Grendel's Game (32 page)

“Right,” said Rosengren, pleased they were finally seeing some real action.

S
tillen was working behind the counter at the rear of the hardware store with a wall of shelves behind him when the four detectives approached. Two faced him and the others stood at each end of the counter in case he should try to run.

“Carl Stillen?” asked Rosengren.

He showed no surprise, just looked at them without expression.

“Yes, what do you want?”

Rosengren flashed his identification. “Police. Please come with us to headquarters, Herr Stillen.”

“What's this about?”

“You'll find out at headquarters. Just come with us quietly.”

“I need to let my boss know I'm leaving.”

“We'll inform him,” said Rosengren, turning to one of the detectives at the end of the counter.

Stillen shrugged, and reached for his leather jacket, hanging on a hook behind him.

“Don't touch the jacket,” barked Rosengren. One of the other officers went around the end of the counter, took the jacket and patted it down. He nodded to Rosengren.

“Please come out from behind the counter, Herr Stillen,” said Rosengren.

When he did, Alenius patted him down for weapons and took his mobile phone. Then Rosengren handed him his jacket. Several customers had turned to watch.

“What are you doing with my phone?” protested Stillen.

“It will be returned to you later,” said Rosengren, as they walked him to their car.

A
t headquarters, they put Stillen in an interview room. The bright fluorescent lighting emphasized its starkness. It was painted a dull green, the floor covered with white linoleum tiles. A wooden table and four plastic chairs were in the center of the room and a large two-way mirror occupied one wall. Wide-angle video cameras were high up in opposite corners so the room could be viewed from different directions. On the table was a plastic bottle of water.

Stillen looked around. He took out a pack of cigarettes and some matches, but didn't resist when Alenius took them away from him.

“I need a smoke,” he objected.

“There's no smoking allowed in the building,” replied Alenius.

Stillen paced around the room and then sat in one of the chairs.

“Well? What's going on?”

“You'll find out soon enough,” said Rosengren, as he and Alenius left, locking the door behind them.

A
t Lindfors's office, they asked for her, and she came down the hall to meet them. She was dressed in a simple, close-fitting light gray business suit without a blouse, and a knee-length skirt that set off her figure. Her golden hair shimmered in the sunlight from the windows; she looked stunning.

“Is there some news about Rodger?” she asked.

“We need some further help with our investigation,” replied Rosengren, eyeing her with obvious admiration. “We'd appreciate it if you could come to headquarters with us. Chief Superintendent Ekman would like to speak with you.”

“Right now?”

“Yes, please. It's urgent,” said Alenius.

“All right. I'll just get my coat,” she said, and turned away.

She looked surprised when they walked with her back to her office, but didn't say anything.

In the car she took out her mobile to make a call, and Alenius, sitting beside her, reached over and took it from her. She looked shocked.

“What are you doing?” she asked, angry now.

“I'm sorry,” Alenius said. “But until you speak with Herr Ekman, he's asked that you not talk with anyone. Your phone will be returned to you later, of course.”

Lindfors sat stiffly silent, radiating outrage, on the ride to headquarters.

The interview room they brought her to was a twin of the one Stillen was in farther down the corridor.

“Please sit down, Froken Lindfors,” said Alenius. “Herr Ekman will be with you shortly and explain everything.”

“He'd better,” said Lindfors, and clamped her lips tightly as she sat on one of the hard plastic chairs.

Alenius and Rosengren left her to stew, locking the door.

Ekman and Rystrom had been watching through the two-way mirror.

“She's even better looking than her photo would have led you to think,” said Rystrom.

“Yes, she's quite a knock-out, very sexually seductive. It's easy to see why these men have been so taken with her.”

“If she's a killer, she certainly fits the description of a
femme fatale
.”

“You can be the good guy,” Ekman said. “It fits you better. I'll be the heavy,” he deadpanned.

