Grendel's Game (13 page)

“Please come in Herr Ekman,” she said without warmth. She hung his coat and hat in the guest closet and ushered him into the bright, high-ceilinged living room on the right, two steps down from the hallway level. It was painted white with sleek, upholstered furniture and thick carpeting, all in white. A huge abstract painting in brilliant reds and yellows dominated one wall. She pointed toward a long couch and they sat down facing each other at opposite ends.

“Fru Westberg, as I told your husband, I've taken personal charge of the investigation and thought it would be helpful to examine the scene,” he said, gesturing with his arm as he indicated the house in general. “I hope you don't mind the intrusion and some of the repetitious questions I may need to ask. This shouldn't take very long.”

“We do appreciate your getting involved, Herr Ekman.” Her voice made clear that she didn't mean it. “As you can imagine, this was particularly upsetting for me, having our home invaded like that.” She smoothed down a few strands that had somehow escaped her stiff hairdo.

“I can certainly understand your feelings,” said Ekman, remembering his recent personal encounter with crime. “Perhaps we can start by your walking me through what happened when you came home that day.”

She repeated what he'd already read in the reports, and then led him up a wide, white carpeted staircase to the bedroom she shared with her husband.

Pointing to a white and gold Louis XVI dressing table, she said, “This is where I first noticed something wrong. I'd left out a gold mesh bracelet and a ruby and gold ring I'd taken from the safe in the morning, thinking I might wear them. They were gone.”

He looked around the room. It was very neat. Missing jewelry would have been apparent.

“Do you have a housekeeper, Fru Westberg?” he asked.

“Yes, of course. But she didn't come in that day. She's trustworthy and has been with us five years. She's quite above suspicion,” she replied.

“Certainly, certainly, but she may have seen something on a previous day. Perhaps someone lurking around the house or neighborhood. So we'll need her name, address, and phone number. Just routine,” Ekman said in a mollifying voice, taking out a small, black leather notebook and pen.

He was surprised Alenius and Rosengren had missed this. Probably because they'd been pissed at the assignment, they'd gotten sloppy. It was unprofessional, and he'd soon let them know how he felt about it.

“Her name is Hulda Fransson. My address book is in the study. I'll get you the other information before you leave.”

She took him back downstairs to the commercial-sized kitchen's rear door. “I came down next, thinking maybe I'd somehow left the jewelry on the kitchen counter, and saw the doorframe was splintered and the lock broken.”

Ekman bent over to look, but the damage had already been repaired. He opened the door and stepped out onto a wide, flagstone patio. A stiff breeze had come up. He saw the line of hedge at the rear of the property and could just make out where it had been disturbed.

“I'll be walking around the outside for a while after our visit, Fru Westberg,” he said, closing the door. “I assume you have a lawn service?”

“Yes. Haksson Brothers. They have an office downtown, I can give you the address.”

“I may want to speak with them, as well.”

Leading him back into the living room, she pointed to a glass-topped side table. “Our family portrait was there, in a silver frame. I noticed it missing when I came in here that day. Why was it taken?” she asked, her voice quivering with indignation.

“That's something we'll try to find out, Fru Westberg. It may be significant, because it's unusual. Who was in the photo?”

“My husband, myself, and our son, Rodger.”

“Does your son live nearby?”

“Yes, he has a condo in town, not far from his law office,” she replied, with unconcealed pride.

Ekman took out his notebook. “That's Rodger Westberg, and for our records could I please have his home and business addresses and phone numbers?”

“I don't see why he needs to be involved.”

“Again, Fru Westberg, it's part of normal police routine to be thorough and speak with everyone who might be able to shed any light on the burglary.”

“I don't know how he could do that.”

“He may have seen some small detail that could be helpful, perhaps something he'd noticed before the burglary, without his even realizing it.” He could find her son without her help, but wanted her cooperation.

“All right, I'll give you the information if you think it might help somehow,” she gave in, with an exasperated shake of her head.

“Is there anything else you noticed on the day of the robbery, anything at all that stood out?”

“No, there's nothing else I can think of.”

“Please call me if something comes to mind,” he said, handing her his business card. “And if you could get me that information, I'll look around outside.”

She went into a room across the hall, and coming back, gave him a piece of paper with the addresses and phone numbers of the housekeeper, the yard company, and her son.

“Good-bye, Fru Westberg,” Ekman said, as she got his coat and hat from the closet. “Thank you for your time and help. I hope to have something more to tell you in a while.”

“I certainly hope so,” she said, closing the door firmly.

Ekman had been surprised at her reluctance to provide information about her son. I wonder if she thinks he might be involved somehow. Even though he's a lawyer, perhaps he's short of money and owes some shady characters. His parents may not have wanted to lend him any, so he arranged a break-in to pay off his debt. Ekman thought it was a very remote possibility, but still needed to be followed up.

Crossing the well-tended front lawn, he walked around the house to the break-in the hedge at the back and could see the heavily wooded lot on the other side. Ekman circled the house and walked down the concrete drive to the street. He had a clear line of sight in both directions. A vehicle parked where someone could watch the Westberg place would have been obvious.

How was it done? he mused. The house had to have been observed before the break-in. Straight across the street, about half a kilometer away, was a forested hillside. Ekman, on a hunch, decided to drive over.

