Grendel's Game (8 page)

The day's events kept running through his mind. They were at the beginning of the strangest case he'd ever had, and right now everything seemed disjointed. He knew from experience that this was temporary. Persistence would eventually make things clearer, he hoped.

13

A Challenge

T
hursday, October 13.
A steady drizzle was blowing against the windshield and made him keep the wipers and headlights on. The sky was light gray with dull, scudding clouds. Few cars were on the road. Ekman had compulsively made up for leaving work early yesterday by arriving just before seven.

No one else in his area was in yet. Entering his office, he saw a large, flat white box in the middle of his desk. As he hung up his coat, he became aware of the weight of the gun still in his pocket.

Ekman went over and looked at a message slip on top of the box. It was from the night duty sergeant: the package had been delivered just after eleven
P.M
.

It was addressed to him in now-familiar bold black letters. A thin white cord wrapped tightly around it held the cover in place.

Ekman reached into a drawer for evidence gloves and took out a pair of scissors. The string was tied in front and he carefully cut it away from the knot, to preserve any unusual characteristics. Lifting the cover, he set it to one side. Inside was an object wrapped in layers of white gift paper. Slowly unfolding them, he saw his stolen briefcase. It had his initials in the corner. There was a sheet of paper on top.

My Dear Chief Superintendent Ekman:

I am returning your briefcase with sincerest apologies. I trust the torn shoulder strap can be repaired or replaced without too much inconvenience.

It should never have been taken. Let me assure you it was done not only entirely without my authorization, but against my express instruction that you were just to be observed.

You need not trouble yourself about the thieves. They have been severely chastised and will not bother you (or anyone else) again.

With highest regard, I have the distinct honor to remain,

Esteemed sir, your most humble, most obedient servant,

Grendel

Ekman put the note back on top of the briefcase, and pulling off his gloves, sat down heavily in his chair. The nerve of the bastard. The sheer, fucking nerve, and with an old-fashioned flourish at the end of that damned note. And those poor, stupid kids on the scooter. His anger at them had changed to pity. They're dead, he guessed, unless Grendel was just trying to mislead him. But he didn't think so. I wonder what Karlsson will make of all this.

He picked up the phone and called the front desk.

“This is Ekman. Is last night's duty sergeant still here?”

“Yes, sir. He's just about to leave. Let me get him.”

The sergeant came on the line. “It's Lindberg, Chief. What can I do for you?”

“Please come up and see me before you leave.”

“I'll be right there, Chief.”

A few minutes later, Lindberg knocked and came in. He was a pleasant-looking man in his early thirties. An unruly cowlick of light brown hair contrasted with his sharply pressed uniform. He stood at attention and saluted.

“Please sit down, Lindberg. I know you're going off duty and won't hold you up too long. I just have a few questions.”

“Yes, sir.”

Pointing to the box on his desk, Ekman asked, “Did you take delivery of this yourself?”

“Yes, sir. It was hand-delivered at 11:05
P.M
.”

“Who brought it?”

“It was a woman.”

“Please describe her.”

“She was young, nice looking, late twenties I'd say, fairly tall, around five eight, slender build, long blonde hair. She had on a tan raincoat, a broad-brimmed matching hat, and brown gloves. She was wearing tinted glasses so I can't tell you the color of her eyes.”

“Did she say anything?”

“No, I thought that was a little strange. She just put the box on my desk, pointed at your name, smiled, and left.”

“Is there anything else you can tell me? Any other impression she made?”

“Not really, sir. Just that she seemed friendly enough.”

“I assume the video monitor was recording?”

“Yes, sir. Always.”

“Okay. Thank you, Lindberg. You've been very helpful. Just ask the desk sergeant to have the images from shortly before eleven to a few minutes after she left sent to my computer. Also, I'll need the exterior camera's recording for the same period.” This was at least one useful advantage of a building with advanced technology, he thought.

“Yes, sir. Will do.” Lindberg paused, a worried frown flitted across his face. “I hope I didn't do anything wrong by accepting the package, sir.”

“Not at all, Lindberg. Don't be concerned about it.”

The sergeant got up, saluted again, and left, closing the door behind him.

Rising, Ekman paced about the room for the next few minutes. The case had fundamentally changed; it was no longer just a theory that what was happening might be personal. He stared out the window. The rain had picked up and was coming down in sheets out of a darkened sky, drifting hard across the square, leaving small pools of water on the slick, glistening cobblestones.

Back at his desk he booted up his computer and searched for the images he wanted. There was the woman carrying the box past the heavy glass entrance door and approaching the front desk. She looked exactly as Lindberg had described. He's taking the box from her. She points at it, smiles, turns, and waves as she walks out. It was all over in less than thirty seconds.

Ekman next looked at the exterior shots. The woman could be seen approaching on foot. When she left, she took the same route until she was out of the camera's range around the corner. He'd hoped there'd be a car and perhaps a glimpse of a license plate, but no such luck. He felt frustrated.