Rystrom smiled, as they left the observation booth and walked around the corner to the door of the interview room. Ekman unlocked it and they went in, followed by a woman constable who'd been waiting by the door. She took one of the chairs and moved it to one side of the room. It clattered against the wall as she sat down.

“Good afternoon, Froken Lindfors, it's a pleasure to meet you,” said Rystrom, extending his hand, which Lindfors shook without getting up. Her hand felt soft in his palm. “I'm Garth Rystrom, superintendent, National CID, and this is Walther Ekman, chief superintendent in Weltenborg.” Ekman just nodded, his face expressionless.

“I apologize for the urgent request and want to thank you for agreeing to this meeting. Can I get you some coffee?” Rystrom asked, as Ekman sat down across from Lindfors.

“No thanks,” Lindfors replied. “I was told you had some questions, and that I could help with your search for Rodger. I certainly want to do whatever I can. But for some reason my phone was taken away. I want it back.”

“Again, I apologize for the inconvenience,” Rystrom said in a soothing voice. “It will be returned after our meeting. We just thought it important that anyone you might speak with not distort your memory of events related to Herr Westberg's disappearance.”

“That's absurd.”

“We wanted to be certain. Now I think we need to begin the interview,” he said, turning to Ekman.

“This interview with Froken Stina Lindfors is being recorded,” Ekman said in a loud voice. “It's two thirty
P.M
. on Friday, October 21st at county police headquarters in Weltenborg. I'm Chief Superintendent Walther Ekman and with me are Superintendent Garth Rystrom, CID, and Constable Greta Sorrensson.”

“This sounds really formal. Am I under arrest? If I am, I want to know why, and I want an attorney,” she said in a tight voice.

“You're certainly not under arrest, Froken Lindfors,” a smiling Rystrom replied. “So there's no need for an attorney. We really do need your assistance with the investigation. You are willing to help us aren't you?”

“Of course. That's why I dropped everything I was doing to come here as soon as I was asked,” she said, somewhat mollified. “I want to do everything possible to find Rodger.”

“Good,” said Rystrom. “Please don't be put off by the formal interview. This is a major criminal investigation and a record has to be kept of all we do. We'll be asking a wide range of questions, some of which may not seem relevant to you, but are needed to provide background for the investigation. In a case like this, everything must be examined. I hope you can appreciate that.”

“Certainly. I'm anxious to cooperate in any way I can.”

“Then let's begin at the beginning,” said Ekman. “You use the name Stina Lindfors. Is that your birth name?”

“No. I was born Stina Ernstsson, in Lund.”

“How did it change to Lindfors?”

“I was married to Eberhardt Lindfors. I kept his name after he died in an accident.”

“What kind of accident?”

“He drank a good deal. By mistake one night he took an overdose of a sleeping medicine. He had a heart problem and it was too much for him,” she said, looking down at her hands that were now knotted in her lap.

“And where is he buried?”

“Of what possible importance is that?” she asked, startled. “He wasn't buried. He was cremated. It was his wish.”

“That's convenient.”

“How can you say such a thing?” she said, her face showing her shock. “It's terribly unkind.”

“Sometimes we need to be unkind. It depends.”

“On what?” It was clear she resented his harsh manner.

“On whether someone is being entirely truthful with us.”

“But I am.”

“Was that your only marriage, Froken Lindfors?”

“No. I was married before when I was very young.”

“But you didn't mention that.”

“You didn't ask.”

“Why didn't you take your first husband's name?”

“I didn't want to at the time. I changed my mind about doing it when I married Eberhardt.”

“By the way, who was your first husband?” interjected Rystrom.

“His name is Carl Stillen.”

“How long were you married?”

“Six years. Then I got a divorce.”

“And why was that, Froken Lindfors?” Ekman asked.

She hesitated. “He could be violent at times, especially when he drank. Never with me though. I was working as a waitress in a bar, and a man pawed me. Carl was there and saw it. They got into a fight and the man was badly hurt. Carl was sent to prison for four years. I waited a year and then filed for divorce.”

