In Harm's Way

by Viveca Sten

  Nora read the text message that had just arrived.

  Have sent important email re: Project Phoenix, need your comments ASAP. Jukka

  Simon and Adam had gone to bed; it was after eleven. Nora had poured herself a glass of red wine and curled up on the sofa with a good book, enjoying the peace and quiet. It was nice to be able to do whatever she wanted for a while.

  However, the message made her heart rate increase, and she immediately felt stressed.

  It had been a difficult few months at the bank, and she had been so looking forward to having a ten-day break and being able to switch off completely. She was dreading going back to the office after New Year’s, but had been trying to keep the feeling at bay. Now that feeling was back, evoked in seconds by the brief communication from Jukka Heinonen.

  She put down her phone, picked up her glass, and let the wine slip slowly down her throat.

  It had all started with the merger. The bank where she had worked for almost ten years had been looking for a Scandinavian partner for quite some time. Greater financial muscle was needed if it was to maintain its position in the market; it couldn’t survive alone.

  Eventually, during the summer, a partnership had been formed with one of Finland’s largest banks, and the new company had been registered with both the Finnish and Swedish stock exchanges. To begin with, the head offices would continue to operate in Helsinki and Stockholm. It was made clear that all costs were under review, but it hadn’t sounded as if the legal department, where Nora worked, was in danger of major cuts.

  She had tried not to speculate and had simply carried on with her job; in fact, all the wheeling and dealing associated with the merger had increased her workload.

  However, one positive aspect was the appointment of a new chief legal adviser, Einar Lindgren.

  Nora pictured Einar: he was ten years older than she, and came from Norrland. His accent was almost musical. He had been born in Kalix, but his wife was Finnish, and they’d lived in Helsinki for many years, where he worked for the Finnish bank with which Nora’s bank had merged. Nora had been hoping for a change of boss for a long time, and was delighted. She knew she wasn’t the only one who felt that way; few of her colleagues mourned the loss of their moody, self-obsessed former head of department.

  Then came the Lehman Brothers crash during the fall, and the situation in the financial markets worsened dramatically. The internal pressure was intense.

  Nora remembered the October day when Einar had called her into his office. She hadn’t been able to think why he wanted to see her.

  “The board has decided on an internal project aimed at reducing administrative costs,” he’d said. “It will be led by Jukka Heinonen personally, and will have top priority, as I’m sure you understand.”

  Nora had nodded, sitting in the armchair opposite Einar. She didn’t know the bank’s new deputy director, but she was aware that Heinonen had been heavily involved in the merger and was regarded as one of the key figures on the new leadership team. He was a plump guy with bushy eyebrows and pale blue, almost watery eyes.

  “I’d really like you to be part of this project as the legal expert,” Einar went on. “You have an excellent reputation; I hear you’re one of our most conscientious advisers. I think you’d be the perfect fit.”

  His words had excited her; the project sounded like a real feather in her cap. If she did well, she would make a name for herself, maybe even get a raise.

  “You’ll be reporting directly to Jukka,” Einar explained. “This is going to require a great deal of work and complete discretion, but I have no doubt you can cope.”

  Einar really was nothing like her former boss, Nora thought as she left his office. He had put his arm around her shoulders and praised her business acumen, and Nora had assured him she would be happy to take on the project.

  However, her enthusiasm had quickly faded. She turned her wineglass around and around in her fingers, remembering how frustrated she’d been before Christmas.

  It transpired that Heinonen was a man who never stopped working. He often sent emails late at night or early in the morning and expected an immediate reply, even if the issue concerned was impossibly complex.

  Nora did her best to keep up, but it was hard to find the time, especially during the weeks when the boys were with her. She hated having to spend the evening in front of the computer when Adam and Simon were there.

  As time went on, she found it more and more difficult to work with Heinonen. He micromanaged every detail, even when he didn’t know what he was talking about, and seemed to have no interest in anyone else’s opinion. He frequently interrupted Nora before she’d finished speaking, or pretended he hadn’t heard what she’d said.

