Grendel's Game (18 page)

A
t eight that morning, Ekman and Ingbritt were enjoying a late breakfast. They weren't leaving to see Erick and the grandchildren for another hour, so they lingered, looking through the Sunday papers. It was a pleasant, unhurried morning, without the pressure of his having to get to the office.

Rising and checking his watch, Ekman said, “I guess we'd better be going.” He was anxious to see Erick, even more than the grandchildren. Although he loved both his children, Erick was his favorite, just as Carla was Ingbritt's. He knew that taking pride in having a son to carry on the family name was old-fashioned, but it meant a lot to him.

Ekman was dressed in his casual clothes: a soft, light gray shirt, with a dark red tie; dark gray tailored trousers; polished, tasseled black loafers; and a black double-breasted blazer with gleaming brass buttons and a bright red pocket silk. Tucking his large gold watch into a pocket sewn into his trouser top, he thought with satisfaction that he looked quite relaxed.

They took the E4 southwest, and then followed Route 25 to Halmstad, the beach town where Erick lived. Turning south on the E6/20, they took the off-ramp to Ginstieden, and then made their way to Erick's home on Vibrytargatan. It had taken a little over an hour.

Erick had a large, 420-square-meter, two-story stone house on a rise overlooking the harbor, the result of his successful practice with two other orthopedic surgeons. The sun gleamed on the waves below as they pulled up. The front door was flung open, and Erick's girls—Ina, five, and Maj, seven—came running down the steps.

“Grandma, Grandma,” they yelled, rushing up to Ingbritt who tried to gather both of them in her arms at once. After they'd kissed and hugged their grandmother, it was Ekman's turn to hold them. Maj looked up at him and said, “Grandpa, how big you've gotten,” in the innocent way children have of telling an uncomfortable truth.

Erick, tall and with a long face like his father's, and his wife, Disa, a heavy-set redhead with an easy laugh, stood smiling in the doorway watching the scene. As Ekman and Ingbritt came up the steps holding the children's hands, Erick and Disa came out to meet them. After exchanging hugs, they led the way into the house.

“It's so good to see you,” said Erick. “It must be almost two months since we've been able to get together.”

“Far too long. But it's wonderful to be with you, the children, and Disa,” she said, turning to her daughter-inlaw, whose smile filled her round face.

“Come into the living room,” said Erick. “And let me get you something to drink. Would you like coffee, or something a little bubblier?” he asked with a grin.

“Now bubbly sounds good,” said Ekman. “With perhaps some orange juice added, since it's still morning.”

“You've got it. The same for you?” he asked his mother.

“That will be wonderful. Why shouldn't we give ourselves a treat? This is such a marvelous Sunday,” Ingbritt said with a delighted smile.

As always, Disa made them feel very welcome. After a long, heavy lunch, Ekman and Erick decided to walk it off on the beach. Ingbritt and Disa spent most of that time talking about the girls, who were engrossed with the folk-costumed dolls Ingbritt had brought for them.

“So how is your practice going, any interesting cases?” asked Ekman, as they strolled down the sand, glittering in the sunlight.

“It's doing very well, Pappa, but quite routine, although I did have a tricky compound femur fracture last week. But how about you? I'm sure your cases are much more interesting than mine,” Erick said with a smile.

“Well, there's a possible homicide. Perhaps even as many as four. They may be connected to bizarre threats from someone a colleague of yours has told me should be referred to as ‘a seriously disturbed person,' but I prefer to call him ‘the maniac,' ” Ekman deadpanned.

“I'd say that's a whole lot more than just ‘interesting.' ”

“It's challenging. But let's talk about something more pleasant,” said Ekman, smiling and changing the subject to the wonderful weather, as they headed back toward the house. He put his arm around Erick's shoulders, and his son looked at him with a warm smile. Although Ekman didn't often use the word, he loved Erick very much. He believed Erick knew that, and returned the love and respect he felt.

The day had proven wonderful for everyone. It was just after sunset when Ekman and Ingbritt got home from Halmstad.

31

A Gift To Remember

M
onday, October 17
.
At breakfast Ingbritt was still talking about how much she'd enjoyed yesterday's visit. Ekman nodded and grunted agreement as he finished his toast and jam. Draining a last cup of coffee, he got his coat and hat from the hall closet, and kissing her goodbye, went into the garage.

It was seven
A.M
. as Ekman began backing his Volvo down the drive, when he noticed sunlight glinting off something on the front stoop. He braked, put the car in park, and got out to see what it was. Wrapped in a transparent plastic bag was a small white box.

Looking through the plastic, he saw that it was addressed:
“To Walther Ekman,”
in the, by now familiar, black marker printing. He froze, and then backed away looking over every centimeter of the stoop, the walkway, and the ground all around. There was nothing. He reached into his overcoat pocket and took out his driving gloves. Pulling them on, he went back to the box and lifted it, peering at the stoop underneath. Again, he saw nothing.

P
arked down the street, Grendel watched with delight as Ekman cautiously dealt with the surprise he'd been left.

Just wait until he opens it, Grendel thought; it will drive Ekman and the rest of them up the wall. That was one reason he'd prepared the ‘gift'; the other was to send a message of how dangerous it was to challenge him. Grendel wanted Ekman sweating and squirming before the final curtain came down on the drama he'd scripted.