Parking on the street closest to the base of the hill, he got out and looked for some way to get to the top. Almost hidden beneath undergrowth was a narrow dirt path. He struggled up the fairly steep incline, almost losing his foothold, stopping several times to catch his breath. You're out of shape, Ekman, he thought, grossly out of shape.

From the crest of the hill he had an unobstructed view in the distance of the front of the Westberg house. Looking around, he noticed an area where weeds had been broken and flattened, as though something heavy had pressed them down.

Someone lay here, he thought, and he began searching the ground around the depressed area. No cigarette butts; too bad so many people have given up smoking, it would have helped. Almost invisible against the dark earth, hidden under a bush, were two, circular black plastic discs with raised edges. Ekman bent down and carefully picked them up with his handkerchief. He racked his brain. Where had he seen these before? Of course, of course, they were covers for binocular lenses. He folded them in his handkerchief, and put it in his coat pocket.

Now he knew how it had been done. Someone lay here and waited, perhaps for hours, watching the house until the occupants left. Were the other burglarized houses cased in the same way? Their general surroundings needed to be examined for possible observation sites. The more he thought about how much Alenius and Rosengren had missed, and the time and exertion they'd caused him, the more aggravated he became.

In his car, he took out his mobile and called Holm. “Enar, I'll be back in fifteen minutes. Get hold of Alenius and Rosengren and have them in my office in half an hour. Thanks.” Perhaps I'll have calmed down by then, Ekman thought.

Stopping first in the cafeteria for an espresso to take with him, twenty minutes later Ekman was seated in his office, waiting with grim anticipation for the interview. He hadn't calmed down much.

22

Mr. Nice Guy

“
A
re you wondering why I wanted to see you?” he asked them.

“Not really, Chief,” said Rosengren. “We guessed it was something about the Westberg case,” he added, looking at the silent Alenius for confirmation.

“You're right about that. It's one of the very few things both of you have gotten right in this case.”

“What do you mean, Chief?” said Alenius, speaking up for the first time.

“What I mean,” said Ekman, his voice loaded with sarcasm, “is that this was the sloppiest, most inexcusably careless investigation I've ever seen from you two, or any other inspector here, for that matter. You didn't like the assignment and so you went through the bare motions. In the process, you got me called on the carpet by Malmer, and left me to do the heavy lifting. It's not appreciated and won't be tolerated.”

“But, Chief . . .” protested Rosengren.

“Don't try and bullshit me, either of you. You know damned well I'm right. Your conduct was uncalled for, unprofessional, and totally unacceptable. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

“Yes, Chief,” said a subdued Alenius, glancing at Rosengren. “I guess, we were in too much of a hurry to drop the case and get back to what we thought was more important work.”

“Unless I've suddenly forgotten something, I'm the one who decides what's important work around here. Am I right?” he asked, in a too quiet voice.

“Absolutely, Chief. It will never happen again,” said a downcast Rosengren.

“If it does, you'll find yourselves back in the uniformed division,” declared Ekman, his anger dissipating. “Now, let me tell you what I found,” he said, summarizing his conversation with Fru Westberg and his discovery on the hilltop.

“You're both back on this case and will stay on it until we find out what's going on. Here's the information on the housekeeper, the yard service, and Westberg's son. You'll interview them thoroughly, but gently, especially the son. And then you'll go back over the other break-ins, step by step. I want a report on my desk by this evening on what you've done. Got it?”

“Yes, Chief,” they each responded in a despondent voice.

“I'm sending the lens covers to forensics and I'll let you know what they come up with. Now get the hell out of here and try to live up to your past reputations.”

Ekman was satisfied that to redeem themselves they'd do the most thorough investigation he'd ever seen.

“You shouldn't have told me to call if I needed anything, Ludvig.”

“You've gotten something more on that guy?”

“No, I'm afraid not. It's another case. There've been a series of break-ins we're trying to get a handle on and I've found a couple of binocular lens covers that may give us a lead. Apparently the burglar was casing a house and lost them. This one's high profile and political or I wouldn't ask for special treatment.”

“What are friends for anyway, right? Send them over and we'll see if we can get anything.”

“This must be at least the thirty-third favor.”

“You must mean the hundred thirty-third.”

“Thanks, Ludvig. I really mean it. When I see you next, a lunch in the best restaurant is on me.”

“You can't bribe a public official so easily. It's going to have to be dinner.”

“You've got it.”

Holm was at his desk on the phone. Ekman waited until he'd hung up and then opened the handkerchief to show him the lens covers.

“Enar, put some gloves on, please, and then slip these into a plastic bag. Photograph them and send them by courier to Malmquist. He's expecting them. When you've finished, I'll tell you all about it.” Ekman always brought Holm in on what was happening. As his assistant, Enar should know everything he was working on, Ekman thought. He'd never had any reason to distrust him or doubt his discretion.

When Holm came back, Ekman told him about the latest developments in the Westberg case, and how he'd reamed out Rosengren and Alenius after he found they'd let him down.

“I'll bet they'll never try anything like that again, Chief.”

“I believe you're right, or I wouldn't have put them back on the case.”

“Sometimes you're too easygoing, Chief, and some people think they can take advantage. Those two, and a few others around here, need a wake-up call.”

“Too easygoing? Really, Enar? I've never thought of myself that way.”

“Maybe you should.”

“Okay, okay,” Ekman laughed, “no more mister nice guy.” He'd always believed he was sometimes too harsh. It was surprising others might have a different view.