Grendel's Game (16 page)

“I hope this helps,” she said.

“Please call me if anything that could possibly be useful, even the smallest detail, comes to mind,” said Alenius, handing her his card.

As they left, they turned and saw her standing in the middle of her office, looking after them with a tense, frozen expression.

Outside the building, Alenius asked Rosengren, “What do you think?”

“She seemed really broken up about Westberg. But it could be an act.”

“My impression too. She said he had no personal problems and wasn't concerned about money. Apparently there's a lot of it, and she's well aware of that: his busy law firm, his family's money, and then that large trust fund. He sounds like a very lucky, well-off guy, especially with a girlfriend like that. But let's find out more about his finances anyway.”

“And hers,” said Rosengren, ever the cynic.

27

At Home

W
hen Ekman got back, Holm was away from his desk. He went into his office and closed the door, first putting a “Do Not Disturb” sign on the handle. He needed some quiet time to start drafting the memorandum Edvardsson had asked for. Ekman set it up chronologically, summarizing events, day by day, since everything had begun on Tuesday. He was seven pages in when he stopped with Westberg's disappearance and his meeting with the parents. He planned to finish the memo by including the results of tomorrow's meeting and the proposed next steps in the investigation.

Ekman was startled when the bookcase clock struck six thirty. It made him realize how tired he was. It had been an emotional, exhausting day; he was more than ready to head home.

I
ngbritt gave him a warm, deep kiss when he came into the kitchen.

“What was that for?” he asked, grinning.

“Nothing special,” she said, smiling. “I just felt like it.”

“Hmm, and what else do you feel like?”

“Yes, that too,” she replied in an embarrassed voice. Even after thirty-three years of marriage she was still shy about sex. Ekman thought of this as part of her charm, part of why he loved her.

“We'll have dinner and then go right to bed,” he said. “No late night for me, at least downstairs.” He laughed when she started to blush, and lightly smacked her rear.

Their dinner of roast chicken, mashed potatoes, and wilted spinach, with a bottle of chilled French chardonnay, was soon finished. He told her about Rodger Westberg's disappearance earlier in the week, and his own misgivings about the possible outcome. Her face darkened; she was becoming upset. He changed the subject by asking her how her writing was going.

They skipped dessert, and leaving the dishes in the sink, headed upstairs. He led the way, holding her hand.

28

The Game Develops

S
aturday, October 15
.
It was an overcast morning, with rain coming down in torrents, when Ekman left at six forty. He wanted to get in early before this morning's meeting to review what he'd written yesterday evening. It was almost seven when he got to his office to find Holm already at work.

“God morgen, Chief,” Holm said in a brisk, cheery voice, getting up.

“It's far too early to tell, Enar,” responded Ekman with a smile. “But god morgen to you anyway.”

“The others will be in soon to set up for the meeting.”

“Good. That'll save time. I've asked Alenius and Rosengren to join us. Because Rodger Westberg's disappeared, I'm adding them to the team.”

“I've made copies of Lindfors's photo for everyone. The package is on your desk.”

“Thanks, Enar.”

In his office, Ekman looked with pursed lips at the eight-by-ten enlargement. Picking up the phone he called the front desk.

“This is Ekman. Would Sergeant Lindberg happen to be on duty this weekend? He's in? Good. Have him come up, please.”

When Lindberg arrived he saluted, and Ekman handed him the photo.

“Could this be the woman who delivered the package we discussed?”

Lindberg examined the picture intently. “She could be, Chief. There's a real similarity. She's pretty and blonde, like the woman I saw, but I just can't be certain.”

“But it's possible?”

“Yes, Chief.”

“Thanks, Lindberg. You've been very helpful.” Lindberg gave him another snappy salute, wheeled on his heel, and left.

Lindberg must have enjoyed time in the military, thought Ekman. He overdoes it a bit, but I wish all the uniforms were more like him.

He began reviewing yesterday's memo, making changes as he went through it. By the time he'd finished, Holm knocked on the door to tell him the others were there and ready to start.

Ekman saw that one wall of the conference room was covered with the information he'd asked for. Alenius was seated beside Alrik Rapp, across the table from Rosengren, who was next to Gerdi Vinter.

Everyone was in business casual attire, except for Bergfalk who was wearing just a black tee shirt with a glittering, sequined rock band emblem hanging over faded jeans. Ekman was in his usual three-piece black suit. He couldn't conceive of appearing at work dressed informally, although he allowed a Saturday exemption to colleagues who felt differently.

“God morgen, everyone,” said Ekman. “Thank you for coming in so early on a gloomy Saturday.” He saw they'd already helped themselves to the coffee and pastries on the sideboard, and going over, got some himself, and sat down at the head of the table.

“I've asked Alenius and Rosengren to join our team because Rodger Westberg has suddenly vanished, as I'm sure they've already told you.” He looked around and they all nodded. “The Westberg matter is now no longer about a break-in. The case now resembles our three other unusual disappearances.”

“Alenius, why don't you bring us up to date,” Ekman asked. Alenius described finding out at Westberg's office that he was missing, and his visit to Westberg's apartment.