  She tried to make excuses for him; maybe he just wasn’t used to working with women? She knew there had been no female senior managers in the Finnish bank. Plus he was sixty years old—a different generation. Their age gap was noticeable in other ways: he would wear the same jacket for a week, and when they once shared a cab, she thought he smelled like an old man.

  However, the worst thing was that she’d begun to believe that decisions were being made elsewhere, above her head, in spite of the fact that the legal responsibility rested with her. Heinonen passed on information only sporadically. She heard about closed-door meetings to which she was not invited. Afterward she would be required to follow terse instructions in brief emails.

  In November he had sent out a message announcing that a large department within the bank was to be closed down, effective immediately. He wanted an analysis from Nora at once, covering all aspects of employment rights.

  When she pointed out in a meeting that it wouldn’t be possible to carry out the closure as planned, at least not if they wanted to observe Swedish law, he had stared uncomprehendingly at her.

  “There’s no problem in Finland,” he had barked. “According to our Finnish legal advisers.”

  Then he had moved on to someone else around the table, leaving Nora completely bewildered. Why had he spoken to her Finnish colleagues about a matter of Swedish law, without involving her?

  She had sat there with burning cheeks, feeling like a rookie. Heinonen had ignored her for the rest of the meeting, as if she were invisible. No one else had supported her, in spite of the fact that her reasoning was solid.

  A strange atmosphere had begun to pervade the workplace. More and more directives came from Helsinki, even though two equal partners had merged; in fact, the Swedish bank had been the larger concern.

  Nora wondered if she ought to mention the situation to Einar, explain how bad things were. Then again, running to him like some kind of gossip would make her feel like she wasn’t handling the challenges of her work.

  Then it all took a turn for the worse.

  In December Jukka Heinonen had driven everyone even harder, and Nora had had to spend many evenings working late.

  One of the key aims was to sell off the new banking group’s network of branches across the Baltic states—Project Phoenix. During the period of expansion, around the year 2000, a large number of branches had been set up in Latvia, Estonia, and Lithuania. Now they were losing money fast, and it was essential to find a buyer in order to avoid investing even more funds, or, even worse, having to shut them down at a loss.

  Various parties had been contacted, and eventually a possible buyer had been found. Heinonen had embarked on confidential negotiations; the deal was due to be sealed by February at the latest, and from the start it presented a highly complex set of issues. Nora knew how hard she would have to work once Christmas was over.

  However, at the start of the holiday she had promised herself that she wouldn’t even think about work; she really needed to clear her mind, to get some distance and perspective.

  Now any benefits she might have gained over the past few days were gone in a second.

  It was very late, but she had no choice; she would have to log on and read Heinonen’s email. No doubt it would be
quite some time before she could think about going to bed.

  She stood up and reluctantly went to fetch her laptop. She really didn’t need this right now.

  CHAPTER 27

  Saturday

  Margit had promised to pick up Thomas in the morning, and he saw her car turn into the street just as he stepped outside; there was still frost on her side windows. It was five past seven, and the temperature was minus eighteen.

  They drove down Folkungagatan; there was very little traffic, but the road was lined with parked cars covered in snow. Some of them must have been there for several days, because the snowplow had left a solid wall alongside them. The owners were going to have considerable difficulty getting out.

  “Do you think we could be looking at accidental death?” Margit wondered as she stopped at a red light before joining Stadsgårdsleden.

  “Which just happened to coincide with a break-in at Jeanette’s apartment?”

  Margit merely shook her head at Thomas’s rhetorical question.

  In front of them an elderly man with a walking stick and cleated boots was slowly making his way across the road. The lights had changed to green, but Margit had no choice but to wait for him.

  He made Thomas think of the old man Anne-Marie Hansen had mentioned. Jeanette’s neighbor had been lying unconscious in his pajamas on the landing the same morning as she was found dead on Sandhamn.

