Grendel's Game (41 page)

As they stood up, Rystrom said, “If anything suspicious happens, anything at all, you're to call for backup immediately. There's no place for personal heroics. Is that understood?” He looked grim, then smiled at them. “I care about you, too.”

They'd watched as the van pulled up and a woman had gone to Ekman's door. “It's probably a friend offering condolences,” said Vinter.

But when Ekman came out a few minutes later, trailed by the woman, and climbed into the back of the van while she got in the driver's seat, they'd become alarmed.

Holm picked up his phone and called Rystrom. “It looked really strange to us, Super. Because of the snow I can't be sure, but she had something in her hand. It could have been a gun. We need backup right away. We're going to follow the van and will let you know where we are.”

“For God's sake be careful not to let her see you. If she's Grendel's accomplice, she might just kill Ekman in the van.”

“Understood. We're heading south on Brunnvagen.”

“I've got a SWAT team standing by. They should catch up with you in less than thirty minutes.”

E
kman leaned forward and spoke to Sundquist through the grille.

“Why are you helping Grendel? Don't you know he's deranged, a serial killer?”

“Of course, I know,” she replied, not looking back at him, keeping her eyes on the road.

“Are you in love with him?” Ekman was desperately trying to establish some sort of rapport with her.

“Now you're getting personal. But yes, I'm madly in love with him.” Looking at her expression in profile, Ekman saw she was grinning broadly.

“When did you first meet him?”

“Years ago,” she replied. “You'll learn everything when we get there.”

“Where are you taking me?”

“To see your son.”

“Is it far?”

“Not at all. We'll be there in fifteen minutes. Why don't you shut up, sit back, and enjoy the ride.”

Ekman had been watching the turns. Right on Brigadgatan, and after what seemed like four kilometers, left on Alvsborgatan for five minutes, then right on Laroverksgatan.

H
olm was having trouble following the white van in the blinding snow. The wind had picked up. The wipers were going furiously, but the windshield was smearing and ice was forming at the corners.

“She's getting too far ahead of us, Enar,” Vinter said.

“I'm losing traction in this damn snow. I'm going as fast as I dare.”

The white van seemed about to disappear in the storm. Vinter called Rystrom. “We've losing them. We're at Stampgatan and Eskilsgatan.”

“The SWAT team will be with you in twenty minutes. If his phone is on, I'll see if we can get a GPS fix on their location.”

H
er last turn was onto Strombergs Vag. She's heading for the industrial park, Ekman thought. Once in the park, with its row after row of identical warehouses, Ekman lost track in the storm of how many turns she'd made.

72

Grendel's Gambit

T
he van pulled up in front of a tall, steel door that she opened with a remote. Driving into the brightly lit garage, she parked beside a silver Volvo sedan, and using the remote again, closed the garage door. Getting out of the van she went to concrete steps leading up to a loading platform that ran the length of the semitruck-sized garage. At the top of the stairs was a wide metal roll-down door she unlocked and pulled up, reaching inside to turn on overhead fluorescents.

Going back down to the van, she took Ekman's gun out of the left pocket of her raincoat and put her own gun in the right. She flicked off the safety on his gun, and pulling back the slide, chambered a round. Stepping away from the van and using the remote, she opened its side door.

“You can come out now, but don't even think about trying anything. As you can see, I have an excellent weapon here: your own gun.”

Ekman got down with cautious movements. He didn't want to alarm her and get shot.

“Go up the steps, slowly, ahead of me, and stop.”

He did exactly as she'd told him, pausing at the top of the short flight of steps, to look back at her. She was three steps behind. Maybe I can knock her down now, he thought.

She stopped two steps below him and the muzzle of the gun came up. “You're deciding whether to jump me. If you do you'll die right here, although I won't welcome having to drag your fat body inside. Keep four feet in front of me and go through the door.”

As he came into the freezing cold of the meat locker, Ekman shivered. His breath came out in a cloud. Five feet from the front wall, a red cloth curtain had been hung across the width of the room from ceiling to floor. On the far side of the room was a curtain pull.

Sundquist was in the meat locker now, leveling the gun at his heart.

“Where is Grendel?” Ekman asked.

“Right in front of you, Walther,” she said, with a triumphant smile.

“But Grendel is a man,” he said, astonishment written on his face. “DNA confirmed that.”

“You still don't get it,” Grendel said, feigning frustration.

And then suddenly, Ekman understood. Grendel was transsexual. It was so complete a transformation, he guessed it had to be surgical.