“So you were horrified by Carl's violent tendencies? You wanted nothing more to do with him?” asked Rystrom.

“Yes. I decided he wasn't likely to change. I wanted to make a fresh start.”

“Let's move on to your first meeting with Eugen Westberg. When was that?” said Ekman.

“About two years ago. I was working on an accounting assignment at his office.”

“And what was your relationship with Eugen Westberg?”

“We became friends.”

“What kind of friends?”

“What do you mean? We were just friends.”

“Really? Weren't you more than ‘just friends'?”

She paused and considered the question carefully. Lindfors had been staring at her hands in her lap, now she raised her eyes to look directly at Ekman. “Yes. We became lovers. I knew it was wrong, but I was very taken with him. He's charming and good looking.”

“Then you met his son, Rodger Westberg?”

“Yes.”

“And he also was charming and good looking. And considerably younger.”

“Yes. Rodger was a more youthful version of his father. I fell deeply in love with him.”

“Deep enough to give up seeing the father?”

“Yes. Of course.”

“You're lying and you know it.”

“How can you say such a thing? After I met Rodger, I stopped seeing his father.”

“Then if Eugen Westberg has admitted he continued being your lover until four months ago, you'd say he's lying? Before you answer, remember this is a formal interview that's being recorded.”

There was a long pause before she answered. “I said I'd stopped seeing him because I was ashamed of what happened. Yes,” she raised her head and looked Ekman in the eye, “I did go on seeing Eugen. It's our personal business. It has no bearing on Rodger's disappearance.”

“That's for us to say. Did you know Rodger Westberg had changed his will in your favor?”

“No. I'm very surprised to hear that.”

Ekman hunched forward in his chair. His voice was menacing as he glared at her.

“You're lying again, Froken Lindfors.”

She was silent for a moment. Turning to Rystrom, she said, “I'm really feeling threatened by these questions.”

“Please don't be alarmed, Froken Lindfors,” Rystrom replied, and turning to Ekman, said, “Walther, there's no reason to be so offensive. You need to change your tone.”

Ekman pretended to look chastened. “All right,” he said to Lindfors, “I apologize if I sounded harsh. But you should reconsider your answer.”

She looked down before lifting her head to reply. “I didn't want to say I knew he'd changed his will because I could see it might make me look like some kind of gold digger, and that's not true. I never asked Rodger for anything, ever. He told me he'd changed his will several months ago. I asked him not to cut off his family, but he insisted they didn't need the money. He wanted to make sure I was financially secure in case something happened to him.”

“That was very thoughtful of him,” said Rystrom. “He must have loved you a great deal.”

“Thank you for being so understanding, Superintendent,” she replied, looking at him with glistening eyes.

“Do you own a silver Volvo, Froken Lindfors?” asked Ekman.

“Yes, what about it?”

“How did you acquire this car?”

“It was a gift,” she said. “From Eugen Westberg, if you must know.”

“How kind of him, too,” said Ekman, with undisguised sarcasm. “And where is this car now?”

“It's in a garage on Sundgatan.”

“And the address is . . . ?”

“Why is that important? It's 2740 Sundgatan.”

“Let's turn back to Carl Stillen. What is your current relationship with Stillen?”

“We've been friends since our marriage,” she replied; her expression was sullen.

“Didn't you say earlier you didn't want anything to do with him because of his violent tendencies?”

“I meant at that time. He's changed.”

“Since when?”

“Since he got out of prison. It made him realize that more violence would ruin his life.”

“So now he's a perfect gentleman?”

“There's no need to run him down. He's become a better person.”

“So much better that you could resume a romantic relationship with him at the same time you were involved with both Westbergs?” Ekman asked, his voice grating.

She was quiet for a moment. “You must think I'm an awful person,” she said to Rystrom, her eyes welling with tears, ignoring Ekman.