  “We need to follow up with that old guy—Bertil something or other,” Margit said at that very moment. “See if it really was a coincidence.”

  “You read my mind.”

  The elderly man had finally reached the sidewalk. Margit put the car in gear and set off.

  “And what about Michael Thiels?” she said. “What do we think of him?”

  “Anne-Marie certainly didn’t have a very high opinion of him.”

  “Which bothers me. We need to talk to him again.”

  “And Alice,” Thomas said. “I’d also like a few words with Michael’s girlfriend as soon as possible.”

  “That’s a lot to cover on what’s supposed to be a day off.” Margit sounded torn, and Thomas empathized; all he really wanted to do was get back to Pernilla and Elin on Harö.

  It was important to gather information as quickly as possible—to speak to Alice and Michael again. However, they wouldn’t be able to move forward until they had the autopsy results, and if they waited, it would give Alice time to recover a little.

  “Let’s see how the morning briefing goes,” Margit suggested. “Then we can decide on our next move.”

  By the time Thomas reached the small kitchen on the floor where the Violent Crime Unit was housed, Aram was already standing by the coffee machine. He sniffed at the plastic cup he’d just filled, and wrinkled his nose.

  “It doesn’t taste too good, but I need caffeine,” he said to Thomas.

  The fact that the coffee left much to be desired came as no surprise to Thomas. He picked up a tea bag instead, filled his cup with hot water, added sugar, and followed Aram into the conference room, where the others had already gathered.

  The cold glare of the fluorescent lighting emphasized the winter pallor of their faces; even the Old Man looked kind of washed out, in contrast to his normally flushed face.

  The only one who appeared comparatively normal was Staffan Nilsson, but then he’d been on vacation in Egypt before Christmas, and had returned with an impressive tan.

  The Old Man nodded to Margit and Thomas, and Margit began: “Jeanette Thiels was a journalist who wasn’t afraid of writing about controversial issues. That could be the key. Her neighbor, Anne-Marie Hansen, said she was working on something immediately before her death, and we need to find out what that was. She seems to have traveled all over the place during the fall; she was in Bosnia and Morocco, for example. Where does this fit into the overall picture?”

  “Surely whoever gave her the assignment can tell us what she was doing?” the Old Man said. “Contact the evening paper she wrote for.”

  “I’ll do that,” Margit offered. “I’ll call them as soon as we’re done here.”

  What could possibly link such different countries? Thomas thought. Arms dealing, trafficking? Maybe this is about drugs?

  “Jeanette’s apartment had been turned upside down,” he said. “There’s no doubt that whoever did it was searching for something.”

  “Which reinforces the theory that she was dealing with a dangerous topic,” Margit added. “We really need to get ahold of her computer.”

  Karin looked up. “Surely she’s backed up her files—most people do.”

  “According to Anne-Marie, she didn’t like using online storage options,” Margit replied, frowning slightly.

  “There were no USB sticks in the apartment,” Nilsson reminded them.

  But Anne-Marie had said that Jeanette was very meticulous with her work, and wouldn’t risk losing anything, Thomas mused.

  “Her ex-husband said that Jeanette met up with her daughter the day before Christmas Eve—could she have given something to Alice? A USB stick or even a hard copy of whatever it was?”

  The Old Man drummed his fingertips on the table. “Check it out,” he said, before turning to Margit. “When you talk to the newspaper, request access to her work emails.”

  “There were piles of documents and notes in her study,” Nilsson said. “Shouldn’t we go through those?”

  The Old Man looked at Aram. “Can you take that?”

  “We’re talking about a ton of stuff,” Nilsson warned.

  “No problem,” Aram said.

  “I thought I’d contact Michael Thiels’s girlfriend, Petra Lundvall,” Thomas said. “See what she has to say about the relationship between Michael and Jeanette.”

