina Lindfors.” Ekman told them about his meeting with Westberg's parents and their quite different opinions of Lindfors.

“Did Fru Westberg have any factual basis for her uncomfortable feeling?” asked Vinter.

“No, just a sense Lindfors was somehow phony. Herr Westberg thought his wife was being an overly possessive mother.”

Ekman began distributing the blown-up ID photo of Lindfors. “For those who haven't seen her, this is Stina Lindfors. It occurred to me that it might be a good idea to have Lindberg look at this to see if she could be the woman who brought back my briefcase. While he couldn't say it wasn't her, he couldn't make a positive identification.”

“It could be Lindfors,” said Holm. Rapp and Bergfalk nodded their agreement.

“Yes, I also agree,” said Vinter, “but while I can't say it's the same person, I can't say no either. Like Lindberg, I'm uncertain.”

“We need to know more about her,” Ekman said, turning to Holm and Vinter. “While Alenius and Rosengren are checking finances, I'd like you two to find out everything you can about Lindfors's background. Mats and Alrik will be pursing the common interests angle. Because many offices are closed today, all of you work with each other on whatever's available. And since we'll be taking a break tomorrow, and you'll be developing information on Monday, our next meeting will be Tuesday, unless something important comes up. There's one other thing.”

They looked at him with questioning expressions.

“Someone has been leaking information. Alenius and Rosengren were aware of what the rest of us have been doing because it has gotten around the office. It won't take much more before the media is on our backs. That could slow our investigation and cause unnecessary public alarm.” He looked at each of them. “Have I made myself clear?” Everyone was silent.

“Does anyone have anything to add? No? Then I'll see you on Tuesday. Have a good Sunday,” Ekman concluded, getting up.

29

A Connection

H
olm followed him into his office.

“Yes, Enar?”

“Chief, I didn't want to bring it up at the meeting, but I've finished running down the last names on that list from your past cases.”

“Did anything stand out?”

“Not exactly. You wanted me to look at released guys who might have a grudge against you. But all those who got out in the past three to five years seem to have settled down to law-abiding lives elsewhere in the country, at least as far as we know. You didn't ask me to, but I went back over your major cases for twenty years, looking for a direct threat. There was just one where the defendant claimed he was railroaded by the police, and swore openly in court that he'd get revenge. He mentioned your name—you were in charge of the case.”

“When was this?” asked Ekman, trying without success to remember the incident.

“It was seventeen years ago. The guy's name was Anderberg, Bo Anderberg, thirty-four years old. He was convicted of assault and armed robbery at a grocery store, and sentenced to four years. He never got out. Six months later, he was killed in a fight with another inmate.”

“Well that eliminates Grendel being an enemy from my past. Thanks for the good work, Enar.”

“Glad to do it,” said Holm, and headed out the door.

That decided it for Ekman; Holm would definitely have to be promoted because he clearly deserved it. He always went the extra mile, even when not asked. But it couldn't be done until Ekman promoted Rapp. The two couldn't make chief inspector at the same time, so Holm would have to wait until next year. These bureaucratic personnel rules aggravated him, but they were the constraints he had to work with.

Returning to his memo, Ekman summarized today's meeting and their next steps. He ended by saying that he now believed Rodger Westberg, and the three other missing men, were dead. There was, however, no evidence confirming Westberg's death, so informing his family would be premature. He addressed the memo to Malmer and Edvardsson, with a copy to the commissioner, signed it, and printed off five copies.

Ekman got up, stretched, and walked to the window. The weather was still nasty, with rain coming down harder than ever. He hoped tomorrow would be better for their visit to Erick. The phone rang.

“I figured you'd be in today, Walther,” said Malmquist. “Overdoing it, as usual.”

“Well, so are you. How are you, Ludvig?”

“Tired of this rat race, frankly. I'm thinking seriously about retirement.”

“For God's sake don't do that. Who'd I have to turn to for favors?”

“I'm sure you'd find some other sucker,” replied Malmquist. “I just wanted to let you know the lens covers have only smudges on them. He must have worn gloves.”

“Damn,” said Ekman. “I thought they might give us something concrete to work with.”

“So how are your investigations going, anyway?”

“Now we've got what feels like at least one, and possibly four, homicides. The new one's the politically sensitive missing-person case involving the lens covers. We've eliminated the good answers to the disappearance, and only the worst one is left. We don't know yet whether that maniac we discussed is implicated.”

“Four possible murders? Jesus, that's bad. But something's bound to break soon.”

“I just hope you're right. Thanks for the call, Ludvig.”

Ekman was disappointed and frustrated. He'd harbored hope for a traceable fingerprint on the lens covers. It would have been just the sort of small, careless error that tripped up many criminals.

He reread his memo, wondering if he should say something about Malmquist's negative results. Since he'd already mentioned the lens covers to Malmer, he was going to have to revise it. He added the information and made new copies.