There was a knock at the door and Holm stuck his head in. “Are you busy, Chief?”

“Come in, Enar. We've been sent a surprise package,” Ekman said, pointing to the box. “Take a look, but first use these,” he said, giving Holm a fresh pair of gloves from his drawer.

Putting them on, Holm peered into the box, and involuntarily sucked in his breath.

“It's your briefcase, isn't it?”

“Yes, it's been thoughtfully returned,” Ekman said in a flat voice. “Now read the note that came with it.”

Holm picked it up, and when he finished reading put it back in the box. He looked over at Ekman. “He's a wiseass bastard. And it sounds like he's done something to those guys on the scooter, probably killed them.”

“My thinking too. I've already talked to the desk sergeant who took delivery,” Ekman said, describing his conversation with Lindberg and the videos he'd seen.

“It seems our dear friend has an accomplice,” he added.

Holm thought for a moment. “This makes the robbery part of the case now. We're not going to be able to keep it to ourselves anymore.”

“Exactly. Of course, we'll bring the others on the team up to date.” He sighed, “And then, I'm going to have to brief Malmer on what's happened. I thought yesterday was bad. Today promises to be worse. Please make copies of the note, then put it back in the box and prepare a package for Malmquist. Again, by courier.”

Holm went out, taking the box with him. While he was gone, Ekman phoned Malmquist.

“Ludvig, it's Walther. I'm sending you another rush job.” He described the robbery and the surprising return of the briefcase.

“The only fingerprints on this one that I know about are my sergeant, Lindberg's. The person who delivered the box was wearing gloves, but may have gotten careless earlier. I was careful about the knot on the wrapping cord, if that's any help.”

“All right, Walther. This is getting stranger by the day. I'll do everything I can with it. After we're done tomorrow, I'll send back your briefcase, although you'll want to keep it in your evidence room until this is resolved.”

“Thanks, Ludvig. As always.”

“I know: you owe me another one. Good luck.”

14

The Missing

I
t was almost eight. Ekman and Holm went into the conference room. Holm sat down, and Ekman, picking up the phone on a table against the wall, called the front desk.

“This is Ekman again. Please have those images you just sent me also put on the projector in my conference room. Thanks.”

The hall door opened and the other team members filed in. They took the same places as yesterday.

“Let's get started,” said Ekman, sitting down and putting the copies of the note in front of him. “We've a lot of ground to cover.” Turning to them, he asked, “Alrik and Mats, what have you got for us?”

“I've got a friend in central hospital records, so we didn't need help getting the information,” Rapp said with a grin. “There are no cases involving cannibalism. We've worked fast, but I think we've been thorough.” Bergfalk nodded his agreement.

“Okay. Negative findings are helpful too. Gerdi, what about you and Enar?”

She looked at Holm before she began, as Enar smiled encouragement. “Chief, we've covered the unsolved missing-persons national database going back three years and it looks like almost all involve people running away from obvious bad family, personal, or business situations. A number are still being traced and there may be results on some of them very soon. But there are four cases that can't be easily explained.” She turned toward Holm, and he continued.

“They stand out because there are no apparent problems that might have led someone to try to run from them. Of course, as we dig deeper, we may find things that could have caused people to take off. Right now, however, there's nothing clear, so we're treating these as suspicious. We'll look at the complete case files. If they seem promising, we'll talk to the officers who've been working the cases, and then reinterview family, friends, and business associates.”

“That sounds right,” Ekman said. “Now, give us an example of what brought these cases to the surface.”

Gerdi replied, “A guy named Gustaffson, an engineer, midthirties, single, popular, with a good job, just vanished a month ago in Åseda. He's the most recent one. He had no apparent family or financial problems. He was walking home to his apartment around five fifteen, but never made it. Gustaffson's usual path between office and home was retraced, and he hadn't stopped anywhere. He simply disappeared.”

“And the other cases are similar?”

“Yes,” said Holm. “There seem to be no reasons for the vanishing acts.”

“I meant beyond that. Same sex, same age, and general location?”

“Yes and no,” said Holm. “Three men, one woman, midthirties to midforties, but different occupations and family circumstances. They lived in an area ranging over one hundred kilometers in every direction from here.”

“So, we're going to have to cover a good swath of southern Sweden?”

“Yes, Chief. It looks that way.”

“Remember when you go into other jurisdictions, don't forget to check in first with the local station. But be vague. Just say it's in connection with another case we're working. If there are any problems, have them call me,” Ekman said, glancing around the table. “We're looking for any pattern in possible victims, circumstances, location—anything that would give us some handle on our dear friend and help us anticipate his next move.”

“Alrik and Mats,” said Ekman, turning to them, “I'd like you to help Gerdi and Enar on the four cases they've turned up.

“Now, let me bring you up to date.”

Ekman told them about his conversation with Edvardsson and the deadline that had been agreed to. “So we all need to move as fast as possible, without becoming sloppy, if we're going to justify pursuing this guy. We've only got five days left to come up with something.”