  The Old Man closed his notebook. “Things would be a lot more straightforward if we knew the cause of death. Thomas, can you go find Sachsen, please? The two of you usually get along pretty well.”

  It was only twenty past eight when the meeting finished. Thomas went back to his office. It was too early to contact someone at home on a Saturday, but he called Sachsen anyway.

  “Do you know what time it is?”

  Sachsen sounded more than a little irritable, but Thomas didn’t get the impression that he’d woken him.

  “Sorry. I was hoping you’d be up. How’s it going? Have you managed to take a look at Jeanette Thiels yet?”

  “It’s Saturday. Yesterday was December 26. Are you familiar with the concept of the Christmas holidays?” Sachsen coughed, then continued crossly. “Surely even the police must know where to draw the line.”

  Now Thomas was getting annoyed, too. The forensic pathologist was well known for his sour disposition, and Thomas didn’t usually let it bother him, but today he just couldn’t listen to the moaning and complaining. Sachsen wasn’t the only one who’d had his Christmas break interrupted.

  “We have a thirteen-year-old girl who still doesn’t know whether her mother was murdered or not,” he snapped. “She’s not having much of a Christmas holiday.”

  His words hit home. Sachsen cleared his throat, and for once he had the grace to sound embarrassed. “I was thinking of going in later. I’ll be in touch.”

  CHAPTER 28

  Michael Thiels’s girlfriend lived in a three-room apartment in one of the older blocks in the center of Sundbyberg, not far from the train station.

  Good old Sundbyberg, Thomas thought as he parked the car. He used to play handball in the area, but it had been a long time since he’d had any reason to come here. Nacka and Södermalm were on the other side of the city. He went up the steps and rang the bell; it was almost ten o’clock.

  “Who is it?” said a voice behind the door.

  “Detective Inspector Thomas Andreasson—I’m with the Nacka police. I’d like to speak to Petra Lundvall.”

  The door flew open to reveal a woman in jeans and a V-neck sweater. “That’s me.” She had fair shoulder-length hair, and her sweater fit snugly. She wasn’t
exactly overweight, but she wasn’t thin either. She had a few crumbs at the corner of her mouth.

  “Could I come in for a few minutes?” Thomas said. “I have a couple of questions about your boyfriend and his ex-wife.”

  Referring to a man in his fifties as her “boyfriend” sounded a little weird to Thomas, but Petra didn’t react.

  “Oh dear,” she said. “Of course, come on in.”

  Thomas stepped into the hallway and took off his shoes.

  “Can I get you something to drink, a tea or a coffee? I’ve just had breakfast.”

  “No thanks, I’m fine.”

  He followed her into the living room, which overlooked the station. It wasn’t far from the closed-down chocolate factory; Thomas remembered the logo, and he could almost taste the delicious milk chocolate on his tongue.

  “Micke called me last night and told me what happened,” Petra said. She sat down on the beige sofa, which divided the living room from the kitchen. “I don’t really know how I can help you,” she went on hesitantly. “I’ve only met Jeanette a few times. She was hardly ever home—she always seemed to be away on some assignment.”

  Her nostrils flared when she said the word assignment, as if she found it distasteful. Was she envious of Jeanette?

  According to Michael, Petra worked as an economist for the neighboring district of Solna. It wasn’t a bad job, but hardly comparable with a career as a well-known war correspondent who appeared on TV and in the newspapers.

  “So you didn’t know each other well?” Thomas said, watching her closely.

  “I guess I never really understood her way of thinking.” Petra plucked at a loose thread by the button at the waistband of her jeans. “The fact that she was constantly traveling. Micke’s had lot to deal with.”

  “You’re thinking about Alice?”

  “Of course. He’s had to carry the full responsibility; he worked so hard to keep things together while Jeanette was off trying to save the world. He’s always put Alice first, above everything else.”

  Thomas could hear the unspoken words: Including me.

  Petra wound the blue thread around the button until it was no longer visible.