“Then, as you wanted Chief, I asked his office staff how he got to work. Mostly, he walked. His apartment is less than fifteen minutes from the office. There are four people working for him—two paralegals, and two admin supports. I questioned each of them privately about Westberg—what kind of boss he is, what they know about his private life, any recent problems, and so on. Everyone likes him and is very upset about his disappearance. There don't seem to be any problems. They each mentioned the girlfriend, Stina Lindfors. She'd been in at least once a week over the last year or so. He was gone on her, and they said it looked like the real thing.”

“Thanks. Rosengren?”

“I checked all the hospitals and the morgue. One hospital thought they might have him because someone like him had been found unconscious on the street. He'd been robbed, so there was no ID. But when I got there with the photo, they said it wasn't him. Also, the guy had come to and identified himself. Then I checked the morgue, but nobody with his description had been brought in over the last week.” Rosengren took out copies of Westberg's photo and passed them around.

Turning to Rosengren, Ekman asked, “What was your impression when you both interviewed Lindfors?”

“She's hot,” answered Rosengren with a grin, as some of the others smirked.

Ekman stared at him. “That's not quite what I had in mind.”

“Only kidding, Chief. She seemed to be really broken up about his vanishing. It could have been an act, but if it was, it was a good one.”

“I agree with Rosengren. She seemed very upset,” put in Alenius. “But when I asked about any problems, she was quick to mention there were no financial ones, seeing how much money he and his family have.”

“A not unusual response for an accountant,” Ekman said.

“Yeah, perhaps. But Rosengren and I would like to look at Westberg's finances, and hers, just to see what the real situation is.”

“Good idea, however, be careful to stay clear of anything about the father, Eugen Westberg. We're focusing only on his son, and Lindfors. See if you can find what you want about Rodger at his office. He probably drew up his own will. Let's get a copy of that. Also talk to the Tax Agency people about him, and her as well, and get the names of their banks. Then let's look at Westberg's bank statements from his office or apartment. We'll also want Lindfors's statements from her bank. If you need me to speak to the agency or the banks let me know.”

“Do you think Westberg's been killed, Chief?” asked Rapp.

“Yes, it's begun to feel like that. We've eliminated the best reasons for a voluntary disappearance. If this were an abduction, we'd probably have had a demand from the kidnapper by now. What's left is homicide. How about the rest of you?”

“When we started on these missing-person cases I didn't know what to believe, but after this latest disappearance, I think we may be dealing with a serial killer,” said Vinter.

“But we shouldn't jump to conclusions too fast,” said Rapp. “Even if some or all the missing-person cases turn out to be murders, different killers may be involved. Look what's happened in the Thomas Quick affair. He confesses to being Sweden's only known serial killer, and then retracts. Now the evidence is being questioned.”

“Alrik is right, Gerdi. To say it's a serial killer, even with Grendel in the background, is much too quick,” Ekman said, with a straight face. Holm stifled a laugh.

“Nevertheless, Gerdi's point is important to keep in mind. We may be looking at four murders. Since Westberg's disappearance, this is no longer an investigation into a crackpot letter writer, whether or not he's involved.

“Enar, why don't you start us off with the map?” Holm went over to the corkboard. Enlarged photos of the three previously missing men, plus Rodger Westberg, ran in a row across the top. Different colored push-pins had been used to mount each photo, with the same color pins showing the locations on the map where they'd gone missing.

“As you can see from the map, there doesn't seem to be any particular geographic pattern made by the disappearances,” said Holm. “They're widely dispersed: one north of here; a second, northwest; the third, east; the fourth, here in the city. But all are within one hundred kilometers of Weltenborg. This suggests to me the city is where we're most likely to find the person, or persons, responsible if these are connected cases. If they're unconnected, however, there's no location more significant than any other.”

“Does anyone disagree?” asked Ekman. No one spoke.

“All right. Then we're agreed. If these are linked cases, then we have a possible location for the person we're looking for. Thanks, Enar. Alrik, why don't you take us through the information on the whiteboard?” Across the top were the names of the missing men:

Alman Gustaffson, Bertil Henriksson, Rudy Bohren, and Rodger Westberg. The last had been added just before the meeting. Beneath were the dates they were reported missing, the weather on those days, their ages, occupations, schools attended, and names of family members, business associates, and friends.

“Sorry the information on Westberg isn't as complete as the others. We added him in at the last minute,” said Rapp. “The differences in occupation are clear, ranging from the store manager, Bohren, to the lawyer, Westberg. They each went to different schools and have no family or friends in common that we could discover. Looking across the lists, there appear to be only two similarities: their age group, mid to late thirties; and the weather on the days they went missing . . . it was raining heavily.”

“There's another thing they seem to have in common,” interjected Ekman. “Even though their faces are quite different, three of them have brown hair and brown eyes. Bohren has blond hair and blue eyes.”

“You're right, Chief. It's so obvious we missed it,” said Bergfalk.

“It may not be significant,” Ekman said, “but we should keep it in mind. Everyone did a good job getting these lists together so quickly. There's one category missing, however.”