Ekman had the nagging feeling that something else had been overlooked. He got up and went back into the conference room. Scanning the whiteboard, he slowly reread the categories listed there. Then it suddenly came to him.

He looked to see if Holm was still at his desk, and found him at work on his computer.

“Enar, sorry to interrupt, but I'd like you to get hold of Alrik and Mats.”

Holm looked up from his screen. “Yes, Chief?”

“I want them to find out if the missing men's homes, or their parents' places, were broken into like Westberg's before they disappeared, and if a family photo was taken.”

“Sure, Chief. Is this important?”

“It may not be, but similar break-ins and thefts would be a hell of a coincidence. It would help confirm our suspicion that there's some kind of underlying link tying these cases together. If we persist, maybe we can find it.”

Holm looked thoughtful. “You're right. That would confirm a link. We all missed it, except you, Chief.”

T
he in-box seemed to have a life of its own, Ekman thought, contemplating the overflowing basket he had earlier reduced to a manageable pile. Maybe it will distract me from the case. He now believed the four missing men represented a single problem. The information he'd asked the team to gather would, he hoped, make that clearer.

When he next looked up from his desk, the clock was striking two, and he realized he was ravenous. He considered going across the square to the restaurant, but seeing the paperwork he still had to plow through, decided on the cafeteria. He thought of asking Holm to join him, but his cubicle was empty so Ekman would have to eat alone, as usual.

Hours later, looking with satisfaction at the empty in-box, the full out-basket, and the heap of discarded junk mail in the trash, he decided he'd done enough for a Saturday and, grabbing his coat and hat, headed for the door. Rain was still a steady downpour on the drive home and traffic was light.

I
ngbritt and he had a quiet dinner of meatballs, beets, and boiled potatoes. She'd been curious about what had happened since Westberg's disappearance.

“I think he's dead,” Ekman told her. “I've no idea how I'm going to break that news to his parents.” This was always the worst thing about his job. He dreaded having to do it, although over the years it had become a too-frequent duty.

“Walther, you don't know for certain. Don't worry about it. You need a day off and tomorrow's supposed to be sunny. Think about seeing Erick and the children.”

“You're right. There's no sense in being morbid. There'll be time enough for that, I'm afraid.”

In his study, Ekman tried to divert his thoughts by immersing himself in the eighteenth-century history he'd been reading. It didn't work.

30

Two Positions

S
unday, October 16
.
It was eight a.m. Sunlight crept through the blinds, waking Gerdi Vinter. She rolled on her side, threw off part of her covers and stretched. Leaning over, she nudged the shoulder of the man lying next to her.

With a grunt, Enar Holm opened his eyes. Thank God for Sunday, was his first thought, and then, thank God for Gerdi. He turned toward her and pulled their covers all the way off. Although her face was plain, Gerdi Vinter had a gorgeous body and flawless, silken skin.

“Are you ready?” he asked with a smile.

“What did you have in mind, sir?” she replied, laughing.

“Whatever you like. But I was thinking about breakfast. I'm starving.”

“That's understandable, after all your exertion last night.”

“That wasn't exertion, that was pleasure. If I could just get some coffee and pancakes, I'll show you real exertion.”

“Promises, promises. I guess you expect me to make those pancakes?”

“Not at all. They're my specialty,” he said, getting up and heading to the bathroom. “I'll be right out, and then you can shower while I put on an apron.”

“And that's all you'll be wearing?”

“Underpants and an apron. There's no point in getting dressed only to get undressed,” he said, grinning at her.

Over breakfast they planned their day. They'd made a resolution yesterday not to talk about work for at least this one day, and just devote the time to themselves.

It was warmer, and bright after yesterday's gloom. They wanted to get out and enjoy the good weather before it got colder. Biking through the large city park, around the fifteen-square-kilometer lake at its center, and a nice lunch somewhere would be perfect, then back to Holm's apartment to fix dinner.

Gerdi and Enar had been lovers for three months. At first, she'd been flattered that this handsome man was attracted to her. As they got to know each other better at work, over several dinners, and then in bed, she discovered that he seemed to care for her. Cautiously at first, and then with her whole heart, Gerdi fell for him. She'd been hurt two years before and dumped hard, leaving her resolved to just have casual affairs. But this was different. She trusted him.

For his part, Enar had had the many relationships available to a man who is not only handsome, but charming and intelligent. Gerdi moved him as no one else had for a long time. Beneath her quiet, controlled exterior, she was passionate and smart, with a sassy sense of humor that delighted him. We're a match, he thought; I'm falling in love with her.

Before they went out, Gerdi pulled off his apron, and with no persuasion at all, dragged him back to bed. After an intense half hour, they showered again, this time together, and then headed down to the basement to get their bikes.