Grendel's Game (36 page)

“Okay. I accept that. Don't mention this conversation to anyone, not even Alenius.”

“We're not certain there's a leak, but it's critical we find it if it exists. You can understand that,” added Rystrom. Rosengren stood. His tension showed in the tight lines around his mouth.

“I really appreciate all your good work, Rosengren. Please don't feel I don't. You and Alenius have been doing an outstanding job,” said Ekman, getting up and going over to shake his hand. “We just have to ask these questions.”

“I understand, Chief,” replied Rosengren as he left. But his voice told Ekman he really didn't.

The meetings with Alenius and Bergfalk produced the same results: no new information, but several more disgruntled inspectors. Ekman was inclined to believe their fervent denials.

“I'm afraid we've pissed off everyone,” said Rystrom.

“You're right,” replied Ekman. “But it had to be done. Internal inquiries are always the hardest. Now they'll be looking at each other, wondering if the person next to them is the source of the leak. We'll need to try somehow to revive the team's spirit.”

61

A Call

B
runo Haeggman was in his office at the
Sydsvenska Nyheter
that Saturday, working on a story, when the photo of Stillen and the request for information came in on the fax. Immediately, he wondered whether it was connected to the Westberg case. He hated to have to soft pedal a possible Westberg connection, much as he'd like to connect the two, but he didn't want any more flak from his boss. Could this guy possibly be Grendel, the cannibal? It would make a great story, but he had nothing to go on.

He was sitting staring out the window at the bleak day, as the wind whipped around fallen leaves on the pavement, thinking about how to play this development, when the phone rang.

“Haeggman here.”

“Bruno, it's Rapp,” said the muffled voice.

“Yes,” said Haeggman, his voice rising in anticipation. This could be what he needed.

“You know about the hunt for Stillen?”

“Yeah. We just got a photo.”

“He's Grendel.”

“How do you know?”

“I can't tell you that. Just take my word for it. He's the guy.”

“What else can you tell me?”

“We had him in for questioning, but let him go. Now he's skipped and we can't find him. He's dangerous and probably armed.”

“Jesus, you mean you had him and didn't hang on to him?”

“Yes. We blew it. There'll be a cover-up. The public should know. That's why I'm talking to you.”

“Why don't we meet so you can give me more details?”

“That's it. You run with what I've given you or I'll take it elsewhere.”

“Don't do that. We'll go with the story. Just let me know what's happening.”

“I'll think about it.” The line went dead.

62

Lindfors Again

I
t was five
P.M.
and Lindfors was sitting rigidly erect in her chair in the interview room. Next to her was her attorney, a woman in her fifties, short and stout, with dark brown bangs hanging over skeptical blue eyes. Across from them were Ekman and Rystrom. A woman constable was sitting quietly against the wall behind Lindfors.

“It's very inconvenient for my client and me to be here on a Saturday afternoon,” said the lawyer, Roya Osten, as she exchanged business cards with Ekman and Rystrom.

“We wouldn't have asked, except that it's a matter of some urgency,” replied Ekman. “We appreciate your cooperation.”

“How cooperative my client will be remains to be seen.”

“This interview is being recorded,” Ekman said, naming the date, time, and participants.

“Froken Lindfors, Stina, I assume you're aware Carl Stillen is missing?” asked Rystrom.

“Yes, I've been worried about him. He hasn't called and I can't get him on his phone. It isn't like him.”

“After we interviewed him yesterday, he apparently decided to avoid further questioning and fled. We're searching for him now,” said Rystrom.

“You must have frightened him badly,” replied Lindfors.

“Perhaps threatened him,” put in Osten.

“Not at all,” said Rystrom. “But he may have feared discovery that he was involved in several men's disappearances.”

“Carl wouldn't have done anything like that,” said Lindfors.

“Do you know where Stillen could be?” asked Ekman.

“I have no idea. It just isn't like Carl not to call me.”

“Are there any favorite places you and Stillen visited that he could have gone to?” Rystrom asked.

“There are a few spots where we've vacationed together that we both liked.”

“Would you be willing to provide us with a list?” inquired Rystrom.

“Yes, of course. I want to find Carl even more than you do. If he's run away, it's because you scared him.” She looked with narrowed eyes at Ekman.

“You see how cooperative my client is being about Stillen,” Osten said, turning to Lindfors. Then added, “She'll give you that list later. We're leaving.”

“There's one other matter your client can assist us with,” said Ekman.

“What's that?”

“This,” he said, bending down to take the computer they'd found out of his briefcase, and placing it on the table.

“This is your computer, isn't it, Froken Lindfors?” Ekman asked.

“I've never seen it before,” she replied with a puzzled expression.

“That's quite strange, because we discovered it earlier today hidden in your apartment's basement locker.”

