Grendel's Game (26 page)

“That seems to me, too, all you can do at this point.” Glancing from Rystrom to Ekman, she added, “You realize, of course, that you have no evidence whatsoever against either of these people? Legally, they must be considered innocent until something actually implicates them. You're proceeding simply on the basis of a theory that, while it's comprehensive and exceptionally clever,” she smiled at Rystrom, “frankly, seems to stretch plausibility. Your suspects have to be not only extraordinary planners, but brutal killers, as well.”

“Garth and I agree it may be overreaching,” Ekman said. “But his theory does answer all the key questions we have, and therefore has to be pursued. What we're trying to do by examining the missing men's computers is determine if there's something linking all of them that can lead us to the killer who calls himself Grendel. This may help us develop an alternative explanation for what Garth and I believe are three murders, or possibly five, if we include the guys on the scooter.”

“It makes sense to pursue both approaches. At this juncture, I have no suggestions. I believe you're doing all that can be done. Walther, please keep me informed of your progress in writing, on a daily basis,” Edvardsson said, getting up.

Turning to Rystrom, she said, “I'm glad you're helping. You have a creative mind, Garth. It's definitely needed in this strange case,” she added with a faint smile.

43

Haeggman

E
kman was at his desk when the phone rang.

“Herr Ekman, it's Bruno Haeggman of the
Sydsvenska Nyheter
. Do you have a few minutes for a telephone interview? I'd like to get your comments on a story we'll be running tomorrow.”

Ekman was immediately on his guard. Haeggman had made clear his antagonistic attitude at the press conference.

“I don't do telephone interviews, Herr Haeggman, but can you tell me what the story's about?”

“Does the name ‘Grendel' ring a bell?”

Shit, thought Ekman. Here it comes. I've been expecting this since it began, but now that it's here, I still don't know how to handle it.

“Herr Haeggman, I'm not certain what you mean. However, if we could meet, perhaps you could give me a better sense of what your story is about.”

“It will need to be soon. I can meet you in half an hour at Volkmann's. It's a German restaurant at 620 Ullevigatan.”

“I've never been there, but I can find it. I'll see you then.”

Ekman called Norlander's office.

“I need to speak with him and Malmer immediately,” he said to Annika. “Yes, it's extremely urgent.”

Norlander and Malmer were waiting when he came in.

Without even shaking hands, Ekman said right away, “I just got a call from Haeggman at the
Sydsvenska Nyheter
. They're going to run a story tomorrow naming Grendel. I'm meeting him in less than thirty minutes.”

Norlander took the news in his usual calm manner, but Malmer's face tightened.

“Can you get him not to print it?” Malmer asked, totally disregarding Swedish dedication to freedom of the press.

“I doubt it. I wanted you both to know that Grendel's involvement is going to come out now, as I was afraid it would when we first discussed this case.”

“Do you think they'll take a balanced tone?” asked Norlander, pacing slowly about.

“I don't know. I'll have to see what Haeggman says.”

“Caution him against the danger of going off half-cocked. He has a reputation for digging up government scandals, but there's none here. We're not covering up anything. An intensive investigation into the Westberg case is going on. I think that's the line to take with him, Walther.”

“That's what I'll say then. If he agrees to keep a lid on the Grendel angle, can I promise him an exclusive when we find out more?”

“No, I don't think so. There's always the possibility that if Grendel is communicating directly with Haeggman, and if a story doesn't appear, he'll go elsewhere. Then Haeggman won't get his exclusive. He's well aware of that possibility, so he's likely to turn down any offer. Maybe some variation on it would work, however,” Norlander said, always the media expert. “Perhaps if he strikes a neutral tone in the story, we can suggest he'll have an inside track later.”

“I'll try that,” said Ekman, impressed with Norlander's insight.

“I hardly need to tell you to be careful how you word things. He'll be recording everything you say, even if he shuts off a visible recorder. Thanks for the heads-up, Walther,” he said, shaking his hand.

“Don't screw it up,” added Malmer, his face anxious at the nightmare of bad publicity.

Norlander turned with a surprised look at Malmer.

“I'll try not to,” responded Ekman, with just a hint of sarcasm.

H
aeggman was waiting for him at a back table of Volkmann's. He had a stein of dark beer and a small tape recorder in front of him. It wasn't busy in midafternoon. There were a few couples scattered about the restaurant and a single woman, sitting with her back to them several tables away, who had turned to watch him. Ekman wondered if she might be a photographer. He wouldn't put it past Haeggman.

Unshaven as usual, he got up as Ekman came over. “Herr Ekman,” he said, offering his hand. Ekman shook it and sat down.

“Can I get you a beer?”

“No, thanks.” That would be all he needed: a damaging story, illustrated by a fat, beer-swilling cop.

“Do you mind?” asked Haeggman, pointing to the recorder.

“Not at all.” Although he very much did mind. But he remembered what Norlander had said, and assumed another recorder was already running in Haeggman's shirt pocket.

“What can you tell me about Grendel?”

“Can I ask how you came across that name?”

“You can ask,” he smiled ironically.

“But you won't say.”

