Grendel's Game (9 page)

Then Ekman described the robbery. The others sat there in stunned silence. “The silver lining, if you can call it that, is it may qualify to lift the deadline.”

He told them about the unexpected return of the briefcase, and as he did so, passed out copies of the note.

“Jesus, Chief,” Bergfalk said after reading the note, “this is really weird. Maybe he likes it that way. He's good at throwing us off balance, isn't he?”

“Yes, and we're dealing with an increasingly dangerous character. I'll be speaking with Karlsson again. He may want to adjust the profile.”

Ekman repeated his conversation with Lindberg. Then, getting up, he lowered the projection screen on the wall behind his chair, and going over to the opposite end of the conference table, turned on the computer-driven projector there.

“If you'll look at the screen, I'll show you what happened. Enar would you please work this thing,” he said, pointing to the projector. “I can turn it on, but the rest is beyond me.”

Holm got up, and soon they were all watching the woman entering, delivering the package, leaving, and walking away.

“Well,” said Ekman. “What do you make of that?”

Rapp said, “He's got a helper. That's going to make things harder for us.”

“Why is that?” asked Bergfalk.

“Because it gives him more flexibility in whatever he does,” responded Rapp. He wasn't just a tough cop, he was surprisingly sharp.

Ekman nodded in agreement. “Anything else?”

“We shouldn't assume she's an actual accomplice,” said Holm. “She could be helping him without knowing what's going on. Maybe he told her it was a joke he was playing on a friend.”

“Also, we shouldn't even assume it's a woman,” added Vinter. “I can't be sure, but it could be a man in disguise. The hat, glasses, gloves, and long coat look like a disguise to me. The hair could be a wig.”

“Let's play those videos again,” said Ekman. “Can you slow it down for us, Enar?”

The images came up on the screen in slow motion. “Well, Gerdi, what do you think? Woman or man?”

“I just can't be sure, Chief. Even if it's a disguise, and I really think it is, it could be either a man or a woman. The face looks feminine enough, but that could be clever makeup. The movements aren't exaggeratedly female, the way a man pretending to be a woman might act. Maybe it really is a woman. I'm just suggesting we shouldn't assume it.”

“No, you're absolutely right to bring it up. We can't take anything for granted. And I agree with you, even if it's a woman, she's wearing a disguise.”

“It sure looks like a woman to me, Chief,” said Bergfalk. “And good looking, too.”

“Perhaps that's why Lindberg didn't question her,” said Holm. “He may have been a little flustered by her and so didn't press her for information. The voice might have been a sure giveaway, and that's why she didn't say anything.”

“Good point, Enar. Her not speaking may mean Gerdi's suspicion that it's a man is right,” said Ekman.

He summed up, “It seems to me there aren't just two, but actually three possibilities. First, we may be looking at a disguised female helper; second, a male accomplice; or third, our friend himself. Even so, we may have something we can use. He's trying too hard to be cute. Sending the briefcase back that way may have been his first mistake.”

Ekman looked around the table. “Is there something else?” No one spoke.

“Okay, then. Don't be discouraged that we don't have a clear path yet. We're just starting and I believe we've already made progress. We'll meet again tomorrow, same time.”

Seated at his desk, Ekman rubbed his heavy chin. I've given them a pep talk, he thought, but do I really believe it? Grendel is still a very dim figure. Maybe Jarl can help bring him into focus. He picked up the phone and called Karlsson.

“Jarl, it's Walther. There've been some further developments and I could use your help again. Do you have time to meet for lunch? Good. How about that little Italian place we've been to before? Yes, the one off Fahlbergvagen, about halfway between your house and town. Let's say around twelve. Thanks, Jarl. See you then. And by the way, the meter is ticking, and I'll be looking for a bill.”

E
kman mulled over what they really had. It wasn't much. A fingerprint on the briefcase or the box it came in might give them a break, if it could be matched. There wasn't anything he could do except wait and see.

The missing-person cases they were focusing on now might turn up something. These could prove their best chance of tracking Grendel, if he was involved. Ekman reminded himself that even if a crime had been committed in these disappearances, they couldn't assume their dear friend “the maniac” was the perpetrator. It could as easily be someone else, or several others.

Well, he sighed, it's still early. What they needed to give them more time to work the case was proof of a serious crime connected to the letter writer. So far, apart from a petty robbery, they had nothing.

Holm knocked and came in. “Here's the second report from Alenius and Rosengren, Chief.” He handed it to Ekman, and sat down.

Alenius again obviously had prepared the report. He and Rosengren had interviewed everyone in Westberg's neighborhood about any strange vehicles on the street before the robbery. No one had seen anything. Then they'd gone through reports of recent break-ins, looking for a pattern.

All were done in daylight when the owners were out, which wasn't unusual. In the Westberg break-in, an expensive sound system had been left. But in the three other burglaries they'd looked at, every portable thing of value had been taken. And unlike the Westberg case, no family photo had vanished. Their next step was the same as they'd done with Westberg, interview neighbors about a strange vehicle in the vicinity on the day of the burglaries.