“I assume you had a search warrant,” said Osten. “I want to see it.”

“Of course,” said Ekman, pulling it out of his briefcase and handing it to her.

She looked it over hurriedly. “This doesn't seem specific enough to me. It's defective.”

“That will be a matter you can argue to a judge after we charge your client.”

“With what, exactly?” Her tone was belligerent.

“Possibly three counts of kidnapping and murder.”

“That's beyond bizarre. You have no proof whatsoever of such absurd charges.”

“Why don't we see,” replied Ekman, opening the laptop and turning it on. Using a wireless mouse he opened the screen to a photo of Lindfors.

“This is your picture, isn't it, Froken Lindfors?”

“Yes. It looks like the photo my accounting firm has on its website. It has pictures of each of the professional staff.”

“Do you play chess?”

“Yes, but what has that to do with this?”

Ekman clicked open to a game Lindfors had played.

“This is an Internet chess game you played with a man named Henriksson.”

“I did no such thing,” Lindfors protested, her eyes wide. “I've never played chess on the Internet and I don't know anyone named Henriksson.”

Ekman clicked to a series of e-mails between Lindfors and Henriksson.

“If you read through these, you'll see that you and Henriksson were good friends. You flirted with him quite a bit.”

“You've already heard my client deny any knowledge of this machine and its contents, Herr Ekman.”

“Then why was it hidden in her locker? Why does it have her picture and dozens of e-mails exchanged with Henriksson and another man, Gustaffson, both of whom have disappeared? Just as Rodger Westberg, her fiancé, has disappeared.”

“Are my client's fingerprints on this computer?”

“The machine was wiped clean,” replied Ekman. His face said he wasn't pleased to admit this.

“Then it's obvious, Herr Ekman,” replied Osten with a tight smile. “The computer was planted in an attempt to incriminate Froken Lindfors. She denies all knowledge of the computer and its contents.”

“Perhaps you could let Froken Lindfors answer for herself,” said Rystrom. “If someone else is responsible, do you have any idea who that could be, Stina?”

“No idea at all. Why would someone do this to me?”

“Do you have any enemies who might want to harm you in this way?” Rystrom asked. His voice was soft.

She paused. “There's only one person I can think of, but I don't want to bring him into this.”

“That would be Carl Stillen,” said Ekman.

Her laughter was harsh. “That's nonsense. You have no idea what you're talking about.”

“Then who are you thinking of, Stina? I understand your reluctance, but you must tell us,” said Rystrom.

“All right.” She hesitated. “Eugen Westberg.”

“Why do you think he would do this?” asked Ekman.

“It's complicated. There's a great deal of money involved, and there are personal matters too. I've already gone into this with you, and I've told Advokat Osten all about it. I don't want to say any more,” she said, looking at Osten.

Ekman and Rystrom exchanged quick glances. Eugen Westberg?

“There you are, gentlemen,” said Osten, getting to her feet. “You have the name of someone who has good reasons to try to implicate my client. I suggest you follow up the information she's voluntarily given you. This interview is over.”

She turned to Lindfors. “We're leaving now, Stina.”

Ekman and Rystrom also stood up.

“We'll probably have further questions for Froken Lindfors,” said Ekman.

“We'll see about that when you have something to say less ridiculous than this,” Osten said as she gestured at the computer. She and Lindfors turned and walked out of the room.

“It isn't possible, is it?” Rystrom asked.

Ekman leaned back in his office chair, his gaze fixed on the ceiling.

“I can't see how. Eugen Westberg today may want Lindfors out of the way. But the only reason he would have posed as Lindfors long ago and then murdered the two men would be if he planned all along to pin the killings on her. He's calculating, certainly not the warmest person I've ever met, but he doesn't strike me as a psychopathic killer either. And then, of course, we'd have to ask if he's Grendel and could have murdered his son, too. None of that's likely. Way too far-fetched.”

“So what did we learn?”

“We got a denial that it's her computer, which we expected, and a list of places to look for Stillen. It's not much.”

“Denials don't count for anything. Maybe she removed her fingerprints just to be able to claim it was planted.”

“You're right, Garth. Unfortunately it gives her an argument to use in court that could be persuasive. We need considerably more to charge her. After all, what if she'd admitted it's her computer, and that she had contact with the missing men? So what? All we have is a body part and no evidence tying her to a killing. What we do have is conjecture that doesn't reach the level of circumstantial evidence.”

“In other words, after all the effort we've expended, we've got shit.”

“Nicely put.”

“We need to find those bodies.”

“Discovering just one of the three would move the case forward. Enar and Gerdi are trying to find possible places Grendel could have disposed of them. If you and I put our minds to it over Sunday, maybe we can come up with some more ideas.”

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