Grendel's Game (20 page)

“My God, won't I be able to identify him?”

“It may be some time before we discover his body,” Ekman replied in a quiet voice.

Westberg took the bag and, opening it with shaking hands, used the swab. Replacing it in the bag, he gave it back.

“Thank you, Herr Westberg. Believe me, you and your wife have my sincere condolences. There will probably be a media conference tomorrow about your son's case, since we're treating it as a homicide.”

“I know you can't keep this a private matter now. But on top of our loss, you're telling me we'll have to deal with the media?”

As he was about to leave, Westberg added, “I believe you, Herr Ekman, but I don't know if my wife will be able to accept this as final.”

“I understand,” said Ekman, as he walked out.

33

Norlander

W
hen Ekman got back to his office, he found a message that the commissioner wanted to see him. He was somewhat surprised. The commissioner usually dealt with him through Malmer. He called the office to say he'd be there in a few minutes, and then phoned Fru Taube.

She came up immediately, and he handed her the DNA kit. “Please send this by courier to Malmquist. He's expecting it.”

She looked at him with a question in her eyes. “Yes, it was as bad as we thought it might be. Westberg is distraught,” he said. Taube just nodded and left.

Knocking, Ekman entered the spacious corner office on the top floor. Unlike ordinary police offices, Norlander had decorated it at his own cost with expensive antiques and Persian rugs. Ekman found the commissioner talking with Malmer. They broke off as he entered.

“Walther, it's good to see you,” the commissioner said, rising and coming toward him with hand extended.

Elias Norlander was forty-eight, slender, of medium height, with light brown hair slicked straight back over his handsome head. He was always dressed in dark, custom-made Savile Row suits, set off by bright Hermès ties on cuff-linked shirts.

Where Malmer was needlessly abrasive, he was smoothly polite, but like his childhood friend, he had an ear sensitively tuned to the political winds. Having been county police commissioner for just the past year, he depended on Ekman's experience. Ekman, for his part, treated him with wary respect, as though he were a dangerous animal that could turn on him at any moment.

Shaking Ekman's hand, he led him to an armchair facing his and Malmer's.

“I've been reading your latest memorandum with great interest,” he said. “I know this morning's events must have been much more shocking for you than they have been for Olov and me. How are you feeling?”

“Rather worn, Commissioner, I must confess.”

“That's understandable,” said Norlander in a sympathetic voice. “I understand that you've just come back from speaking with Westberg. How do you think that went?”

“About as well as could be expected under these horrendous circumstances. I told him we would now be treating his son's disappearance as a homicide, but, of course, didn't mention today's package.”

“Good. That's information we need to keep very much to ourselves.” He looked at Ekman. “Now that we know this ‘Grendel' has committed a crime, do you have enough investigators?”

“Yes, I think so. There're seven, including myself. We're pursuing every lead. I should have some more information for both of you after tomorrow morning's team meeting. If other people are needed as we go forward, I'll let you know.”

“I see,” said Norlander. “Westberg called me after you spoke with him. He was beside himself with grief. He wants to be able to assure himself and his wife . . . he hasn't spoken with her yet, I think he's afraid to . . . that everything possible is being done. He's still hoping his son may be alive, although I agree with you he's no doubt dead. But still, we need to take Westberg's concerns seriously, especially in view of the media conference you recommended. Again, I agree that with such a high profile disappearance and likely homicide, we need to inform the public.”

“I met with Edvardsson after I spoke with you,” Ekman said, turning to Malmer. “She also thinks that Westberg's son is dead and that we need a press conference. She's willing to be there tomorrow.”

“That will be very helpful,” said Norlander. Malmer, however, didn't look so pleased.

“In view of all this,” he went on, “I've been giving serious thought to our overall approach. You should know that Westberg has very influential connections in Stockholm,” he said in a confidential tone. “He wants heaven and earth moved to either find his son or confirm his death. If we don't ask for assistance from the National Criminal Investigation Division, he will. You have friends there I'm sure. Am I right?”

“Yes, but their help isn't needed now,” protested Ekman.

“I understand that. And believe me, I have every confidence in you and your team. The actual need for outside help isn't the issue, however. We have to prove to Westberg that we're pulling out all the stops in this investigation. Rather than have Stockholm send in someone you don't know, it would be better if we called on one of your friends. Wouldn't you agree?”

Ekman was silent. This unexpected development surprised him and filled him with resentment. He'd been a respected criminal investigator for decades and this came as an undeserved slap in the face. Norlander, however, had a point. If Westberg was that connected, it would be better to preempt him and get someone from Stockholm he could work with. His mind raced through names until it stopped at Garth Rystrom, a superintendent at CID, and an old friend.

“I think I know just the man, Commissioner. Let me give him a call, and if he's available perhaps you could make a formal request for him,” Ekman said in a neutral voice that concealed his feelings.

“An excellent idea,” said Norlander with enthusiasm, as though Ekman had proposed calling the CID himself.

“I'll have our communications officer let the media know we're holding a conference about an important new case, tomorrow afternoon, say at three. Will that work for you?” asked Norlander.

