by Viveca Sten
A few years earlier, New Sweden had organized a major rally in Uppsala. An opposition group had attempted to hold a demonstration nearby, and trouble had broken out. Moore had been identified as one of the leading instigators of the violence, but no charges had been filed.
Why was that? Aram soon found the explanation. The case had been dropped due to “lack of evidence.”
Strange. If the guy had been caught red-handed, that should have been enough. An officer by the name of Holger Malmborg had made the note; Aram decided to follow it up right away. He found the number, but his call went straight to voice mail.
He took off his glasses and cleaned them on his sweater while he tried to think what else he could search for. He decided to try the tax office. He quickly keyed in Moore’s ID number, and soon the screen was filled with financial information.
Over the past few years, Moore’s annual income was given as less than two hundred and fifty thousand kronor, which meant a monthly salary of around twenty-one thousand—roughly the same as a postman would earn. There was no fortune stashed away, no interest from a capital investment—nothing apart from the salary he was paid by New Sweden.
And yet Moore lived in a four-room apartment in the city center. A quick look at the Vehicle Registry revealed that he owned an SUV, a Land Rover Discovery.
Aram stroked his chin. There was no way someone who earned the same as a postman could afford to live at a premium address in Stockholm. And a car like that would cost around five hundred thousand.
Admittedly Moore had been a pro basketball player for a few years, but the amount Swedish sportsmen and women could earn was light years away from their American counterparts.
Peter Moore must have a supplementary income stream that he didn’t declare to the tax authority.
Might be worth following up.
CHAPTER 62
Lars Palmér lowered the daily paper onto his lap. It was difficult to focus on the contents; his thoughts kept returning to the two police officers who had turned up on the doorstep.
Pauline had taken them into the kitchen, but he’d picked up parts of the conversation, the odd question, half an answer here and there.
As soon as they left, Pauline had disappeared into her study. The door was still closed; she’d been in there for almost an hour. The fact that she wanted to discuss the visit with someone other than him made him very unhappy.
He rested his head on the back of the armchair, tried to concentrate. They had worked with a definite goal in mind for such a long time. The next parliamentary election was in eighteen months; the agenda was set.
He thought about all the hours they’d put in, all the effort. There was no room for doubt, no room for any kind of fresh obstacle. However, Pauline usually knew what to do; she always had a clear idea. That was one of the things he admired about her.
The two police officers hadn’t been hard to read—the tall guy observing everything around him, the short, irascible woman who insisted on childishly displaying her antipathy toward Pauline.
Amateurs. There was no other word to describe them.
Then again, what could you expect from the forces of law and order these days? The whole organization needed tightening up, with stricter regulations governing the kind of people they recruited, and a marked improvement in conviction rates.
In fact the public sector in general would benefit from a shift in priorities and a reduction in bureaucracy. These issues were on New Sweden’s agenda; he was proud to be a member, just as proud as he was of his wife.
Lars folded up the newspaper. He wanted to talk to Pauline about what the two officers had wanted, get her verdict on the visit. He went and knocked on the door of her study, and opened it before she had time to answer. She was sitting at the dark-brown desk in front of the window with her back to him. The sun had gone down, and it was impossible to see the attractive inner courtyard with its neatly raked gravel paths in the December darkness outside. It was chilly in the room, but Pauline didn’t seem to notice; she was talking intently on the phone. She broke off when she spun her chair around and became aware that Lars was standing in the doorway.
“Hang on,” she said quietly. “Lars just came in.”
She put down the receiver and switched on the antique table lamp next to the computer. Lars had bought it many years ago as a Christmas present for his wife, in a quaint little store in the old part of Uppsala.
She looked at him inquiringly.
“Did you want something?”
Her tone wasn’t unfriendly, but the question irritated Lars. Did she appreciate the seriousness of the situation?
“Who are you talking to?”
“Peter.”
She sounded impatient; she obviously wanted to get back to the conversation, but at least she hadn’t sent him away.
“I thought we ought to have a chat about those two cops, why they came to see you.”
Pauline gave a barely audible sigh and picked up the phone.
“I’ll call you back in a little while,” she said, and hung up. She turned her chair so that she was facing him directly. The light shone on one side of her face; the rest of the room lay in shadow.
“So tell me why they were here,” Lars said.
“There’s nothing for you to worry about; I’ve got everything under control.”
“Don’t underestimate me,” he warned her. For a second he thought she might get mad, snap back at him; you could never tell with Pauline. But instead she remained silent. Lars took this as an indication that she knew he was right. He folded his arms, waiting for her to explain.
“Apparently something unpleasant has happened to a reporter; they asked me a lot of ridiculous questions,” Pauline said after a while.
“What reporter?”
“Jeanette Thiels.”
“She’s the woman who was found frozen to death on an island in the archipelago; it’s been in the paper. What’s the connection with you—with us?”