“Actually, I don't mind telling you. It will be in the story anyway. I received a short note from Grendel this morning. He enclosed a copy of a letter he said he sent you last week about his . . . what shall we say . . . unusual tastes. This is one very weird character. He also enclosed notes he'd sent you about a stolen briefcase, and Rodger Westberg. I don't suppose you care to tell me what that was about? It has a bad sound. Did he enclose something gruesome, an ear, or finger? My guess is he did, which might make this a murder case.”

Ekman's face was immobile, giving nothing away, even though he was surprised Haeggman had leaped so quickly to the correct conclusion. “Herr Haeggman, as you know from the press conference we held yesterday, we're conducting an intensive investigation into Westberg's disappearance. A story that sensationalizes the internal workings of our investigation won't assist us in locating Westberg. I know the Westberg family, as well as the police, would appreciate it if your story didn't speculate about fanciful grim details, and struck a more balanced tone.”

“Are you questioning the public's right to know?”

“No, far from it. That's why we held the conference to ask for media and public assistance to find Westberg.”

“Look, let's stop dueling over this. We're going to publish a story about Grendel's involvement. You can't stop us.”

“You have every right to print whatever you want. All I ask is that you also state that there's a major investigation going on, involving not only local police, but National CID, and it's still in the early stages.”

Haeggman paused, then shrugged his thin shoulders. “I intended to do that anyway. But you refuse to say anything about this Grendel?”

“It's always been police policy not to comment on the details of an ongoing investigation. You know that Herr Haeggman.”

“Okay,” he said, getting to his feet. “You can't say I didn't give you a chance to tell your side of the story.”

Ekman rose, and as he did, the woman a couple of tables away also got up, and rapidly aiming a camera, took several photos of him. It was exactly as he'd guessed. He grimaced in disgust, and strode quickly out to his car.

44

Listening

W
hen Haeggman's article came out, Ekman knew there would be even more intense attention focused on the Westberg case. He couldn't let the investigation hinge on just following Lindfors and Stillen, hoping something linking all the disappearances would turn up on the missing men's computers. A more aggressive approach was called for now.

He phoned Edvardsson. “Sorry to do this twice in one day, Malin, but I need to see you again. No, it can't wait. I'll be there in twenty minutes.”

“You sounded quite urgent, Walther,” Edvardsson said, as she led him to a seat on the couch.

Ekman told her about Haeggman's call and his meeting with him.

“It's what we've been afraid of, Malin. The whole Grendel angle is going to become public.”

“What do you propose we do about it?”

“We have to move the investigation along a lot faster, now that Grendel's going to get the attention he wants. We have to resolve Lindfors's and Stillen's possible involvement as fast as possible. Following them and hoping for a solid lead isn't enough. If they're as clever as we suspect, a phone tap won't do it either. They'd never speak about their plans over the phone; everyone knows they're vulnerable to hacking. I think we need to hear what they're talking about in Lindfors's apartment.”

“You want a warrant to put listening devices in her flat?” Malin asked, surprised. In past cases, Ekman had never proposed anything this extreme with so little to go on.

“Yes. I can understand your reluctance because there's no evidence yet that either of them had anything to do with Westberg's disappearance, let alone the other men's. But there doesn't seem any other way to find out what we need to know right away.”

Edvardsson was silent for several minutes. “Walther, I don't have to tell you that this would be an extraordinary invasion of privacy of someone who may be innocent of any crime. And any evidence uncovered won't be admissible in court.”

“I know, and I wouldn't ask, except that with all the publicity the case will get now, you, Norlander, and I will be pushed very hard to show immediate results. Look at it this way: If we don't learn anything that connects Lindfors and Stillen to the case, we can clear them of involvement and look elsewhere.”

“I'll try and persuade myself to see it that way, and hope that my friend the district judge will go along with me.” She paused for a long moment.

“All right, Walther. I'll need your affidavit supporting the warrant. Be careful not to be too creative.”

“You'll have it today,” Ekman said. “I'll ask Rystrom to bring in some of his technical people to plant the microphones tomorrow while Lindfors is at work.”

Edvardsson got up. “I hope we're doing the right thing, Walther,” she said, with a troubled frown.

“We'll soon find out, Malin. Believe me, I share your misgivings, but I don't think we have much choice.”

Her small, lined face looked up at him. “There's always a choice, Walther. Let's hope we've made the correct one.”

When Ekman walked into Rystrom's office, he was on the phone. Covering the mouthpiece, he said, “I'll be with you in a minute, Walther.”

Ekman sat down and when Rystrom hung up, said, “Garth, I need your help,” explaining what had happened in the last few hours.

“This case is already hot, and going to get much hotter, starting tomorrow,” Rystrom said, shaking his head in surprise at the rapid developments. “So you want a couple of my ‘black bag' techs to bug Lindfors's apartment?”

“Is that going to be a problem?”

“No. I'll have them here first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Thanks, Garth. I knew bringing you in would be a great help. It's appreciated,” he said, standing up.

But Ekman wasn't happy about it. It was Rystrom who'd come up with a broad theory of the case that explained almost everything, and his people would be all over the place—deciphering information on the missing men's computers and now, planting listening devices. Rystrom's assistance would move things forward much more rapidly. For Ekman, bringing a killer to justice as fast as possible was by far the overriding consideration, and justified cutting legal corners. Protecting his own control of the case had to be a distant second.