“That will be fine, Commissioner,” said Ekman, as Norlander stood.

E
kman called Edvardsson to let her know the conference would be at three in the large auditorium at headquarters.

“How did your meeting with Westberg go, Walther?” she asked.

“Badly. I tried to tell him we've explored all the good alternatives, and the only conclusion left is that his son is dead, but he's not persuaded. He's hoping against hope that somehow he'll be found alive.”

“It's impossible news for anyone to deal with. Maybe, in time, he'll come to accept it.”

“Maybe, but not right now. I'm going to have to call in National CID to satisfy him.”

“You've done such excellent work, Walther. Please don't feel slighted.”

“I'm trying not to, but it still bothers me, Malin.”

“That's only natural. I think you'll solve this case, and I know you don't need any help from Stockholm to do it.”

“Thanks for those kind words. I'll try to deserve them. See you tomorrow.”

He next phoned Rystrom. They were not only personal friends, but had worked together on several cases over the last twenty years.

“Garth, it's Walther Ekman. How are you? And the family? Good. Yes, we're all well, thank you. I'm calling because I could use your help on a difficult case.” Ekman sketched out what had happened since last Tuesday.

“Do you think this would be of interest to you? Great. And do you think you could come down here as early as tomorrow? We're holding a press conference, and it would be helpful if you could be there. Our commissioner will be making a formal request for your services later today. I'll see you tomorrow then. And Garth, thanks very much. It's really appreciated.”

Then he called Norlander. “Commissioner, I've just spoken with Garth Rystrom, a superintendent at CID I've worked with before, a very good man. He's available and is planning to attend the conference. Yes, that's right, ‘Rystrom.' I think you'll find he's the right person to assist us.”

Ekman sat back in his chair and, taking out his needlepoint, thought about what he'd say at the conference. He had to satisfy the media without going into sensitive information. Putting the stitching to one side, and taking a sheet of paper, he jotted down the key points he'd make, and answers to probable questions.

34

Castling Queenside

W
hen he came in, Ekman's drawn face made it obvious something was very wrong.

“What is it, Walther? What's happened?” Ingbritt asked.

Ekman hung his coat and hat in the hall closet, and turning, gave her a kiss.

“Let me get us a drink and then we'll talk. What would you like? Some wine? I'm having vodka.”

“Vodka will be fine.”

They went into the kitchen and Ekman poured stiff drinks for them. He'd decided to tell her everything about the day's events, starting with his discovery of the box.

“It's been a strange day, Ingbritt,” he began. As he told her all that'd happened since that morning, he saw shock, horror, and compassion flit across her face like successive shadows.

“You knew something awful was going to happen, didn't you, Walther? And it would be directed at you. That's why you started to carry a gun.”

“No, I didn't know, only guessed from the letters and talks with Jarl. Now there's proof a dangerous lunatic has probably killed someone. I didn't tell you before because I wasn't certain and didn't want you to worry. There'll be a press conference tomorrow in which some of this will come out, but not all the details I've told you. We needed to talk before that happened. And, there's another reason as well.”

“What?” she asked.

“I want you to stay with one of the children until we catch him. It's become too dangerous for you to be here. He's come too close.”

Ekman had considered asking her to stay at a hotel. She would be safest in some anonymous place out of town, but he knew she'd never agree to that. Staying with one of the children would make the separation more bearable for her, and make her more willing to accept it.

“Walther, I won't leave you to face this alone. We've shared everything, and we'll share this too.” Her expression was adamant.

“No, Ingbritt, you have to leave. For a while, until he's found. I can't function, I can't do my job properly, if I'm worrying all the time about whether he might decide to harm you in order to get at me. Please do this for me.”

She was silent for several minutes. “You're right. You have to be able to concentrate on finding this monster. I'll do it, because someone else may die unless he's caught quickly. But you have to promise me you'll call every evening without fail. As it is, I'll be a wreck worrying about you.”

Ekman went to her and they hugged for a long moment. “Thank you,” he said. “Now I'll be able to really focus on finding him. Who will you call, Erick or Carla?”

“I haven't seen Carla in weeks and weeks. I'll tell her I'd like to stay and have a good long visit with her. I've been wanting to see Johan, too.”

“I'm sure she'll be delighted, and so will Johan. I'm sorry I can't go with you. Why don't you call her now and tell her you'll be there tomorrow?”

Her face was stricken. “So soon, Walther? Can't we wait a few days?”

“I'm afraid not.” He kissed her. “I'll miss you like crazy, but I'll be very relieved you're safe.”

Hesitating for another moment, Ingbritt picked up the phone and called Carla.

“Yes, I'm planning on staying for a while. I'm not quite sure how long, perhaps a few weeks. Is that all right? I don't want to interfere with your work. No, your father won't be coming with me. He's very wrapped up in a new case and won't be home much, I expect. I should be with you before lunch. I'm looking forward to seeing you, Johan, and Gunnar.” She hung up the phone and turned to Ekman.