“There isn’t one, but they’ve got the idea that she was working on an article about New Sweden, one of those in-depth investigations. They made all kinds of insinuations, suggesting that she was out to damage the organization and that one of our sympathizers might have wanted to stop her. They also asked if I’d known what she was doing.”
“And did you?”
“Of course not. How could I? They’ve been to the office in Stockholm and questioned Peter, and they also managed to frighten the life out of Kia at reception before they came here. Pure harassment. We ought to make a complaint.”
“That won’t get us anywhere.”
“It’s all nonsense,” Pauline said firmly. “As if we’d even consider sending our supporters to hassle a journalist. Who do they think we are, a bunch of thugs?” Her cheeks were flushed with anger. “New Sweden is an established and legitimate organization with an important message, not a gang of bullies who beat up our critics.”
Her voice had become a little shrill, and Lars knew she was getting agitated. Before she could continue her diatribe, he said: “There are plenty of people out there who’d like to create a scandal around New Sweden. It’s important that we take a sensible, strategic approach.”
Lars had caught her attention, and took pleasure in knowing that she was listening to him.
“I could make a few calls,” he said, hoping she would appreciate his offer of help. “As a preemptive measure.”
But Pauline shook her head.
“I refuse to let anyone destroy our work,” she said. “Don’t you worry about that.”
The brief moment of mutual understanding was gone, along with the fleeting boost to his confidence. Lars realized he had to let her deal with the matter in her own way, but he wasn’t quite ready to be dismissed.
“Was that why Peter called earlier?” he asked.
Pauline nodded. “He’s worried that Åkerlind and his gang might be able to use this against me, if the police start digging and spreading unfavorable rumors abou
t me and New Sweden.”
“He could be right.”
For once, Lars thought. Fredrik Åkerlind represented a much more hard-line phalanx within New Sweden. Pauline had gotten rid of most of his adherents, but Lars knew there were plenty of supporters around the country who would like to see Åkerlind challenge Pauline for the role of general secretary.
They were due to hold a national conference in April, and Pauline’s plan was to put forward her boldest proposal so far. She wanted to change the organization into a political party and take on the established parties. She was convinced they could win seats in Parliament in the 2010 election. The time was ripe.
Which was why any negative publicity that might weaken her position within the organization could be a disaster at this stage. She had to maintain her strength and credibility in order to drive through this new initiative.
“It wouldn’t look good in the press if this kind of rumor got out,” Lars added.
“I’ll take care of it.”
“It’s not difficult to put a damaging spin on it. I can already see the headline: Police interview Pauline Palmér at her home.”
“You don’t need to spell it out—I get it.”
Her irritation was unmistakable, but Lars refused to give up.
“Police investigations leak like a sieve. A lot of individuals out there would be only too pleased to use this to attack you. Åkerlind wouldn’t hesitate for a second. Nor would the tabloid press.”
Pauline picked up the phone. “There are a number of things I really need to deal with right now. Stop worrying. Everything is under control.”
CHAPTER 63
Nora was clutching the steering wheel. Her hands were still shaking; she didn’t dare let go.
How long had she been sitting here?
The digital clock on the instrument panel showed 4:18, which meant it had been almost half an hour since she had rushed out of Einar’s office. Somehow she had managed to grab her things and find her way to the underground parking garage. She had no memory of any of that.
Nora closed her eyes, rested her forehead on the wheel, and tried to calm down, but it was hard to breathe properly; she felt as if her windpipe was blocked, the air couldn’t get through.
She had been so sure that Einar would be on her side, that she would be able to turn to him with her concerns. How could he possibly have thought it was about something else, that she was interested in him?
Her cheeks were burning, even though she was alone in the car.
She must have given the wrong signals—that was the only explanation. That dinner back in the fall—was that when he’d misread the situation?
She’d worn a new red dress, wanting to look more feminine than she usually did at work, to soften the practical, businesslike façade. She’d also thought it was important to make a good impression on the new boss; she’d been so optimistic about the future.
Now she was flooded with a deep sense of shame.
She’d been an idiot. Why hadn’t she chosen different clothes, behaved differently? However, it was too late to change that now.
A few days later, they’d had a meeting in Einar’s office, and that was when she’d been given Project Phoenix. She had been delighted, and had made no attempt to hide her excitement as they talked about the new proposal.
“I promise I won’t let you down,” she’d said. “I’m so glad you’re our new chief legal adviser.”
Einar must have thought she meant something else entirely when she thanked him so effusively.
Stupid, stupid Nora.
She thought back to today’s meeting; why had she chosen to sit on the sofa instead of in the armchair?
If I’d gone for the chair, he wouldn’t have been able to sit next to me; he wouldn’t have gotten so close. It must have looked like an invitation, as if I was offering myself to him.
Why didn’t I think?
She stared out the windshield. The other parking spaces were empty, and the main lighting was off; only the overnight lights were on.
Another thought came into her mind, making her feel even worse: I didn’t even stand up to him.
She had given no indication that she was feeling uncomfortable, or that his behavior was inappropriate. She had simply pretended that nothing was happening. She had even offered to get them both a cup of coffee, like some kind of maidservant.