When Ekman finished he looked up at Holm, “Well, Enar, what do you make of all this?”

“It's too bad no one saw a car at Westberg's. There had to have been a vehicle watching the place. Just our luck no one noticed. The stolen picture there seems to be the unusual item separating it from the other cases.”

“Yes. The photo. The question, of course, is why it was taken. Perhaps as a souvenir of the crime? Well, until we solve the break-in we can only guess. Send the report up to Malmer. Maybe he'll have an answer for us,” Ekman concluded with a twisted smile.

15

A Walk in the Rain

H
e'd have to bring Edvardsson up to date and decided it would be best to do it in person. He called to make sure she'd be free.

“I'll be over in fifteen minutes,” he told the receptionist.

Looking outside, he saw rain coming down steadily, but not in torrents. He thought about driving, but parking around the courthouse was scarce, even with a police permit on the dash.

Ekman got his hat and coat, and considering the gun in his pocket, took it out. He held it in his hand for a moment. Do I want to continue carrying it? he asked himself. The answer was clearly yes. Best to do it the right way. He went to his desk drawer and, removing the holster, attached it to his belt on his left side, slipping the pistol in with the butt facing right. Ekman favored a cross-body draw on the practice range, but hoped he'd never have to use it. He grabbed his umbrella as he left.

Outside it was chillier than he'd expected and he was tempted to go back and get his car. Though the walk will do me good, he thought, and started out. Few pedestrians were about. He kept an eye out for anything suspicious, but saw nothing. At least there were no scooters on a day like this. He would have liked to stop for coffee, but there was no time now. Perhaps on the way back.

The security officer at the courthouse was the same one as yesterday's. Ekman returned his salute and, going around the metal detector, took the ancient elevator to Edvardsson's office.

Ide Sundquist got up from her desk as he came in.

“God morgen, Herr Ekman,” she said, coming forward to take his dripping coat, hat, and umbrella.

“Thanks, Froken Sundquist. Watch out you don't get wet from those things,” he said with a smile as she hung up his coat.

“Please go right in, she's expecting you.” As he turned, she stared at Ekman's back for a long moment, and then ran damp hands along her tailored brown woolen slacks before sitting down at her computer.

He knocked and went into Edvardsson's office. She was seated behind her desk, but seeing him, got up and came forward to shake his hand.

“God morgen, Walther.” Noticing his wet shoes, she said, “You walked? I hope you didn't get too wet.”

“God morgen, Malin. I needed the exercise. Walking is about all I get.”

She moved to the couch and he joined her. “So, what has happened since yesterday? Anything interesting?” she asked.

“You could call it that,” Ekman responded, telling her about the robbery and the return of the briefcase.

“How terrible for you! Walther, you weren't hurt were you?” Genuine concern showed in her face and voice.

“No, not at all. The only injury was to my sense of being personally exempt from crime. Maybe it's a good thing, in a strange way. I've suddenly become much more empathetic with victims.”

“I don't think we'll recommend this as part of the training for new officers,” she said with a slight smile. “I'm so glad nothing happened to you,” she said, taking his hand for a moment. He was surprised and moved by the gesture.

“As far as the case went, I'm afraid we don't know much. But at least this is certain: our letter writer was having me watched, and didn't like the robbery any more than I did,” he said, and handed her a copy of the briefcase note.

Edvardsson read it. “How strange. And this note feels sinister.”

“That's what my team and I think too.”

“He implies he's done something to the robbers. Do you think he really has?”

“Yes, I'm afraid so.”

“Yet there's nothing to prove he's actually done anything criminal, either to them, or by carrying through his cannibalism threat.”

“Malin, I don't want to say we're eager to discover crimes; God forbid. It's just that I have a police officer's instinct that evidence of major crime is out there. It will surface if we dig deeper.”

“I agree with you, Walther. In view of the robbery, I'm going to forget about the deadline. You take this as far as you can. We need to make sure nothing awful has been going on,” she concluded, getting up.

“Thanks, Malin. You've made our job a lot easier, but you can be sure we'll work as fast as possible.”

“And Walther,” she said, as he turned to leave. “Be careful.” She was the second person in two days to say that to him, and it resonated. The unaccustomed weight of the gun on his hip made the warning difficult to forget.

Ekman collected his things in the outer office. The receptionist was away from her desk.

The rain had stopped for the moment, but from the look of the sky, promised to start again. Heading across the square, he was watchful, but saw nothing. Ekman decided not to tempt fate by taking the alley shortcut, and kept to the main streets.

Passing the coffee shop, he again thought about stopping. His lunch date with Karlsson was coming up, so instead he just went on directly to headquarters.

G
rendel was seated in the coffee shop, his back turned from the window. He sipped at his cup and watched Ekman as he went by. He was easily noticeable. Grendel followed him with his eyes until Ekman turned the corner. Grendel's face was expressionless, but hatred of Ekman seethed inside; it was always on his mind, gnawing away at him. He considered speeding things up, but pushed the thought aside. Everything was moving exactly as he'd planned. Now was not the time to alter anything. He would have to be patient just a little longer.

16

An Italian Lunch