“I do now. But why did you become a cannibal?”

“I've never been a cannibal. The letter certainly got your attention though, didn't it?”

“Then why these killings?”

“Partly, to leave you a trail, which you certainly took a long time to find. Very disappointing.”

“And the other part?”

“It's all about you, Walther. You've finally figured that out, haven't you?”

“But I've never done you any harm,” he protested.

“That's where you couldn't be more wrong,” Grendel said in a shrill, rising voice. “You killed my father and ruined my life. What I've done is retribution.”

“I don't understand. I've never killed anyone.”

“You convicted my father and destroyed my family. You sent Bo Anderberg to prison, where he died. Before he was killed, he swore he'd get revenge and I swore I'd carry it out. After he was in prison, my mother divorced him, and married a monster.

“I was only twelve, when he first raped me. My mother knew, but did nothing. She was deathly afraid of him; he beat her mercilessly. He abused me every day for five years, until I finally worked up the courage to run away. The bastard died before I could kill him. But I have you.”

“That's horrible, but I had nothing to do with any of that.”

“If it weren't for you,” Grendel screamed, white-faced with rage, “none of it would have happened. It was your fault. All of it, and everything else that happened. You turned me into a whore. I started with sailors on the Malmö waterfront and ended up with a few rich customers. Then I met Carl. We were together until he left me to go back to that bitch, Lindfors. That was when I decided to get even with all of you at the same time.

“And my plan worked: Stillen and Lindfors became your prime suspects, while I destroyed your reputation.”

“What's happened to my son? Where is he?” asked Ekman, trembling from fear, as much as the penetrating cold.

“You want to know where he is? I promised you I'd take you to him, didn't I? Why don't you open the curtain?”

Ekman went to the curtain pull and Grendel followed him.

“Go ahead, do it.” He stared at Ekman, watching terror flit across his face as Ekman grasped the pull and opened the curtain with one strong tug.

Seven frozen, cocooned corpses hung in a row in front of him. Their eyes were open and the plastic had been pulled back from their gray faces, revealing the small, dark holes on their foreheads.

The body nearest Ekman was Erick's. Next to him was Carl Stillen, Rodger Westberg, two young boys . . . the thieves . . . then Gustaffson, and Henriksson. The look of horror on Ekman's face at the sight started Grendel laughing in a terrible, high-pitched cackle.

“Satisfied?” Grendel asked.

With a quick movement, Ekman stepped behind Erick's body and with all his might swung it at Grendel. It knocked him down, and the gun skittered across the floor toward Ekman. He scooped it up and stepped around Erick's swaying corpse.

Grendel's own gun had fallen from his coat pocket and his hand seemed to be groping for it.

“Don't move,” said Ekman, “or I'll kill you.” His voice came out in a harsh rasp.

Pounding began on the garage door and a bullhornamplified voice said, “Grendel, the building is surrounded. You can't escape. Let Ekman go and come out with your hands up.”

“The cavalry has arrived,” said Grendel with a smirk. “I was wondering when they'd get here.”

“You expected them?” said Ekman, disbelief etched on his face.

“Oh, yes,” replied Grendel. “It's part of my plan, Walther. I never intended to kill you. Why do you think I didn't turn off your phone? I knew they could trace us. Now you can't kill me, as I know you want to, with your friends just outside.

“You'll be a hero, bringing in the ‘cannibal killer.' It will help restore your shattered reputation. But why should I want that? You see, Walther, your punishment isn't over. No, not by many years. You have to suffer much more. I'll end up in Karsuddens Hospital for the criminally insane. After ten or twenty years, I'll be released; I'll have ‘recovered,' or else I'll escape.

“I don't mind waiting, but you will. I know you have a grandson . . . Johan, right? When I get out he'll end up like these. You'll be old and won't be able to stop me. You've got years to think about what's coming, Walther. That's your final punishment. And after it's all over, I'll just be sent back to the hospital,” Grendel said, with a triumphant smile.

“No, not Johan, too,” Ekman whispered, and aiming the gun, shot Grendel between the eyes.

Ekman put his gun on the floor. Then he turned to Erick's body. Lifting it with difficulty off the hook, he lowered it slowly to the cold concrete. Ripping away the remaining plastic around Erick's head, he raised him and cradled him in his arms. Ekman's tears fell down his cheeks onto Erick's frozen face as he leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. “Rest in peace, Erick,” he murmured, as he gently placed him on the floor. “Rest in peace, my son.”