She just wanted to hide away.
CHAPTER 64
There was even less traffic on the way back to Stockholm. Thomas was driving this time; it was Margit’s turn to lean back with her eyes closed.
The silence didn’t bother Thomas at all; he was happy to let his mind wander as they passed the exits for Arlanda, Märsta, and Upplands Väsby.
The conversation with Pauline Palmér hadn’t revealed any link between New Sweden and the murdered journalist. He didn’t share the organization’s xenophobic attitude, but promoting those views was not a crime. Jeanette had certainly gathered a great deal of material about New Sweden, but that wasn’t the only thing they’d found in her study. There had been other folders, other ideas for future articles. Jeanette had been a driven and determined reporter; no doubt she’d worked on several projects at the same time.
The Old Man’s words had been ringing in his ears: Take it easy.
Even Margit had been more reserved than usual; she’d backed off much sooner than she normally would have done.
It had started snowing again, and he turned on the windshield wipers. If only they could find the missing computer; that would give them a much clearer picture of what Jeanette had been up to. Anne-Marie Hansen had said that Jeanette always had her laptop with her, but Thomas wasn’t too sure of Anne-Marie either.
He came up behind a salt truck, and its bright-yellow flashing lights reminded Thomas of how treacherous the road surface could be. He slowed down, then pulled out to pass the vehicle.
Jeanette Thiels had gone over to Sandhamn because she felt safe and secure there. All the indications were that she’d sought sanctuary on the island from the person who was threatening her. However, when she stepped ashore she had no idea that it was too late; she’d already ingested the poison that would take her life.
Mats Larsson, the profiler, was coming in first thing tomorrow morning. Thomas hoped he would give them something new; Aram had promised to send everything over so that he would have time to read up on the case.
Margit grunted, but her eyes remained closed; she’d fallen asleep. Soon they would be in Häggvik, where the northern link began, leading to the E18 and Vaxholm.
They needed to try to speak to Alice Thiels again. Thomas remembered how Michael’s expression had darkened when the custody battle came up, the venom in his voice when he’d uttered Jeanette’s name.
Thomas pictured the girl’s gaunt, hollow-eyed face. She had only just lost her mother; she ought to be left in peace to grieve. Instead he was going to have to go and see her, asking painful questions, opening up wounds.
But it couldn’t wait.
He reached out and gave Margit a gentle nudge. Reluctantly she opened her eyes and yawned.
“I think we should pay Alice Thiels a visit on the way back.”
CHAPTER 65
Nora took her hands off the steering wheel, tried to force herself to think logically, to understand what had happened in Einar’s office.
He had issued an invitation.
The words sounded weird, alien. She worked in a large and respected bank. It wasn’t the kind of place where a member of the leadership team would try to seduce one of the legal advisers.
At least not someone like Nora; she was way too ordinary. She didn’t look like a model, she wasn’t provocative.
Suddenly she sat up straight, her head pounding.
He was the one who overstepped the mark.
She blinked at the thought.
It wasn’t my fault.
She had to try to remain rational. Human resources—I can talk to my team leader. She im
mediately dismissed the idea; her team leader reported to the human-resources director, who was Einar’s colleague. That wasn’t an option.
She could go to the union.
But what would she say to them? That her boss had put his arm around her shoulders and allowed his hand to rest on her knee for a minute or so? He paid me compliments and said we worked well together. He asked if I’d like to go out for something to eat.
Nothing untoward, and yet the memory made her shudder. Would she be able to explain how uncomfortable she’d felt, the underlying threat if she didn’t change her mind about Project Phoenix?
They’ll say it’s my fault, she thought, wrapping her arms around her body. The bitter cold was seeping into her bones. I was the one who requested a meeting with Einar, at a time when no one else was around.
No doubt the union would also ask if she’d made it clear that Einar’s behavior was not OK, if she’d told him to stop.
Which of course she hadn’t.
If there was an investigation, she knew exactly what would happen. The rumors would spread; people would start talking about her behind her back. Her coworkers in the legal department would inevitably change how they interacted with her. No one wanted to work with a colleague who was embroiled in a dispute with the boss.
If only she had someone to talk to, but Jonas was away, and Thomas was so busy—she couldn’t disturb him in the middle of a homicide case. Could she call her mother? No, she wouldn’t understand.
Don’t blame yourself.
The exhortation didn’t help at all. She was still embarrassed, and wiped away a tear.
She wouldn’t be able to explain any of this to an outsider, nor to anyone from human resources or the union. Besides, they were all employed by the bank, so were bound to have divided loyalties.
There was no concrete evidence; it would be her word against his. As a lawyer she knew precisely what that meant. Nothing could help her in this situation.
Nora could already hear Einar’s objections if she made a complaint.
He would deny everything, naturally, insist that it was all a misunderstanding. He was happily married to his second wife, and had a three-year-old child. There was absolutely no reason why he would come on to a member of his staff.