Carrying the box to his car as though it might contain an explosive . . . although he thought that extremely unlikely . . . he opened the front passenger door and placed it with great care on the seat. Getting back in, he pulled out of the drive, and headed well below the speed limit to headquarters. Taking out his mobile, he called the front desk.

“This is Ekman. I need two crime scene technicians and a photographer with lights and video equipment to meet me at my office in one hour. I don't care if they're probably not up yet. Get them up, and moving. Now,” he said, and shut the phone off. Right away, he regretted being so abrupt with the hapless desk sergeant.

Ekman's face was red and his lips compressed in a grim line. He was furious that this creep had had the gall to violate his home, his family's sanctuary. In all his years on the force, nothing close to this had ever happened. Jarl is right, he thought, somehow this is very personal.

Carrying the box in both hands, he said “God morgen,” to Holm, who looked up surprised at what he was carrying.

“Come in, Enar,” Ekman said, going to his conference room door.

“Open it for me, please.”

Holm followed him in as Ekman placed the box, still in its clear plastic bag, on the table.

“This was on my front stoop this morning,” he said, answering Holm's unspoken question.

Holm peered at the address on the lid. “It's Grendel, isn't it?”

“Yes, I think so. Crime scene techs and a photographer should be here soon,” Ekman replied, taking off his gloves, and putting them in his overcoat.

“Let's sit down,” he said, heading back into his office, and hanging up his coat and hat.

“You must have been shocked, Chief, finding that on your doorstep,” Holm said in a quiet voice.

“That's putting it mildly. I'm still having a hard time believing he had the nerve to do it.”

“It feels like a message,” said Holm.

“A really personal one. He's upping the ante again. We'll see how much.”

It was no use wondering what this new package meant; they'd find out soon enough. Patience Ekman, he thought, patience. He wants to get you angry and flustered. Don't play his game.

“Did you have a good Sunday, Enar?” Ekman asked with a smile.

For a moment, Holm thought Ekman knew about Gerdi and him, but dismissed it. It was just a routine question but Holm hesitated before replying.

“Yes, it was fine. How about you?”

“We visited my son and his family in Halmstad. It was a pleasant day. A much needed break. Neither of us may get another one very soon, Enar.”

A knock on the door announced the crime scene techs and photographer.

“Why don't you set up in here,” said Ekman, leading the way into the conference room.

Turning to the senior tech, a short, forty-year-old woman he had worked with before named Asa Taube, he explained how he'd found the box on his doorstep and had examined the surrounding area.

“There was nothing there, so it seemed best to bring it in,” he concluded. Ekman hadn't wanted a crime scene van in his drive and technicians with lights on his doorstep panicking Ingbritt and alarming the neighbors.

He thought he knew enough about crime scenes to have done okay.

Taube didn't say anything, just nodded, but she looked skeptical. The photographer positioned his screens to reflect the field lights he'd set up on tripods around the table. He turned on the lights and camera, and began recording.

Taube, wearing white, crime scene overalls and gloves, picked up the package, and her assistant, a young man dressed the same, spread a white plastic sheet on the table, where she replaced the box.

Taking surgical scissors from her kit, Taube cut away the plastic bag from the box and then the twine, taking care to avoid the knot in front. She lifted the cover, putting it beside the box. Seeing a note on top, she used a pair of tongs to remove it and placed it on the white sheet.

Ekman bent over, and read:

To Walther Ekman

With the Compliments of Grendel,
His Fervent Admirer.

Please Permit Me to Introduce

The Distinguished

Advokat Rodger Westberg.

“Let's take a look,” Ekman said to Taube. He was now very afraid of what they'd find.

Reaching into the box, Taube pulled back the tissue, revealing a bubble-wrapped object, which she removed from the box. Taking up the scissors again, she cut the wrapping away so they could see what lay beneath.

“Jesus Christ,” exclaimed the photographer, as everyone stared, horrified at the shriveled male genitals.

Recovering from the shock, Ekman said to Taube, “Thank you for your help. Please prepare everything for the forensics lab, including a copy of the video. I'll let Malmquist know it's on the way.”

Asa Taube had thought she was immune to brutal crimes, but she found herself immobilized, staring fixedly at what she'd uncovered. She pulled herself together enough to say, “Yes, Chief. You'll want a courier I suppose?”

Ekman nodded, as he and Holm went back to his office, while the crime team finished up.

“What do you think, Enar?”

“We don't know if it's Westberg. Grendel could be lying.”

“You're right. But the only way to find out will be to get a DNA sample from his parents. That should be done today, although it'll be some time before we can be certain. They'll want to know why we need it, and I dread telling them.”

“If it turns out to be Westberg, we still can't say if he's alive or dead.”

“I don't think we should hold out any hope to them. My strong feeling is he's dead. And I want to believe pathology will tell us the mutilation was done after death.”

“What I don't understand, Chief, is why Grendel's done this at all.”

“He wants to increase the pressure. By giving us the first real evidence he's committed a crime tying him to one of the missing, he's pushing for public disclosure. He wants the publicity, and I'm afraid we're going to have to provide it.”